by Jane Cousins
To Handle A Hellcat
Southern Sanctuary – Book Twelve
Jane Cousins
Copyright © 2018 All rights reserved by the author. Do not copy or re-distribute.
ISBN: 1723104329
ISBN-13: 978-1723104329
This is a work of fiction.
Front cover design; Fiona Jayde
Finally. This feels like a major milestone. From her first appearance in book one, everyone, including me, has been clamouring for more Darcy. Funny, bold, independent, capable. Darcy owns her sexuality, and is a little, okay, a lot dysfunctional. Yet she loves and is loved. She found her niche, her home… and spoiler alert, her perfect man. Here’s wishing every one of my readers that same peace and joy. And if you haven’t achieved it just yet? Then tap into a little of Darcy, she’ll get you there.
Prologue
Eight-year-old Darcy Montgomery suppressed a sigh as a loud swarm of her cousins raced by, screaming and yelling at the top of their far too healthy lungs. Ignoring them, she frowned down at her collection of Barbies… hmmm, no, the arrangement still wasn’t quite right.
Sitting cross legged in the shade of a large gum tree, she focused on the task at hand, blocking out the sounds of the family gathering going on all around her. Of course, technically, even if she wanted to join the party, she couldn’t. She was officially in the midst of a weekend long time-out, which translated to solitude and contemplation.
During her punishment sentencing her parents had gravely advised her to think about what she had done. The problem was, she’d done a lot of things.
But thanks to past experience she was guessing they meant something she’d done in the last week. Which upon reflection, probably narrowed it down to two possibilities.
The first being her report card. Personally, Darcy was rather proud of the number of times the words - ruthless, expedient, brilliant and manipulative - had been repeated.
Her parents though had appeared to be less impressed. The report had earned her an hour long lecture on the topic of being nicer to people.
Darcy hadn’t found it a particularly convincing argument. Her parents had yet to express to her satisfaction exactly what her being nicer would achieve exactly. Spluttering and saying things like – because, really weren’t swaying her to their side.
The second potential incident was probably the conversation she’d initiated at the dinner table Wednesday night.
Being the youngest of four was not something that generally bothered Darcy, except at meal times. She was a slow eater and by the time she’d cleaned her plate the option of having seconds was long gone, thanks to her two gluttonous older brothers.
Enquiring if she really needed two brothers out loud had sparked off a rather interesting debate. In Darcy’s mind, two seemed so excessive, when surely one would have been more practical and far less of a waste of the family income and resources.
While her parents had tried to defend their position, her two brothers had eyed Darcy with spooked panic in their eyes. In fact, the longer the debate went on, the paler her brothers had become. Finally leaving the table to race up to their rooms, slamming and locking their doors loudly.
Hah, as if the simple locks they had on their doors would keep her out if she decided she wanted access.
Despite her brothers’ absence, her parents had spent another half an hour talking at her about the meaning of family and the importance of siblings. Tuning them out eventually, Darcy had spent a few minutes contemplating her sister, Nell, older by eight years.
Just turned sixteen, Nell, as always, was sitting at the dinner table with her nose in a book. Sensing she had an audience, Nell had glanced up, her calm blue eyes assessing Darcy for a moment. “I was here first.” Nell stated with a cool finality.
That’s what Darcy liked about her sister, logical and practical. Plus, Nell had access to some very intriguing anatomy books and was always up for a discussion on nerve bundles and paralysis points.
“Besides.” Nell went on. Ignoring their parents who were sharing worried looks and still trying to come up with a cohesive argument as to why they had insisted upon having two male children, rather than an infinitely more practical one. “They had to have Simon and Boyd before they could get around to having you.” Nell read the continuing doubt on Darcy’s face. “Well, at the very least leave Mum out of it. The male of the species determines the sex of the child, so if anyone is to blame, then it’s Dad.”
Ah, Darcy appreciated that Nell could give her a solid, defined target. Crossing her arms, she’d glared across the table at her father. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
Yeah, Darcy frowned, thinking back. It was definitely either the report card or the conversation.
“Ah, how sweet. You’re playing Barbies.”
Darcy blanked her face carefully before turning her head to stare up at the redheaded woman standing over her. She was wearing a too tight white sundress combined with ridiculously spiky high heeled sandals.
Mandy? Christy? She was dating one of Darcy’s older cousins. That outfit for a family barbeque? Goddess, this woman was way try too hard. And for some mysterious reason had felt impelled to disturb Darcy while she was playing. The interloper was the living embodiment of too stupid too live.
They were close to the tree-line, would anyone notice if the redhead disappeared? Truli… that was her name. Truli? What a stupid name, but a highly suitable one for a not so bright woman who clearly had no survival instincts.
“Oh, I had one just like that.” Truli gestured to the Barbie Darcy happened to be holding in her hand; long blonde hair, clear blue eyes, tanned, dressed in a tight fitting hot pink dress. “Does she have a name?” Truli enquired in that ingratiating tone adults often used when they talked down to a child.
Darcy nodded solemnly. “This is Summer. She’s the UN Ambassador for North America.” Darcy edged to the side a bit so Truli could get the full impact of her United Nations Assembly of Barbies, with their chopped and dyed hair, inked tattoos, burns, blisters, and missing limbs… well, except where she’d replaced the missing limbs of the South American Representative with appropriated arms from one of her brother’s GI Joe dolls. “Summer’s a cyborg.” Darcy had named her in tribute to Summer Glau, there wasn’t a parental lock that she hadn’t met and mastered as yet.
“Oh… em.” Truli eyed the rows of Barbies in wide-eyed amazement tinged with the first note of concern. “What happened to them? Why are some of them burnt?”
Darcy cocked her head to the side, honestly, wasn’t the answer obvious? “The apocalypse.” Seeing the continuing blank look on Truli’s face, she elaborated. “Germ and chemical warfare. Except for North America.” She held up perfect Summer. “The machines rose up and took over there.”
“Um… okay.” Truli looked around for help.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, the opening remarks are about to be read and then France and India are going to have a smack down regarding nuclear weapons. I’ve been practising my French all week in readiness.” Darcy gave Truli the sweetest smile in her repertoire; she’d been practising it in the mirror. “Between you and me, things don’t look good for India.”
“You… ah…” Truli paled, the mutilated Barbies were bad enough but when this kid smiled, shivers of panic had started to prick her alcohol haze. And those clear blue eyes, chilling. “An all-female Assembly… girl power, way to go.” Truli, weaving slightly on her high heels, gave a tentative fist bump to the air in solidarity.
Darcy just frowned at her in confusion. “Not really. Because of the chemical warfare any men still alive are kept in Government
run facilities having their sperm harvested.”
“Um…” Truli was at a loss for words. Once more she looked around for help.
“The ladies room is that way.” Darcy jerked a thumb towards her Great-Great-Aunt Gail’s house.
Drunk though she might have been, Truli saw an out and took it, stumbling away.
Darcy watched her go, shaking her head. Women like that would be the first to go when the apocalypse came.
Reaching up, Darcy absently tugged her wig more firmly into place. Her too quick mind having already dismissed the interruption and moving on to the definition of the word phase. It was a word her mother tended to use a lot around Darcy, but she wasn’t sure if her mother, brilliant scientist though she might be, actually understood what the word meant.
Phase; a defined period of time, a step or part of a process with a set, specific time frame.
Darcy often overheard her mother declaring to others that Darcy was just going through a phase. Her hair being the case in point. Eight months ago, Darcy had taken a look in the mirror and realised that she was not a girl meant to have shoulder-length mousey brown hair.
She was unsure precisely when and where the fault had occurred, probably something to do with her genetic pool, but it needed to be rectified.
Except her mother refused to let her cut, dye, or shave it. After weeks of loud arguments, followed by more weeks of silent protest on her part… that she had finally called a halt to, because her parents and brothers appeared to be enjoying the subsequent peace and quiet far too much, Darcy had sought out an alternative solution.
Finding it in a costume box at her Cousin Gigi’s house, a black wig belonging to a Snow White dress-up outfit. It was a little long for what she had in mind but her mother couldn’t complain since no dyeing, cutting or shaving had taken place. In fact, the first time she’d worn it, her mother had laughed.
That had been four months ago and Darcy only ever took the wig off now, much to her mother’s dismay, at night to sleep. She’d made a solemn vow to the Goddess above that the day she turned sixteen, the very first thing she would do was cut and colour her hair. In the meantime, she wore the wig… which was so not a phase, no matter what her mother said.
Abruptly Darcy turned her head to the left, examining intently the nearby dense thicket of shrubs and looming gum trees. “I know you’re there.” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly.” She raised her voice but not so much as to attract the attention of the adults milling around the patio, or her cousins in the distance playing a game of chase. “Either you need to improve your surveillance skills or pick a more oblivious target.”
A too thin, tall for his age boy stepped out from the shadows of the tree trunk he’d been hiding behind. Darcy took a moment to study him and despite her UN commitments found herself intrigued. She was anti-brother but not overtly anti-boy, especially if they proved themselves as interesting as this boy. This one had a reputation.
She could relate.
His was as the watcher, the loner, standoffish, snobbish… he was the mystery boy who was home-schooled. Darcy couldn’t conceive of not going to school every day, playing with her cousins, terrorising her teachers.
Supposedly the boy with the reputation was her cousin, but when she’d learnt he had two dads… well, that had called for a visit to the biology section of Nell’s bookcase. And as far as Darcy could work out, medical advancements aside, having two dads did not result in a baby… yet.
So she’d put her innate strengths to good use, and her ear to a door, and eavesdropped, learning that the boy was adopted. Such an exotic term, adopted. Sometimes, when her brothers were being particularly true to form, or whining to their parents about something she’d supposedly done (Hah, prove it, she always said) then she liked to pretend she was adopted.
Darcy continued to eye him, drinking in every detail. This boy was a conundrum. Despite not mixing on a day to day basis with the rest of the family she knew he attended every party, celebration, gathering and shindig. Every event that all the kids were invited to, he came along, but he always kept to the outer, to the shadows.
It was rather disappointing to note he wasn’t hideously scarred or deformed. Nor did he seem overly shy or scared, meeting her gaze with bold, dark violet eyes.
He might be thin but he wasn’t gawky or awkward, his skin pale and velvety looking with no blemishes. Like her he had on jeans, a t-shirt and runners. His hair was golden, and too long, the colour reminding her of a field of wheat as it danced on a slight breeze… except, it was really still today. What was up with the personal wind fan?
Darcy repressed a sigh, it would have been so much more… interesting, if he’d been a biological experiment gone wrong, except… maybe. “I don’t suppose you’re mute?” She couldn’t keep the tinge of hope out of her voice.
The boy had the temerity to smile, then laugh, showcasing the deep dimples on either side of his mouth… so very disappointing.
“No, I can speak.” He actually took two steps closer to her, then halted as if startled, looking around guiltily, for what Darcy was unsure.
“I won’t hurt you.” She promised, surprising even herself.
The boy scoffed a light laugh. “I doubt you could.”
Darcy frowned. “Oh, trust me; I could if I wanted to.”
The boy studied her intently for a moment and then relaxed, smiling. “I really think you mean that.”
Darcy shrugged. “I have issues,” she confided and then rolled her eyes. “Lots and lots of issues.”
The boy smiled again and then moved forward slowly, coming to a stop only a few feet away from her, crouching down in the shadow of the nearest tree, out of line of sight of the adults, Darcy noted curiously.
“I have issues too. I’m Declan by the way, Declan Benavidez.”
“Darcy… Montgomery.” She provided. “How old are you?”
“I’ll be nine in a few weeks.” He supplied readily.
Hmm, just a few months older than her. “How come you don’t go to school like the rest of us?”
“Issues. How come you get to go?”
Darcy nodded sagely, issues covered a lot of ground. “I think for supervision purposes mostly. They…” She tilted her head slightly in the direction of the adults. “… seem to get nervous if I spend too much time alone.” She scrunched up her face trying to remember. “Something about idle hands… the devil’s work.”
Declan nodded solemnly. “How come you’re playing by yourself today? Usually you’re out running with that lot.” He gestured towards the cousins laughing and screaming in one of the small farms outer lying empty paddocks.
“Time out. Besides, they usually don’t let me play too long with them anyway… too rough.”
“You do like to win.”
“Well, who enjoys losing? Hey, have you been watching me?”
Declan shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do?”
“You could come join in for a start, Doofus.”
Declan reared back slightly at her insult and then laughed. “You are very unique Darcy Montgomery.”
“I get that a lot.” Darcy shrugged off the compliment. “So why do you come along if all you can do is watch? Do your dads make you? Are they really strict?”
Declan laughed again, the sound carrying on the air, pure notes of joy. Abruptly he clapped a hand over his mouth, scrunching down even further into the shadows. “Sorry. Do you think anyone heard?”
Darcy looked around, the adults were too busy laughing, gossiping and catching up. She shook her head. “I think you’re good… you know you’re really weird, right?” There was no censure in her tone. “You’d fit right in at school, you should come.”
Declan’s violet eyes contemplated her intently. “I have a problem with… shielding. If I could just learn to shield… then maybe I could go to school, it sounds like fun.”
“You should work harder then, on the shielding thing. Or ask one of the relatives to magic you up one… a shiel
d I mean.”
“Er… I don’t think it works like that.” Declan shook his head sadly. “Shields are kind of esoteric and highly personal. I’ve been working on one for almost nine years now… no success.”
Darcy tucked the word esoteric away to look up later. It sounded like a good word to have in her vocab arsenal. A word to befuddle and bedazzle her friends, brothers and enemies alike.
For such a decidedly pretty boy, Declan was proving to be full of surprises which was kind of a novel thing for Darcy. People confused her, irritated and annoyed her, but they so rarely surprised her.
“Maybe you’re… internalising…” Hah, take that, she could use big words too. “…the idea of a shield too much. If protection is all you need why not invest in a bodyguard. Someone who can take the brunt of the threat or… I dunno, channel or deflect it somehow.”
“Channel…” Declan frowned prettily, obviously turning over the concept in his mind.
“Do you want to play?” Darcy had no idea why she asked that question. He was a boy after all, but she’d already sensed he was different from the norm. She didn’t think he would screw his nose up or make fun of her. She snatched up one of her Barbies, holding it out to him. “You can be the representative from South America. You speak Spanish, don’t you?”
“Yes, my Papa taught me.” Declan contemplated the South American Barbie delegate with her shorn hair, eye patch and the two replacement GI Joe arms. “I assume the genetic mutations are to help combat the threat of the North American cyborgs?”
Darcy grinned at him. It was nice to meet someone who she didn’t have to explain every last detail to. “They get in to a lot of fights about the border. A few months ago South America put in a moat full of boiling hot lava to try and keep the machines at bay.”
Declan looked intrigued. “How’s that working out for them?”
“After the French India smack-talk, they’re tabled for border discussions next.”