by C. L. Wilson
Breathing heavily, Micah spared a glance at Katrina’s work. The Great Seal was glowing golden-white. A minute more, maybe two, and the Seal would be repaired to full strength. The Darkseekers knew it too. They attacked with increasing ferocity.
Micah gritted his teeth and fed his remaining strength into the veil of protection he’d sung around Katrina and the Seal.
###
Katrina flung out her arms, using every ounce of air in her lungs and power left in her being to sing the final, triumphant note of her song. It soared from her, one long, powerful, sustained note.
The Great Seal flashed blinding white, sending a ring of light shooting outward at tremendous speed. The light ripped through the Darkseekers, shredding their shadowy forms and blowing them away on a hot, honeyed wind.
The world fell dark and silent once more, the stars twinkling overhead like a thousand candles, a million promises smiling down upon her. She drew a shuddering breath and collapsed to her knees. She was gasping, her heart pounding, as if she’d just run a wild race. Every muscle in her body felt weak. The song had sapped her strength.
“We did it,” she gasped and turned to share the triumph with Micah. Her smile died the instance she spotted his body, bloodied, broken, lying motionless on the ground, leached of its usual golden radiance.
“Micah?” She forced her leaden limbs to move, dragging herself across the grass to his side. “Micah? Answer me.”
He didn’t move or respond, and when she gathered him into her arms, his head lolled back, limp and lifeless.
“Oh, Micah, no.” Her face crumpled, the tears already pouring in torrents. “You can’t go. You can’t leave me. Please. Please…”
Already his body was growing cold, drained of that preternatural warmth that had always radiated from him. Kat held him and wept until she had no tears left, until her throat was so raw she could barely speak. Then she lay down beside him, gathered his body in her arms, and closed her eyes.
Light sparkling across her closed eyelids roused her. She lifted her head to find a being of dazzling radiance standing before her. Taller than Micah, and a hundred times brighter, with majestic golden-white wings that rose well over his head and swept down to brush the earth with their tips . She held up a hand to shield her eyes, and though he was far too bright to see clearly—far too bright to look at for long—she had the impression of dark hair, dark eyes, and a face of grave and compassionate beauty
“Are you the Archangel? Are you Ramiel?” She was sure he must be. There was a profound sense of power about him, an aura so dazzling he stunned her senses.
The archangel didn’t speak. He merely bent to gather Micah’s broken body into his arms, lifting it with ease.
Kat staggered to her feet, stumbling towards them. “Please, heal him. I know you can. He did everything you asked. If not for him, the Darkseekers would have won. Please.”
“Be at peace, Lightkeeper.” The archangel’s voice rolled over her in a wave of light, stopping her in her tracks, blinding all her senses as the might of his angelic power rolled over and through her.
When she could see and hear and think again, she was standing in the McDonald’s parking lot in Asheville, North Carolina. The archangel was gone, as was Micah.
Kat stood there for a long, stunned moment, then fell back to her knees and let the tears fall.
EPILOGUE
It was Christmas Eve, and a light dusting of that rarest of Atlanta precipitation—snow—covered the ground. Feathers from an angel’s wing, Isabella had declared this morning, when the snowflakes were falling. The comment caught Kat off guard. Though the Simons all remembered Kat’s friend Micah who’d come to visit, neither Maya nor Isabella showed any sign of remembering Micah the angel or the miraculous healing he’d worked. The inexplicable remission of Isabella’s cancer was attributed to the power of prayer, and the family had become virtual celebrities in their church.
Now, Kat and the Simons were walking through the holiday light display at Stone Mountain Park, led by the members of their church’s youth group who were dressed like characters from a Dickens novel. At each display, the group stopped to sing a carol.
Isabella and Zoe joined in and Kat sang with them, her voice pure and unafraid. No dogs howled in the night. No ghost of her father came to hush her into frightened silence. The Seal had been renewed, and for a while, at least, the Darkseekers and their vile, spectral hounds had been routed. Micah had given Kat back the music in her soul. He had given her back her joy.
As devastated as she was to lose him, she had that to remember him by.
In front of a lighted display of Santa and his reindeer, the Dickens Carolers stopped to sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Isabella hugged Kat with exuberance, her small face shining, happy, healthy, excited about Christmas. Kat hugged her back, then Zoe and Maya as well, able at last to embrace them with all the deep love she had always felt for them.
Micah had given her that too.
The last light tableau was a host of winged angels, some flying overhead—their illuminated bodies suspended in the tree branches—carrying golden harps and trumpets.
The carolers assembled to one side of the display and raised their voices in the final song.
“It came upon a midnight clear, that glorious song of old…”
Kat’s throat closed up, the words dying on her tongue as her mind flooded with memories of that still, magical night, standing in a snowy Canadian forest with Micah, listening to the song of the Host. She missed him. He’d only been in her life for a few short days, but he’d altered her forever. And now there was an aching hole inside her.
As the last verse soared up into the night, another voice joined the others. A man’s voice, deep and melodic. She stiffened as the singer stopped just behind her to finish the last verse of the song. His voice was clear, ringing with a familiar purity and strength.
“When peace shall over all the earth, its ancient splendors fling, and the whole world give back the song which now the angels sing.”
Kat turned slowly to look up into an unearthly beautiful face and beloved turquoise eyes. “Micah?” Not trusting her eyes, she laid a gloved hand on his arm. Her fingers curled around real, solid flesh. Her throat closed up so tight she couldn’t speak, which was just as well, since Isabella caught sight of Micah, squealed, and ran over to give him a hug and show off her new, healthy body. Then all the Simons took turns greeting him and chatting until Maya, her gaze darting between Micah and Kat, herded her family away.
“I thought you were gone forever,” Kat said when the Simons were out of earshot. “I thought you were”—she glanced at the other people still standing by the light display and lowered her voice—”extinguished.”
“I was.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I, but it seems that when Guardians fulfill their purpose, they’re given a choice. They can either join the Host or join mankind.”
She swallowed. “What was your choice?”
“What do you think?” His bare hand slid along the side of her face, fingers tunneling into her hair, his thumb stroking her cheek. He smiled, and her knees went so weak she had to cling to him to keep standing. “I’m just a man now, like any other. Your man…if you’ll have me?”
“You have to ask?” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the joy in her heart, weeping and laughing all at once. “Yes. Yes. A thousand times, yes.”
Arm in arm, they went to join the Simons. For just a moment, as they passed through a tunnel of twinkling lights, Micah seemed illuminated by golden radiance and Kat could swear she saw the clear outline of shining wings between his powerful shoulders. He turned to smile at her, and the golden light winked out. He was just Micah again, mortal, man.
Hers.
She cast a look up at the heavens, where the stars twinkled in a clear night sky, and whispered, “Thank you.”
The End
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
&
nbsp; As always, thanks to my fabulous friends and critique partners, The Starfish Club, Christine Feehan, Sheila Clover English, Kathie Firzlaff, and to our fabulous Power Hour writing buddies, Karen Rose and Susan Edwards. You’re the reason I’m finally writing again and, more importantly, typing The End. A special thanks to my daughters Ileah and Rhiannon, and my beloved sister, Lisette, for reading Kat & Micah’s story and giving me your feedback.
Thanks also to my friends, conference roomies, and fellow One Enchanted Season authors, Elissa Wilds and Erica Ridley. I’m so thrilled to have you plunge into the waters of self-publishing with me. And you both rock at line editing!
Finally, a huge thanks to Michael Babb for all his hours of hard work on the cover, compiling the book, and all those countless technical things involved in publishing an ebook. You’re the best! And cute too! *VBG*
FOR MY READERS
Thank you so much for picking up (or downloading, as the case may be) this book. I hope you enjoyed meeting Kat and Micah as much as I enjoyed writing about them. Hmm, I’m hungry for waffles!
I also hope you’ll keep an eye out for my forthcoming full length novel, THE WINTER KING, coming August 2014 from Avon Books, a division of HarperCollins Publishing.
Please be sure to visit my web site, www.clwilson.com, to sign my guestbook, join my private book announcement list, and scour the site for hidden treasures and magical surprises as well as news about upcoming books and appearances. And if you haven’t yet checked out my online store, the Tairen’s Lair (www.tairenslair.com), please do so! We’ve got all sorts of fabulous art, tairen plushies, Steli mugs, and t-shirts.
As always, I’d love to hear from you. You can email me at [email protected] or snail mail me at C.L. Wilson, 7282 55th Ave. E., PMB #104, Bradenton, FL 34203.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C.L. Wilson’s unique blend of gripping action, richly-imagined fantasy, and emotional intensity has made her books a favorite read for romance and fantasy readers alike. Praised for exceptional worldbuilding and lyric prose, her critically acclaimed novels have regularly appeared on bestseller lists including the USA Today, the New York Times, and Publisher’s Weekly.
C.L’s novels have won numerous awards including, LifetimeTV.com’s Best Paranormal debut of 2007, the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, two National Reader’s Choice awards, the Colorado Award of Excellence, and the Holt Medallion. Ms. Wilson is the honored recipient of the PEARL award from Paranormal Romance as the best new author of 2007, and winner of the 2009 PEARL award for best Romantic Fantasy novel.
When not torturing her characters mercilessly, C.L. enjoys relaxing with her family in sunny Florida and daydreaming of a world where chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream is a fat burning food.
Let It Snow
ERICA RIDLEY
CHAPTER ONE
After another long spell of swashbuckling and bounty hunting, Lance Desmond could barely wait to hang up his sword. The twenty-four-hour Pawn & Potion tucked between a pair of towering steel-and-glass skyscrapers might look like a dingy hovel of ill repute—and it was—but it was also home. The first floor catered to all walks of life, but the second floor belonged to Lance. It was three o’clock in the morning. Christmas Eve. And if the gods were with him, maybe he could sleep straight through to the new year. He jerked to a stop a few feet before the front door.
The gods, it seemed, were not with him.
There, next to the magically fluorescent OPEN sign, was a glossy, three-foot-high broadsheet bearing Lance’s own likeness. The initial rush of pleasure upon finding himself immortalized in full color was greatly tempered by the boldface type just above his face:
WANTED
Dead or Alive
The fine print across the bottom was little better: “Ten thousand silver drachma to the first person to bring Lance Desmond’s head to Ivan Radko. Attached body optional. Void if paid in full: one hundred thousand drachma.”
“Radko.” Lance ripped the poster from the dirty wall. “That asshole ruins everything.”
He shouldered his way into the Pawn & Potion. This late at night, barely a dozen customers roamed the well-stocked aisles.
Sancho—shop owner and Lance’s best friend since childhood—glanced up from straightening a pile of magic carpets. Delight spread across his face. “You’re back! Please tell me you have your rent money. Also, I’ve been researching churches with the best choirs, and I think this year we should do midnight mass over at—”
“No rent.” Lance held the crinkled poster up. “But I did get an early Christmas present.”
Sancho’s face fell. “Dead or alive. Great. What are you going to do? There’s no way you can come up with the hundred thousand to pay off Ivan before someone decides to collect the bounty on your head.”
Lance hesitated. “Thing is, I did have a hundred thousand. That’s what Radko’s so honked off about. It all started when the new rajah hired him to find a handful of diamonds that had fallen from a plane over Mount Everest.”
Sancho closed his eyes as if in pain. “And you found them first.”
“Of course.” Lance lifted a shoulder. “It’s not my fault Radko didn’t realize the diamonds were gone and kept on looking.”
Sancho sighed. His eyes flew open. “Wait. Then where’s the money?”
Lance lowered his eyes guiltily. “I bought a pirate ship.”
Sancho’s face went bright red. “You spent a hundred thousand drachma on a pirate ship?”
“Two hundred thousand,” Lance corrected. “A proper Spanish galleon costs close to three. It’s on layaway.”
“Sell it back! You can use that money to get the bounty off your head and still have enough left over for a down payment on a different ship.”
“Can’t. No returns. And no ship until the balance is paid off.” Lance knelt to straighten the fallen carpets. “Besides, I earned that money fair and square.”
Sancho’s humorless laugh filled the room. “Since when has Ivan cared about being fair? Let’s cut to the moral. There’s a price on your head that you can’t afford to buy off, and you’re hanging around the one place even the worst bounty hunter will think to check.” He took a deep breath. “Run.”
Lance drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword. Run? How could he? Lance had never run from anything in his life. On the other hand, he couldn’t disagree with the central notion that something had to be done, and fast. There wasn’t enough time to get another commission. Or raise a defensive army. He needed magical intervention. He needed a Christmas miracle. He needed—
“Castle Cavanaugh,” he said slowly, the words as tentative as the idea.
“Castle—what?” Sancho spluttered in disbelief. “The mythical Golden Bloom of Eternal Youth? You can’t go after that! Are you insane?”
“Undoubtedly, but what’s that got to do with anything? That flower is legendary. My cut would be millions. Billions, maybe. Enough to buy us both pirate ships, pay off your mortgage, and still have plenty left over for ale. It’s the perfect plan.”
“It’s suicide! No one who’s ever attempted to infiltrate Castle Cavanaugh has made it back alive, much less with the Golden Bloom of Eternal Youth.”
“If they’d already made it back with the Bloom, there’d be nothing for me to go find,” Lance pointed out. “That’s what makes it such a good plan.”
“It’s a terrible plan. A death plan!”
“Since when did you get so excitable?” Lance toyed with the poster. “It’s just a flower. Easy peasy. I’ll be back by dinner.”
Sancho snatched the poster from Lance’s hands. “A fabled golden bloom, hidden deep within a castle so cursed, no living creature has returned from its property line in six hundred years. That’s no big deal?”
“‘Problems are just challenges in work clothes,’” Lance quoted firmly.
“You’re the one who’s challenged,” Sancho scoffed. “How are you going to breach an unbreachable castle? You going to rely upon your magicless sw
ord? Or maybe your precious smartphone? Is there a ‘breach unbreachable castle’ app I don’t know about?”
“There’s some Ritalin you apparently don’t know about. Take some calming breaths and try to settle down. Everything’s under control.” Lance gestured around the small room. “Fortuitously, we happen to be standing in a shop called the Pawn and Potion.”
“I sell magic potions, not psychiatric medication.”
“Exactly.” Lance flashed his most charming smile. “I don’t suppose you can extend a wee bit more credit?”
Steam all but rolled out of Sancho’s ears, but in the end he nodded defeatedly. “Just tell me what you need.”
“Something to breach an unbreachable castle, of course. Dynamite, perhaps?”
Sancho tapped the scroll against his chin. “Fresh out of dynamite. How about . . . a spellbook?”
Lance sighed. Sancho had spent the past decade trying to get his customers to purchase spellbooks. But once the most popular spells had been digitized and put online, witches and warlocks started carrying e-readers instead of heavy, moldered tomes. Sancho hadn’t moved a single ink-and-paper book in over a year, despite having relegated the entire lot to a bargain bin labeled FREE, right by the front register.
Nonetheless, Lance nodded his acceptance. His self-styled ninja suit, modeled after the iconic Batsuit in spirit, not in looks—Lance found capes to be more obstructive than helpful—contained enough hidden compartments to easily tote a dozen spellbooks, if that was what he wanted. (It wasn’t.) He’d make room for a thin volume on his back where he kept a quiver of arrows, but he wanted the bulk of any extra weight to be due to more practical items. Like maybe nunchucks. Or grenade launchers.
“I need firepower,” he said decisively. “Got any weapons of mass destruction on sale?”
Sancho looked unconvinced. “Isn’t the castle cursed with impenetrable cold, in which nothing can survive? What would you need to use firepower on? Abominable snowmen?”