by Leah Silver
Table of Contents
Your boyfriend’s a pansy
Two vampires walk into a bar…
Yeti piss, and other drinks
A plague upon my house
Death by pen with a plume
Let the games begin
How to win a gunfight with a knife, and other hunting secrets
Sunshine, roses, and ridding the garden of moles
That mole’s got sharp teeth
Too much shit, not enough crap bags
Sparklers shouldn’t play with knives
The Baddies
Rock hard and ready to play
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t
Caught in a shit storm without an umbrella
Throwing sand in the seer’s eyes
How to properly toast a twatwaffle
Nothing hurts quite like compromise
Dancing in the dark
Dirty words and heavy breathing
About the Author
Coven of Magic
The Demon Hunter Trilogy
Leah Silver
Copyright © 2017 by Leah Silver
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
1. Your boyfriend’s a pansy
2. Two vampires walk into a bar…
3. Yeti piss, and other drinks
4. A plague upon my house
5. Death by pen with a plume
6. Let the games begin
7. How to win a gunfight with a knife, and other hunting secrets
8. Sunshine, roses, and ridding the garden of moles
9. That mole’s got sharp teeth
10. Too much shit, not enough crap bags
11. Sparklers shouldn’t play with knives
12. The Baddies
13. Rock hard and ready to play
14. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t
15. Caught in a shit storm without an umbrella
16. Throwing sand in the seer’s eyes
17. How to properly toast a twatwaffle
18. Nothing hurts quite like compromise
19. Dancing in the dark
20. Dirty words and heavy breathing
About the Author
Your boyfriend’s a pansy
Long ago, I was human. But the centuries have faded that part of my life to little more than a feeling, at least until something familiar brought it back. Sometimes, it was the smell of hay, a burning fire on the hearth, or the aloe I added to the soap I made for my husband to shave his face, and I was transported back to my little thatched hutch I shared with my baby girl.
I was little more than a girl myself when she was born. It wasn’t uncommon for those considered children nowadays to be married off—sold, basically. I was lucky. My husband was twice my age, but he was kind. He was taken by consumption when Sara, our daughter, was only five. Old enough to be heartbroken by his death, but too young to understand what happened, and why he was snatched away from her.
I sheltered her. Maybe that was a mistake. But I refused to sell her off the way I was, like she was my property. If my husband had lived, he wouldn’t have let me get away with that. He would’ve said it wasn’t practical, we weren’t doing her any favors, or she needed to take her place in this world. All complete hogwash in my opinion.
She was a beauty, though. And every man in our village was after her. A few even offered me more than my home was worth. I would’ve been set for life—well, a human life, anyway. And so would she.
But she was too young. Only fifteen. Many of the women said I was a fool. One said to my face that by the time I felt she was ready, she’d be old and wrinkled.
“Like me?” I’d accused.
The woman’s lips became a fine line, and she held her hurtful words behind them. Barely.
I hadn’t been much older than thirty at the time. Little did I know I would never age past that point.
When a young man caught Sara’s eye, I let it go on longer than I should’ve. She seemed happy, and that was what I wanted. For her to explore, learn who she was without pressure. I was a successful seamstress, supporting us easily. Let her grow up a bit, I thought.
They all said if she didn’t find her place, it would ruin her. I knew I couldn’t support her forever, but what was one more year? She had her whole life to contribute, as the villagers liked to say.
One night, near the end of winter, I woke up suddenly out of a dead sleep. My blood ran cold and my heart raced, but I had no memory of the dream that made me sit straight up in bed.
Our home was small, everything we needed in a single room. I shared a bed with Sara, but she wasn’t there. In fact, her side was cold, as if she hadn’t been there for quite some time.
“Sara?” I cried out, louder than I really should’ve, considering that all logic told me I was just reacting to some alternate reality my mind had concocted.
When she didn’t answer, I threw the covers back and padded to the front door, grabbing a candle and lighting it as I went. I’d always been close to Sara, but something had changed. I could feel her—feel her pain, her fear. And that drove my feet forward.
I hadn’t thought to put shoes on, but I didn’t feel the cold ground beneath my feet. All I could feel was the slowing of my daughter’s heartbeat. The way the fear was fading, I knew I was losing her.
As the feeling grew stronger, I could tell I was getting close. I recognized the home I stood outside. It was nicer than my own. Bigger. Closer to the castle walls. It belonged to Dean, the young man she’d shown interest in. But what was she doing there in the middle of the night? And why was she in danger? Was he in danger, too?
After I opened the front gate, I cautiously walked to the door, deciding not to knock. I didn’t want to alert any attacker to my presence. It occurred to me I didn’t have a weapon, save for my candlestick, but it was a problem I couldn’t solve at the moment, so I pushed it out of my head.
Quickly, I blew the candle out, so I would draw as little attention to myself as possible, but I gripped the silver holder hard, hoping it would at least catch someone by surprise. Strangely, it was one of the more valuable things I owned. It had been a gift from my parents when I was married. It had even been dropped, enough times that it was bent out of shape, and I’d cut myself on a ragged edge more than once. As I gripped it, I hoped the old heirloom would save my daughter’s life.
Before I came in the house, I noticed a light burning upstairs, so I headed there first. The landing area was dark and quiet, telling me that whatever was going on was in that singularly lit room.
It had better not be that boy hurting my only daughter or I’d jam that heirloom so far up his ass light would shine out of his mouth. I silently climbed the stairs, my pulse quickening, and I felt Sara’s die down to nothing more than a murmur.
In that moment, nothing made me question this new connection between us. I simply followed it, clung to it, to the only thing telling me she was still alive.
As quietly as I could, I pushed forward, stepping lightly on the landing. One of the boards let out a creak, as if warning whoever was inside the room of my presence. Betrayer, I cursed at it under my breath.
But the room was dark. In fact, the hall was dark. The only light I could see was a slim line coming from the room in the middle of the hall
, one that faced the road. The light I’d seen when I walked through the gate.
I sucked in a breath, willing it to give me the strength I needed to bear whatever was on the other side. What I saw wasn’t something my human mind could comprehend.
Black candles with dark purple flames were lit all around. Roses surrounded the bed. Sara was lying in the center of it, her long brown hair spilling over the pillows. Her eyes were closed, and her hands were folded over her chest. She wore a dress I’d made for her. I’d spent weeks on it, carefully stitching the embroidery. It was much too fancy for anything we would go to, but a pretty girl deserved a pretty dress. At least, that was what I told her. She was so delighted to try it on, and had said it would be perfect for her next outing with Dean. I didn’t dare protest and ruin the moment. It was her dress, after all. Let her use it how she wanted.
She’d put it on immediately and twirled, the skirt flowing out perfectly, as if she’d stepped out of some magical dream. The soft green fabric had cost me a fortune, but it matched her eyes, and they sparkled while she spun, letting me know it was worth the sacrifice.
But I hadn’t seen her wearing it that night. We’d both been in our nightgowns, ready to sleep. I’d blown out the candle, kissed her on the forehead, and we’d said goodnight, just like we had every other night for the last ten years. Nothing was amiss. How had she gotten here?
Her skin was ashen. When I dashed to her side, I noticed two small holes in the side of her neck, near her shoulder. Tiny droplets of blood beaded near them. Otherwise, the wounds were clean. Slowly her chest rose and fell, giving me the slightest bit of hope.
“Sara. My love. Can you hear me?” I asked as I brushed a stray hair away from her face. Her skin was cold against my shaky hand. I jumped when I heard the door close.
“Good evening, Merry,” a deep, calm male voice said from behind me.
“Dean. You’re okay. What happened?” I demanded without taking my eyes from my daughter.
It was the last mistake I would make as a human.
I flinched at the sharp pinch on my neck, trying to swat at it, but strong hands held my arms tight. My neck started to burn, and I held back a scream. Panic never did me any favors.
Dean shuddered as if he were overwhelmed with pleasure, and I wanted to recoil, but his hands were like irons, holding me tightly in place. He’d come upon me so quickly I hadn’t even moved away from Sara. I was glad her eyes were closed. Looking at her ashen face, I wondered if I would join her soon.
But no, she wasn’t dead—and neither was I.
Dean pulled back and licked his lips. “My, my. You girls are keeping me full tonight. I think I might save the rest of you for later.
He was acting almost delirious, or drunk? When he released me, I whirled on him before I could think better of it, catching him across the cheek with the candlestick holder.
Honestly, I didn’t think I hit him that hard, but the most bloodcurdling scream I’d ever heard came out of him. It shattered the windows around us, and I fell over Sara trying to protect her.
Shooting a scathing look at him over my shoulder, I bit out, “Honey, your boyfriend is a bit of a pansy. You may want to rethink your relationship.”
He covered the wound on his face with one hand, the worst sort of evil pouring out of his eyes along with his tears.
“Yes, you definitely do want to rethink,” I murmured as I glared back at him.
“You’ll pay for that.” He stood and stumbled toward me.
“I don’t think you’re in any kind of shape to be threatening me, Dean.” I stood and walked around him, drawing him away from Sara, ignoring the burning sensation that had spread down my arm and through my shoulder blade.
He faced me, his eyes a deep red color. They hadn’t always been like that, had they? My mind fogged over, and I struggled to clear it as I faced the demon in front of me.
There had been talk in the village of nightwalkers, but I didn’t believe it. It wasn’t anything but stories to keep children in line. Werewolves, faeries who stole babies, witches—all of it was nonsense. I remembered one woman in particular approaching Sara after she started hanging around Dean. She’d actually given Sara quite a scare. Taken her by both arms and even shaken her, as if she’d been trying to shake some sense into my daughter. Stay away from him, she’d pleaded. He’s a demon. But Sara, blinded by her fierce young love, not only ignored her, but became offended.
“How dare you?” she’d said with the indignation only a teenager could deliver, and jerked away from the woman. She’d glared at her before walking away. I looked at her hard, knowing this woman wholeheartedly believed the things she was telling my daughter. But why? What had he done to poor Agatha?
I’d been quiet the whole walk home that evening, until Sara pushed me. “Momma, you don’t really believe that crazy old woman, do you?”
“First of all, she isn’t that old. Not much older than me, in fact. But no. I don’t believe Dean is a demon. I do know she was only looking out for you. That was plain. My question is why? What made her think Dean is such a threat?”
“Nothing, Momma. She’s crazy. Travelers say every village has one crazy person. Agatha is ours.”
I’d frowned, but stayed quiet as we went home. It was only a week later when I found myself in Dean’s home facing off with him, the annoying realization that our village crazy lady was right smacking me in the face rather unpleasantly. That made the rest of us the crazy ones who danced with demons after the sun went down.
He lunged at me, but missed in his drunken state, and I gave him another swipe with the candlestick holder. Bugger must’ve been sharper than I thought, because Dean let out another absolutely pathetic wail.
“If you keep that up, you’ll have the whole neighborhood descending on your house. Pull yourself together, man.” I had no idea why I cautioned him, except I was disgusted by his weak behavior.
He stood up, as if he were going to come after me again, and I knew I needed to end it. The burning was getting hard to ignore.
“If you attack me again, I will end you.”
He laughed at my threat. “A human end a vampire? I don’t think so.” His smile was the epitome of villain, and despite its somewhat extreme and comical nature, I still shivered.
Despite what I’d seen, my mind completely passed over the fact that he’d declared himself a vampire as he lunged once more. I let him hit me this time. I fell back, landing flat on my back as he perched on my hips, failing to pin my arms. He wore a smug grin, leaning in close.
“Checkmate, my dear.”
“No, I believe that’s check for you. I still have one move left.” In one swift motion, I swept the candlestick holder across his throat. Black liquid spilled from his neck as he made a burbling sound and collapsed on top of me. I wanted to gag, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction.
Perfect, I thought. Just freaking peachy. Now this demon thing is going to die on top of me, and I’ll be trapped for eternity.
The black liquid was slippery. It made it tough to get out from under him, but I managed. The burning spread from my shoulder all through my back, part of my chest, and my entire arm by that point. We needed help.
As I struggled to Sara’s side, the commotion coming from Dean died down. I glanced over at him. He was crumbling to ash before my very eyes. Was this even real?
“What in the world did we eat last night to make us dream something so wild?” I asked Sara as I found the strength to lift her. “Come on, baby. We’re going to get you some help.”
Her skin was cold, her breathing shallow and intermittent, but I soldiered on, as any mother would. Giving up on her wasn’t something I could fathom.
Step by step, I carried her down the stairs and out into the dark night. Agatha lived on the outskirts of town, as far away from us as she could possibly be. After all, it would’ve been way too convenient to have the village crazy lady living next door to the vampire.
Silently, I cursed the univ
erse as I carried my daughter in my arms through the town, waffling wildly between hoping someone would see us, and hoping they wouldn’t. How would I even begin to explain what had happened? I was covered in that black crap that came out of Dean, feeling a bit feverish, and carrying my dying daughter. With fears of the plague going around, they probably wouldn’t come close even if someone saw me carrying her. In fact, they’d be a lot more likely to throw burning torches at us. To be honest, they weren’t the most compassionate bunch.
By some miracle, after what my human mind was certain was an absolute eternity, we made it to Agatha’s home. Sara didn’t appear to be getting worse, but she certainly wasn’t improving, either.
I kicked the door hard, and Agatha answered faster than I expected her to given the late hour.
She wasn’t surprised, frightened, or any of the normal reactions I would’ve expected. She hesitated to let us in only for a moment before sighing and stepping aside.
“I warned you this would happen.”
“Accusing the man courting her of being a demon, like some kind of crazed loon, and telling me this would happen are two very different things, Agatha.”
She looked at me with unflinching eyes. “So if I’d come out and said he was a vampire who wanted to drain your daughter, you’d have thought that was a completely sane thing to say?”
I blinked. “That’s beside the… You know what, can you help us or not?”
“You, no. Her, that depends on your definition of help.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, the panic I’d so successfully quelled a few hours ago rising in the back of my throat again, knocking on my ribcage with every beat of my pounding heart.
She looked at me with that blank blink again. “Did I stutter?”