PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF
Gena Showalter
“Combining passion, humor, pulse-pounding action, and just plain fun, Gena Showalter’s books are always a refreshing escape! . . . Gena Showalter knows how to keep readers glued to the pages and smiling the whole time.”
—Lara Adrian, New York Times bestselling author
“One of the premier authors of paranormal romance.”
—Kresley Cole, New York Times bestselling author
“The versatile Showalter… once again shows that she can blend humor and poignancy while keeping readers entertained from start to finish.”
—Booklist
“Showalter is a master of creating unique, fun, and super-sexy characters.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Sizzling romance and nail-biting suspense… . Will please a wide cross section of readers.”
—Booklist
“Gena Showalter is a rising star in paranormal romance. I can’t wait to see what she writes next.”
—The Romance Reader
“Gena always writes with such a fluid ease… . This book is guaranteed to keep the reader interested and excited.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Ms. Showalter continues to deliver an engaging, sexy, action-packed paranormal romance with enough humor and angst to appeal to all readers.”
—Smexy Books
“Perfectly delectable characters and a plot that keeps you guessing all the way to the end.”
—Examiner.com
PRAISE FOR
Mysteria Lane
“Fabulous paranormal tales of things that go bump in the night.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“This super quartet of talent brings an off-kilter and humorous viewpoint to magic, romance, and daily life. Much fun.”
—RT Book Reviews
Mysteria
“Splitting the difference between Desperate Housewives and The X-Files, this paranormal romance brings magic and monsters to the steamy suburbs in four satisfying novellas about the town of Mysteria. There’s magic, heat, and lots of laughs.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Charming, funny, and quite offbeat, this collection highlights the vast talents of these authors. The perfect escape read!”
—RT Book Reviews
“Four enchanting paranormal romantic novellas.”
—Midwest Book Review
“This [anthology] has all of the elements that I just love to read about. I had such fun reading this book. I really didn’t want these stories to end. I loved the town of Mysteria and hope these authors see fit to visit the townspeople… again!”
—The Best Reviews
“Desperate Housewives meets Charmed, this collection of novellas is as varied in its content as the authors who’ve written them. From sweet and passionate to dark and sexy, the werewolves, vampires, demons, witches, fairies, and humans of Mysteria are as engaging and fun as they are diverse and compelling.”
—Fresh Fiction
Berkley Sensation titles by Gena Showalter
MAGIC AT MIDNIGHT
Anthologies
MYSTERIA
(with P. C. Cast, MaryJanice Davidson, and Susan Grant)
MYSTERIA LANE
(with P. C. Cast, MaryJanice Davidson, and Susan Grant)
MYSTERIA NIGHTS
(with P. C. Cast, MaryJanice Davidson, and Susan Grant)
Magic at Midnight
GENA SHOWALTER
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
MAGIC AT MIDNIGHT
“The Witches of Mysteria and the Dead Who Love Them” by Gena Showalter copyright © 2006 by Gena Showalter.
“A Tawdry Affair” by Gena Showalter copyright © 2008 by Gena Showalter.
Cover images by Shutterstock. Cover design by Jason Gill.
Interior text design by Kristen del Rosario.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
BERKLEY® SENSATION and the B design are registered trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PUBLISHING HISTORY
“The Witches of Mysteria and the Dead Who Love Them” previously published in Mysteria / July 2006
“A Tawdry Affair” previously published in Mysteria Lane / October 2008
“The Witches of Mysteria and the Dead Who Love Them” and “A Tawdry Affair” previously published in Mysteria Nights / July 2011
Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / February 2013
Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition ISBN: 978-0-425-26538-3
eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-61931-5
An application to register this book for cataloging has been submitted to the Library of Congress.
•CONTENTS•
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction
The Witches of Mysteria and the Dead Who Love Them
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
A Tawdry Affair
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
•INTRODUCTION•
Once upon a time in a land closer than anyone might be comfortable with, a demon high lord was sent to destroy a small, starving (and, let’s face it, weird) band of settlers who were fleeing the last town they’d tried to settle in (a place eventually known as Kansas City, Missouri, the Show Me State, which did indeed show them tar and feathers and the road west). The group was composed of magical misfits and outcasts: a bloodaphobic vampire, a black-magic witch and her white-magic husband, a pack of amorous (translation: hump-happy) werewolves, and a man named John, who had gotten confused and joined the wrong wagon train. When the demon spied this ragged, rejected bunch,
he (for a reason known only to himself but which had to do with uncontrollable random acts of kindness) decided not just to spare them but to create a magical haven for them.
And so, nestled in a beautiful valley in the Rocky Mountains, the town of Mysteria was founded. Over the years, it became a refuge for creatures of the night and those unwanted by traditional society. No one—or thing—was turned away. Magic thrived, aphrodisiacs laced the pollen, and fairy tales came true.
The first settlers eventually died (those that weren’t already dead or undead, that is), but they left pieces of themselves behind. The vampire invented a powerful blood-appetite suppressant for any other vampires with a fear of blood. The witch and the warlock created a wishing well—a wishing well that swirled and churned with both white and black magic, a dangerous combination. The hump-happy werewolves left the essence of perpetual springtime and love (translation: they peed all around the boundary of the city, so that everyone—or thing—that entered or left Mysteria was, well, marked). John, the only nonmagical being in the group, left his confused but mundane genes, founding a family that would ultimately spawn more humans of nonmagical abilities who remained in Mysteria because finding their way out was just too much like geometry.
Each of the settlers thought, as their spirits floated to the heavens—all right, some of them went straight to hell, the naughty sinners—that their best contribution to the fantastical town of Mysteria was a happily-ever-after for their descendants. If only they could have known the events that would one day unfold…
The Witches of Mysteria and the Dead Who Love Them
To those of us who probably should live in Mysteria: P. C. Cast, Susan Grant, and MaryJanice Davidson. And to Christine Zika for a wonderful experience.
•One•
MEN suck,” Genevieve Tawdry muttered, “and not in a good way.”
She was tired, so very tired, of Hunter Knight’s hot and cold treatment of her. He was making her crazy, laughing with her flirtatiously one moment (translation: stringing her along without giving her any actual benefits, the bastard), then dropping her altogether the next moment, then laughing flirtatiously with her again.
She wasn’t going to tolerate it anymore.
Unfortunately, lovesick witch that she was, Genevieve didn’t have the strength to shove him from her life—which meant she would have to up her game. But how? Truly, she’d tried everything. Spells and incantations. “Accidental” meetings where she happened to be braless. “Accidentally” ramming her car into the back end of his Ford Explorer. Or the latest, an incident that happened only last night, “accidentally” tripping and falling into his lap at a mutual friend’s wedding.
Nothing worked.
Last night had been a “cold” night. Hunter had taken one look at her in her brand-new white silk dress (no, she hadn’t been the bride and yes, the bride had been pissed that she’d dared to wear the “sacred” color) and he hadn’t been able to get away from her fast enough. She sighed.
What would it take to make herself irresistible to him? To hold his attention for as long as she desired it? To at last put an end to the heart-pounding tension that always sparked between them when they were together? Whatever was needed, she’d do it. Anything. Everything.
“I’m seriously a stalker.” Frowning, she tapped her fingers against the desk surface.
Moonlight spilled through the window in front of her, mingling with the soft glow of lamplight, illuminating the unread book in front of her. Incense burned beside her, the scent of jasmine curling sweetly and fragrancing the air.
She sat in the office of the three-bedroom home, aka den of iniquity, she shared with her two sisters, hunched over the desk, dark strands of hair falling over her shoulders. Behind her, the TV emitted a crunch, crunch sound, as if someone on-screen was enjoying a tasty snack. A family of squirrels raced around her feet—her oldest sister’s newest save-the-world-one-animal-at-a-time “project.”
I don’t want to be Hunter’s stalker. I want to be his lover.
Over the years, he had become the bane of her existence, the mountain she’d tried to climb (naked) but couldn’t quite manage to conquer. But damn it. He liked her; she knew he did. Last night, before he’d run away from her, she would have sworn he’d had an erection and had been desperate to get to her, not away. Desperate to touch her. Desperate to taste her.
Heat had blazed in his emerald eyes, scorching, white-hot. Enough to blister. He’d reached for her, his fingers caressing her with phantom strokes, before he dropped his arm to his side. He’d licked his lips and taken a step toward her before catching himself and striding away.
Why, why, why did he continually do crap like that?
If not for moments like those, she might have given up long ago and forced herself to forget him. Yet, he’d beaten John Foster to a bloody pulp for trying to kiss her. He always walked her home if he saw her in town. And it was her he’d called when his father had died, seeking comfort. Her he came to when he had a problem at work and needed help finding a solution.
That meant something. Didn’t it?
“Maybe you should offer to ride him like a carnival pony,” Glory said from behind her. “That always works for me.”
Genevieve twisted to face her younger sister. “What are you doing in here?” she gasped out in surprise.
Glory brushed away the cheese dust on her lips. “Uh, spying. Hello. I say sleep with some other man and forget Hunter.”
Always the same advice. Genevieve eased slowly to her feet. “How would you like it if I cast a spell, bringing every one of those chips to life and letting them exact their revenge against you?”
Glory’s hazel eyes flashed. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, really? Keep talking, then, and by tomorrow morning the entire town will be talking about the Great Doritos Death.”
“Is that before or after they talk about Stalkerella and her unwilling victim?”
For several seconds, she and Glory glared at each other. Hunter was a sore spot for Genevieve; food was a sore spot for Glory.
Finally Glory expelled a deep breath, and her features slowly softened. “Evie, when are you going to realize Hunter will never want you the way you want him? He dates everything that moves and even some things that don’t. But not you. Never you. He just, well, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but he pities you.”
“He does not.”
“Yes, he does.”
“No, he desires me.”
“That’s delusion talking, and something every stalker says.”
“I’m not stalking him,” she said with a stubborn tilt of her chin, even though she herself had thought the very same thing. “I’m seducing him.”
Her sister rolled her eyes and popped another chip in her mouth. “That’s like saying murdering your neighbor is merely giving them a big send-off.”
“Girls, please.” Godiva, the oldest sister, strode into the room, her silver-white hair streaming behind her. She wore ripped jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, both of which were streaked with blood, dirt, and dark fur. “I’ve got an injured wolf in the kitchen and your arguing is upsetting him.”
“You brought an injured wolf into the house?” All traces of color abandoned Glory’s cheeks. “I can live with the squirrels and the wood mice, but a wolf? No way. They’re dangerous killers, Diva. They like to claw witches like us into bite-sized nibblets and feast on the pieces.”
“We have nothing to fear from him.” Godiva anchored her hands on her hips. “He’s too weak to cause us any harm.”
“Where is he?” Genevieve asked, trying to push Hunter—and Glory’s remarks—to the back of her mind. Her sister didn’t understand. How could she? She’d never been in love, never been consumed by the emotion. Never wanted more from a man than temporary satisfaction.
“He’s in the kitchen, and I could use your help.”
“Of course.” Following behind her older sister, Genevieve dragged a protesting Glory dow
n the hall and into the kitchen.
Glory immediately flattened herself against the wall, surrounding herself with faux plant leaves, maintaining a safe distance from the large—very large—animal lying on the black and white tiled floor. As if she could hide with hair as vivid red as hers. Godiva bent over him, dabbing a steaming cloth over the jagged, bleeding claw wounds on his belly. He whimpered up at her, his eyes big and brown and glazed with pain.
Genevieve crouched beside her oldest sister. “What do you need me to do?”
They spent the next several hours murmuring peace spells, applying salve, and stitching the poor wolf’s wounds. He drifted in and out of sleep, but through it all he responded to Godiva’s every touch, recognizing her voice, her scent, and calming whenever she approached.
“He likes you,” Genevieve said.
“I think he recognizes me and feels safe. I’ve seen him before, in the forest. I was gathering herbs, and he was watching me.”
Genevieve wished Hunter responded to her half as much as this wolf responded to her sister. Since the day Hunter had saved her from gracing the dessert menu of a rabid gnome, she’d loved him.
She’d been seventeen years old at the time and he twenty-two, but she’d known she belonged with him. They’d even kissed that day, a delicious, mind-shattering kiss she’d never forgotten. Yes, she’d relived it in her dreams over and over again.
They were meant to be together, damn it. The way he sometimes treated her like a curse of hemorrhoids, no anti-itch cream in sight, had to stop! Did he think she meant to use him as a sexual toy then kick him out of her life? If so, he should love that. Did he think she meant to ruin their friendship? Well, she didn’t. She wanted to love him (hard core).
She would never, ever do anything to hurt him. Well… she bit her bottom lip. Fine. That wasn’t exactly true. Once she’d cast a seduction spell over him, hoping he would become sexually enthralled with the first woman he saw (which would have been her). Instead, she’d made nearly every woman in Mysteria, a town known for its weirdness, fall into instant lust with him. Even her sisters had been trapped under the spell. For days the entire female population had followed him everywhere, ripping at his clothes, begging him to make love to them.
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