Darlings of Paranormal Romance (Anthology)

by Chrissy Peebles

  They finally reached their destination, an alleyway unlike any other he had seen. It was clean and devoid of any refuse as though the alleyway did not belong to the city. Shaking his head out of his fanciful thoughts Simon frowned in distaste. Dottie was waiting for him in front of what seemed like a ship’s bulkhead on the side of the red brick building. At the sight of Simon’s frown, Dottie frowned as well.

  “Don’t think I can’t make faces at you just because you’re so much older than I am. I’m your little sister and you must, at least, humour me.”

  “Oh heaven forbid!”

  Dottie laughed before rapping her knuckles on the metal door. A while later, the door opened, its hinges screeching like nails on a slate. Both she and Simon winced before a woman with different colours of silk flowing all over her svelte body presented herself.

  “Madame Merta?” Dottie’s voice was soft and inquiring.

  “Who asks?”

  The woman’s voice held Simon spellbound. It flowed over him like silk. She turned to look at him, her eyes lighting up in a flash of recognition before it disappeared. Simon had an overwhelming sense of being on the edge of an unknown about to be discovered.

  “You are here to have your fortune told?” she asked him.

  Before he could reply, his sister spoke.

  “No. I’m the one who requested it. I’m Dorothy Lowe.” Dottie answered her. “My brother is my chaperon.”

  She nodded then turned her attention to Simon. She continued to look at him for a little longer before she spoke. “Come.”

  The narrow hallway was a welcome respite from the heat outside. Simon breathed an audible sigh of relief at the coolness that swept down his sweating back. Soon enough, the cold and damp of the hallway began to reach his busted knee, causing it to ache. With his first breath of cool air, he smelled incense, a sweet scent that he couldn’t quite get a finger on. All incense was the same to him. Cloying, cloudy, misty. His jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth. This was the last time he was going to yield to his younger sister’s whims. He took out his pocket watch and noted that it was just past the hour. After taking Dottie home, he would surprise his mistress. She would calm him down. Just the thought of Priscilla and the paradise found between her thighs made his manhood stand in attention.

  They entered a room ablaze with candles and more incense. Simon took out his linen kerchief and covered his nose. He became the cynosure of a set of deep kohl lined eyes that looked as though they were mocking him. He bristled. There was no hint of emotion on Madame Merta’s face, but her eyes expressed everything that she could have said. His initial attraction for the woman disappeared.

  “Sit,” she said as she went around the oblong table covered in purple and red damask. The room was draped in dark coloured muslin and brocade that Simon found it even harder to breathe.

  “You’ll get used to it,” she said in a wry tone. “Now sit, both of you.”

  Simon looked around almost wanting to use his kerchief to wipe the chair. Dottie, on the other hand, eagerly sat on the stool in front of Madame Merta while the fortune teller began shuffling the tarot cards.

  “Does your brother consider your station much higher than mine?” Madame Merta asked no one in particular as she continued to shuffle the cards.

  “Simon,” Dottie hissed, two blotches of red appearing on her cheeks. She turned to Madame Merta. “He has always been difficult. Please excuse him.”

  “As you wish.” Madame Merta said.

  She shuffled the deck one more time before asking Dottie to choose her cards. She placed it in the shape of a cross and began telling Dottie what to expect in her life. Simon’s thoughts drifted to more delightful pursuits of the flesh, of round globes of delectable creamy skin topped with dusky nipples that came to life under his tongue, and of the paradise found further down south. He thought of Priscilla’s dark brown hair with reddish glints that cascaded like a curtain down her back and partially covered her front as a token gesture of propriety. It amused him to no end that her hair had vainly tried to cover such pleasures. All he had to do was gently wrap her hair around his fist before he took her.

  But his thoughts soon morphed into something else, something that surprised him. His mistress’ sultry eyes and voluptuous body melted into another body with curves that he wanted to touch, to allow his palms to skim over what he knew without a doubt would be skin as smooth as satin. The woman’s body glowed as though she spent a lot of time outdoors. She wore unusual clothes that hugged her curves particularly her tight derriere, something like men’s breeches that reached her knees allowing Simon a glimpse of finely shaped calves. Her feet were encased in shoes that seemed to be made of rubber. But what got Simon’s attention was that her upper body was nearly bare save for the material that covered and hugged her breasts. Simon had the urge to feel those breasts in his palms, to graze her buds with his fingers, to lick them until she moaned for more. It made Simon’s cock rock hard, harder than even thinking of Priscilla could ever do. He saw himself taking her from behind, gripping her hips, squeezing her buttocks as he rammed into her sweet velvet heat. Just the thought had him tenting his linen trousers that were mercifully hidden by the fortune-teller’s table. He hadn’t realized that he had grunted until Dottie slapped his arm with a lace kerchief.

  “Are you not feel well, Simon? You look flushed.” Dottie said. “Perhaps you should get some air.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, keeping a straight face despite the discomfort caused by the heaviness in his balls. “Carry on.”

  “We are finished.” Madame Merta said in a voice as smooth as glass. “I shall now tell your fortune Mr Lowe.”

  “That isn’t necessary.” Simon stopped her raising his hand up. “I only came to indulge my sister and as a favour to our mother.”

  “Simon,” his sister reproved.

  “And I didn’t mean any offense,” he added.

  Madame Merta smiled. She kept her eyes down while she shuffled the tarot cards so Simon couldn’t see what she was thinking. Swiftly, she laid the cards out in a spread of three. She opened the first card.

  “The Fool.” Madame Merta said.

  Dottie giggled and looked down under her brother’s glare.

  The fortune-teller continued, her face unreadable. “There is someone who wants a deeper relationship but you don’t believe in it.” She looked up and Simon felt as though she had bored a hole into his very soul. Any thought he had, any secret was bared for her scrutiny. “A mistress, perhaps?”

  Simon felt himself redden underneath his collar. He refused to address Dottie’s incredulous look.

  Madam Merta opened the second card.

  “The World,” she continued. “You will meet someone while you’re away.”

  “Away?” Dottie asked, bewildered. “But my brother has just come back from South Africa. Surely not?”

  Madame Merta’s eyes pinned Dottie to her seat, but her smile carried warmth.

  “My dear,” she started. “I can only tell you what the cards tell me. Always remember you can change whatever destiny Fate accords you.”

  Then she flipped the last card.

  “The Lovers.”

  “Now this I have to hear,” Dottie’s mouth slowly curled into a mischievous grin.

  Simon had enough. “We better go.”

  “But we were just getting to the best part.” Dottie whined.

  “Now, Dorothy.” Simon pierced her with a look that brooked no argument.

  Reluctantly, Dottie stood up as well, opening her purse for Madame Merta’s fee. She handed the note to the fortune teller.

  “Thank you,” she said with an apologetic smile.

  Madame Merta returned her smile with understanding.

  “You are welcome,” she said, before setting her gaze on Simon.

  “And for Simon’s reading?” Dottie fished for more money inside her reticule.

  “There is no charge.” Madam Merta spared Simon a glance. “Consider it a gift
to your brother.”

  Simon’s mouth thinned. The woman had some nerve messing about his affairs. He stood up, glad that the tent inside his trousers was gone.

  “Remember what I said.” Madame Merta said. “You can always change the destiny Fate gives you.”

  * * *

  Madame Merta watched brother and sister leave, her eyes trained on Simon’s back. There was no point asking his name because she already knew him. With a sigh, her shoulders slumped; her arms leaned heavily on the table as if seeking support. Her face revealed how tired she was, as though she was the female version of Atlas. She turned another card open, but this time, she took a moment. Her hand shook, as if some invisible force didn’t want her to see the card’s face. Flipping the card, she let it land on the table in the middle of Simon’s open spread.

  Death.

  The howl of a strong wind filled the room whipping everything about her. Transforming into a tornado, it tore at the curtains, the silks, the table, the tarot deck. It whipped around the fortune teller who sat transfixed, allowing the wind to take her, letting it surround her in a swirl of silk and wood. Round and round the twister went, frenzied and angry, the shriek filling the small space until suddenly, it stopped.

  Everything, including Madame Merta was gone. There was no sign of the room having been used save for the four cards of Simon’s spread.

  * * *

  The afternoon heat greeted them as soon as they were out of the cool confines of the building. Dottie whirled around and swatted Simon’s arm.

  “Ow! What the bloody hell was that for?” Simon asked, chagrined.

  “How could you do this, Simon? How could you be so rude?” Dottie cried, fuming. “What did Madam Merta ever do to you?”

  “Madame Merta is just an example of the kind of people who fleece you of your money, Dottie. You make your destiny. You don’t need a deck of cards to tell you.”

  “It’s my money, Simon. Neither Papa nor Mama made you my guardian.”

  “But they made me your babysitter,” he muttered as he brushed off an imaginary piece of lint on the lapel of his coat.

  Dottie sighed, shaking her head. “What happened to you? You used to be so much fun. You would have even gone with me to have my fortune taken without having to literally drag you through the streets. You were never even half as rude before. Oh pardon me. You were never rude at all!”

  “I grew up Dottie,” he said. “More than I can say for you.”

  Dottie gasped, her hand covering her mouth. Hurt flashed in her green eyes as tears threatened to spill its banks before she ran ahead of him.

  “Dottie,” Simon called out, mentally kicking himself. It wasn’t Dottie’s fault that he was, what she had aptly described as an old man at thirty-five. He chased her as quickly as he could, cursing his knee for slowing him down. “Dottie! I’m sorry!”

  His sister refused to acknowledge him and continued to cross the road. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the horse drawn tram barrelling through the tracks at break neck speed. The blare of the tram’s horn stopped Dottie in mid-stride.

  “Dorothy!” Simon shouted. He let go of his cane, grimacing at the pain that seared his knee as he ran towards his sister. Screams and shouts filled Simon’s ears but he didn’t pay heed to them. He had to get his sister out of the way.

  “You’re safe Dottie,” he said under his breath as he pushed her away in time from the oncoming behemoth.

  Then silence.

  Chapter Three

  Squeals of delight and the chatter of the multitude greeted Juliana, Joanna and her husband Eric. They parked the car just outside the gates of the Park and made their way to the entrance of the fair called the Garden of Delights. A smile lifted the sides of Juliana’s mouth when she saw men, women, and children in medieval costumes mixed with twenty-first century garb of jeans, t-shirts and trainers. Court jesters and their hats with bells pranced about those that entered the attraction. Food stalls encircled a man-made lagoon. There was a stage a little way off where a band played. Families watched while their children ran around them mischievously whirling like dervishes. There was a nip in the air and the smell of apple, spice and cinnamon carried its way towards Juliana. She inhaled deeply, finding peace in the scent.

  “Are you happy you came?”

  She turned to Joanna who had spoken. She smiled. “Yes, I am.”

  A sudden feeling of guilt crept into her heart as soon as a sliver of excitement made itself known down her spine. Juliana tamped down the guilty feeling refusing to fall prey to its destructiveness. Joanna was right. Five years of merely existing was too much. She straightened her shoulders, giving in to the day’s pleasures.

  “I’m going to grab a bite to eat,” Eric said.

  Juliana saw that Joanna also wanted to go. The two were inseparable just like she and Brody were.

  “Go with him, Jo,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Jo looked at her with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

  Juliana gave her a hug. “I’m sure. I have to move on, right?

  Jo smiled, pleased. “That’s my girl. We’ll be back.”

  “Take your time. I’ll walk around.” Juliana’s gaze drank in the various vibrant colours and her heart lifted. “I didn’t realise I had missed so much.”

  “All right. Call if we can’t find each other.” Joanna said before they parted ways.

  Juliana walked idly taking in the festive atmosphere. She breathed in the cool autumn air, basking in contentment for the first time in five years. She lined up for ice cream in one of the stalls before she continued walking until she found a grove. It was surrounded by tall shrubs giving anyone inside it privacy from prying eyes or from the madding crowd.

  Popping the end of her cone in her mouth, she wiped her hands on the seat of her jeans as she entered the gap. The moment she did, all noise disappeared. The absence of sound deafened her that she had to open her mouth wide, hoping to pop the vacuum in her ears but nothing happened. She should have been disconcerted but for some reason she found comfort in it. As soon as the thought entered her mind all sound returned. She could hear the muffled sounds from the fair. She could have returned but something calming enveloped her. A gentle breeze lifted a few wisps of her long brown hair, kissing her cheeks like a sigh. Four stone seats sat around the curvature of the grove and Juliana chose the seat to her left. It felt surprisingly warm and soft under her bum. She was musing over the strangeness of her surroundings when she saw someone enter the grove and her breath caught in her throat.

  He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. The breeze gently ruffled his sun bleached hair. His wide forehead was puckered into a frown as though contemplating something deep. A five o’clock shadow covered his angular face. Juliana wondered how it would feel like if that same jaw nuzzled against her skin, the thought almost making her moan with sexual need that had lain dormant for so long. His broad shoulders and chest moved as he breathed through his slightly patrician nose. His chiselled cheeks slanted down to a wide mouth and Juliana became warm at the thought of having that same mouth on her lips, her neck, on her breasts. She gasped at the carnal thoughts that came unbidden, her sex suddenly throbbing at the same time her heart pulsed.

  And in all that time, Brody hadn’t entered her mind.

  She turned away from the stranger sitting opposite her as guilt once again pricked her conscience. From her peripheral vision Juliana saw that he had noticed her.

  “Hello,” his deep timbre brought a thrumming inside her that sent delicious tingles running down her spine.

  She turned to him and became caught in the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen. Surprise flashed in those depths before his eyes became unreadable.

  “Hi,” Juliana said.

  “Have you been here long?”

  Juliana shook her head. “I could say the same for you.”

  He chuckled in derision. “I’ve been here for such a long time I don’t even know what day it is.”


  “Okay,” Juliana drew out in a long breath. Although he was handsome, this was one person she’d rather not have a conversation with especially when he seemed weird. How could he say that when he had just entered the grove? Her lips turned up slightly. The only good thing that came out of this was that the stranger helped her to stop thinking of Brody too much.

  “What day is it?” he asked.

  “Wednesday.”

  “The date?”

  Juliana found herself replying. “The twenty-ninth of October.”

  “Year?”

  “Sorry?” She asked in bafflement.

  Juliana hesitated.

  “Go on woman! The year!”

  Juliana stood up. “I’m not going to put up with an arrogant bastard such as you.”

  “I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he said in a rush suddenly remorseful. “Please. I need to know the year.”

  Agitation and desperation flashed across the strangers face. His eyes became haunted. They pleaded with her. For some reason, Juliana didn’t have the heart to refuse him.

  “Twenty thirteen.”

  The moment she mentioned the year, the stranger’s face fell. He groaned as he covered his face with his hands. Belatedly, Juliana realized that he wasn’t dressed in jeans nor was he in medieval costume. His slightly rumpled cream linen suit looked more like a throwback from Victorian times. When he stood up to pace the length of the grove, Juliana noticed that he favoured his left leg.

  “You’re not from here,” she stated.

  He shook his head. “Not exactly.”

  The tension in his body was palpable. He stopped pacing and braced his legs apart as he raked his hand through his hair. Juliana was sure that underneath his three piece suit, he was all muscle without an extra ounce of flesh.