Mysteria Nights

“You better go tell them they can come back, that Withering took care of their little infestation problem.”

“Little?” Scornful snorted as they started down the street.

“Oh, he just wants to mack on her in private.”

“Perv.”

“Double perv.”

“I can hear you!” Thad called after them. Then he turned to Withering. “Although they have a point.”

“That you are a double perv?”

“No. That I want to do this.” And he took her in his arms, no pretense of looking for injury this time, no indeed, and kissed her, a long, bruising, possessive kiss.

When they came up for air, Thad said, “Don’t even think about leaving this town without me.”

“I won’t even think of leaving this town, if you find that helpful.”

“My front door!” someone wailed, and they turned to see Char and her husband coming up the sidewalk. The baby, Withering presumed, had been left in Mrs. Desdaine’s care. “All smashed up!”

“Wait till you see the inside!” Rae called, though it was difficult to hear her outside the house. “Also, I’ve taken a lover, and he’ll be moving in as soon as I get an extension built.”

“Fine, Rae, fine.” Char and her husband were staring at the corpse on their front lawn. “That’ll be—wait. What?”

“Oh, like you two aren’t doing it every half hour of every day,” Rae snapped. “Don’t judge me, honey!”

“I wasn’t. I just—” Charlene gestured vaguely: at the corpse, at the van parked in her begonias. “This is a lot to take in at once.”

“Welcome,” Withering said dryly, “to Mysteria.”

THE NANNY FROM HELL Susan Grant

For three amazing, talented women:

MaryJanice, P. C., and Gena.

What an absolute pleasure to revisit

Mysteria with you all.

Prologue

Once upon a time there lived a demon

with a secret wish to be human.

It made Satan very, very unhappy . . .

CIRCUS MAXIMUS, ANCIENT ROME

One hundred and fifty thousand spectators lunged to their feet, cheering as the chariots flew out of the starting gate. Everyone from the lowliest slave to the emperor himself added to the deafening applause. The attention, the excitement, the anticipation: Shay reveled in it, savoring every aspect of the races from the dust churned up by chariot wheels to the dizzying sensation of sheer speed. Most racers conserved energy in the early laps in order to give it their all in the final stretches. Bah! Rules were for mortals. Full speed ahead!

Four powerful horses tugged on the reins wrapped around Shay’s fist and down her arm to her waist. If she were to crash, she doubted she’d have time to cut free with her dagger before being trampled or dragged to her death. Not that she worried about such frivolous things as dying.

Shay threw back her head and laughed. Dust billowed into the air and settled like fine powder over her toned, slender arms and her black racing colors. The fabric fluttered around her breasts, barely concealing them. She heard shouts of surprise. “A woman!” they cried.

“A she-demon, actually,” she murmured smugly. Not that they’d care. Men never seemed to mind as long as they thought they were getting what they wanted from her.

In particular, she noted the emperor’s hot, interested gaze, dismissing it as a mere annoyance. Warlords were sometimes diverting, yes; chieftains, too. But emperors? All pomp and little circumstance. She wouldn’t bother with this one unless she was very, very bored. And she doubted she’d be bored today. There was much to be done.

A blink of her eyes, and two chariots collided. Spectacular! Ooh, and a trampling, too. Score!

Shay couldn’t remember the last time she had so much fun. She was sent by Lucifer all over the world—a plague here, a fire there—but she’d rather be here. Something about racing made her feel so alive. So . . . real.

She cringed. Cease that drivel! If the Dark Lord ever got wind of her addiction to earthly life, he’d snuff out her existence like a boot crushed a flickering ash. He’d told her as much, countless centuries ago when he’d suspected she was hanging around an Ice Age settlement because she’d taken a fancy to nights spent cuddling in the furs with one of its hunters, Swift River. Master had been right, of course. With the fear of permanent extermination hanging over her head, she ended the affair with a good-bye kiss and an avalanche and went on her way.

Shay pushed the painful memory away. Her job was to break hearts and tear families apart, not to pretend she was human. Not to pretend love. Especially not at the risk of her own existence. Something about ceasing to be frightened her. She’d do everything she could to avoid that fate.

Snarling, Shay punched her fist to the side. The horses pulling the chariot next to hers went wild, yanking their rider toward the wall with a snapping of wood and the scraping of metal. The champion’s scream was cut short. “Buh-bye, Scorpus.” He’d won far too many races, anyway. It was time he retired.

Dust rose from the wrecks as the remaining racers plunged down the straightaway. Easily, Shay commanded the lead. Only one other racer had the stamina to keep her pace. Aquila. The shaggy-haired upand-coming champion seemed to have it all: looks, youth, a beautiful wife and child, and all of Rome at his feet. Sensing she was pulling ahead, Aquila slid his narrowed eyes in her direction, sizing up her chariot, her horses, and her technique. Roman sunshine gleamed on his sweating skin. My, but he was nicely muscled. She could tell by his glance that he saw her as simply another competitor and not a potential lover. Probably because of his pretty little wife and baby. Aw, he was in love. How easy that would be to change. In fact, she’d keep him alive just to prove the point!

Laughing, Shay urged her horses on ahead, just like she’d urge on Aquila in bed after the race. Feeling generous, she’d even let him win. What did it matter? He’d lose later. They always did.

Neck and neck, they careened around the last turn. Who would win? Who would lose? In those final, breathless, exhilarating moments, Shay allowed him to drift into the lead. He beat her by a length. The crowd’s applause was thunderous. They had a new champion!

Magnificent in his crimson racing colors, Aquila beamed as he received his palm branch and wreath from the magistrate. Shay shook out her hair as she jumped down from her chariot. As the silly Romans fawned over him, she undulated her hips as she sashayed past, brushing her finger down his arm. In his mind was planted a vivid