Kiss of Christmas Magic: 20 Paranormal Holiday Tales of Werewolves, Shifters, Vampires, Elves, Witches, Dragons, Fey, Ghosts, and More

by Eve Langlais

  The night was cool but comfortable and she enjoyed the short walk to the café in the next piazza over from the hotel. Even though it was dark and she was alone, Alex wasn’t concerned for her safety. Venice wasn’t New York; all she really had to worry about here was the odd pickpocket or purse snatcher. Since she didn’t have either, a pocket or a purse, she figured she’d be okay.

  Arriving at the café, she looked around for Gianni but didn’t see him. Rather than standing around in the doorway, she chose a table inside instead of out on the patio. The lighting was better there and she wanted to take a look at the information Gianni was bringing with him sooner rather than later, in case she had any questions. A little business and then she’d put it away and enjoy some time with her old friend, she told herself.

  She flagged down a waiter, ordered a glass of wine, and settled in to wait for Gianni.

  ***

  Gianni was halfway to the café where he was meeting with Alessandra when he realized that he’d picked up a tail.

  He’d intentionally pushed the meeting late enough that he’d have time to stop by his apartment to shower and change. He dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt, then added a jacket and a pair of leather shoes to complete the look. He dropped his police ID and cell phone into the pocket of his jacket and then clipped the holster carrying his off–duty weapon onto his belt at the hip where the tail of the jacket would cover it. A glance in the mirror to be sure the weapon didn’t show and that was that.

  Venice was divided into six sestieri, or districts, and each one had its own unique flavor. Gianni’s apartment was located in sestiere known as San Polo, just north of the Campo di San Polo, which put him right in the heart of the city. The area he lived in was a mix of both residential and commercial settings and the calle, or narrow streets between buildings, were fairly busy at this hour. To get to the mainland, he had a choice of routes; go north to the Grand Canal and take a vaporetto the long way around or cut west on foot through San Polo and Santa Croce to the train station where he could catch the local back to the airport.

  Knowing the vaporetti would still be crammed with tourists at this hour and that the motoscafi, or motorboats that operated as a water taxis, were often more expensive than he liked to pay, Gianni opted for cutting across town on foot.

  He’d been walking for about ten minutes when he glanced up as he passed the entrance to a footbridge and realized that in his musing he’d come one to far; he should have crossed at the last bridge rather than this one. He considered continuing forward and crossing at a later bridge, but at the last moment decided against it and turned left.

  As he headed across the canal, he caught sight of a man in dark clothing hurrying to cut through the crowd in his wake.

  The abruptness of the other man’s actions, combined with the fact that the guy was looking everywhere but directly at him, twigged Gianni’s mental radar. He kept walking until he reached the other end of the footbridge and then stepped out of the foot traffic, bending over as if to check the cuffs of his slacks but actually using the motion to look back along the direction from which he’d come.

  The first man had been joined by a second.

  They were more than a half–a–dozen yards away from each other but Gianni had turned at exactly the right moment and had caught the glance that passed between them. To anyone else it would have seemed innocuous – a coincidental glance and that was all – but Gianni had tailed more than his share of suspects, had been in their position more than a few times, and so recognized it for what it was.

  Someone had been watching it seemed.

  Not only had they been watching, but they’d been worried enough about what he’d been doing to put a pair of hounds on his tail.

  For just a moment, he considered tossing the envelope of information into the canal and telling Alessandra that he hadn’t found anything, if only to protect her. She was onto to something here, something big. If they were willing to follow a carabinierri then what would they do to a woman on her own?

  The only thing stopping him was Alessandra herself. If she found out he’d ditched the story just to protect, he’d never hear the end of it. Better just to do what he could to protect even as he turned the information over to her.

  That meant he needed to be sure the envelope got to Alessandra without these men finding out about it.

  He set out once more, walking a bit faster now, using his knowledge of the area to his advantage. He cut down several streets and crossed over several smaller canals by footbridge in an effort to flush out not only his two pursuers but any others that might be operating with them. A good surveillance team usually consisted of at least four to six players so that they could switch off regularly and cut down on their chances of being picked out of the crowd.

  Ten minutes later, after using most of the anti–surveillance techniques he’d learned over the years, he was all but certain that the two men he’d already spotted were working alone.

  That’s good, he thought, two he could handle. Now he just needed to be sure he didn’t get caught with the information on him if things went wrong.

  He spotted a local courier shop on the other side of the canal and the sight of it prompted an idea. He hurried across the footbridge and checked behind him for any sign of pursuit before slipping inside the doors of the tiny establishment.

  “Can I help you?” the young woman behind the counter asked.

  Gianni dug his police identification out of his pocket and showed it to the woman. “You do local deliveries, right?”

  “Of course, signore. We can have your package anywhere in the city by mid–morning tomorrow.”

  Gianni shook his head. “That’s not good enough. This is a bit of an emergency and I need it there within the next hour. Can you do that?”

  She didn’t flinch. “How big is the package?”

  The detective put the envelope he was carrying on the counter.

  “And where is it going?”

  “The Hotel Prospero. Care of Alessandra Donati, one of the hotel guests.”

  He grabbed a pen that was lying on the counter nearby, opened up the envelope, and circled a name on the first list he found inside. Once that was done he resealed the envelope and then scrawled both Alex’s name and the name of the hotel on the front.

  Just as he finished the bell over the door behind him jangled and he spun around, his hand automatically going for the weapon clipped to his belt, thinking his pursuers had found him, but it was just one of the messenger boys returning from a run.

  Ignoring the looks the kid was giving him, Gianni stepped over to the window, bending slightly to look up and down the street as best he could through the glass, searching for pursuit. He still didn’t see anything.

  Maybe he had lost them.

  He moved back to the desk and said to the clerk, “Can you do it?”

  The young woman smiled. “Of course, signore. There will be a small surcharge for the rush delivery, though.”

  Gianni waved the remark away. He didn’t care what it cost. “Just be sure it gets there in the next hour. It’s important.”

  The clerk nodded. “Of course, signor.”

  He paid the bill, checked outside the window again to be sure the coast was clear, and then slipped back out of the shop sans envelope.

  Already he felt better. Not having the information on him when his pursuers caught up would allow him some measure of deniability if it came to that. It would also allow him to keep Alessandra isolated from what was going on until he could figure out just who or what was behind the pursuit.

  Gianni headed for the nearest main thoroughfare that would keep him moving in the direction of the train station. Rather than trying to hide from his pursuers at this point, he headed right down the strada at a leisurely pace, in full view of those around him. If those on his tail were any good, they should pick him up again shortly.

  As he suspected, it didn’t take long.

  Less than ten minutes after
he came out of the courier shop they caught up to him and resumed their earlier position, still following at a discreet distance but not taking any steps to hide their presence. Gianni pretended not to see them as he led them in the direction of the train station, waiting for the right moment.

  Gradually, as if by some prearranged signal that Gianni didn’t see, the two men began to move in.

  It was exactly what Gianni had been hoping for.

  Time to get some answers, he thought.

  He waited until they had closed the distance to just a few yards and then he turned sharply to his right, cutting through a group of tourists chatting like harpies in front of the entrance to a narrow calle between several buildings. The tourists shouted at him for his rudeness, as he assumed they would, and the sudden commotion was enough to give away his position to his pursuers.

  The chase was on.

  This time, however, he knew exactly where he was taking them and so he cut down several interconnecting streets until he came out in a small square on the edge of a canal. A street lamp lit a good portion of the area and he stood in the light, making sure he was visible, and waited for his pursuers to come to him.

  He’d been there only a few seconds when a voice spoke from the dock to his left.

  “Excuse me, officer. Could you help me with some directions?”

  Gianni glanced that way, saw a slim guy in jeans and a dark jacket standing there with a tourist map in his hands, turning it this way and that as he tried to figure out exactly where he was. The expression on his face was damn near comical. Gianni gave him the once over, dismissed him as any kind of threat, and then turned his attention back toward the direction from which he had come.

  Any minute now…

  But they didn’t appear.

  Where the hell had they gone?

  “Officer?” the man asked again.

  “Yeah, yeah, where are you trying to go?” Gianni answered absently, still looking down the length of the canal.

  “Well,” the tourist began, walking toward Gianni with his head down as he continued to study the man. “I’m supposed to meet my friends at the Piazza Dellacorda but I’m afraid I seem to have gotten myself all turned about.”

  The man’s Italian had been pretty good up to that point, but he pronounced piazza as pee–ass–a, which made Gianni laugh. He glanced up at the man’s face as he did so and found him staring back at him intently, as if Gianni was the most important thing in the world.

  Alarm bells started going off in the back of Gianni’s mind and he suddenly wondered how the guy had known that he was an officer in the carabinieri when he was dressed in plain clothes.

  Unfortunately, the question came to him a little too late to do him any good.

  As Gianni reached for his gun while trying to backpedal away from the coming threat at the same time, the man in front of him suddenly lashed out with one hand, striking a blow across Gianni’s throat.

  The carabinierri detective felt a sudden sting of pain and then a wash of hot liquid flowing down across his chest as blood began to spurt from the gash that had just been opened in his throat.

  Clamping his hands over the wound, Gianni frantically tried to stem the flow of blood as he tried to back away from the man in front of him, certain that there would be another strike.

  The killer, however, made no move toward him. He stood where he was, absently licking the blood from the tips of his fingers as he watched the detective fight for his life.

  The man’s complete nonchalance over what he’d just done frightened Gianni more than anything else and he turned to try to get away, only to have his feet betray him, tangling one over the other and dumping him on the walkway he’d been hurrying along just moments before.

  He could feel his life slipping away, the blood flowing faster as his heart raced frantically in response to both his injury and his panic, and the edges of his vision began to grow dim.

  His heartbeat sounded like a kettle drum in his ears, almost drowning out the footsteps of his killer as the man approached, but he couldn’t miss the man’s flat expression as he stared down at him casual indifference.

  For the first time, the killer spoke.

  “You should have left well enough alone, detective. Maybe next time you’ll keep your nose out of other people’s business.” The killer paused, then snapped his fingers as if remembering something.

  “Except, there isn’t going to be a next time, is there, detective?”

  He laughed then; laughed like it was the funniest thing in all the world, a man laying dying at his feet, and that was the last sight that Gianni would ever see.

  Chapter Five

  Alex waited, but Gianni never showed.

  She remained at the table fifteen minutes, then twenty, but there was no sign of him. Calls to his cell phone went unanswered. She tried calling the station where he worked, but was told that he was not on duty that day and they couldn’t provide personal information to outside callers.

  Finally, at forty–five minutes past the hour, she decided that whatever had happened he wasn’t going to make it that night and so she paid for the drinks she’d had and headed back to her hotel.

  As she came in the door and turned toward the elevator, she heard a voice call her name from across the room.

  “Signorina Donati!”

  She turned to see one of the bellmen hurrying over, a thick envelope in his hands.

  “Courier dropped off a package for you earlier, signorina,” he said, handing it to her with a smile.

  She thanked him, gave him a good tip – who knew, she might need his help for something later and a little goodwill now went a long way in the future – and then got on the elevator. After pushing the button for her floor, she examined the envelope.

  It wasn’t anything fancy, just a standard manila envelope with her name and hotel scribbled across the front as if the writer had been in a hurry. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, nor the name of the courier company that had delivered it.

  A couple got on the elevator with her and so she impatiently decided to wait until she was in her room before opening it. The minute she was through the door she did just that, tearing open the top and spilling the contents out into her hand as she sank down on the edge of her bed.

  Several thick manila files, a stack of missing persons reports, and a handful of pages with scrawled notes covering them spilled out of the envelope onto the bed. One glance was enough for her to recognize the material as the research that Gianni had promised to deliver to her.

  A note was paper–clipped to one of the files. She pulled it free and read it.

  “Got tied up. Will call when I can.”

  It was signed with a scrawled G.

  The sight of the note did a lot to calm her fears about Gianni’s failure to show and she felt a weight come off her shoulders that she hadn’t even realized was there. The life of a reporter was bad enough; she couldn’t imagine what it was like being a cop.

  Satisfied that nothing untoward had happened to Gianni, Alex changed out of her dress and into a t–shirt and yoga pants, then curled up on the couch with the material Gianni had sent over stacked in her lap and started reading.

  It took her two hours to get through it all.

  The files were information on the various movers and shakers in Venice that Gianni thought would be worth focusing her attention on. They included several politicians, the CEOs of several corporations, both public and private, a world–famous painter, a reclusive billionaire, and a pop–star who had suddenly shot up the charts seemingly at the drop of a hat. The men outnumbered the women two to one, but that was almost to be expected.

  Several of them had been involved with the police, with allegations involving everything from fraud to kidnapping and murder, but none of the accusations had ever amounted to anything. That, of course, didn’t prove they weren’t involved in the alleged crimes, just that the police hadn’t had enough evidence to make anything stick.

&n
bsp; Alex mentally filed those who had been accused of the most serious of crimes away for future reference.

  Next, she turned her attention to the stack of missing persons reports. They went back five years, but only covered a period running from November 1st to January 30th for each of those years. Even with that limitation, Alex was surprised at the number of people who went missing in Venice each year. Far more than she expected and that both worried and excited her.

  Perhaps she was onto something after all.

  She split the reports into two piles, men in one and women in the other. She went through both piles one report at a time, reading the pertinent details for each case; what the missing person looked like, where they were and what they were doing when they were last seen, issues or problems they might have been having prior to their disappearance. It took her a while but when she was done she didn’t feel like she’d found anything of significance.

  Alex picked up the stack on the left and spread the reports out in rows in front of her so that she could see all of the photographs together at the same time. Doing so allowed her to see something she hadn’t noticed before; three of the women looked strikingly similar.

  They were all in their early twenties, with long, shoulder length hair, delicately beautiful features, and bodies that would have made a fitness instructor proud. Two of them were fashion models – big surprise there! – and the third was a financial consultant for a private bank.

  Aside from the similarity in their features, there was one other element that tied the three women together – all of them had been regularly seen on the town in the presence of Paolo Galvan.

  Now that was a name with which Alex was familiar. Galvan came from one of the oldest bloodlines in Venice and had taken over the family textile business when his father had been killed in a car accident when Paolo was just twenty–three years old. For the last two decades he had handled the company with both finesse and aplomb, expanding the original textile company into a multi–national conglomerate with interests in everything from women’s fashion to aerospace.