Welcome to Day 5 of our 12 Days of Christmas Event. The Alinar Author's have a special treat for you today. A FlashFiction post that's more fiction than flash.
Today, all three authors are posting excerpts from unfinished Christmas stories. Feel free to let them know what you think, and who knows, maybe they'll finally finish them! They're very long in length, all 3 stories totaling nearly 12,000 words, so grab a comfy chair and enjoy the lengthy read!
Untitled M/M novella by Kallysten - chapter 1
The front door slammed shut behind Paul. He barely paid it any mind, already mentally running through the list of things he needed to do. He glanced at his watch after shrugging out of his jacket and grimaced. He didn’t even have half an hour to get everything ready.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.
He pulled his shoes off without bothering to undo the laces. Snow splattered on the entrance mat and already started to melt. The stupid snow was why he was so late. Christmas Day lunch at his parents’ never ended later than three in the afternoon, which was usually when his nephews, hyped up on sugar, became too much for his mom to handle and she started packing leftovers for everyone as a sign that it was time to leave. But a fresh layer of snow had fallen while they ate and opened presents, and Paul’s father had asked with the familiar wave of his fingers that accompanied any mention of magic, “Can you do your little trick before you leave? Shoveling kills my back.”
It was a stretch of the truth and Paul knew it: his father’s trusted snow-blower worked just fine. But ‘doing his little trick’ took little time and not much effort; in a few minutes, he had used his magic to blow the snow off the sidewalk and driveway and into neat piles in the edges of the yard. His nephews ooh’ed and aah’ed, his sister rolled her eyes and muttered “Show off” where only he would hear, his brother-in-law looked, as always, impressed — and his mother was already knocking on the neighbors’ doors, asking if they wanted a bit of help with the snow. Before he knew it, Paul had been roped into clearing the entire block on both sides of the street. When he was done, his sister’s family was long gone and his mother asked him if he was staying for dinner. Joshua was supposed to arrive at Paul’s apartment less than an hour later.
At least, his mother had given him leftovers, so he didn’t have to worry about the food. That still left him with a lot to do before Joshua knocked on his door. First and most importantly: the bedroom. He changed the rumpled sheets and remade the bed with freshly-laundered bedding, even adding an extra flannel blanket; Joshua always complained that his feet got cold. Then again, Paul knew better than to hope that a simple added cover would finally be enough for Joshua to spend the night. No, he would leave by three or four in the morning, like he always did. And Paul wouldn’t plead for him to stay; not this time.
He promised himself he wouldn’t plead before each of Joshua’s visits, but somehow he always ended up asking. Or trying to entice Joshua to stay a bit longer with means that might not have been entirely fair. Joshua sometimes caved in, but Paul had yet to awaken, come morning, with his best friend, co-worker and sometimes-lover in his bed.
Once the bed was made and the pillows fluffed and inviting, Paul threw the clothes strewn around the room into a basket, and shoved that into the closet for now. One last check into the bedside drawer — no, he hadn’t run out of condoms — and he hurried into the bathroom.
It would have to be the fastest shower he had ever taken. His cock tried to show interest at the mere thought of Joshua’s impending arrival, but Paul took care of that with a blast of cold water. He wanted to give Joshua his gift first, and a hard on might make things a little awkward — at least in the beginning. Depending on how things went after they drank the potion, things very well might go that way before the night was over.
And suddenly, another blast of icy water was much needed.
Before Paul could switch back to hot water, the doorbell rang.
“Damn.”
He rinsed off the last of the soap in cold water, cursing the entire time, and finally stepped out of the shower. The bell rang again, twice this time; patience had never been Joshua’s strong point.
“Coming!” he called out as he jammed his glasses back onto his nose then grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.
He left a trail of wet footprints and water drops on the wooden floors through the living room and all the way to the front door. He opened it just as Joshua rang the bell again.
“Finally. You took your ti—” Joshua stopped mid-word. For a second, his mouth hung open, then his lips curled into an appreciative grin as his gaze roamed over Paul. “Or maybe you were just trying to jumpstart things?”
Paul rolled his eyes at him, but he could feel his cheeks heating up with a blush. “Like you need incentives to jumpstart anything. Come in, I’m freezing.”
A brief look of apology crossed Joshua’s features. He came in and closed the door behind him, gesturing vaguely to the bedroom door as he started getting out of his winter coat.
“Go get dressed before you catch your death. Then we’ll warm up.” He raised his hand as he finished, showing the bottle he was holding, a ribbon wrapped around the neck and obscuring the label. “Merry Christmas!”
Paul chuckled on his way to his room. “You know where the glasses are. Be right back.”
Was he imagining Joshua’s eyes on his ass, following his every step? He glanced back before entering his room, one quick look; Joshua’s gaze shot up to meet his. His lazy smile sent another flash of heat through Paul.
“Behave,” he demanded.
Joshua’s laugh still rang like a deep bell after Paul had closed the door.
For expediency’s sake — and because his underwear drawer was woefully empty — he slid into a pair of jeans commando, tugged on a t-shirt that clung to him where he wasn’t quite dry, and was out of the bedroom again in no time, rubbing the towel over his hair. The empty living room startled him for a second before he followed the noises coming from the kitchen. He stopped on the threshold and leaned against the doorjamb to watch the most unlikely of spectacles: Joshua was cooking.
Granted, cooking in this instance meant throwing the leftovers Paul had brought home in the microwave, but it was still a sight uncommon enough to deserve some notice.
“And here I thought the use of a microwave oven was beyond you,” Paul teased after Joshua had found the ‘start’ button after a good five seconds of looking for it.
Joshua threw an eye roll at him. “Funny. That your mom’s cooking? Damn but I missed her potato casserole.”
Paul nodded and felt his smile waver. Joshua had had his fair share of meals at Paul’s house when they were teens, and even later when Joshua had been on leave from the Academy on weekends. He had never asked why the invitations had suddenly dried up, and Paul didn’t know how to explain that it was his fault. His mother had no issue with Paul being in love with Joshua; she did however disapprove of what Paul had let slip their relationship was like: adult time, but no emotional connection where Joshua was concerned. She said often enough that Paul deserved better than ‘booty calls’ — she had said it again not an hour earlier, much to Paul’s embarrassment. She just couldn’t understand that Paul would take whatever he was offered until Joshua was ready for more. At least, this time she hadn’t asked the question that had kept Paul awake on too many nights. What if he never is?
“Had a nice time at your folks’?” Joshua asked while he continued his domestic act and set plates next to the two glasses he had already set on the dinner table.
Paul pushed away from the door and opened the closest drawer to grab forks and knives. “I did. Sofia was there with the husband and kids. And after lunch I was made to clear the snow from the entire street. Lots of fun.”
Joshua was chuckling as he uncorked the we bottle he had brought. “I told you, years ago. You should have kept the magic to yourself rather than tell everyone.”
The memory was bittersweet. Joshua had been the first person Paul had told when he had first realized what was happening to him. They had been a little over fourteen at the time. Joshua had been adamant that if Paul told his parents, bad things would happen. Only later had Paul understood; Joshua had come to a different kind of realization weeks earlier, and his parents had not been thrilled about his newfound preferences and identity, far from it. It was around that time that Joshua had started having dinner with Paul’s family a few nights a week.
The microwave pinged, pulling Paul from his memories. He pulled one dish out, cursing under his breath when he realized it was too hot and needed the oven mitts. He put one on both hands and took the dishes to the table.
“Very sexy,” Joshua smirked at him. “But I think I liked the towel look better.”
“Smartass,” Paul snorted. He dropped the mitts on the counter and grabbed serving utensils. When he turned back to the table, a piece of turkey was on Joshua’s plate and he was licking his fingers. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Paul refrained from commenting and sat across from him.
“Try the wine,” Joshua suggested, picking his own glass as he did. “See if you like it.”
He didn’t bring the glass to his lips before Paul had. Smooth velvet slid down Paul’s throat; Joshua had always been very good at procuring good alcohol, even before they had been old enough to drink.
“Very nice,” Paul said with a nod. “Thanks.”
Joshua grinned at him and they started eating.
“So what did you do today?” Paul asked as he helped himself to a piece of turkey and demonstrated the proper use of a serving fork.
Joshua shrugged. “The usual. Went to the gym, grabbed lunch at the diner down my street. And then I watched some TV until it was time to come here.”
Shaking his head, Paul swallowed a piece of potato and repeated, “You went to the gym and had lunch at the diner. On Christmas Day.”
“They were open,” Joshua pointed out, gesturing at Paul with his fork. “And I was hardly the only one there.”
Paul didn’t know where to even begin, so he let it go. Besides, arguing about Joshua’s routine never led to anything good.
“Any plans for later?” he asked instead, tongue in cheek.
Joshua took a sip of wine and was grinning when he set his glass down again. “I’m glad you asked. I called Karen to check if anything’s up.”
Groaning, Paul sat back in his chair and took his glasses off to polish them with a paper napkin. Karen was their boss, and she cared about Christmas about as much as Joshua did. Hanukkah, on the other hand, was a different matter.
“Don’t tell me she gave you an assignment,” Paul muttered, glowering over the table at the indistinct blur that Joshua was to his non-bespectacled eyes.
Joshua chuckled. “As a matter of fact, she did not,” he said with a grin in his voice. “She was on a case, but she said she could take care of it. So I guess I’m free tonight. Did you have anything in mind? Or was the towel show just teasing?”
It was with a measure of relief that Paul pushed his glasses back onto his nose. He offered Joshua a shrug as unconcerned as he could manage. “I don’t know. I guess we could play a board game or watch a movie or something.”
Joshua’s laugh always did strange things to Paul’s belly. Strange, pleasant things.
“A board game, really.” He emptied his glass before refilling it, and Paul’s as well. “We must have been ten the last time we played a board game. You’re sure you can’t think of anything else?”
Paul affected to mull this over for a little while. “I guess I could give you your present,” he finally said. His voice shook a little at the prospect, but Joshua didn’t seem to notice. Indeed, he grinned as he raised his glass in a toast.
“Now we’re talking. Let me guess. It comes wrapped in a towel?”
Paul barked out a quick laugh. “Will you let it go already with that towel? I should have left you outside while I got dressed. Maybe the blonde next door would have opened her door.”
“I don’t care much for blondes,” Joshua said with a lazy smile, his eyes flicking up to Paul’s hair. “And what can I say, you made quite an impression in that towel. You’ve been working out, huh?”
Paul didn’t know whether to be pleased or embarrassed that Joshua had noticed. He hid his blush behind another sip of wine.
“Did you start going to a gym?” Joshua pushed on. “We could go together.”
If Paul was totally honest with himself, the off chance that Joshua might suggest this very thing was why he had started to exercise. He had called himself pathetic over it, along with a slew of other less than complimentary adjectives, but he had long ago accepted that he was hung up over Joshua and made his peace with that. Now if Joshua could only realize that Paul wanted them to be more than bedmates and friends…
“That’d be cool,” he started, but Joshua was already laughing. “What?” Paul asked, confused.
“I’m just trying to imagine you getting up early to go exercise,” Joshua said with a too wide grin. “Early for you has to be ten or eleven, huh?”
The jibe stung even more for the fact that it was one of Joshua’s often repeated reasons for not spending the night. He was an early riser; Paul wasn’t, not unless he had a good reason to get out of bed early. A reason like exercising, going to work—or being with Joshua.
“Sometimes you sound like we’re still twelve,” Paul said, and while he tried to sound teasing, the words felt vaguely accusing. “You do realize I’m not that kid anymore, right?”
Joshua’s grin remained just as wide. “If you were a kid, I wouldn’t be sleeping with you. Who do you think I am?”
Rolling his eyes, Paul threw his bunched up napkin at Joshua’s face. “Idiot.”
Quick as always, Joshua caught the napkin and flung it back. “What else is new? Now. My gift. I’m waiting.” He leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head, raising an expectant eyebrow at Paul.
This was the moment, wasn’t it? Paul swallowed the lump of nervousness that was suddenly blocking his throat. He had thought of getting another present for Joshua—a normal present—because he had known there would come a time when he’d start getting cold feet. He hadn’t bought anything in the end so he wouldn’t have a way out. He had waited too long for this; he wasn’t going to chicken out now.
“Your gift,” he said as he stood, fumbling a little. “Right. Just a second.”
He could feel Joshua’s eyes on him as he hurried out of the kitchen and to the second bedroom, the one that the realtor had suggested would make a fine office and that Paul had turned into a magic lab. The smell in there was comforting, fragrant dried herbs mixed with the metallic tones of various powders ground to fine dust, and Paul’s nervousness abated a little. Everything would go just fine, he told himself as he picked up the glass jar from his work table. He had planned everything perfectly, and there was no reason for anything to glitch in any way.
He returned to the kitchen, holding the corked jar with both hands, and was surprised to find that Joshua had cleared the table and was putting the dishes away in the dishwasher. Like the sight of Joshua warming up the food earlier, it seemed oddly domestic, and Paul caught himself imagining what it would be like to live with Joshua, cook with him, do chores together — wake up by his side.
When Joshua looked up, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “I see great minds think alike. You got me wine, too?”
Shaking his head, Paul went back to the table, inviting Joshua to come along with a gesture. Soon, they were sitting across each other again, the jar between them on the table.
“It’s not wine,” Paul said quietly. “It’s a potion. A spell.”
Joshua’s expression turned almost eager, and he reached for the jar, lifting it off the table and toward the light above them. Paul’s gaze followed the gesture. The jar was clear glass, and the liquid inside it seemed to gleam in iridescent colors as it shifted in its container.
“What does it do?” Joshua asked as he set it down again.
“It’ll give you what I can’t give you any other way,” Paul said, the words he had prepared coming out easily now that he had started. “Remember when you asked if I could help you learn magic?”
A frown fluttered over Joshua’s brow. “When I asked… But that was years ago. And you said you couldn’t.”
“I still can’t,” Paul answered the unvoiced question. “You don’t have any magic of your own, and I can’t give you that. But I can show you what it’s like, just for a little while.” He pointed at the jar. “If we drink this together, we’ll switch bodies. And you’ll have my magic.”
Joshua’s frown deepened even more. “Switch… what?”
Paul couldn’t suppress a grin at the awe in Joshua’s voice as he started to understand.
“You’ll be in my body,” Paul explained. “And I’ll be in yours. Just for a few hours. And you’ll be able to do magic.”
“Really? But… I don’t know spells or anything.”
The eagerness, even hope reflected in Joshua’s eyes sent a thrill of sheer joy zinging through Paul. He had put a lot of work into that potion, first researching through every book he owned and a few borrowed from a friend who owned a magic bookstore, then hunting down the ingredients and working out the kinks of mixing them together so that they would do what he wanted them to. He had singed his eyebrows a few times, and set off the fire alarm in his apartment twice. His first attempt — tested with his bookstore friend — had fizzled out to nothing more than a pounding headache for both of them. The second attempt had worked, and for two minutes Paul had stared at himself, while his friend, in Paul’s body, stared back. They had each tried to do magic and had both commented on how it felt different. After comparing notes, they had realized that the strengths of each had remained with the body. The research had hinted it might happen, and that was exactly what Paul had hoped for. After all, if his magic followed his spirit, there wasn’t much point to switching bodies.
“I’ll tell you how,” Paul assured Joshua. “My body, muscle memory, the pathways in my brain will still know magic. We’ll keep things simple and it’ll be easy.”
The hope flared even brighter in Joshua’s eyes as he leaned forward, picked up the jar again, and held it as if it were precious. He rolled the bottle back and forth between his fingers, watching the liquid inside intently. Paul watched Joshua as closely, and tried to guess everything that was going on through his mind. Was he imagining already what spells he would soon get to perform?
“That seems like a really complicated bit of magic,” Joshua said, setting the bottle down again to look at Paul, his eyes piercing. “Where did you learn to do it?”
Paul shrugged, feeling self-conscious. “Oh. You know. Old books. There’s plenty of spells and potions waiting to be discovered again.”
Joshua raised a single eyebrow, a move that never failed to make Paul think of Spock, and endless hours spent watching Star Trek together when they had been kids until they’d been able to quote the series at each other.
“Old books,” Joshua repeated, his words tinted with incredulity. “Why do I have this feeling it’s not as easy as you make it sound?”
Another shrug, and this time Paul ducked his head, as though it would be enough to hide. “So, maybe it took a bit of work,” he admitted.
When he glanced at Joshua again, Paul was sure more questions were on the tip of his friend’s tongue. But after observing Paul for a moment longer with piercing eyes, Joshua simply nodded.
“Sounds very cool,” he said. “How long will it last?”
“About six hours.”
“You’d really do that for me?” Joshua asked very low. He leaned forward over the table, his gaze pinning Paul in place. “Give away your body? Your magic?” He paused and gave a slow shake of his head. “Why?”
The truth shone in a corner of Paul’s mind. It would have been nice to let it out, share that light and warmth, and finally tell Joshua about the depth of his feelings. But the fear, so familiar by now, that Joshua would regard this information as a reason to break off their relationship — or whatever he wanted to call it this week — stilled Paul’ tongue.
“You always wanted to do magic,” he said instead. “I can’t give you magic for good, but I can let you feel what it’s like.”
Sitting back in his chair, Joshua shook his head, the awe shining anew in his eyes. “And all I got you was a bottle of wine.”
Paul laughed quietly. “You can always get me something better next year.” Sobering up, he lifted the potion bottle, angling it so the liquid inside caught the light and shone. “So, do you want to do this, then?”
Joshua didn’t hesitate for a second before saying yes.
~*~
A Mommy For Christmas by Lily Graison
unedited first draft - 4,606 words
Chapter 1
Melissa Stone sniffed back salty tears and stared at the ground, glancing up through her lashes. “Why don’t you love me anymore?”
Alex stopped and spun on his heel. “Missy, that isn’t fair. You know I love you.”
“Then why are you leaving me again?”
“Because I have to work.” He sighed and crossed the driveway, stopping in front of her. He bent his knees, stooping to be eye level with his daughter. “What is this all about?” he asked, wiping the tears from her face. “You’ve known for weeks about his trip. Why now?”
“Because its Christmas.”
He smiled. “Christmas is six weeks away, Missy.”
“And you won’t be here then either.”
“And I told you, I will do all I can to get back in time.”
Missy sniffed again and blinked, more tears rolling down her cheeks. “If mommy was here would you stay?”
Alex’s face went stark white and he looked away, staring off into the distance before clearing his throat. “She’s not here, Missy, and I’m sorry I can’t bring her back.” He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her and kissed her on the head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Now be a good girl and don’t give Margaret any trouble.” He stood, gave a pointed look to Missy’s nanny, Margaret, and walked back to the waiting car. He gave them one last look before smiling and getting inside.
Missy watched the car pull down the drive and sighed before wiping her face dry and looking at Margaret. “It didn’t work.”
Margaret grinned. “I told you it wouldn’t, pumpkin. Your father is a busy man.”
“But the tears always work!”
“Apparently your rein of terror has come to an end.” Margaret laughed and laid her hand on Melissa’s shoulder. “Come on inside. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
Missy looked toward the road one last time before following Margaret inside. The house already seemed darker. Without her father there, it always did, which was beginning to be an every day occurrence. The older she got, the less she saw of him. Before long, she’d never see him at all. She knew his job was important but so was she. She was his only child. She should be the most important thing in his life, not his stupid job.
Dragging her feet behind Margaret, she followed her to the kitchen and climbed up in the stool at the island bar. She sighed again and laid her head in her hand. What was she going to do now? She didn’t want to spend another holiday without her father. He was never there. Her birthday was spent alone while he conducted business seven states away. The Fourth of July picnic was just her and the house servants frolicking by the pond. Valentines day, Easter, Thanksgiving… all of them spent alone. She had everything she’d ever wanted, except for her daddy. He spoiled her rotten and she knew it, but the one thing she needed, for him to be there for her, she knew no amount of fake tears would ever buy. If her mommy was still there, she was almost positive her daddy would be too.
“Stop fretting. You’ll cause wrinkles.”
Missy sat up straight when Margaret sat a mug of hot chocolate in front of her. “Tell me about her again.”
“Oh, pumpkin,” Margaret said, sadly. “You’re already melancholy enough as it is.”
“I know but maybe if I could be more like her, he would stay.” This time, when the tears came, they were real. She sniffed them back and looked up. “He never worked like this when she was still here. You said so yourself.”
“It was different then.”
“Why?” she asked. “He still worked then. The only thing different was that my mommy was here… and I wasn’t.”
“Don’t ever talk like that,” Margaret scolded. “Your daddy loves you. Don’t ever forget that.”
“But he’d love me more if mommy was still here.”
“He’d love you just the same,” Margaret said. “Having a mommy here wouldn’t make any difference to how he felt about you.”
She put her hands around the mug and stared at the marshmallows. Missy was almost positive if her mother were still there, her daddy would be too. She may be young but she wasn’t that naive. She knew why her daddy wasn’t ever in town on her birthday. That was the day her mommy left. If she hadn’t died, then his heart wouldn’t have either. What she really needed was someone who would be there for her.
An idea floated into her mind and she gasped softly to herself before looking up at looked up at Margaret. “Maybe instead of trying to get daddy to stay home with me I should just try to find a new mommy. Then it wouldn’t matter so much when he left.” She saw Margaret stiffen and ducked her head. “Do you think he’d stay longer if I had a mommy?”
“Missy...” Margaret sighed.
“Even if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be alone anymore. I’d have a mommy to love me!”
“You’re already loved,” Margaret said. “We all love you.”
“But he pays you to stay here,” Missy said, sliding from her chair. “If I had a real mommy, she’d stay because she loved me.” And because she loved daddy. Missy nodded her head, convinced she was right. If she had a new mommy, someone who her daddy loved too, then he’d stay. She smiled and felt happy for the first time in weeks. “That’s what I’ll do, Margaret! I’ll get me a new mommy and daddy will stay!” She turned and ran toward the kitchen door, Margaret’s yell following her out. “You can’t just buy a new mother, Missy!”
“Sure I can!” she said, stopping at the door and looking back over her shoulder. “My daddy is rich. I can buy anything I want!”
* * * *
Rachael stared down at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich in her hand and sighed before taking a bite. Eating PB&J sandwiches for lunch was getting old. She’d had them for six days straight now. Of course, being able to afford anything other than that wasn’t her fault. She blamed that on the over-priced rent on the tiny hovel she was forced to live in and the meager wages she earned at the Pic-N-Save. Both were demeaning but what choice did she have? It was either that or let Mark and his family know how low she’d stooped and that would never happen.
An icy blast of wind blew through the park and she shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her slight frame. Her nose was nearly frozen and her hands were red from the brisk chill in the air. Sitting here in the frigid winter temperatures was insane but sharing a break room with the other employees at the corner market she worked was out of the question. Having to talk to them at all was life altering. Sharing a meal with them would be mental suicide. There was only so much a girl could take, after all, and she had enough daily disasters as it was.
The park was unusually packed for such a cold day and Rachael watched family’s go about their business. Why she still tortured herself by coming here caused a daily internal debate. She only prolonged her grief but watching happy families gave her hope. Not everyone married a heartless pig. Just her.
She sighed and took another bite of her sandwich, grimacing as she chewed. If it weren’t for her stubborn pride, her life wouldn’t be so miserable. At least she was willing to admit that to herself now. Denial was a beautiful thing, especially when everything was rosy on your side of the pond.
A squeal to her left caught her attention and she turned her head, watching a little girl stomp her foot and take off walking down the footpath. An older woman followed, an amused look on her face. The girl was dressed impeccably in a thick burgundy coat, complete with fur trimmed hat and hand muffler. Her white stockings and black shoes let you know in a glance this little girl took pride in how she looked. Rachael smiled while watching her. She stopped by a woman a few benches down from where she sat. The exchange looked pleasant until the little girl huffed once again and took off, leaving the older woman with her to follow. Once again, the little girl stopped at another bench, talked to the woman sitting there before moving on.
For ten minutes straight Rachael watched the antics of the little girl until it became apparent her park bench was next. Whatever this little girl was doing wasn’t going as she’d wanted. Her cheeks were red but Rachael couldn’t tell if it was from the wind or frustration. She was clearly agitated but the woman following her still looked amused.
When the girl turned and locked eyes with her, Rachael sat up straight in her seat and watched her cross the distance between them. When she stopped in front of her, Rachael glanced up at the woman standing a few feet away before returning her attention back to the little girl.
“Hello. My name is Melissa Stone but everyone calls me Missy. Are you married?”
Rachael stared at her, letting the bold question roll through her head before remembering her manners. She smiled and gave a brief glance to the lady waiting behind the little girl. “Um, no. I’m not married.”
“Great!” Melissa said. “What is your name?”
“Rachael Wallace.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Rachael,” she said, pulling her hand from the confines of her hand warmer and holding it out to her. “You can call me Missy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Missy.” She reached for her tiny hand, shaking it before smiling.
“Do you have any children?” Missy asked.
“Uh, no.”
“Do you want any?”
Rachael glanced back up at the lady waiting patiently on the footpath. “That’s my nanny, Margaret,” Missy said, glancing over her shoulder. “She wouldn’t let me come to the park alone.”
“Well, that’s very wise of her.”
“If you say so,” Missy said. “Now, can you answer my question, please.”
Rachael glanced from Margaret to Missy. She wasn’t sure what this twenty questions game was but just like Margaret, she was amused. It sure beat store brand peanut butter on stale bread. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I forgot what the question was.”
“Do you want children?”
“Oh,” Rachael said. “Yes. Someday I’d very much like to have children.”
Missy turned her head and threw a beatific smile to Margaret. She giggled before turning back to face her. “Do you live alone?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have plans for Christmas?”
Rachael felt a small stab of pain but smiled to ward it off. “Not really. Do you?”
“Yes,” Missy said. “I’ll be spending it with my mommy and daddy.”
“That’s wonderful,” Rachael said, smiling. “I’m sure it will be a great Christmas.”
“Oh, it will be the best!” Missy said, smiling. “Do you have a job?”
“Yes.”
“Does it pay good?”
Rachael couldn’t help but laugh. Missy was a tiny general directing an army of questions in an all out assault of… something. What the girl wanted was still a mystery but for the first time in weeks, Rachael’s lunch hour wasn’t spend in self-loathing. She liked this little girls’ straight-forwardness. Smiling, she pointed to the space beside her on the bench. “Would you like to sit down, Missy?”
Missy’s eyes glowed as she smiled and hurriedly sat down, her feet swinging under the bench. “Thank you,” she said, grinning as she glanced over at Margaret who still stood by the path. “Can you answer my question please?”
“Does my job pay well?” she asked. At Missy’s firm nod, she smiled. “Not really but it keeps me fed.” She noticed Missy glance down at the half eaten PB&J sandwich still in her hand before glancing at Margaret. “How much money do you make?”
“Missy,” Margaret said. “That isn’t polite. Stick to the list, please.”
“But she’s the only one who has made it this far.”
“That’s beside the point. I only allowed this based on the questions we agreed on.”
Missy sighed and nodded her head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to ask that one.”
“That’s all right,” Rachael said. “I didn’t mind.”
“See, Margaret, she didn’t mind.”
Margaret just smiled when Rachael glanced over at her. The older woman was tall and thin with wispy brown hair. It was streaked with gray but she didn’t look old enough to have that much gray in her hair. Her face still held a youthful glow. Kind, brown smiling eyes and high cheekbones graced her square face. She stood with her shoulders back, her spine straight and carried an air of authority Rachael didn’t see much of in women. Whoever these people were, they didn’t shop at Pic-n-Save. Their clothes alone told her that much.
“Do you like to bake cookies?”
Rachael turned her attention back to Missy when she spoke and gave the little girl a smile. Her cheeks were rosy red and large blue eyes shined under a fringe of red bangs. Her legs were still swinging under the bench and even though Rachael had no idea what this game was about, she liked this kid. She was headstrong and obviously used to getting her way. She envied her for that alone. “Yes,” she finally answered. “I do like to bake cookies. Especially Christmas cookies. Decorating them is the best part.”
“I think so too!” Missy said, grinning. “What about decorating the Christmas tree? Do you like that?”
Rachael grinned. “Who doesn’t? It’s the best part about Christmas.”
“Shopping?”
“I love to shop.” If I had any money to do it with, she added silently to herself. “Do you?”
“Yes. I always buy presents for everybody I know. Even the people I don’t really like. My daddy says it’s the right thing to do.”
“He sounds like a smart man.”
“He’s the smartest!” Missy beamed. “And he’s handsome and rich but he works too much.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. His working too much, I mean.”
“That’s all right,” Missy said. “I’m going to fix that and I think you’re perfect.”
Missy jumped down from the bench and ran to Margaret, making the woman bend down so Missy could whisper something to her. Rachael watched them silently, looking toward the street when she heard the church bells on 10th Street ring. She glanced down at her watch, her eyes widening when she saw the time. She had exactly two minutes to walk five blocks! She was going to be late for work.
Standing, she tossed her uneaten lunch away and turned back to her unusual lunch date. “Missy,” she said, trying to get her attention. “It’s been nice meeting you but I have to go.” She waited until the little girl turned back to her before closing the distance between them. She bent down and extended her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you and I thank you for the company. Maybe we’ll run in to each other again soon.”
“You can’t leave yet,” Missy said, her eyes wide. “I’m not finished with the interview.”
“Interview?” Rachael said, straightening her spine. She smiled and glanced at Margaret. “I really do have to go,” she said, turning her attention back to Missy. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can meet another day?” When Missy said nothing, just stood there staring at her with large blue eyes, Rachael gave Margaret a nod of her head before taking a step back. “I’m here everyday at this time. You can come and talk to me anytime you want.”
Weeks from now she’d know without a doubt how Missy Stone had everyone she knew wrapped around her finger. When Rachael stared down into her chubby little face and saw her eyes fill with tears, her heart nearly broke. She couldn’t do anything but stand there, frozen in place as big, fat tears spilled down the girls cheeks. Harsh sobs came moments later and she looked frantically at Margaret, who had chosen that exact moment to find her fingernails more important than the crying child in front of her. She didn’t know what to do. Bending at the knees, she stooped down to eye level with Missy and tried to soothe her. “Missy, please don’t cry. I would stay all day and talk with you if I could but I have to get back to work.”
Missy looked up and sniffed back tears. “You don’t have to go back. You can work for me.”
Rachael raised an eyebrow at her before smiling. “I’m sure that would be the best job in the world but…”
“I want to hire you to be my mommy,” Missy said, drying her face and standing to her full height, which was just over four foot. “Just until Christmas is over unless you want to stay longer. I’m sure my daddy won’t mind. He’s never home.”
Rachael blinked. Hire her to be her mommy?
“Margaret, I want Rachael,” Missy said. “Make her stay.”
Rachael glanced up at Margaret and the woman smiled before motioning with a flick of her wrist to the park bench she’d sat on earlier. Rachael stood and followed her.
“Ms. Wallace, wasn’t it?” Margaret said.
“Yes.”
Margaret glanced at Missy before clearing her throat. “Missy is determined to have a mother for Christmas and we’ve spent the last five days ‘interviewing’ potential mothers for her. It is a real job, I can assure you, and you’re the only person in the many she’s talked to that has met all her requirements.”
Rachael listened to Margaret talk while looking at Missy. The girl was staring at her with a smile that said she was pleased with herself. Had she really been interviewing her for a position as her mother? What in the world were these people playing at? Who hired a mother? And where was Missy’s real mother?
Her attention was drawn back to Margaret and noticed the woman had stopped talking. She didn’t have a clue what she’d even said and stared at her for long minutes before shaking her head. “What is this about again?”
Margaret smiled but Rachael could tell it was forced. “A mother,” she said. “For Christmas. The job entails spending the next five weeks with Missy, doing all the things she thinks a mother and daughter do together. She has a full itinerary already written out and it’s exhausting.” Margaret laughed and shook her head. “I can promise you it will be an adventure.”
Rachael couldn’t think of a thing to say so didn’t. She stared from Margaret to Missy and took a step backwards before stopping at the look on Missy’s face. The tears were gathering in her eyes again and Rachael’s breath caught in her throat.
“Here is the phone number to the house and Missy’s itinerary,” Margaret said, handing over a business card and a sheet of paper. “Look them over and give her a call if you are willing to accept the job.”
Rachael unfolded the paper, reading the list of activities Missy had written down. The entire page was covered in small crayon colored drawings and each item was written in different colored ink. She looked back up at Margaret and shook her head. “Is this a joke?”
“No,” Margaret said. She lowered her voice and leaned toward her. “I know it sounds ridiculous but I can assure you you’ll be perfectly safe. The Stone estate sits on one hundred acres just outside the city. Feel free to check out Mr. Stone if you feel it necessary. We will require a background check from you, of course. Even though Missy insists on doing this we have to make precautions to see to her safety as well.”
These people must be insane, Rachael thought, as she stared at Margaret. Who in the world would hire a mother?
“I know it’s an odd request,” Margaret said. “But Missy is used to getting her way. Lord help us all when she doesn’t.”
“And her father is allowing her to do this?”
“Oh, he doesn’t know. Mr. Stone is out of the country until after the New Year. Which is why Missy wants a mother for Christmas.”
“So he has no idea his daughter is hiring a complete stranger to come into his home and play mommy until he gets back?”
“Exactly,” Margaret said. “Please, just tell her you will think about it and will call with your answer. Even if she thinks you’ll take the job it will give us a few days rest.”
Rachael looked back at Missy and forced a smile on her face when the little girl grinned up at her. “Where is her mother?” she asked.
“She died in childbirth. I’m the closest thing to a mother she’s ever had.”
“It doesn’t bother you she’s dong this?” Rachael asked, looking back up at Margaret.
“No. I love Missy as if she was my own but I can’t be there for her like a real mother can. I’m an employee of Mr. Stone’s and nothing more. Missy misses her father. He works non-stop and rarely spends more than a week home at a time. Missy is a delightful child but she’s lonely. She just wants someone who is there for her and her alone.”
Rachael sighed and glanced down at the paper in her hand before crossing the footpath and stopping next to Missy. She smiled at her and showed her the papers in her hand. “I appreciate the job offer, Missy. I’m honored you would pick me. I’ll look over everything and give you an answer very soon.”
“Do you promise?” Missy asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes. I promise but right now I really do have to go.”
“Okay! I wrote the phone number to our house on the back of daddy’s card. Ask for me when you call. I’ll be waiting!”
Rachael stood stunned when Missy threw her arms around her waist and hugged her before stepping back, yelling a quick, “Bye!” and racing toward Margaret.
Watching them walk back down the footpath, Rachael could hear Missy’s excited chatter and Margaret’s admit demands to not get her hopes up. Glancing down at the business card and itinerary in her hand, she laughed and shook her head. “What in the world just happened?” Tucking the card and letter into her pocket she turned and ran from the park. Not only was she now late for work, she had to find a way to break a little girls heart and not feel like a complete horses’ ass while doing it.
Chapter Two
Rachael had never been this far from the city. The wide open spaces and clean, fresh air made her heart lighter and caused the fear clawing at her throat to stop choking her. At precisely seven a.m. the car Missy said would be there to pick her up was. Along with a sharply dressed chauffer. To say her neighbors were impressed was an understatement. They’d come out of their apartments, gawked at the car parked near the curb and whispered as her bags were carried down the steps. She’d ducked her head and tried not to meet their gaze.
Ten days ago, she was a twenty-four year old divorcee who found a crummy job as a cashier at the local Pic-n-Save and lived in an overpriced, one room apartment. Now, she was surrogate mother to Melissa Stone, daughter of Alexander Stone, one of the countries richest men. How quickly fate steps in to change ones life.
After her initial meeting with Missy in the park, she’d quickly forgotten about her. Once she returned to work, late, her boss had let her know how replaceable she was and how much her tardiness was going to cost her. The cut in pay was devastating. She could barely afford rent and food as it was. When her shift was over, she’d walked fifteen blocks back home, dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment and behind the closed door, she cried. Since the day she met Mark Wallace, her ex-husband, on her nineteenth birthday, her life had been nothing but one disappointment after the other.
The minute she’d stopped wallowing in self-pity, Rachael remembered Missy, with her shining eyes and charming personality. She dug through her coat pockets, found the business card and itinerary and for the first time, actually looked at what was offered to her. The next morning, she’d dressed and headed straight for the public library. An entire day spent researching Alexander Stone on the internet and she was mesmerized. He was the youngest millionaire on the east coast, rich, just like Missy had said, and every bit as handsome. She’d spent half an hour just looking at pictures of him. Tall, dark and handsome were an understatement. Alexander Stone looked as if he’d stepped out of the pages of some men’s magazine. His dark hair was thick and wavy, his eyes a deep blue. His tailored suits left very little to the imagination. The man had a body that was hard and toned in all the right places. She was glad he wasn’t going to be there. The pictures of him alone made her heart skip a beat; she could only imagine what standing in the same room with him would do.
The car slowed and turned off the main highway onto a tree-lined road with acres of rolling hills on either side. The grass was brilliant green and the tress tall and majestic. She stared in awe, gaping at the scenery. A pond glistened in the distance, the sun shining down and making the surface glisten like glass. White picket fencing ran as far as the eye could see and horses grazed in the meadow. When the house came into view, Rachael barely contained a gasp. Cream colored stone, three stories tall jutted up over the hill like a medieval castle. The architecture reminded her of Victorian mansions and the manicured grounds surrounding it drew a soft whistle past her lips.
When the car came to a complete stop, Rachael could only stare. This is where Missy Stone lives? she thought, dumbfounded. The chauffer opened her door and she climbed out of the car, staring up at the house. The windows were spotless with soft gauzy curtains behind the glass. The front door opened moments later and Missy Stone ran down the steps with a smile beaming on her face.
“You made it!” she squealed.
“Yes,” Rachael said, smiling. “Finally.”
Missy wrapped her in a hug, holding on to her for long minutes before stepping away and grabbing her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you my room.”
Rachael followed her inside and smiled at Margaret who stood by the door.
“Ms. Wallace,” Margaret said. “Welcome. You’re things will be put in your room for you.”
Missy huffed and tugged on Margaret’s sleeve. “You’re supposed to say, Welcome home,” she whispered.
“Yes. Please forgive me. Welcome home, Ma’am.”
Rachael watched Missy’s face light up and she smiled before saying, “Thank you, Margaret.”
“Come on, Rachael,” Missy said. “I want to show you my room! Then we’ll go outside and see the horses. Do you like horses?”
“I’m not sure,” Rachael said. “I’ve never been around horses.”
Missy tugged on her hand, leading her toward the over-sized, circular staircase that led to the second floor. “Oh, you’ll love the horses.”
“I’m sure I will.”
~*~
~*~
Goodness! That was a very nice start to three very interesting stories, ladies. Thank you for giving us such a delicious sneak-peek at your work!
Be sure to come back tomorrow to see what we have in store but before you go, here's today's giveaways.
Contest Rules:
Since you're all probably exhausted from all that reading, we'll make the contest quick and easy today. Just comment to this post to enter. (Be sure you click the "I DID THIS" button on the RaffleCopter form after making your blog comment!)
We have 3 books up for grabs again today. ONE winner will snag all three. We'll draw one winner and announce it tomorrow and deliver the prize at the end of the event. Up for grabs: Kallysten's: Out of The Box, Lily Graison's: Wicked: Jade Butterfly, Candy Nicks': Choice of 1 Moon Child Series Book
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AND THE WINNER IS...Entry #3 Marie Hitchin
Today, all three authors are posting excerpts from unfinished Christmas stories. Feel free to let them know what you think, and who knows, maybe they'll finally finish them! They're very long in length, all 3 stories totaling nearly 12,000 words, so grab a comfy chair and enjoy the lengthy read!
The front door slammed shut behind Paul. He barely paid it any mind, already mentally running through the list of things he needed to do. He glanced at his watch after shrugging out of his jacket and grimaced. He didn’t even have half an hour to get everything ready.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.
He pulled his shoes off without bothering to undo the laces. Snow splattered on the entrance mat and already started to melt. The stupid snow was why he was so late. Christmas Day lunch at his parents’ never ended later than three in the afternoon, which was usually when his nephews, hyped up on sugar, became too much for his mom to handle and she started packing leftovers for everyone as a sign that it was time to leave. But a fresh layer of snow had fallen while they ate and opened presents, and Paul’s father had asked with the familiar wave of his fingers that accompanied any mention of magic, “Can you do your little trick before you leave? Shoveling kills my back.”
It was a stretch of the truth and Paul knew it: his father’s trusted snow-blower worked just fine. But ‘doing his little trick’ took little time and not much effort; in a few minutes, he had used his magic to blow the snow off the sidewalk and driveway and into neat piles in the edges of the yard. His nephews ooh’ed and aah’ed, his sister rolled her eyes and muttered “Show off” where only he would hear, his brother-in-law looked, as always, impressed — and his mother was already knocking on the neighbors’ doors, asking if they wanted a bit of help with the snow. Before he knew it, Paul had been roped into clearing the entire block on both sides of the street. When he was done, his sister’s family was long gone and his mother asked him if he was staying for dinner. Joshua was supposed to arrive at Paul’s apartment less than an hour later.
At least, his mother had given him leftovers, so he didn’t have to worry about the food. That still left him with a lot to do before Joshua knocked on his door. First and most importantly: the bedroom. He changed the rumpled sheets and remade the bed with freshly-laundered bedding, even adding an extra flannel blanket; Joshua always complained that his feet got cold. Then again, Paul knew better than to hope that a simple added cover would finally be enough for Joshua to spend the night. No, he would leave by three or four in the morning, like he always did. And Paul wouldn’t plead for him to stay; not this time.
He promised himself he wouldn’t plead before each of Joshua’s visits, but somehow he always ended up asking. Or trying to entice Joshua to stay a bit longer with means that might not have been entirely fair. Joshua sometimes caved in, but Paul had yet to awaken, come morning, with his best friend, co-worker and sometimes-lover in his bed.
Once the bed was made and the pillows fluffed and inviting, Paul threw the clothes strewn around the room into a basket, and shoved that into the closet for now. One last check into the bedside drawer — no, he hadn’t run out of condoms — and he hurried into the bathroom.
It would have to be the fastest shower he had ever taken. His cock tried to show interest at the mere thought of Joshua’s impending arrival, but Paul took care of that with a blast of cold water. He wanted to give Joshua his gift first, and a hard on might make things a little awkward — at least in the beginning. Depending on how things went after they drank the potion, things very well might go that way before the night was over.
And suddenly, another blast of icy water was much needed.
Before Paul could switch back to hot water, the doorbell rang.
“Damn.”
He rinsed off the last of the soap in cold water, cursing the entire time, and finally stepped out of the shower. The bell rang again, twice this time; patience had never been Joshua’s strong point.
“Coming!” he called out as he jammed his glasses back onto his nose then grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.
He left a trail of wet footprints and water drops on the wooden floors through the living room and all the way to the front door. He opened it just as Joshua rang the bell again.
“Finally. You took your ti—” Joshua stopped mid-word. For a second, his mouth hung open, then his lips curled into an appreciative grin as his gaze roamed over Paul. “Or maybe you were just trying to jumpstart things?”
Paul rolled his eyes at him, but he could feel his cheeks heating up with a blush. “Like you need incentives to jumpstart anything. Come in, I’m freezing.”
A brief look of apology crossed Joshua’s features. He came in and closed the door behind him, gesturing vaguely to the bedroom door as he started getting out of his winter coat.
“Go get dressed before you catch your death. Then we’ll warm up.” He raised his hand as he finished, showing the bottle he was holding, a ribbon wrapped around the neck and obscuring the label. “Merry Christmas!”
Paul chuckled on his way to his room. “You know where the glasses are. Be right back.”
Was he imagining Joshua’s eyes on his ass, following his every step? He glanced back before entering his room, one quick look; Joshua’s gaze shot up to meet his. His lazy smile sent another flash of heat through Paul.
“Behave,” he demanded.
Joshua’s laugh still rang like a deep bell after Paul had closed the door.
For expediency’s sake — and because his underwear drawer was woefully empty — he slid into a pair of jeans commando, tugged on a t-shirt that clung to him where he wasn’t quite dry, and was out of the bedroom again in no time, rubbing the towel over his hair. The empty living room startled him for a second before he followed the noises coming from the kitchen. He stopped on the threshold and leaned against the doorjamb to watch the most unlikely of spectacles: Joshua was cooking.
Granted, cooking in this instance meant throwing the leftovers Paul had brought home in the microwave, but it was still a sight uncommon enough to deserve some notice.
“And here I thought the use of a microwave oven was beyond you,” Paul teased after Joshua had found the ‘start’ button after a good five seconds of looking for it.
Joshua threw an eye roll at him. “Funny. That your mom’s cooking? Damn but I missed her potato casserole.”
Paul nodded and felt his smile waver. Joshua had had his fair share of meals at Paul’s house when they were teens, and even later when Joshua had been on leave from the Academy on weekends. He had never asked why the invitations had suddenly dried up, and Paul didn’t know how to explain that it was his fault. His mother had no issue with Paul being in love with Joshua; she did however disapprove of what Paul had let slip their relationship was like: adult time, but no emotional connection where Joshua was concerned. She said often enough that Paul deserved better than ‘booty calls’ — she had said it again not an hour earlier, much to Paul’s embarrassment. She just couldn’t understand that Paul would take whatever he was offered until Joshua was ready for more. At least, this time she hadn’t asked the question that had kept Paul awake on too many nights. What if he never is?
“Had a nice time at your folks’?” Joshua asked while he continued his domestic act and set plates next to the two glasses he had already set on the dinner table.
Paul pushed away from the door and opened the closest drawer to grab forks and knives. “I did. Sofia was there with the husband and kids. And after lunch I was made to clear the snow from the entire street. Lots of fun.”
Joshua was chuckling as he uncorked the we bottle he had brought. “I told you, years ago. You should have kept the magic to yourself rather than tell everyone.”
The memory was bittersweet. Joshua had been the first person Paul had told when he had first realized what was happening to him. They had been a little over fourteen at the time. Joshua had been adamant that if Paul told his parents, bad things would happen. Only later had Paul understood; Joshua had come to a different kind of realization weeks earlier, and his parents had not been thrilled about his newfound preferences and identity, far from it. It was around that time that Joshua had started having dinner with Paul’s family a few nights a week.
The microwave pinged, pulling Paul from his memories. He pulled one dish out, cursing under his breath when he realized it was too hot and needed the oven mitts. He put one on both hands and took the dishes to the table.
“Very sexy,” Joshua smirked at him. “But I think I liked the towel look better.”
“Smartass,” Paul snorted. He dropped the mitts on the counter and grabbed serving utensils. When he turned back to the table, a piece of turkey was on Joshua’s plate and he was licking his fingers. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Paul refrained from commenting and sat across from him.
“Try the wine,” Joshua suggested, picking his own glass as he did. “See if you like it.”
He didn’t bring the glass to his lips before Paul had. Smooth velvet slid down Paul’s throat; Joshua had always been very good at procuring good alcohol, even before they had been old enough to drink.
“Very nice,” Paul said with a nod. “Thanks.”
Joshua grinned at him and they started eating.
“So what did you do today?” Paul asked as he helped himself to a piece of turkey and demonstrated the proper use of a serving fork.
Joshua shrugged. “The usual. Went to the gym, grabbed lunch at the diner down my street. And then I watched some TV until it was time to come here.”
Shaking his head, Paul swallowed a piece of potato and repeated, “You went to the gym and had lunch at the diner. On Christmas Day.”
“They were open,” Joshua pointed out, gesturing at Paul with his fork. “And I was hardly the only one there.”
Paul didn’t know where to even begin, so he let it go. Besides, arguing about Joshua’s routine never led to anything good.
“Any plans for later?” he asked instead, tongue in cheek.
Joshua took a sip of wine and was grinning when he set his glass down again. “I’m glad you asked. I called Karen to check if anything’s up.”
Groaning, Paul sat back in his chair and took his glasses off to polish them with a paper napkin. Karen was their boss, and she cared about Christmas about as much as Joshua did. Hanukkah, on the other hand, was a different matter.
“Don’t tell me she gave you an assignment,” Paul muttered, glowering over the table at the indistinct blur that Joshua was to his non-bespectacled eyes.
Joshua chuckled. “As a matter of fact, she did not,” he said with a grin in his voice. “She was on a case, but she said she could take care of it. So I guess I’m free tonight. Did you have anything in mind? Or was the towel show just teasing?”
It was with a measure of relief that Paul pushed his glasses back onto his nose. He offered Joshua a shrug as unconcerned as he could manage. “I don’t know. I guess we could play a board game or watch a movie or something.”
Joshua’s laugh always did strange things to Paul’s belly. Strange, pleasant things.
“A board game, really.” He emptied his glass before refilling it, and Paul’s as well. “We must have been ten the last time we played a board game. You’re sure you can’t think of anything else?”
Paul affected to mull this over for a little while. “I guess I could give you your present,” he finally said. His voice shook a little at the prospect, but Joshua didn’t seem to notice. Indeed, he grinned as he raised his glass in a toast.
“Now we’re talking. Let me guess. It comes wrapped in a towel?”
Paul barked out a quick laugh. “Will you let it go already with that towel? I should have left you outside while I got dressed. Maybe the blonde next door would have opened her door.”
“I don’t care much for blondes,” Joshua said with a lazy smile, his eyes flicking up to Paul’s hair. “And what can I say, you made quite an impression in that towel. You’ve been working out, huh?”
Paul didn’t know whether to be pleased or embarrassed that Joshua had noticed. He hid his blush behind another sip of wine.
“Did you start going to a gym?” Joshua pushed on. “We could go together.”
If Paul was totally honest with himself, the off chance that Joshua might suggest this very thing was why he had started to exercise. He had called himself pathetic over it, along with a slew of other less than complimentary adjectives, but he had long ago accepted that he was hung up over Joshua and made his peace with that. Now if Joshua could only realize that Paul wanted them to be more than bedmates and friends…
“That’d be cool,” he started, but Joshua was already laughing. “What?” Paul asked, confused.
“I’m just trying to imagine you getting up early to go exercise,” Joshua said with a too wide grin. “Early for you has to be ten or eleven, huh?”
The jibe stung even more for the fact that it was one of Joshua’s often repeated reasons for not spending the night. He was an early riser; Paul wasn’t, not unless he had a good reason to get out of bed early. A reason like exercising, going to work—or being with Joshua.
“Sometimes you sound like we’re still twelve,” Paul said, and while he tried to sound teasing, the words felt vaguely accusing. “You do realize I’m not that kid anymore, right?”
Joshua’s grin remained just as wide. “If you were a kid, I wouldn’t be sleeping with you. Who do you think I am?”
Rolling his eyes, Paul threw his bunched up napkin at Joshua’s face. “Idiot.”
Quick as always, Joshua caught the napkin and flung it back. “What else is new? Now. My gift. I’m waiting.” He leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head, raising an expectant eyebrow at Paul.
This was the moment, wasn’t it? Paul swallowed the lump of nervousness that was suddenly blocking his throat. He had thought of getting another present for Joshua—a normal present—because he had known there would come a time when he’d start getting cold feet. He hadn’t bought anything in the end so he wouldn’t have a way out. He had waited too long for this; he wasn’t going to chicken out now.
“Your gift,” he said as he stood, fumbling a little. “Right. Just a second.”
He could feel Joshua’s eyes on him as he hurried out of the kitchen and to the second bedroom, the one that the realtor had suggested would make a fine office and that Paul had turned into a magic lab. The smell in there was comforting, fragrant dried herbs mixed with the metallic tones of various powders ground to fine dust, and Paul’s nervousness abated a little. Everything would go just fine, he told himself as he picked up the glass jar from his work table. He had planned everything perfectly, and there was no reason for anything to glitch in any way.
He returned to the kitchen, holding the corked jar with both hands, and was surprised to find that Joshua had cleared the table and was putting the dishes away in the dishwasher. Like the sight of Joshua warming up the food earlier, it seemed oddly domestic, and Paul caught himself imagining what it would be like to live with Joshua, cook with him, do chores together — wake up by his side.
When Joshua looked up, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “I see great minds think alike. You got me wine, too?”
Shaking his head, Paul went back to the table, inviting Joshua to come along with a gesture. Soon, they were sitting across each other again, the jar between them on the table.
“It’s not wine,” Paul said quietly. “It’s a potion. A spell.”
Joshua’s expression turned almost eager, and he reached for the jar, lifting it off the table and toward the light above them. Paul’s gaze followed the gesture. The jar was clear glass, and the liquid inside it seemed to gleam in iridescent colors as it shifted in its container.
“What does it do?” Joshua asked as he set it down again.
“It’ll give you what I can’t give you any other way,” Paul said, the words he had prepared coming out easily now that he had started. “Remember when you asked if I could help you learn magic?”
A frown fluttered over Joshua’s brow. “When I asked… But that was years ago. And you said you couldn’t.”
“I still can’t,” Paul answered the unvoiced question. “You don’t have any magic of your own, and I can’t give you that. But I can show you what it’s like, just for a little while.” He pointed at the jar. “If we drink this together, we’ll switch bodies. And you’ll have my magic.”
Joshua’s frown deepened even more. “Switch… what?”
Paul couldn’t suppress a grin at the awe in Joshua’s voice as he started to understand.
“You’ll be in my body,” Paul explained. “And I’ll be in yours. Just for a few hours. And you’ll be able to do magic.”
“Really? But… I don’t know spells or anything.”
The eagerness, even hope reflected in Joshua’s eyes sent a thrill of sheer joy zinging through Paul. He had put a lot of work into that potion, first researching through every book he owned and a few borrowed from a friend who owned a magic bookstore, then hunting down the ingredients and working out the kinks of mixing them together so that they would do what he wanted them to. He had singed his eyebrows a few times, and set off the fire alarm in his apartment twice. His first attempt — tested with his bookstore friend — had fizzled out to nothing more than a pounding headache for both of them. The second attempt had worked, and for two minutes Paul had stared at himself, while his friend, in Paul’s body, stared back. They had each tried to do magic and had both commented on how it felt different. After comparing notes, they had realized that the strengths of each had remained with the body. The research had hinted it might happen, and that was exactly what Paul had hoped for. After all, if his magic followed his spirit, there wasn’t much point to switching bodies.
“I’ll tell you how,” Paul assured Joshua. “My body, muscle memory, the pathways in my brain will still know magic. We’ll keep things simple and it’ll be easy.”
The hope flared even brighter in Joshua’s eyes as he leaned forward, picked up the jar again, and held it as if it were precious. He rolled the bottle back and forth between his fingers, watching the liquid inside intently. Paul watched Joshua as closely, and tried to guess everything that was going on through his mind. Was he imagining already what spells he would soon get to perform?
“That seems like a really complicated bit of magic,” Joshua said, setting the bottle down again to look at Paul, his eyes piercing. “Where did you learn to do it?”
Paul shrugged, feeling self-conscious. “Oh. You know. Old books. There’s plenty of spells and potions waiting to be discovered again.”
Joshua raised a single eyebrow, a move that never failed to make Paul think of Spock, and endless hours spent watching Star Trek together when they had been kids until they’d been able to quote the series at each other.
“Old books,” Joshua repeated, his words tinted with incredulity. “Why do I have this feeling it’s not as easy as you make it sound?”
Another shrug, and this time Paul ducked his head, as though it would be enough to hide. “So, maybe it took a bit of work,” he admitted.
When he glanced at Joshua again, Paul was sure more questions were on the tip of his friend’s tongue. But after observing Paul for a moment longer with piercing eyes, Joshua simply nodded.
“Sounds very cool,” he said. “How long will it last?”
“About six hours.”
“You’d really do that for me?” Joshua asked very low. He leaned forward over the table, his gaze pinning Paul in place. “Give away your body? Your magic?” He paused and gave a slow shake of his head. “Why?”
The truth shone in a corner of Paul’s mind. It would have been nice to let it out, share that light and warmth, and finally tell Joshua about the depth of his feelings. But the fear, so familiar by now, that Joshua would regard this information as a reason to break off their relationship — or whatever he wanted to call it this week — stilled Paul’ tongue.
“You always wanted to do magic,” he said instead. “I can’t give you magic for good, but I can let you feel what it’s like.”
Sitting back in his chair, Joshua shook his head, the awe shining anew in his eyes. “And all I got you was a bottle of wine.”
Paul laughed quietly. “You can always get me something better next year.” Sobering up, he lifted the potion bottle, angling it so the liquid inside caught the light and shone. “So, do you want to do this, then?”
Joshua didn’t hesitate for a second before saying yes.
unedited first draft - 4,606 words
Chapter 1
Melissa Stone sniffed back salty tears and stared at the ground, glancing up through her lashes. “Why don’t you love me anymore?”
Alex stopped and spun on his heel. “Missy, that isn’t fair. You know I love you.”
“Then why are you leaving me again?”
“Because I have to work.” He sighed and crossed the driveway, stopping in front of her. He bent his knees, stooping to be eye level with his daughter. “What is this all about?” he asked, wiping the tears from her face. “You’ve known for weeks about his trip. Why now?”
“Because its Christmas.”
He smiled. “Christmas is six weeks away, Missy.”
“And you won’t be here then either.”
“And I told you, I will do all I can to get back in time.”
Missy sniffed again and blinked, more tears rolling down her cheeks. “If mommy was here would you stay?”
Alex’s face went stark white and he looked away, staring off into the distance before clearing his throat. “She’s not here, Missy, and I’m sorry I can’t bring her back.” He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her and kissed her on the head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Now be a good girl and don’t give Margaret any trouble.” He stood, gave a pointed look to Missy’s nanny, Margaret, and walked back to the waiting car. He gave them one last look before smiling and getting inside.
Missy watched the car pull down the drive and sighed before wiping her face dry and looking at Margaret. “It didn’t work.”
Margaret grinned. “I told you it wouldn’t, pumpkin. Your father is a busy man.”
“But the tears always work!”
“Apparently your rein of terror has come to an end.” Margaret laughed and laid her hand on Melissa’s shoulder. “Come on inside. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
Missy looked toward the road one last time before following Margaret inside. The house already seemed darker. Without her father there, it always did, which was beginning to be an every day occurrence. The older she got, the less she saw of him. Before long, she’d never see him at all. She knew his job was important but so was she. She was his only child. She should be the most important thing in his life, not his stupid job.
Dragging her feet behind Margaret, she followed her to the kitchen and climbed up in the stool at the island bar. She sighed again and laid her head in her hand. What was she going to do now? She didn’t want to spend another holiday without her father. He was never there. Her birthday was spent alone while he conducted business seven states away. The Fourth of July picnic was just her and the house servants frolicking by the pond. Valentines day, Easter, Thanksgiving… all of them spent alone. She had everything she’d ever wanted, except for her daddy. He spoiled her rotten and she knew it, but the one thing she needed, for him to be there for her, she knew no amount of fake tears would ever buy. If her mommy was still there, she was almost positive her daddy would be too.
“Stop fretting. You’ll cause wrinkles.”
Missy sat up straight when Margaret sat a mug of hot chocolate in front of her. “Tell me about her again.”
“Oh, pumpkin,” Margaret said, sadly. “You’re already melancholy enough as it is.”
“I know but maybe if I could be more like her, he would stay.” This time, when the tears came, they were real. She sniffed them back and looked up. “He never worked like this when she was still here. You said so yourself.”
“It was different then.”
“Why?” she asked. “He still worked then. The only thing different was that my mommy was here… and I wasn’t.”
“Don’t ever talk like that,” Margaret scolded. “Your daddy loves you. Don’t ever forget that.”
“But he’d love me more if mommy was still here.”
“He’d love you just the same,” Margaret said. “Having a mommy here wouldn’t make any difference to how he felt about you.”
She put her hands around the mug and stared at the marshmallows. Missy was almost positive if her mother were still there, her daddy would be too. She may be young but she wasn’t that naive. She knew why her daddy wasn’t ever in town on her birthday. That was the day her mommy left. If she hadn’t died, then his heart wouldn’t have either. What she really needed was someone who would be there for her.
An idea floated into her mind and she gasped softly to herself before looking up at looked up at Margaret. “Maybe instead of trying to get daddy to stay home with me I should just try to find a new mommy. Then it wouldn’t matter so much when he left.” She saw Margaret stiffen and ducked her head. “Do you think he’d stay longer if I had a mommy?”
“Missy...” Margaret sighed.
“Even if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be alone anymore. I’d have a mommy to love me!”
“You’re already loved,” Margaret said. “We all love you.”
“But he pays you to stay here,” Missy said, sliding from her chair. “If I had a real mommy, she’d stay because she loved me.” And because she loved daddy. Missy nodded her head, convinced she was right. If she had a new mommy, someone who her daddy loved too, then he’d stay. She smiled and felt happy for the first time in weeks. “That’s what I’ll do, Margaret! I’ll get me a new mommy and daddy will stay!” She turned and ran toward the kitchen door, Margaret’s yell following her out. “You can’t just buy a new mother, Missy!”
“Sure I can!” she said, stopping at the door and looking back over her shoulder. “My daddy is rich. I can buy anything I want!”
Rachael stared down at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich in her hand and sighed before taking a bite. Eating PB&J sandwiches for lunch was getting old. She’d had them for six days straight now. Of course, being able to afford anything other than that wasn’t her fault. She blamed that on the over-priced rent on the tiny hovel she was forced to live in and the meager wages she earned at the Pic-N-Save. Both were demeaning but what choice did she have? It was either that or let Mark and his family know how low she’d stooped and that would never happen.
An icy blast of wind blew through the park and she shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her slight frame. Her nose was nearly frozen and her hands were red from the brisk chill in the air. Sitting here in the frigid winter temperatures was insane but sharing a break room with the other employees at the corner market she worked was out of the question. Having to talk to them at all was life altering. Sharing a meal with them would be mental suicide. There was only so much a girl could take, after all, and she had enough daily disasters as it was.
The park was unusually packed for such a cold day and Rachael watched family’s go about their business. Why she still tortured herself by coming here caused a daily internal debate. She only prolonged her grief but watching happy families gave her hope. Not everyone married a heartless pig. Just her.
She sighed and took another bite of her sandwich, grimacing as she chewed. If it weren’t for her stubborn pride, her life wouldn’t be so miserable. At least she was willing to admit that to herself now. Denial was a beautiful thing, especially when everything was rosy on your side of the pond.
A squeal to her left caught her attention and she turned her head, watching a little girl stomp her foot and take off walking down the footpath. An older woman followed, an amused look on her face. The girl was dressed impeccably in a thick burgundy coat, complete with fur trimmed hat and hand muffler. Her white stockings and black shoes let you know in a glance this little girl took pride in how she looked. Rachael smiled while watching her. She stopped by a woman a few benches down from where she sat. The exchange looked pleasant until the little girl huffed once again and took off, leaving the older woman with her to follow. Once again, the little girl stopped at another bench, talked to the woman sitting there before moving on.
For ten minutes straight Rachael watched the antics of the little girl until it became apparent her park bench was next. Whatever this little girl was doing wasn’t going as she’d wanted. Her cheeks were red but Rachael couldn’t tell if it was from the wind or frustration. She was clearly agitated but the woman following her still looked amused.
When the girl turned and locked eyes with her, Rachael sat up straight in her seat and watched her cross the distance between them. When she stopped in front of her, Rachael glanced up at the woman standing a few feet away before returning her attention back to the little girl.
“Hello. My name is Melissa Stone but everyone calls me Missy. Are you married?”
Rachael stared at her, letting the bold question roll through her head before remembering her manners. She smiled and gave a brief glance to the lady waiting behind the little girl. “Um, no. I’m not married.”
“Great!” Melissa said. “What is your name?”
“Rachael Wallace.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Rachael,” she said, pulling her hand from the confines of her hand warmer and holding it out to her. “You can call me Missy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Missy.” She reached for her tiny hand, shaking it before smiling.
“Do you have any children?” Missy asked.
“Uh, no.”
“Do you want any?”
Rachael glanced back up at the lady waiting patiently on the footpath. “That’s my nanny, Margaret,” Missy said, glancing over her shoulder. “She wouldn’t let me come to the park alone.”
“Well, that’s very wise of her.”
“If you say so,” Missy said. “Now, can you answer my question, please.”
Rachael glanced from Margaret to Missy. She wasn’t sure what this twenty questions game was but just like Margaret, she was amused. It sure beat store brand peanut butter on stale bread. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I forgot what the question was.”
“Do you want children?”
“Oh,” Rachael said. “Yes. Someday I’d very much like to have children.”
Missy turned her head and threw a beatific smile to Margaret. She giggled before turning back to face her. “Do you live alone?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have plans for Christmas?”
Rachael felt a small stab of pain but smiled to ward it off. “Not really. Do you?”
“Yes,” Missy said. “I’ll be spending it with my mommy and daddy.”
“That’s wonderful,” Rachael said, smiling. “I’m sure it will be a great Christmas.”
“Oh, it will be the best!” Missy said, smiling. “Do you have a job?”
“Yes.”
“Does it pay good?”
Rachael couldn’t help but laugh. Missy was a tiny general directing an army of questions in an all out assault of… something. What the girl wanted was still a mystery but for the first time in weeks, Rachael’s lunch hour wasn’t spend in self-loathing. She liked this little girls’ straight-forwardness. Smiling, she pointed to the space beside her on the bench. “Would you like to sit down, Missy?”
Missy’s eyes glowed as she smiled and hurriedly sat down, her feet swinging under the bench. “Thank you,” she said, grinning as she glanced over at Margaret who still stood by the path. “Can you answer my question please?”
“Does my job pay well?” she asked. At Missy’s firm nod, she smiled. “Not really but it keeps me fed.” She noticed Missy glance down at the half eaten PB&J sandwich still in her hand before glancing at Margaret. “How much money do you make?”
“Missy,” Margaret said. “That isn’t polite. Stick to the list, please.”
“But she’s the only one who has made it this far.”
“That’s beside the point. I only allowed this based on the questions we agreed on.”
Missy sighed and nodded her head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to ask that one.”
“That’s all right,” Rachael said. “I didn’t mind.”
“See, Margaret, she didn’t mind.”
Margaret just smiled when Rachael glanced over at her. The older woman was tall and thin with wispy brown hair. It was streaked with gray but she didn’t look old enough to have that much gray in her hair. Her face still held a youthful glow. Kind, brown smiling eyes and high cheekbones graced her square face. She stood with her shoulders back, her spine straight and carried an air of authority Rachael didn’t see much of in women. Whoever these people were, they didn’t shop at Pic-n-Save. Their clothes alone told her that much.
“Do you like to bake cookies?”
Rachael turned her attention back to Missy when she spoke and gave the little girl a smile. Her cheeks were rosy red and large blue eyes shined under a fringe of red bangs. Her legs were still swinging under the bench and even though Rachael had no idea what this game was about, she liked this kid. She was headstrong and obviously used to getting her way. She envied her for that alone. “Yes,” she finally answered. “I do like to bake cookies. Especially Christmas cookies. Decorating them is the best part.”
“I think so too!” Missy said, grinning. “What about decorating the Christmas tree? Do you like that?”
Rachael grinned. “Who doesn’t? It’s the best part about Christmas.”
“Shopping?”
“I love to shop.” If I had any money to do it with, she added silently to herself. “Do you?”
“Yes. I always buy presents for everybody I know. Even the people I don’t really like. My daddy says it’s the right thing to do.”
“He sounds like a smart man.”
“He’s the smartest!” Missy beamed. “And he’s handsome and rich but he works too much.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. His working too much, I mean.”
“That’s all right,” Missy said. “I’m going to fix that and I think you’re perfect.”
Missy jumped down from the bench and ran to Margaret, making the woman bend down so Missy could whisper something to her. Rachael watched them silently, looking toward the street when she heard the church bells on 10th Street ring. She glanced down at her watch, her eyes widening when she saw the time. She had exactly two minutes to walk five blocks! She was going to be late for work.
Standing, she tossed her uneaten lunch away and turned back to her unusual lunch date. “Missy,” she said, trying to get her attention. “It’s been nice meeting you but I have to go.” She waited until the little girl turned back to her before closing the distance between them. She bent down and extended her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you and I thank you for the company. Maybe we’ll run in to each other again soon.”
“You can’t leave yet,” Missy said, her eyes wide. “I’m not finished with the interview.”
“Interview?” Rachael said, straightening her spine. She smiled and glanced at Margaret. “I really do have to go,” she said, turning her attention back to Missy. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can meet another day?” When Missy said nothing, just stood there staring at her with large blue eyes, Rachael gave Margaret a nod of her head before taking a step back. “I’m here everyday at this time. You can come and talk to me anytime you want.”
Weeks from now she’d know without a doubt how Missy Stone had everyone she knew wrapped around her finger. When Rachael stared down into her chubby little face and saw her eyes fill with tears, her heart nearly broke. She couldn’t do anything but stand there, frozen in place as big, fat tears spilled down the girls cheeks. Harsh sobs came moments later and she looked frantically at Margaret, who had chosen that exact moment to find her fingernails more important than the crying child in front of her. She didn’t know what to do. Bending at the knees, she stooped down to eye level with Missy and tried to soothe her. “Missy, please don’t cry. I would stay all day and talk with you if I could but I have to get back to work.”
Missy looked up and sniffed back tears. “You don’t have to go back. You can work for me.”
Rachael raised an eyebrow at her before smiling. “I’m sure that would be the best job in the world but…”
“I want to hire you to be my mommy,” Missy said, drying her face and standing to her full height, which was just over four foot. “Just until Christmas is over unless you want to stay longer. I’m sure my daddy won’t mind. He’s never home.”
Rachael blinked. Hire her to be her mommy?
“Margaret, I want Rachael,” Missy said. “Make her stay.”
Rachael glanced up at Margaret and the woman smiled before motioning with a flick of her wrist to the park bench she’d sat on earlier. Rachael stood and followed her.
“Ms. Wallace, wasn’t it?” Margaret said.
“Yes.”
Margaret glanced at Missy before clearing her throat. “Missy is determined to have a mother for Christmas and we’ve spent the last five days ‘interviewing’ potential mothers for her. It is a real job, I can assure you, and you’re the only person in the many she’s talked to that has met all her requirements.”
Rachael listened to Margaret talk while looking at Missy. The girl was staring at her with a smile that said she was pleased with herself. Had she really been interviewing her for a position as her mother? What in the world were these people playing at? Who hired a mother? And where was Missy’s real mother?
Her attention was drawn back to Margaret and noticed the woman had stopped talking. She didn’t have a clue what she’d even said and stared at her for long minutes before shaking her head. “What is this about again?”
Margaret smiled but Rachael could tell it was forced. “A mother,” she said. “For Christmas. The job entails spending the next five weeks with Missy, doing all the things she thinks a mother and daughter do together. She has a full itinerary already written out and it’s exhausting.” Margaret laughed and shook her head. “I can promise you it will be an adventure.”
Rachael couldn’t think of a thing to say so didn’t. She stared from Margaret to Missy and took a step backwards before stopping at the look on Missy’s face. The tears were gathering in her eyes again and Rachael’s breath caught in her throat.
“Here is the phone number to the house and Missy’s itinerary,” Margaret said, handing over a business card and a sheet of paper. “Look them over and give her a call if you are willing to accept the job.”
Rachael unfolded the paper, reading the list of activities Missy had written down. The entire page was covered in small crayon colored drawings and each item was written in different colored ink. She looked back up at Margaret and shook her head. “Is this a joke?”
“No,” Margaret said. She lowered her voice and leaned toward her. “I know it sounds ridiculous but I can assure you you’ll be perfectly safe. The Stone estate sits on one hundred acres just outside the city. Feel free to check out Mr. Stone if you feel it necessary. We will require a background check from you, of course. Even though Missy insists on doing this we have to make precautions to see to her safety as well.”
These people must be insane, Rachael thought, as she stared at Margaret. Who in the world would hire a mother?
“I know it’s an odd request,” Margaret said. “But Missy is used to getting her way. Lord help us all when she doesn’t.”
“And her father is allowing her to do this?”
“Oh, he doesn’t know. Mr. Stone is out of the country until after the New Year. Which is why Missy wants a mother for Christmas.”
“So he has no idea his daughter is hiring a complete stranger to come into his home and play mommy until he gets back?”
“Exactly,” Margaret said. “Please, just tell her you will think about it and will call with your answer. Even if she thinks you’ll take the job it will give us a few days rest.”
Rachael looked back at Missy and forced a smile on her face when the little girl grinned up at her. “Where is her mother?” she asked.
“She died in childbirth. I’m the closest thing to a mother she’s ever had.”
“It doesn’t bother you she’s dong this?” Rachael asked, looking back up at Margaret.
“No. I love Missy as if she was my own but I can’t be there for her like a real mother can. I’m an employee of Mr. Stone’s and nothing more. Missy misses her father. He works non-stop and rarely spends more than a week home at a time. Missy is a delightful child but she’s lonely. She just wants someone who is there for her and her alone.”
Rachael sighed and glanced down at the paper in her hand before crossing the footpath and stopping next to Missy. She smiled at her and showed her the papers in her hand. “I appreciate the job offer, Missy. I’m honored you would pick me. I’ll look over everything and give you an answer very soon.”
“Do you promise?” Missy asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes. I promise but right now I really do have to go.”
“Okay! I wrote the phone number to our house on the back of daddy’s card. Ask for me when you call. I’ll be waiting!”
Rachael stood stunned when Missy threw her arms around her waist and hugged her before stepping back, yelling a quick, “Bye!” and racing toward Margaret.
Watching them walk back down the footpath, Rachael could hear Missy’s excited chatter and Margaret’s admit demands to not get her hopes up. Glancing down at the business card and itinerary in her hand, she laughed and shook her head. “What in the world just happened?” Tucking the card and letter into her pocket she turned and ran from the park. Not only was she now late for work, she had to find a way to break a little girls heart and not feel like a complete horses’ ass while doing it.
Chapter Two
Rachael had never been this far from the city. The wide open spaces and clean, fresh air made her heart lighter and caused the fear clawing at her throat to stop choking her. At precisely seven a.m. the car Missy said would be there to pick her up was. Along with a sharply dressed chauffer. To say her neighbors were impressed was an understatement. They’d come out of their apartments, gawked at the car parked near the curb and whispered as her bags were carried down the steps. She’d ducked her head and tried not to meet their gaze.
Ten days ago, she was a twenty-four year old divorcee who found a crummy job as a cashier at the local Pic-n-Save and lived in an overpriced, one room apartment. Now, she was surrogate mother to Melissa Stone, daughter of Alexander Stone, one of the countries richest men. How quickly fate steps in to change ones life.
After her initial meeting with Missy in the park, she’d quickly forgotten about her. Once she returned to work, late, her boss had let her know how replaceable she was and how much her tardiness was going to cost her. The cut in pay was devastating. She could barely afford rent and food as it was. When her shift was over, she’d walked fifteen blocks back home, dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment and behind the closed door, she cried. Since the day she met Mark Wallace, her ex-husband, on her nineteenth birthday, her life had been nothing but one disappointment after the other.
The minute she’d stopped wallowing in self-pity, Rachael remembered Missy, with her shining eyes and charming personality. She dug through her coat pockets, found the business card and itinerary and for the first time, actually looked at what was offered to her. The next morning, she’d dressed and headed straight for the public library. An entire day spent researching Alexander Stone on the internet and she was mesmerized. He was the youngest millionaire on the east coast, rich, just like Missy had said, and every bit as handsome. She’d spent half an hour just looking at pictures of him. Tall, dark and handsome were an understatement. Alexander Stone looked as if he’d stepped out of the pages of some men’s magazine. His dark hair was thick and wavy, his eyes a deep blue. His tailored suits left very little to the imagination. The man had a body that was hard and toned in all the right places. She was glad he wasn’t going to be there. The pictures of him alone made her heart skip a beat; she could only imagine what standing in the same room with him would do.
The car slowed and turned off the main highway onto a tree-lined road with acres of rolling hills on either side. The grass was brilliant green and the tress tall and majestic. She stared in awe, gaping at the scenery. A pond glistened in the distance, the sun shining down and making the surface glisten like glass. White picket fencing ran as far as the eye could see and horses grazed in the meadow. When the house came into view, Rachael barely contained a gasp. Cream colored stone, three stories tall jutted up over the hill like a medieval castle. The architecture reminded her of Victorian mansions and the manicured grounds surrounding it drew a soft whistle past her lips.
When the car came to a complete stop, Rachael could only stare. This is where Missy Stone lives? she thought, dumbfounded. The chauffer opened her door and she climbed out of the car, staring up at the house. The windows were spotless with soft gauzy curtains behind the glass. The front door opened moments later and Missy Stone ran down the steps with a smile beaming on her face.
“You made it!” she squealed.
“Yes,” Rachael said, smiling. “Finally.”
Missy wrapped her in a hug, holding on to her for long minutes before stepping away and grabbing her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you my room.”
Rachael followed her inside and smiled at Margaret who stood by the door.
“Ms. Wallace,” Margaret said. “Welcome. You’re things will be put in your room for you.”
Missy huffed and tugged on Margaret’s sleeve. “You’re supposed to say, Welcome home,” she whispered.
“Yes. Please forgive me. Welcome home, Ma’am.”
Rachael watched Missy’s face light up and she smiled before saying, “Thank you, Margaret.”
“Come on, Rachael,” Missy said. “I want to show you my room! Then we’ll go outside and see the horses. Do you like horses?”
“I’m not sure,” Rachael said. “I’ve never been around horses.”
Missy tugged on her hand, leading her toward the over-sized, circular staircase that led to the second floor. “Oh, you’ll love the horses.”
“I’m sure I will.”
A Single Wing
By Candy Nicks / Alexandra Marell
(unedited first draft, currently at 5,290 words)
Chapter 1
She’d failed. Again.
Ariella Lucida of the Tenth Celestial Array stared at the paper in disbelief. Two thousand years of study and tending and guarding, and still she’d failed?
“Sir, how can this be?” She managed to tear her eyes away from the marking schedule to the man seated at the crystal desk before her.
“I don’t understand. Sir, there must be a mistake.”
The man’s eyes raised, just a fraction. Ariella immediately felt a blush crawl across her cheeks. Dress down Friday and Raphael insisted on wearing the full regalia. Wings, halo, robes so white they hurt the eyes. Trust her luck to be saddled with a supervisor who was such a stickler for protocol. She would bet her wings no one in Uriel’s group had failed.
“Three did, actually.” Raphael motioned her to sit, his expression softening at the feeling of panic rising in her breast. “And no, there’s no mistake. I myself recommended you fail.”
“But why?” She sat, carefully, hoping he wouldn’t notice the red pumps under her robes. He would, of course. He noticed everything.
“My dear.” Raphael removed his glasses and placed them on the blotter in the centre of his immaculately tidy desk. “I know this has come as a shock to you. But you must know that I have only your best interest in mind. And that of the Order, of course.” Leaning back, he regarded her thoughtfully. “We’ve had complaints from above, I’m afraid. Too many students ascending without the skills required to fly solo. Have you any idea how many interventions we’ve had to stage in the past hundred years alone?”
She could only guess. There was nothing more embarrassing for a guardian angel in training than to have their supervisor descend to save an elusive soul, or to limit damage in any way they could. A frown flickered across Raphael’s face as he noticed the splash of red peeking out from the hem of her robe. She waited for him to finish talking. You did not interrupt Raphael in full flow.
“Tell me, Ariella. Why did you choose healing as your speciality? In two thousand years you’ve shown a startling lack of aptitude for soul-rescue. You’ve failed the moral ambiguity question more times than I care to count. In two thousand years only one of your protégé’ have made it past Peter and that was due to a clerical error by Purgatory.”
“So Kurt didn’t make it?”
“We’re revising his case. Rogue though he undoubtedly was, it doesn’t seem fair to penalise the man with the fires of hell for all eternity just because he drew the short guardian angel straw, now does it?”
Ariella offered up a silent prayer of thanks for the intercession. Kurt, with his wicked eyes and rock-hard abs and that sexy weakness for sharp suits, gambling and fast cars probably deserved his stint in purgatory. She’d done her best to get him a reprieve, but it obviously hadn’t been enough.” She risked a covert glance at her red shoes and remembered a sultry night in Vegas. She could argue all she liked about having acquired them in the line of duty, but that would cut no ice with the exam board.
“So this is the end?” Outside in the corridor she heard the sound of whooping, cheers and backs being slapped. The swish of trainer wings, which would be exchanged for the real thing at the presentation ceremony later that century. She would have to sneak out the side door to avoid the platitudes and the pitying glances. And even worse the expressions of genuine concern. Those more than anything, told her she didn’t have what it took to fly. What use a guardian angel without wings?
“Cheer up, Ariella. It’s not all bad news.”
“It’s not?”
Raphael slipped on his glasses and studied the paper on his desk. “While you failed miserably in three of the papers, you did remarkably well in the fourth. Let me see. Ahh, reconciliation. It appears that you’re very good at getting people to like each other. So good, in fact, that we’re giving you another chance. You’ve earned a single wing, my dear. Now it’s up to you to prove yourself worthy of a second.”
A single wing? What use was that other than for flying in circles?
“I know what you’re thinking, my dear. It’s only a symbolic wing. Wings-proper always come in twos. It will be a tough one, of course. Re-sits are by nature demanding. Would you like to see?”
She couldn’t help leaning forward, just a little. To fly. To soar with the angelic hosts. An ambition that had sustained her through two thousand years of duty as guardian angel in training. Two thousand years of humans who simply would not be saved. She refused to shoulder all the blame for her lack of recruitment to the higher plane.
“Yes, Sir. I would like to see.”
Raphael’s hand cut smoothly through the air between them, expertly tapping into the time-line to produce the image of her next assignment. The ripples gradually stilled as the image took shape. Men and women, scurrying through snow-laden streets. On a corner, a man in a cap and dark coat rattled a tin while snow settled like a white blanket across his shoulders. The sound of lusty carollers filled the office.
“Oh, no!” Ariella nearly toppled her chair in her haste to rise. “Not Christmas. I didn’t fail that badly. Don’t do this to me.”
“Decorum, Ariella, decorum. Christmas 1875 was traumatic for you, granted. But no-one blames you for the elephant incident. In fact, don’t quote me, but I hear Queen Victoria was, eventually, quite amused.”
Ariella eyed the window. Celstially-speaking Raphael’s office was on the equivalent of the fifteenth floor. The drop wouldn’t kill her, neither would the humiliation, sadly. Christmas and wings? When did that ever happen, except in schmaltzy films that in no way represented the dedication, intellect and sheer hard work involved in earning angelic promotion.
“Christmas isn’t a good time for me, Sir.”
“Which is why you need to do this. You do want to ascend?”
“More than anything, Sir.” The passion, the deep longing in her voice was impossible to hide. “I could do so much more if I had my wings. Help so many more people.”
Raphael rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I’ll come straight out with it, Ariella. What we’re concerned about here is your motive. Wings are more than a mere fashion accessory. Is there not an element of vanity involved here?”
“No, Sir. Definitely not, Sir. I… I just want to move onwards and upwards. I’ve tried so hard…”
“I know, my dear. Here.” He plucked a tissue, deftly from the ether. “Dedication and obedience. Two things I would like you to work on. And focus, my dear. Focus.”
Obedience? When he put it like that, she had no choice. Inclining her head, she bowed to the inevitable. If earning her wings meant enduring another ghastly Christmas on earth, then she’d do it. And without complaint. Well, maybe only about the weather. She was looking at England, or if she was really unlucky, Scotland. A few years past the second millennium. A small village, from what she could gather. Slowly, the scene absorbed her. From far away, she heard Raphael’s last, urgent instructions. The shimmer of the glass and crystal office faded to be replaced by the glitter and twinkle of fairy lights festooning trees and porches and the windows of every house in the village, but one.
Raphael had allowed her the red pumps. More as a punishment than a concession as her feet were already freezing in the inappropriate footwear. At least he’d given her a heavy coat, even if it was so last season. The scene sharpened into focus and she was standing in front of a dark oak door. A door that belonged to the dark old house. A wave of nausea had her gripping at the door jamb. The transition from celestial to human body, like being on some mad, roller-coaster ride, always made her want to throw up. Steadying her breathing, she counted to ten while her mind absorbed the sketchy back-story to her new project. Judging by the lack of Christmas spirit, it wasn’t hard to guess.
Pretty standard fare, actually. The words flashed through her mind. Divorcee. Check. Child in wheelchair. Variation on a theme. Not bothering with Christmas this year, because… Hmm, the reason eluded her. Raphael was making her work for this one.
Under the door, a shaft of light appeared. So they were expecting her. Hastily, she sifted fingers through her hair, only mildly surprised to find Raphael had given her a crop this time. She only had a few seconds to wonder what colour it was before the door swung open to reveal a large, silhouetted figure who regarded her for a few moments before barking out a name.
“Miss Markham?”
“I suppose I must be.”
She caught the frown, the look that said he couldn’t decide whether her answer was strange or insubordinate. “I’m sorry.” She gazed longingly past him into the square hall with doors leading to rooms warmed with roaring fires. To a kitchen with a wood-powered range as well as a sleek, state of the art stove. Two years ago the house had featured in the Christmas edition of Homes and Gardens. A large Christmas tree, almost the height of the imposing hall, had been the centrepiece.
“I’m a little cold, and it’s been a long journey, and…” She closed her eyes in an effort to sort the rush of information filling her mind. Often what she got was totally random. Trivia rather than the meat of the matter. She would know what this man ate for breakfast, his favourite colour, but she would not know why he denied his only child a Christmas. Finding out what had gone wrong with his life, deciding how to set things right. That was the task.
Cheesy as it may sound, she was here to give this small, lost family a Christmas to remember.
“I think I may be late?” She could no longer feel her toes and small, white specks were settling on the dark material of her coat. She’d take a hurricane over snow any day. But then, Raphael already knew that.
“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, actually. You are Miss Markham?” he asked again.
“Yes, I am Miss Markham. Do you think I could come inside?” She shrugged apologetically. “I appear to have worn the wrong shoes for this weather.”
“That you have.” He raised an eyebrow. “Mr Choo would not be pleased.”
When he stepped aside she almost knocked him down in her rush to get past him and into the warm. Already she’d read the silent plea in his eyes. Seen the look of hope that had flared so briefly a mere mortal would have missed it.
In the time it took him to close the door the look had turned to one of challenge.
“It seems, Miss Markham that this year my son has chosen to give Christmas a miss. You came highly recommended so I’m hoping you’ll be able to talk some sense into him. On that, and a few other matters. We’ll start with some ID, shall we?” He extended a flat palm. “Then I’ll show you to your suite. You’re looking rather worse for wear, if you don’t mind my saying so. You are up to this?”
“I hope so, Mr…” Oh lord in the heavenly hosts, what in the blazes was his name?
He waited an uncomfortable five seconds before supplying, Jensen.
“Of Jensen Enterprises?” Another chunk of information downloaded to her mind. Jensen Enterprises. Medium-sized electronics manufacturer. Location, Silicon Glen, the area on the Scottish Borders named for its concentration of electronic industries. So, logically she was somewhere in Border country. Whether on the English or Scottish side, she had yet to discover.
“The very same. Do you have the ID?”
“Yes, of course.” She hadn’t noticed the bag hanging over one shoulder. Or the suitcase that had appeared at her feet. A quick rummage produced a driver’s licence which she handed over and which Mr Jensen scrutinised much longer than was necessary. Couldn’t he see the picture matched the woman standing in front of him?
“It’s just that you look nothing like the photograph sent by the agency. I was expecting a long-haired blonde, and here I have a brunette with a pixie-cut.” He handed back the license. “So you’ll excuse me for being cautious?”
Dammit, he’d seen her true image by the sound of things. How had that happened? She managed a gracious smile. “I cut my hair last week. And you needn’t worry, Mr Jensen. I’m not about to run off with the silver.”
“I’m very pleased to hear that, Miss Markham. It’s more than I can say for the last nanny we had here. Would you care to step this way?”
Dry humour. She loved that in a man. She loved lots of things in mortal men. Even before her elevation to the Guardian Academy, she’d studied them from afar, peeking with her fellow Ethereals through the veil to admire a well-turned calf, or a chest so hard it could deflect rocks. She almost smiled at that memory.
Following Mr Jensen up the sweeping mahogany stair-case, she lowered her gaze to avoid the vision of his tight butt encased in the fabric so beloved of the North-American cowboys. As a species, men were far too fascinating. The kind of study she would never tire of. Far too distracting, as well.
Focus! Raphael’s voice echoed in her head. Never mind how many Porches and Ferraris Mr Jensen had tucked away in that converted coach-house in the courtyard. Or that Mr Jensen, with his black hair and sad dark eyes, and his ability to identify hair-cuts and shoes had an instant allure that called to the woman of the species. This mission was the real deal. The trainer wheels were off and she must focus as if her wings depended on it.
Which they did.
From somewhere in the house a chime sounded. Eight bells, reminding her that she lived on mortal time, now. Time that would fly far too quickly. As the eighth chime died away, only she heard the faint tinkle of a ninth drifting through the veil from some other time-line.
Every angel knew that sound.
One day it would ring for her. One day very soon.
The nanny-suite took up most of the second floor. Rooms which would once have housed the servants had now been tastefully updated with a mixture of period furniture and modern conveniences to give the live-in nanny an en-suite bedroom, a separate sitting room and a small kitchen area.
She touched the car keys resting on the kitchen counter and remembered her stint as a nanny in a house very similar to this one. That Georgian residence had been brand new back then. And the case cut and dried, until the Bishop decided to murder his wife and attempt to run away with the local brothel-madam. A nightmare of a case, tempered only by the visits of the young master when he was down from Cambridge University.
Did she deserve her wings when she had yet to master her own weaknesses?
She dropped her coat onto the bed and crossed the room to the mahogany desk which held paper and pen as well as a laptop computer. While it booted up she pulled back the curtain to peek from the window. The room overlooked a landscape of lawns and trees, avenues and topiaries rapidly disappearing under a shroud of snow. Did Mr Jensen realise how fortunate he was to live like this? Were his recent troubles due to some karmic debt? She typed his name in the search box and waited for the result. The world-wide-web would deliver some of his earthly past. For the rest she'd consult the Akashic record office for a bit of past-life research. Hopefully they'd overlook that scroll she’d borrowed last millennium and never returned.
Most importantly of all, she would resist any attraction or entanglements. Keep her focus razor sharp and be out of here by Christmas-eve. And this time next century, she’d have acquired every angel’s must-have accessory.
Failure was not an option. Not this time.
* * * *
She’d arrived toting a very small suit-case. He hoped that wasn’t a bad sign. Rory desperately needed some stability in his life. Wasn’t the lad’s fault if his own parents appeared incapable of supplying him with that.
James Jensen shook his head and asked himself for the millionth time where it had all gone wrong. The divorce had been amicable. The love had gone and they’d both acknowledged that. Rory understood, or so they’d believed. He must realise he was still their number one priority. Nothing mattered more than his happiness.
“Goodnight, dad.”
“Sleep well, son.”
“I will.”
He didn’t push. That was the counsellor’s job. His, it seemed, was to stand by helpless while his son slid ever so gradually into a world of his own.
No, there was nothing gradual about this. There had been a trigger. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was the boy had overheard that night. He’d gone, overnight, from a boy who’d coped with his disability with the forbearance of a saint, to a virtual whirlwind of resentment for everyone and everything.
Rory lay still, eyes firmly closed. Dismissing him with a resoluteness belying the small frame barely filling the racing-car bed. Much as he wanted to ruffle his son’s hair and ask him about his Christmas wish-list he bowed to the boy’s command and stepped softly from the room. Now wasn’t the time for an argument.
Footsteps and the sound of singing from the room above reminded him he was no longer between nannies and for that he said a silent prayer. He stood for a moment listening to the ethereal thread of sound that wound its way under the door and down the stairs. She had the voice of an angel.
How the agency had found her at such short notice, he had no idea, but she had the right experience, her references were impeccable and, God-willing, she was here to save Christmas.
Chapter 2
The frost-angels had been busy in the night.
Ariella paused for a moment to admire the delicate tracery of snow and ice hanging from bare branches, threaded through cobwebs, strew across the gravel paths. Every now and then shadows of previous occupants flickered into view, some reliving their pasts in an endless cycle until they got it right. Others, merely echoes imprinted in time.
Ariella narrowed her eyes and tuned them out. Interesting as it was to peek into the story of a house such as this, she didn’t have time for such indulgences. Barely two weeks she’d discovered from the date-counter on the laptop. Raphael hadn’t promised her an easy ride, but to effect a reconciliation in so short a time? That was asking a lot.
Glancing in the mirror, she grimaced as she remembered Raphael had seen fit to give her the plainest of faces, which given her past record of guardianship and handsome rogues was probably a good thing. Plain was a relative term when applied to angels, of course. Impossible for them to be anything other than beautiful. Even the fallen ones.
No matter, she would be her old self, only with wings, before she knew it.
After a quick pause to run fingers through her hair, she made her way down the stairs to the ground floor and the large kitchen set at the back of the house. Always a bonus when she landed a family who could afford to feed her. She found the cook sitting at the kitchen table tucking into breakfast. He waved her in and pointed to the bench opposite.
“You must be the new nanny?”
Oh no. The cook was not only a man, but a man with the face and body of a seraphim.
“Marc,” he said with a cheery smile. “Sit you down and I’ll rustle you up some breakfast.” He pushed back his chair. “Are you a hearty eater, or a picker?”
“Umm…hearty.” The smell of fried bacon made her feel suddenly ravenous and his amused scrutiny told her she was staring. Shaking off the alarming feeling of déjà-vu, she slid onto the bench and folded her hands demurely.
“You were expecting Mrs Grace, I suppose? She’s gone to her sister’s for the week. I’ve stepped in to help Jim out until she gets back. Catering student. Here, get this down you.”
Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage. She leaned over the plate to savour the smell of pure decadence. Marc laughed softly.
Folding his arms, he propped himself against the sink. “Jim’s waiting for you in the study, when you’ve finished here. He’s a good sort of bloke. Bit dry at times, but loves his son, no doubt about that. Kid’s making him work for it, though. You think you can handle this?”
“Of course.” The response was automatic, but she noted the sub-text in the question. She knew probing when she heard it. “Good bacon,” she said, resisting the urge to give back in kind.
“Yes, You kind of forget how good it smells, don’t you?”
“What did you say?”
“That smell, you never forget it.”
“Oh no.” The fork dropped onto the plate. She had seen him before. Most definitely. “What are you doing here? This is a solo assignment. I’ll never pass with you here to distract me.”
“Relax, I’m only here for the week. Thought I’d give a helping hand.”
“No,” Ariella pushed back her chair. Marc was glowing, now. Encased in a shimmering, golden aura. The air between them whispered with the swish of feathers.
Lord in the highest heavens, he was beautiful. Dazzling. But she’d learned her lesson back in the summer of 1567. Guardians in training did not date archangels. Not without consequences.
“I remember the last time you “helped” me, she said making quote marks with her fingers. I failed Discretion with the lowest ever recorded score. “Did Raphael send you?”
“Not exactly. Look Arie, no strings. I just want to see you get your wings. It’s not cheating if I’m here of my own accord.”
“And you want nothing in return?”
“I am altruism personified.”
The chair slid towards the table, throwing her forward with a jolt. The fork flew into her hand.
“Eat your breakfast,” Marc ordered. “It’s going cold.”
“Don’t help me. The last thing I want right now is a cheating scandal. Just tell me one thing. Where’s the current family guardian?”
Marc shrugged. “Probably watching nervously from the other side. You know how it is when a student takes over the reins.”
Something about his demeanour gave her pause. His attention was too studied, scrutinising her every move in minute detail. Didn’t take her long to realise why.
“This family is under your protection?”
“They’re mine, yes.” He spoke quietly, deadly serious now. “I thought they deserved an intervention so I asked Raphael and…
“You got me.”
No need for an answer. The weight of responsibility hung heavy between them, laden with the love Marc felt for his mortal family. Removing the last doubts that this assignment could end in anything but success.
No pressure then.
I know how much you have invested here. I won’t let you down.”
“Don’t let them down.” Marc glanced briefly towards the kitchen door. “I don’t care what Raphael says. You mess this up I’m back in and taking over.”
“I would expect no less.” No angel of the light would elevate personal ambition above the welfare of those they watched over. If some were lost to the forces of darkness, it was not for want of trying.
Breakfast could wait. She had work to do.
* * * *
Marc was a variable she hadn’t bargained for. Marciel Luridious had friends in high places. One twitch of his magnificent wings could have her spiralling back to level two and guardian angel grade-school.
Don’t give him the chance.
The study door was open, giving her a peek of blue-grey walls and elegant antique furniture. Over-designed and rather too feminine for a man of Mr Jensen’s stature.
She waited for Mr Jensen to notice her, not wanting to disturb his reverie at the window. He raised a hand, then dropped it as if he’d been about to wave to someone in the garden below, but changed his mind. Before turning, he smoothed out the folds in the curtain, rearranging them so each was exactly the same width apart.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Jensen?”
“Oh, Miss Markham, yes do come in.” He indicated a wingback chair that had once graced the home of a Duke. “May I call you Ariella? Despite the surroundings, we try not to be too formal around here.”
“Please do. The house is beautiful.”
“Bit of a museum…” he gave a rueful smile. “My ex-wife used it as a showcase for her talents. I’ve done nothing with it since…” He expelled a long breath and clapped his hands. “You must call me James, or Jim as most people do. Only my mother dares call me Jamie. I’m sorry if I was rather abrupt last night. You arrived rather out of the blue.”
“I’m prone to that. Is Rory about? I’d like to meet him.”
Her feelers were already tingling, reaching out to the aura of the man propped casually on the edge of the cherry-finish Queen-Ann writing desk. How many times had he been here? Three, four incarnations? Not an old soul, then, which would account for the slightly bewildered vibe flickering beneath the surface. It took at least five lives to find one’s feet on this mortal plane. Ten to know in which direction to point them. No wonder the poor man had family problems.
A desirable man, and not just because of his wealth and dark, celtic looks. A woman could spend a lifetime discovering what lay beneath the charming façade he carried before him? So few mortals were equipped to scratch more than the surface of human emotion. They missed so much.
His ex-wife had missed so much.
“He’s in the garden. Having a mope by the look of things. I’ve had him seen by the best people in the business and still we can’t get through. Perhaps you'll have better luck?”
Points to him for getting straight to the heart of the matter. Time was an issue for all of them here.
“Is he expecting me?”
James tilted his head and gave her a look that sent her temperature soaring. “He’s expecting a new nanny. I’m not sure though, that he’s expecting you.”
“Sometimes the unexpected is exactly what we need.”
“Indeed.”
Was she glowing? She hoped not. It would be days before she’d properly learned the nuances of this new mortal skin. The sudden rush of heat had been nothing more than a steering error. The human body was such a fickle vessel, often doing completely the opposite to what it had been told. Controlling it while suppressing her angel form would take all her concentration.
“Are you all right?” James slid from the desk and reached for the jacket slung over the armchair. “I’m sorry if it’s too hot in here. Rory likes it cosy. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
“Not as hot as some places I could name.” She stood, mentally running through a list of important points to note in her nightly report. This time she would be strict with herself and not leave the paperwork until the last moment. No categorising James according to gender stereotype. He was a living, breathing mortal not a hero in a romantic novel. She’d already noticed the scar on the back of his hand. A burn-mark perhaps? That would have a story attached to it. Details like that always looked good on the final presentation paper.
James held open the door and motioned her through. “You can’t imagine how pleased I am to see you here, just before Christmas. Rory’s mother was going to be here, but she’s out of the country on business. And then Mrs Grace got the call about her sister and of course, I couldn’t say no to her. I was starting to panic and then the agency found you.”
James Jensen did not look like a man who panicked. Except perhaps when it came to his son. The wall between them was almost physical in its intensity and both had been instrumental in its building. The mother she would reserve judgement on. Leaving her child in favour of a business deal put her firmly on the side of wrong, but if Ariella had learned one thing in her two thousand years of guardianship it was to avoid jumping to hasty conclusions.
James led her through the spacious hall towards a door that opened into a formal sitting room. Jacket slung casually over his shoulder, he gave the appearance of being relaxed and not at all anxious about meeting with his son. Nothing showed of the turmoil that had built in the short walk across the hall. His aura had been a little ragged, but now it was spiking and rippling in a most uncomfortable manner.
“He’s through there.”
A row of tall French-doors let in weak winter light giving her a view of the raised patio bordered by a weathered stone balustrade. From outside, she heard the rhythmic sound of something being thrown against the wall of the house.
Rory barely glanced at them as they stepped through the doors into the crisp morning air. The ball continued to thwack against the wall, each time making a new dirty mark against the pristine paint. A small act of defiance his father chose to ignore.
“Rory, this is Ariella, the new nanny. Will you say hello to her?”
“Hello.”
“Perhaps with a little more enthusiasm?”
Ariella raised a hand. “No, it’s fine,” she whispered and stepped towards the wheelchair. “Hello Rory. Nice to meet you.”
A well-practised whatever shrug informed her the feeling was not mutual.
“Rory!” His father’s arm shot out, snatching the ball in mid-flight. The air between father and son crackled. “We’ll start as we mean to go on, shall we?”
It was both command and plea. Rory held his father’s gaze for a full ten seconds before uttering a quiet, “Nice to meet you, too. I suppose.”
She could see why Marc loved his family so much he’d stayed on after his promotion to archangel. And why he was so concerned at the thought of a rookie wading in to upset the delicate karmic balance. In contrast to his father, Rory was a very old soul, indeed and very near to his ascendancy. Two, maybe three lives left to go. Every angel dreamed of being part of a mortal’s transfer to the first level of the higher plane.
On the edge of the main lawn, she caught sight of Marc sweeping snow from the long drive, apparently indifferent to the small drama taking place on the terrace. A slight shimmering, the only indication of concern.
Hardly a rookie. She had plenty of experience. She just hadn’t quite managed to get it right, yet.
Until this time, she vowed.
Thanks for reading. I started this too late to finish for the current season. Maybe next year... Candy/Alex
Goodness! That was a very nice start to three very interesting stories, ladies. Thank you for giving us such a delicious sneak-peek at your work!
Be sure to come back tomorrow to see what we have in store but before you go, here's today's giveaways.
Contest Rules:
Since you're all probably exhausted from all that reading, we'll make the contest quick and easy today. Just comment to this post to enter. (Be sure you click the "I DID THIS" button on the RaffleCopter form after making your blog comment!)
We have 3 books up for grabs again today. ONE winner will snag all three. We'll draw one winner and announce it tomorrow and deliver the prize at the end of the event. Up for grabs: Kallysten's: Out of The Box, Lily Graison's: Wicked: Jade Butterfly, Candy Nicks': Choice of 1 Moon Child Series Book
Yesterday's winner was chosen by Rafflecopter.
AND THE WINNER IS...Entry #3 Marie Hitchin
7 comments:
Those are great! I'd love to see them released in full some time in the future ;)
wow, amazing stories lasies. you so need to make sure you get them finished. xx
i really enjoyed reading A Single Wing. would love to read the rest of the story. the other two were quite good also.
Very promising starts. I'll look forward to seeing finished versions for sale next year ... or the next.
I hate you all - you NEED to finish these stories so I know what happens next!
AAAH! Why did you do that to us? Can't wait to finish reading, all very good starts. I'll be waiting on the edge til then...
OH WOW I can't wait to read this book! Anticipation it makes it all the sweeter, don't you think? Waiting on pins and needles. lol
tammi.hagberg@sbcglobal.net
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