Wicked After Dark: 20 Steamy Paranormal Tales of Dragons, Vampires, Werewolves, Shifters, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More

by Mina Carter

  Raking a hand through my hair, I swiveled, lifting one foot and then the other as I removed my pointed toe full quill ostrich cowboy boots. They thudded as they hit the floor. I peeled off my socks next, tossing them aside somewhere in the general vicinity of where the boots had landed.

  I would replace them with my loose laced scuffed work boots tomorrow when I went out with Tony. It wasn’t that I disliked my fancier boots. I was a Texas boy after all. There was a time and a place for them along with a pressed pearl snapped western shirt, but I wore that kind of stuff mainly for show. In my off time I was an old, preferably sleeveless t-shirt, faded jeans and backwards ball cap kind of guy.

  Stepping to the floor, I unbuckled my belt and slid it from the loops of my jeans tossing it on the bar where the metal buckle clattered against the grey and white marble top. I snagged the Jose Cuervo bottle by the neck, tipping it back for a long fiery swallow, before shuffling to the bedroom bare feet on the smooth wood floor and my jeans riding low on my hips.

  The room was shadowy and dark but not so bad that I couldn’t make out the bed. Flipping on the lamp next to it I set the tequila on the nightstand for easy access. I drew my shirt over my head, swaying a bit as I lost my visual frame of reference. Weirdly, I also thought I heard a soft sigh over from the far corner.

  Tossing the shirt aside, I squinted one bleary eye and then the other in that direction before scanning the rest of the room warily. I even turned around in a complete circle until I was satisfied I’d imagined the sound, and that I was alone.

  I reached for the handle of my guitar case lifting it, setting it on the bed and clicking the latches open. I needed some music. Carefully withdrawing my solid Sitka spruce topped Martin acoustic; I held it in one hand while I drew back the comforter with the other. I climbed into the bed and leaned back against the upholstered headboard.

  Guitar in my lap, I adjusted the tuning and began to strum the melody I’d been humming. I got more and more relaxed the longer I played. When I remembered the tequila and brought it to my lips, I discovered that the bottle was already empty. “Dammit.” A crease formed between my brows. I really didn’t remember drinking the rest.

  I slid off the bed and laid my guitar carefully back in the case. Obviously, I was more overdue for some sleep than I thought. I’d skip the shower for tonight. I unbuttoned and stepped out of my jeans leaving them on the floor beside the bed.

  The temperature in the room suddenly dropped. Had the air conditioner just kicked on?

  I turned my head slowly searching for the vent and caught a glimpse of movement by the window. But when I focused in that direction, I realized that what I had seen was just the long gauzy curtain fluttering.

  I chuckled low.

  Stupid, Blade. So jumpy the air conditioner has you spooked.

  But as I got back into bed, switched off the lamp and covered myself with the comforter, my skin prickled with a strange awareness. Maybe I wasn’t imagining things after all.

  I was certain there was someone, or something, in that room with me.

  *****

  “I love you, man.” I had one arm draped around the sweet thing I’d picked up at The Muses and the other around Tony. My legs weren’t working so well after our night out. My head lolled back on my new friend’s shoulder as he and the woman helped me up the interior staircase. I didn’t remember there being so many steps the day before. “Just met you yesterday, but it’s true dat.”

  “Yeah you say that now.” Tony propped my drunk ass against the door frame while he opened the apartment door and then shuffled me in. “But you’ll be cursing me in the morning when you have that pounding headache and remember all the crazy shit you told me.”

  “It’s my own fault,” I offered immediately, magnanimously. But it was the damn truth. He deposited me on the couch in the living room. Its tightly upholstered taupe leather didn’t even sag beneath my weight. The sweet thing dropped down next to me. “Seriously,” I slurred, tilting my head up to him, “I appreciate it.”

  “Alright.” I think he grinned but my focus wasn’t so good. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me when you’re sober if you still want my brother and the guys to come over to jam.”

  The sweet thing snuggled up closer rubbing her hand over my chest as soon as the door closed. I squeezed her booty. It felt good under my hand. I was glad she was with me. I didn’t want to be by myself again tonight. But though I squinted I couldn’t make out her features very well. The tidal wave of booze was pulling me under. I think she was pretty, but hell it didn’t really matter.

  I tried to stand swaying on my feet, the living room walls spinning insanely. “Baby, come here.” I crooked my fingers. “Help me get off my pants.”

  She started in on my belt and I faded in and out of lucidity, but got real focused once she dropped to her knees and got going. I wrapped her hair around my hand and helped her go faster. I watched her head bobbing up and down and I could feel my release getting closer.

  “William?” She stopped suddenly and dropped back on her rear. “The air conditioning’s too cold on my neck. I don’t feel so good.”

  “Neither do I,” I admitted. When a woman you barely know with your dick in her hands calls you by the name only your wife ever used, that’s a real ender right there. Somehow I managed to bend over without falling down, got my jeans up, and my belt semi-refastened.

  I ran a shaky hand through my hair and caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the shiny window pane behind the couch. I looked like shit. Hair sticking up. Eyes wild.

  I was a sad sorry ass drunk piece of shit.

  As I was processing the situation at the speed of too many shots of whiskey slow, I reached into my pocket. I was certain of one thing. I was done for the night. I was going to call the sweet thing a cab.

  When I lifted my chin, I caught one of those elusive glimpses of movement that I’d ignored the previous night. Chill bumps appeared on my skin. Faster than a cold shower my mind went instantly alert.

  There she was. See through and flickering. The granddaughter’s ghost.

  Her face in the glass was hauntingly beautiful and somehow seemed strangely right reflected alongside mine. She was standing only a couple of paces behind me, not close enough to touch me, but definitely close enough that I felt the cold she generated. I guess that’s what the sweet thing had noticed.

  I wondered how long she had been standing there.

  Watching.

  Chapter 14

  A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it. - Jean de La Fontaine

  Billy

  I knew that face. I could never forget those eyes, deep and soulful, though they didn’t have quite the same impact in grainy grey as they had in the vision. Then their vibrant violet hue had been inspiringly beautiful. And that time she had definitely been alive. But how could that be when she had died ten years ago?

  I spun around afraid she would disappear once I broke the connection we had in the glass. My fears were justified. The spot behind me was empty now. But I knew I hadn’t imagined her. The space where she had been standing was noticeably colder than the rest of the room, and a faint lemony scent lingered. Not the artificial cleaner type that a truck sprayed down Royal Street this morning. The freshly sliced wedge type. Sweet and crisp like a spring morning.

  I usually wanted the ghosts I saw to go the hell away. And fast. But this time I really wanted to bring one back.

  Once the taxi took the sweet thing away, who incidentally turned out to be much more sour than sweet without my beer googled haze, I ran back up the stairs and pulled a chair into position so I could keep an eye on the window and the spot where I’d last seen my pretty ghost girl, hoping she’d reappear.

  She was a total mystery. I knew only the few things Tony had told me about her. I had more questions than answers.

  What was her name?

  What had really happened to her?

  And why could I see her when I hadn’t played a s
ingle note on my harmonica?

  I tried to stay awake hoping her reappearance might provide some answers, but too much touring, too much booze and too much tired overcame my resolve.

  A blaring car alarm startled me instantly awake. Or had it been an icy caress on my arm? I opened my eyes, rubbed my arm and immediately glanced about.

  Still no sign of her.

  Out the window daybreak was turning the dark outside to grey.

  Then I noticed it. A blanket on my lap. As drunk as I’d been, I knew for damn sure that I hadn’t put it there.

  After I talked myself down and got my heart rate back to a normal pace, I didn’t waste time searching for her anymore. That icy touch had been a parting gesture. If what I had experienced with my harmonica held true, she wouldn’t be back anytime soon. My ghosts never appeared during daylight hours.

  I showered, shaved and dropped my wet towel on the bathroom floor. My chain and the rings were cold against my skin and bounced on my chest as I moved to the bedroom. I slid on a pair of boxer briefs and jeans before pulling a clean t-shirt out of the drawer.

  Needing caffeine I wandered into the kitchen. The modern stainless steel appliances were nice but I didn’t plan to use them. I opened and closed the cabinets locating what I needed. Making coffee was about the extent of my culinary ability. Though I was pretty talented with the grill and enjoyed cooking steaks and burgers the few times life on the road afforded me the chance.

  After sucking down a mugful, I slid onto a barstool, rested my face in one hand and placed my cell on the countertop in front of me. I clicked the center button checking the time once more.

  8:38 a.m.

  Surely, Tony was awake already.

  “Hello,” he answered in a sleepy voice.

  Or maybe not.

  “Hey, it’s Billy…Blade.”

  “Yeah. Everything alright?” I heard sheets rustling in the background and a woman’s voice asking who was on the phone.

  Shit.

  “I’m sorry, man.” I remembered him telling me he was married and had two young girls that weren’t sleeping well through the night. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call back later. It can wait.”

  “Nah, it’s ok. I’m awake now, podna. My alarm was going to go off in ten minutes anyway. What’s on your mind?”

  Violet eyes. A pretty delicate face. A musical voice with a faint French accent that I had heard once before back in San Francisco when I received that Bacchus doubloon.

  I wanted him to tell me everything about her. But now that I had him on the phone, I didn’t know how to segue into interrogating him about some long dead girl. He’d decide I was crazy for sure.

  He’d probably be right.

  I remembered all the shit I’d told him last night, when all of the alcohol had lubricated my tongue. I’d pretty much spilled my whole life story. Outside Arla and my family, he was the only one who now knew about my marriage. About the argument. And the accident that had taken away everything that had mattered to me.

  Ok. And that bit about me and the ghosts.

  I should probably get him over here first before I started getting into it. Ask him the things I wanted to know in person so I could gauge his reaction. I felt like I could trust him but I didn’t need the tabloids running more crazy stories about me than they already did. And so he couldn’t just hang up on me before I’d learned everything he knew about her.

  “I just wanted to call and firm up our plans for later,” I lied.

  “Alright...” He drew out the one word reply as if he didn’t believe me. I was a shit liar. “I’ll call my brother after a while. See if Maxwell and Jamal still wanna come, too. I could bring a couple of po-boys from Cochon Butcher.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll grab some beer.”

  “You think that’s wise after last night? You sound like hell. You get any sleep?”

  “Some.” Barely.

  “LaWanda that good, huh?” Hmpf. Sounded like his wife elbowed him in the ribs.

  “I wouldn’t know. I sent her home in a cab. It’s a long story.” A depressingly sad one. Too drunk and then too disinterested to seal the deal. “I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

  Chapter 15

  Music the fiercest grief can charm. - Alexander Pope

  Billy

  The sun had set hours before, the bold strokes of red and orange long overtaken by a curtain of black. But outside in the Quarter, and inside the living room of my rental, the party was just hitting its stride. The beer was flowing and the music grooving, the walls practically trembling with exhaustion from the force of Jamal’s bass.

  “For a white guy, you’ve got some soul,” Maxwell said lifting his bottle of Abita Amber in the air as if saluting my unexpected musical prowess.

  “Yeah, he’s not too bad on the guitar but we’ve yet to hear him play that famous mouth harp of his.”

  Uh-oh. I’d enjoyed fooling around on some old blues stuff with the guys but I didn’t dare get out my harmonica. Sure, I wanted to see her again. My ghost girl. She was definitely here. She had been for a while. The hairs on the back of my neck had been crawling since the sun went down. But I didn’t want to call up any of the others and I didn’t really want her to materialize with everyone else still around. I felt unexpectedly proprietary where she was concerned.

  “Not tonight, Max.” I lifted my brew by the neck and took a long swig. “My lips are still chapped from the plane. But I’d like to do this again the next time you guys are free. Feels real good to play just for the pure enjoyment of it, with no agenda or label deadlines. Reminds me why I got into music in the first place.”

  “I’m definitely in.” Nico nodded. He was older, with a more angular face, but there could be no mistake that he and Tony were brothers. He emptied the spit valve on his trumpet. “I’ve got some time Tuesday afternoon. My ex has the kids then.”

  “Tuesday works for me, too.” Jamal tipped his bottle all the way back, finishing it off and pushing his Coke bottle glasses back up on a face that I’m sure his mother loved.

  “Hey, don’t leave me out.” Maxwell the self-proclaimed lady killer in the group flashed an easy going smile.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear.” Tony wandered back in from the kitchen with another po-boy in his hands. “I’d like to come, too. I’ve been jotting down some of the ad lib stuff you’ve been doing. I think it’s pretty good.” He eyed me a beat. “The guys are always looking to incorporate new riffs into their club jam sessions. You ok with that, Billy?

  “Feel free.” I shrugged. “After all, it’s your crew that inspired it. Made me think about a project that’s been rattling around in my brain for a while. I’ve been wanting to remix some of my older country tunes, dialing up the blues using an all-acoustic set. What do you think? Any interest in working with me on something like that?”

  I swung my gaze around the circle. These guys didn’t feel like strangers anymore. More like musical family. We’d totally meshed. Nico’s popping trumpet, Jamal’s funky bass and Maxwell’s magical fingers on the keyboard, with me holding my own on the six string.

  “Hell yeah, I’m interested.” Nico clicked the latch on his case and extended a hand. “It’s a deal, podna.” The other guys enthusiastically followed his lead.

  “What about your band?” Tony’s brow creased. “Won’t they get mad?”

  “No the Billy the Blade Band is strictly a live proposition. I use studio musicians for my recordings. The only true creative collaborating I do is on lyrics with my manager Arla Gautreaux.”

  “It’s settled then.” Nico picked up his case and clapped me on the back. “Tuesday it is. I’ll see you at little Macy’s recital,” he told his brother heading out the door.

  While Jamal and Maxwell were occupied putting their instruments away I took Tony aside. “Can you hold back for a few minutes? I wanna ask you about some things.”

  “Sure. I’m just gonna grab another beer. You want one?”

  “No, I’m good.�
�� And I meant it. I felt as close to good as I had been since the accident. Since receiving the news that had ripped a hole so wide in me that I was afraid it would never close.

  I liked it here, though. Really liked it. The first couple of times I’d come through New Orleans on tour had been superficial experiences. On stage. Hotels. A few groupies. Then gone.

  But this time I’d completely immersed myself in the culture. In just two days I was hooked. The music. The food. And already friends to hang with. My wandering soul felt like it had found its place to rest. I could see myself healing here.

  A fresh bottle in his hand, Tony reemerged from the kitchen just as Maxwell and Jamal went out the front door. “What’s up?” he ventured.

  I gave him a careful look. “You might want to sit down for this.” I gestured to the couch. He took a seat on it and I grabbed the curved back of the botanical print chair I’d been sitting in when we’d been playing earlier. I pulled in a breath. “It’s about that girl you said used to live here.”

  “You mean Thyme Bellerose?”

  I savored the sound of each syllable as they took purchase somewhere deep inside of me, stirring to life something I thought I’d never feel again. “Unique name.”

  “She was one of a kind. Her mother named her after the wild version of the herb that grows around here. It has a violet blossom that matched the color of her eyes. Said it used to be given to knights to enhance their courage before they went out into battle. From what I gathered, her mom had a fanciful way of thinking. So did Thyme for that matter. Always had her nose in some book reading some classic story or collection of poetry. Kept copies of Ivanhoe and Chaucer under the register. Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Frost in the kitchen.”

  I scooted back in my chair, trying not to appear too interested when the opposite was true. I was soaking it all up like a sponge. “Did you know her pretty well?”