Mysteria Nights

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank Berkley, and especially my talented editor, Christine Zika, for publishing this author-created anthology. It’s wonderful when your publisher believes in you.

Thank you to my agent and friend, Meredith Bernstein, who said, “Absolutely!” when I called her with this idea.

And a big THANKS GIRLFRIENDS to Gena Showalter (my partner in crime in the inception of this anthology), Susan Grant, and MaryJanice Davidson. It was such fun to work on this with the three of you. Let’s do it again soon!

One

“Godiva! Wait—wait—wait. Did you just say that you and your sisters called forth the dead two nights ago?” Candice said, rubbing her forehead where it was beginning to ache.

“Yeah, but you missed the important part. Romeo was . . . spectacular,” Godiva said breathlessly into the phone. “Who knew that poor, wounded wolf would turn into something—I mean, someone—so delectable.”

“So he actually did more than hump your leg this time?”

“Candy Cox—I swear you haven’t been listening.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Fine. Candice, you haven’t been listening,” Godiva said. “He’s not just a wolf. He’s a werewolf, which means he has an excellent tongue and he humps a lot more than my leg.”

Candice kept muttering as if Godiva hadn’t spoken. “It’s not like I don’t get enough of that name crap at school. Why I ever decided to attempt to teach high school morons I’ll never know.” She cringed inwardly, remembering the countless times some hormone-impaired sixteen-year-old boy had made a wiseass remark (usually replete with sophomoric clichés) about her name. God, she was truly sick and tired of Mysteria High School—Home of the Fighting Fairies.

“You could have kept one of your ex-husbands’ names,” Godiva said helpfully.

“Oh, please,” Candice scoffed. “I’d rather sound like a porn star than keep any reminders of ex-husband numbers one through five. No. My solution is to change careers. As soon as I finish my online master’s in creative writing I can dump the fucking Fighting Fairies and snag that job in Denver as assistant editor for Full Moon Press.”

“Honey, have I told you lately that you have a very nasty mouth for a schoolteacher?”

“Yes. And I do believe I’ve told you that I have said nasty mouth because I’m a schoolteacher. Uh, please. Shall we take a moment to recall the one and only day you subbed for me?”

Godiva shuddered. “Ack! Do not remind me. I take back any form of criticism for your coarse language. Those teenagers are worse than a whole assortment of wraiths, demons, and undead. I mean, really, some of them even smell worse!” Just remembering had her making an automatic retching sound. “But Candice, seriously, I don’t want you to move!”

“Denver’s not that far away—we shop till we drop there several times a year. You know I need a change. The teenage monsters are wearing on me.”

“I know,” Godiva sighed. Then she brightened. “Hey! I could work on a spell that might help shut those boys up whenever they try to speak your name. Maybe something to do with testicles and tiny brains . . .”

“That’s really sweet of you, but you know that magic doesn’t work on or around me, so it probably wouldn’t work on my name, either.” Candice sighed. It was true. As a descendant of one of the few nonmagical founders of the town (his name was, appropriately, John Smith), Candice had No Magic at All. Yes, sadly, she lived in a town full of witches, warlocks, vampires, fairies, werewolves, et cetera, et cetera, and her magic was nonmagic. It figured. Her magic worked like her marriages. Not at all. “Men are such a pain in the ass.”

Without losing a beat at her friend’s sudden change in subjects, Godiva giggled. “I agree completely, which is why I know exactly what you need—a werewolf lover.”

“Godiva Tawdry! I’m too damn old to roll around the woods with a dog.”

“A werewolf is not a dog. And forty is not old. Plus, you look ten years younger. Why do you think high school boys still get crushes on you, Ms. Candy Cox?”

“Put boobs on a snake and high school boys would chase after it. And don’t call me Candy.”

Godiva laughed. “True, but that doesn’t make you any less attractive. You’ve got a killer body, Ms. Cox.”

“I’m fat.”

“You’re curvy.”

“I’m old.”

“You’re ripe.”

“Godiva! Do you not remember what happened last time I let myself commit matrimony?”

“Clearly,” Godiva said. “It took ex-husband number five less than six months to almost bore you to death. And he seemed like such a nice guy.”

“Yes, I admit he did seem nice. They all did at first.” Candice sighed. “Who knew that he would literally almost kill me? And after my brush with death, I decided that I. Am. Done.”

“Okay, look. You accidentally took an unhealthy mixture of Zoloft, Xanax, and pinot grigio. It could happen to anyone, especially when she’s being bored to death by a man scratching himself while he incessantly flips from the History Channel to CNN—”

“—And pops Viagra like they’re M&Ms and thinks that the telltale oh-so-attractive capillary flush constitutes foreplay,” Candice interrupted. “Yeesh. I’m going to just say no from here on out. Truly. I’ve sworn off men.”

“No, I remember exactly what you said. ‘Godiva’—here you raised your fist to the sky like Scarlett O’Hara—‘I will never marry again.’ So you’ve sworn off marriage, not men. And anyway, a werewolf is not technically a man. Or at least if he is, it’s only for part of the time. The rest of the time he is the most adorably cuddly sweet furry —”

“Fine.” Candice cut off Godiva’s gushing. “I’ll think about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” No, she thought. She hurried on before Godiva could press the point. “I’ve really gotta go. I’m deep in the middle of Homework Hell. I have to turn in my poetry collection to the online creative writing professor next week, and I still haven’t figured out a theme for the damn thing. I’m totally screwed if I can’t get rid of this writer’s block.”

“Well . . .” Godiva giggled mischievously. “I don’t know how it’d work on writer’s block, but Romeo sure unclogged me last night.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m just saying—a little werewolf action might fix you right up.”

“You’re still not helping.”

“Sorry. I’ll let you get back to your writing. Remember, you said you’d think about a werewolf lover.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it right after I think about my poetry theme. Uh, shouldn’t you and your sisters be frolicking about the graveyard checking on the dead or whatnot?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Our little screwup actually ended up being a good thing, what with those horrid demons on the prowl; the town could use the extra protection. And anyway, it’s only temporary and the dead have already quieted down. Uh, but since you mentioned it . . . are you planning on going jogging today?”