Garden of Dreams and Desires

Home > Paranormal > Garden of Dreams and Desires > Page 33
Garden of Dreams and Desires Page 33

by Kristen Painter


  A lone worker bee, though, could take three steps back, gather himself, and sail right past the flimsy lath barrier. The fall would be studded and scarred by clutching fingers of steel and cement, and the landing would be sharp.

  If he was singularly unlucky he’d end up a Twisted, crippled monstrosity, or even just a half-Twisted unable to use glamour—or any other bit of sidhe chantment—without it warping him further. Shuffling out an existence cringing from both mortal and sidhe, and you couldn’t keep a mortal job if you had feathers instead of hair, or half your face made of wood, or no glamour to hide the oddities sidhe blood could bring to the surface.

  Daisy would have been clutching at his arm, her fear lending a smoky tang to her salt-sweet mortal scent. She hated heights.

  The thought of his dead wife sent a sharp, familiar bolt of pain through his chest. Her hair would have caught fire today; it was cold but bright, thin almost-spring sunshine making every shadow a knife edge. He leaned forward a little more, his arms spreading slightly, the wind a hungry lover’s hand. A cold edge of caress. Just a little closer. Just a little further.

  It might hurt enough to make you forget.

  “Gallow, what the hell?” Clyde bellowed.

  Jeremiah stepped back, half turned on one rubber-padded heel. The boots were thick-soled, caked with the detritus of a hundred build sites. Probably dust on there from places both mortal and not-so-mortal, he’d worn them since before his marriage. Short black hair and pale green eyes, a face that could be any anonymous construction worker’s. Not young, not old, not distinctive at all, what little skill he had with glamour pressed into service to make him look like just every other mortal guy with a physical job and a liking for beer every now and again.

  His arms tingled; he knew the markings were moving on his skin, under the long sleeves. “Thought I saw something.” A way out. But only if he was sure it would be an escape, not a fresh snare.

  Being Half just made you too damn durable.

  “Like what, a pigeon? Millions of those around.” The bullet-headed foreman folded his beefy arms. He was already red and perspiring, though the temperature hadn’t settled above forty degrees all week.

  Last summer had been mild-chill, fall icy, winter hard, and spring was late this year. Maybe the Queen hadn’t opened the Gates yet.

  Summer. The shiver—half loathing, half something else—that went through Jeremiah must have shown. Clyde took a half-step sideways, reaching up to push his hard hat further back on his sweat-shaven pate. He had a magnificent broad white mustache, and the mouth under it turned into a thin line as he dropped his hands loosely to his sides.

  Easy, there. Jeremiah might have laughed. Still, you could never tell who on a jobsite might have a temper. Best to be safe around heavy machinery, crowbars, nail guns, and the like.

  “A seagull.” Gallow deliberately hunched his shoulders, pulled the rage and pain back inside his skin. “Maybe a hawk. Or something. You want my apple pie?” If Clyde had a weakness, it was sugar-drenched, overprocessed pastry. Just like a brughnie, actually.

  Another shiver roiled through him, but he kept it inside. Don’t think on the sidhe. You know it puts you in a mood.

  Clyde perked up a little. “If you don’t want it. How come you bring ’em if you don’t want ’em?”

  Insurance. Always bring something to barter with. Jeremiah dug in his lunchbag. He’d almost forgotten he’d crumpled most of the brown paper in his fist. Daisy always sent him to work with a carefully packed lunch, but the collection of retro metal boxes she’d found at Goodwill and Salvation Army were all gone now. If he hadn’t thrown them away he had stamped on them, crushing each piece with the same boots he was wearing now. “Habit. Put ’em in the bag each time.”

  She’d done sandwiches too, varying to keep them interesting. Turkey. Chicken. Good old PBJ, two of them to keep him fueled. Hard-boiled eggs with a twist of salt in waxed paper, carefully quartered apples bathed in lemon juice to keep them from browning, home-baked goodies. Banana bread, muffins, she’d even gone through a sushi phase once until he’d let it slip that he didn’t prefer raw fish.

  I just thought, you’re so smart and all. Ain’t sushi what smart people eat? And her laugh at his baffled look. She often made little comments like that, as if… well, she never knew of the sidhe, but she considered him a creature from a different planet just the same.

  “Oh.” Clyde took the Hostess apple pie, his entire face brightening. “Just don’t stand too near that edge, Gallow. You fall off and I’ll have L&I all over me.”

  “Not gonna.” It was hard taking the next few steps away from the edge. His heels landed solidly, and the wind stopped keening across rebar and concrete. Or at least, the sound retreated. “Haven’t yet.”

  “Always a first time. Hey, me and Panko are going out for beers after. You wanna?” The waxed wrapper tore open, and Clyde took a huge mouthful of sugar that only faintly resembled the original apple.

  “Sure.” It was Friday, the start of a long weekend. If he went home he was only going to eat another TV dinner, or nothing at all, and sit staring at the fist-sized hole in the television screen, in his messy living room.

  Ridiculous. Why did they call it that? Nobody did any living in there.

  “Okay.” Clyde gave him another odd look, and Jeremiah had a sudden vision of smashing his fist into the old man’s face. The crunch of bone, the gush of blood, the satisfaction of a short sharp action. The foreman wasn’t even a sidhe, to require an exchange of names beforehand.

  I’m mortal now. Best to remember it. Besides, the foreman wasn’t to blame for anything. Guiltless as only a mortal could be.

  “Better get back to work,” Jeremiah said instead, and tossed his crumpled lunchbag into the cut-down trash barrel hulking near the lift. “Gotta earn those beers.”

  Clyde had his mouth full, and Jeremiah was glad. If the man said another word, he wasn’t sure he could restrain himself. There was no good reason for the rage, except the fact that he’d been brought back from the brink, and reminded he was only a simulacrum of a mortal man.

  Again.

  ALSO BY KRISTEN PAINTER

  HOUSE OF COMARRÉ

  Blood Rights

  Flesh and Blood

  Bad Blood

  Out for Blood

  Last Blood

  Forbidden Blood (e-only novella)

  CRESCENT CITY

  House of the Rising Sun

  City of Eternal Night

  Garden of Dreams and Desires

  Praise for HOUSE OF COMARRÉ

  “Painter scores with this one. Passion and murder, vampires and courtesans—original and un-put-downable. Do yourself a favor and read this one.”

  —Patricia Briggs, New York Times bestselling author

  “Gripping, gritty, and imaginative. If you love dangerous males, kick-ass females, and unexpected twists, this is the series for you! Kristen Painter’s engaging voice, smart writing, and bold, explosive plot blew me away. Prepare to lose some sleep!”

  —Larissa Ione, New York Times bestselling author

  “Kristen Painter’s Blood Rights is dark and rich with layer after delicious layer. This spellbinding series will have you begging for more!”

  —Gena Showalter, New York Times bestselling author

  “Prophecy, curses, and devilish machination combine for a spellbinding debut of dark romance and pulse-pounding adventure.”

  —Library Journal (Starred Review)

  “Kristen Painter brings a sultry new voice to the vampire genre, one that beckons with quiet passion and intrigue.”

  —L. A. Banks, New York Times bestselling author

  “A world full of rich potential. Excellent!”

  —P. C. Cast, New York Times bestselling author

  “Exciting and interesting!”

  —RT Book Reviews on Bad Blood

  “The romance is tense and fresh… I highly recommend this if you enjoy fantasy and want an original take on vam
pires.”

  —USA Today’s Happy Ever After on Blood Rights

  Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Orbit.

  To get news about the latest Science Fiction and Fantasy titles from Orbit, along with special offers and exclusive content, sign up for the Orbit newsletter.

  Sign Up

  Or visit us at www.orbitbooks.net/booklink/

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Welcome

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Acknowledgments

  Extras

  Meet the Author

  A Preview of Blood Rights

  A Preview of Trailer Park Fae

  Also by Kristen Painter

  Praise for House of Comarré

  Orbit Newsletter

  Copyright

  Copyright

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2015 by Kristen Painter

  Excerpt from Blood Rights copyright © 2011 by Kristen Painter

  Excerpt from Trailer Park Fae copyright © 2015 by Lilith Saintcrow

  Cover design by Lauren Panepinto

  Cover illustration by Mélanie Delon

  Cover © 2015 Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Orbit

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

  orbitbooks.net

  orbitshortfiction.com

  First ebook edition: April 2015

  Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Orbit name and logo are trademarks of Little, Brown Book Group Limited.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  ISBN 978-0-316-27834-8

  E3

 

 

 


‹ Prev