Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “If he doesn’t like her—”

  “I think he likes both of us, and that’s why he doesn’t know what to do.”

  I drum my fingernails on the counter. “Are they both helping tonight?”

  “I know for sure he is.”

  “I’ll talk to Paula and explain things to her,” I offer.

  “Thanks, Crystal. She won’t answer my calls.”

  As soon as I hang up, the phone rings. Vince.

  “You can’t wait a couple of hours to talk to me?” I tease.

  “Guess not. I’m a glutton for punishment.”

  I giggle. “I’m punishment?”

  “Yeah.”

  Something isn’t right. His heart doesn’t seem to be in his banter. Of course that’s the case. Tomorrow’s the memorial service.

  “I need a distraction,” he says, as if reading my thoughts.

  “Come over.” My heart pounds in my chest, and I make up my mind about something I’ve been debating for a while now. “We can look at that letter.”

  He whistles. “You sure you’re ready? You can’t unread it once it’s read.”

  “How profound!” I tease. “I’m sure.”

  We hang up, and I dial Paula.

  “Hi, Crystal, I know you what you’re going to say—”

  “Really? Because I’m not sure myself. All I know is that—”

  “It’s silly to lose friendship over a guy. Brianna, Sean, and I have been friends for years now. A silly crush shouldn’t ruin that. Either one day he’ll realize he likes me or he won’t. I’m not going to sit around and wait for him. I’m done crying. I asked Ned to go to prom with me as a friend.”

  “Good for you! What if Sean wakes up between now and then?”

  “I’m sure Ned will let him have a few dances.”

  I grin. Paula never sounded more sure of herself than she does right now. “That’s great.”

  “It was such a relief when I decided all this. Like a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. I’m not sure if I like Sean, or if I like who I am around him, but who says I can’t still be that girl even if Sean and I aren’t together? That’s why I asked Ned.”

  “Just pray they don’t serve french fries.”

  She giggles. “I already told him there will be no green bean stuffing in the mouth.”

  “Oh, man. Can you just imagine it? The guys in suits, looking all fancy, and shoving food into their mouths?”

  “I can. That’s why I told him not to already!”

  We burst out laughing.

  The doorbell rings.

  “I have to get going. Are you still planning on helping decorate tonight?” I ask.

  “Of course. See ya then.”

  After I hang up, I run to the door and open it, a huge smile on my face. “Let me get the letter.” I put my finger to my lips. “Mom’s sleeping, so we’ll read it on the porch.”

  Vince nods, and I turn to go when he touches my arm. “That’s not how you greet your boyfriend.”

  I wiggle free from his grasp, throw him a wink, and hurry up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky second step. I grab the letter and my parent’s picture from my nightstand.

  We sit on the top porch step. He wraps his arm around me, and I lay my head on his shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

  “In a minute.” Regardless of what the letter contains, I’m glad I’m sharing this with Vince. I’ll let the letter’s contents decide for me whether or not to tell him about the circumstances of my birth. If my father mentioned the witches, it’ll be a sign I should tell him.

  My hands shaking a little, I unfold the letter. It takes a moment for the swimming lines and squiggles to form into letters and words. I’ve only read the heading—Dear Daughter—when I realize Vince is looking across the street.

  “You can read over my shoulder.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “You read it first. Then I’ll read it.”

  How sweet. I smile and give him a quick kiss. After readjusting so we can cuddle again, I read:

  Dear Daughter,

  We haven’t decided on a name yet. I want Crystal, but your mom likes Marie. I think Marie’s too common of a name for our miracle girl, because that’s what you are—a miracle.

  I’ve been sick for a while now. I had cancer. My doctor said he cured it, but something else is wrong with me. I’ve been having troubling nightmares, and I have this awful feeling that I won’t be around to see you grow up. It kills me a little inside. It’s also why I’m writing you this letter. Hopefully Dr. Jenkins will never have to give it to you, that I’m just being paranoid… I would leave it in your mom’s care, but she’s convinced I’ll be fine. I’m not so sure.

  On the nights I don’t have nightmares, I dream about you. You’re going to be a beauty. You look so like your mother in my dreams. Even if I’m not alive when you’re born, I’ll still be there. I’ll always be watching over you, caring about you, loving you. You and your mom give my life meaning. Without the two of you, I would be nothing.

  Here I am, getting all sentimental. Maybe I should just start over. Just know that whatever you set your mind to can and will happen. You have the power to change the world, my baby girl, so use that power wisely.

  Love, Dad

  P.S. It felt great to write that. Dad.

  P.P.S. I love you.

  I reread the letter several times. Only the last two lines suggest he might have known something, but even that isn’t concrete.

  A sense of peace that I haven’t felt in a long while settles over me. I pass the letter to Vince and wipe my face dry from the few tears that had fallen.

  After a moment, Vince hands it back. “He loved you very much.”

  “I wish I could have known him.” I trace the outline of his face on the picture.

  “He was right about two things. You are beautiful, and you do look like your mom.” He juts his chin toward the picture.

  “Vince…”

  “Yeah?”

  Screw waiting for a sign. “I wasn’t a miracle baby. My birth mom—”

  The door opens, and I turn around to see Mom pop her head out. “There you are. I had no idea where you were.” She yawns.

  “Still tired?” I shake my head. Why couldn’t she have slept for five more minutes?

  “You need to leave notes for me when you leave.”

  I hold out my hands to show the porch. “I never left.”

  “Still. Hello, Vince.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Miller. We didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Come on in, you two.”

  I tuck the picture and the letter in my pocket, and we follow her inside.

  Mom closes the door behind us. “Have you decided what color dress you want to get?”

  My heart is still racing from the foiled attempt to come clean with Vince, so I’m slow to figure out what she’s referring to. “Dress?”

  “For prom.”

  Vince groans and collapses onto the couch. “Clothes. I have nothing to say.”

  I cross my arms and sit down next to him. “You need to know what color my dress is.”

  “Why?”

  “So we can match. And for getting me flowers.”

  “I have to get you flowers? Geez, what else?”

  “A limo ride,” Mom supplies.

  “A limo? What do I look like, a million bucks?”

  “Definitely not.” I cover my mouth to conceal my grin.

  He looks down at his T-shirt and jeans. “Next you’ll be wanting me to take dancing lessons.”

  “My toes would appreciate that.”

  With a sigh, he rolls his eyes. “You’re killing me.”

  Immediately, the atmosphere in the room turns gloomy at his poor word choice.

  Vince blanches and jumps up. “Gotta run to the pizza joint. Mom and Dad ordered pies for everyone. I’ll come back to grab you, and we can head over.” He leaves in a rush.

  I slump over, my hands on my knees. Why didn’t he
ask for me to come with?

  “He’s still not completely over Tommy’s death,” Mom remarks.

  Is the memorial service doing more harm than good? The thought further depresses me. “Do you ever completely get over someone dying?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Wonder if that’s the case even if you don’t personally know the person.

  What a depressing topic. I clear my throat. “Is that why you haven’t gone out with Officer Wallace?”

  “We’ve gone out.”

  “You did? Why didn’t you tell me?” I pat the now vacant seat beside me.

  Mom sits next to me. “Two nights ago. It didn’t go well. Neither of us knew what to say, and it was so awkward. What did I expect? Getting back into the dating game at my age…”

  “Right, because you’re so old.”

  “The entire time I thought about your dad.” Guilt’s written on her features, in her rigid posture.

  “Wouldn’t he want you to be happy?” I lay my head on her shoulder like I used to do when I was younger.

  “I am happy. I don’t need a man in my life to be happy. All I need is you. My daughter.” She kisses my forehead then leans back and eyes me. “Red would be good. A deep, ruby red. Or green or blue.”

  I grin. “I should wear only gemstone colors, is that what you’re saying? Ruby, emerald, or sapphire?”

  “With your coloring, yes.”

  “If Vince were still here, he would have made a crack about my name.” I laugh.

  “Do you like your name?”

  I hadn’t really thought about it until reading Dad’s letter. “Yes. It suits me.”

  “Your mom was dead set on calling you Marie.”

  I wince. Everyone’s making poor word choices tonight. “So my dad wanted me to be called Crystal?”

  “No, dear. The witches did.”

  My face falls, and I pat the letter through my jeans. “But—”

  “I never knew what name your dad wanted to call you, but Silver Tiger herself told me the child had to be named Crystal.”

  “Why?”

  “She never said.”

  Another question for the witches—what significance does my name hold? “My dad never knew anything about the witches, did he?”

  “I don’t think so, honey. Your mom wanted to protect him.”

  Could it be a coincidence that he wanted to name me Crystal too? I’ve never been one to believe in coincidences…

  Chapter 28

  MOM PUTS ON the movie I picked out. Not too long into it, I glance at my watch. Vince should have been back by now. We need to start decorating.

  Lugging the heavy box of supplies downstairs isn’t fun, but I manage and place it on the front porch. For a long moment, I look down the road, but his car doesn’t make an appearance.

  “Crystal?” Mom’s voice faintly floats to me from inside the house. “Brianna’s on the phone. She wants to know where you are.”

  “Be right there.” I hurry to the kitchen and take the phone. “Vince hasn’t swung by to pick me up.”

  “Everyone else is here except for you two and the decorations. Want me to come get you?”

  I bite my lip. “Sure. Vince has my cell number. Mom can tell him you picked me up.”

  Five calls to Vince’s cell all go to straight to voicemail in the three minutes it takes for Brianna’s car to screech to a halt in front of the house. She helps me shove the box into the backseat.

  I climb in and wring my hands. Something doesn’t feel right. Nerves or something more? “Think we can swing by the pizza place?”

  “You two are joined at the hip, aren’t ya?” Bri laughs and slams her foot on the gas, and her tires squeal in protest.

  “It’s a wonder this thing doesn’t need new brakes already,” I mutter as I quickly buckle up.

  She laughs again. Her window’s down, and her long hair billows in the car-created breeze. “Live a little!”

  “Pay attention to the road.”

  Bri glances over. “You’re that worried about him? He’s probably talking with Gavin. He just started working there, I think.”

  Hopefully she’s right, but the knot of worry in my stomach tells me something’s wrong. Very wrong.

  And Mom told me to trust my instincts.

  Bri eases on the brakes.

  “Drive faster,” I complain.

  She sighs. “I just can’t win with you. Make up your mind, girl!”

  It feels like forever until we reach the pizza place. I open the door before the car’s in park, and I fall onto the pavement. Only Gavin is inside, no customers, no other workers. The hairs on my arm stand up.

  “Has Vince come here?” I ask even though I’m certain I already know the answer.

  Gavin shakes his head. “Nope. Vince was supposed to pick up his order twenty minutes ago. They might be getting cold.” He nods to the pizzas to my right.

  “Great.” My fingers are like ice. My magic’s simmering. I force myself to calm down, and my fingers warm a little.

  “What’s wrong?” The easy-going tone in his voice takes on a sharper edge.

  The bell on the door jingles as Bri enters. “Hey, Gavin. This our pizza?”

  He nods again. “Yep. Already paid for. “

  She grabs them. “No signs of Vince?”

  “No.” I cross my arms, almost hugging myself.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll head to the fire department. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out the decorations, and if it’s not perfect, no one will know. You go look for Vince. Maybe his car broke down.”

  I try to smile. “Thanks, Bri.”

  Gavin walks around the counter and holds the door open for her. Bri leaves. Even she isn’t smiling.

  “What’s going on, Crystal?” he asks, his voice low and full of sympathy.

  “Vince left my place a half hour ago to pick up the pizzas.”

  “He never made it here.”

  My stomach bottoms out, and my vision blurs as I sink to the floor. Despite my shut eyelids, I see Vince. His fright floods through me, vivid and real. All I can feel is his pain. After a moment, I gather enough sense to look around, but try as I might, I can’t see where he is.

  “Hold still,” a familiar voice says.

  Someone binds Vince, gagging him, trapping him.

  My eyes fly open.

  “Are you all right, Crystal?” Gavin kneels beside me, his hand on my forehead. “You’re all flush.”

  “I’m fine.” I brush him away and stand wobbly, my knees shaking.

  His eyebrows disappear beneath his blond hair. “Be right back.” He disappears into the back and returns with keys in hand. “I’ll leave early. The place closes in a half hour anyhow.”

  Questions burn in his eyes, and my begrudging respect for him grows when he doesn’t ask them.

  We leave the pizza joint. I speed-walk along the path Vince would have driven to get there even though a voice in the back of my mind whispers that Brianna and I had already driven it and didn’t see him. Another call to his cell goes to voicemail.

  “Do you have a plan?” Gavin asks quietly.

  I almost forgot he was there. Good thing I haven’t taken to the sky to fly around! Then again, he already saw me fly…

  “Did you ever find out anything about Stormtide?” I ask desperately.

  “Does he have Vince?”

  I nod miserably, still hearing Stormtide demand Vince hold still. At least an ex-shaman has him, not a shaman or a witch.

  “Actually, I did find an entry about him earlier today. An Amethyst Wolf stripped Stormtide of his magic after he cursed a land.”

  I furrow my brow. “Why would he curse a land? I thought shamans were supposed to protect land, and that’s why they did rain dances.”

  “I don’t know. But he doesn’t have magic, so that’s a good thing.”

  Maybe the witch who stripped him has to be the one to restore it. Gavin’s dad faced Amethyst
Wolf, but he didn’t kill her, and he knows of Stormtide. Are they working together?

  But why Vince?

  I stumble over the uneven pavement. “Me.” I gasp. “They took Vince because of me. They’re using him as bait.”

  Chapter 29

  “THEY WHO?” GAVIN’S blue eyes darken, his eyebrows furrowed.

  I shake my head. Unless I have proof that his father’s involved with the kidnapping, there’s no reason to mention my suspicions to him.

  “Where are you going?” He has to jog to keep up with my swift, magical pace.

  “We have to find him!”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No.” Exasperation bleeds through that singular terrible word.

  Gavin grabs my arm and force me to stop. “We need a plan.”

  “Do you have one?” I snap.

  He sighs and releases me. “Do you want me to help or not?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just so worried. If he gets hurt…” My voice is barely a whisper.

  There isn’t a trace of I-told-you-so in his voice or facial expression, but his earlier advice echoes in my ears.

  Can I will Vince here? Doubt I’m not strong enough for that. I should’ve practiced more or left with him to get the pizzas. Never should’ve talked to the ex-shaman in the first place.

  “We need more information.” He rubs his chin.

  Berating myself isn’t going to accomplish anything. I can’t risk falling apart.

  “How?” I ask.

  Gavin stares off into the distance. We’re in the middle of our sleepy town. No one is around. Although it’s dark out, I’m not afraid. At least not for myself.

  He glances at me sideways. “We need someone who can scry.”

  “Can you?” I ask hopefully.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” He had a premonition dream. Maybe he’s a witch but doesn’t realize it yet or doesn’t want to accept it. God knows how long it took me to believe that I’m magic.

  “Can you?” he counters. “You practice magic. I’ve seen you fly.”

  “I’ve never tried to scry before.”