Kiss Me Deadly: Tales of a Paranormal Romance

clearing, and Elise felt murder in each of their hearts.

Gitta smiled and shrugged. “You were right, Elise. There are many unicorns in this wood. But they are very hard to call.”

The men cowered now as the unicorns fanned out to surround Gitta and Elise.

“I seem to have missed something quite grand,” Gitta whispered to the younger girl.

Only Gitta would see a man’s corpse and think that. Elise forced a smile through the pain. She raised her voice again. “I have made a decision. I am the lady of these lands. My house, my woods—you may remain at my pleasure, or leave on my command.”

The Vicomte stepped forward. “Elise,” he said gently. “Your father—”

“My father did not know what power I wield.” Gitta was now supporting her weight, but still Elise stood on her feet and spoke to the men. “My father did not know that I could protect myself.”

The unicorns, as one, turned their heads toward the Vicomte. Their horns stood out like swords.

“I think you should get used to seeing these animals on my lands, my lord,” said Elise. “For they shall be here, watching, if you or any other try to collect me. I will protect my property by any means I must.”

Somehow she remained conscious until the last man left.

* * *

“I don’t know if I can leave you,” said Gitta, who sat sharpening her sword by firelight. Enyo relaxed on the hearth, her belly full of pork, a half-gnawed bone near her snout.

Elise checked her bandages. “I am healing well. And even the scar won’t be so bad.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Gitta came over and sat by Elise’s side. “How do you know your own power will be enough to keep the unicorns around once I am gone? How do I know that the Vicomte won’t bring an army to your door as soon as I cross the border?”

Elise shrugged. “If he does, then I will meet him. I can hire men as well as he can. And even the threat of unicorns is a deterrent. I will watch over myself from now on.”

“I would have been there, if I could—,” Gitta began, for the fourteenth time.

And for the fourteenth time, Elise shut her down. “It is not your fault. I didn’t realize how desperate Adolphe had become. And besides, when you did come, you brought me something even better than your protection. The means by which I can create my own.”

Elise glanced out the window, where she could still see the unicorns in her garden. There were more and more every day now. They came, as if awakened from some deep hibernation in the wilderness, and clustered on her lands. Let the Vicomte bring an army. She was ready.

Beside her, Gitta was silent, staring down at her roughened hands. At last she spoke. “I don’t know if I can leave you,” she said again. “I don’t know if I want to.”

“You don’t have to.” Elise smiled in relief. “You can leave the Order. Stay here with me, where Enyo will be able to live out her days in peace. Stay here with me, where there are real, wild unicorns. Stay here and teach me all the magic I never got the chance to learn.”

Gitta looked away at the fire and said nothing. Elise peeked into Enyo’s mind, and her heart sank. She saw mountain trails and endless vistas. She saw deserts and islands and dusty plains. The unicorn dreamed of travel, just like its mistress. For a moment, Elise pictured the three of them, together in those exotic places, but it would never be. Gitta would move on, and Elise would stay here, where she’d made a promise to her people.

Elise felt her friend’s rough skin against her soft palm. “I don’t think you need my magic,” said Gitta. “You don’t need anyone. Your own magic is stronger than you think.”

The Spirit Jar BY KAREN MAHONEY

What do you get when you put a vampire in an airplane thousands of miles above the Atlantic?

I swallow hard and try not to think about the punch line to that particular joke. It’s bad enough that Theo is sending me overseas in the first place, but now I’m feeling sick— airsick? How would I know, I’ve not flown since I was a small child—and my brain is sadistically torturing me with every scenario that could possibly go wrong.

There are a lot of things that could go wrong.

At least, that’s what my new roommate cheerfully told me while dropping me at the airport for my Boston to London trip.

I push aside comforting fantasies of Holly crashing her stupid motorcycle on the way back to our apartment, and decide that I may as well settle in for the flight and watch a movie. Yeah, because a movie will take my mind off the fact that we’re flying over water and I’m a freaking vampire.

Crossing running water should be impossible for vampires. This is just one of the many so-called “facts” that proved to be pure myth after I was turned a decade ago. I push up the white plastic blind and look out the window, but the ocean is hidden by puffy purple clouds. Surely you can’t really count the sea as running water. Where is it supposed to “run” to, anyway? I’d crossed plenty of rivers in the last ten years, and nothing bad had ever happened. Whoever makes this crap up really needs to get a life.

Sighing heavily, I lean my forehead against the reinforced glass. I should be reviewing the details of my destination, or maybe ensuring I know exactly what the rare book I need to “retrieve”—an ancient Arabic text— actually looks like. Instead, all I can think about is the fact that I’m flying through the air in a metal coffin.

I slam the cover down over the tiny window and push my sunglasses up onto the top of my head, balancing them among my annoyingly springy black curls. My blue contacts are firmly in place to hide the natural silver of my eyes. The contact lenses hurt like hell and make me feel grouchy.

Well, grouchier than normal.

I begin clicking noisily through channels on the screen attached to the back of the seat in front of me. I ignore the irritated tutting of the fat lady sitting by the aisle. Just let her open her mouth and say one word, then she’ll be sorry she switched seats to come sit over here in the first place.

What did I do to deserve this? But I already know the answer to that. My Maker likes to needle me when he can, especially ever since I’d gotten home from my year-long sabbatical. It’s like he is punishing me for daring to leave him. I remember the particularly wicked smile on Theo’s face while he gave me the details of this crappy assignment.

Flicking past the sequel to a teen werewolf movie that did particularly well last summer, I decide on a romcom starring an actress I don’t recognize. The girl is as cute as a newborn kitten and doesn’t look old enough to drive the expensive car she’s using to get to school. I feel old and out of touch.

This is going to be a very long flight.

* * *

I stand in a shadowed doorway around the corner from St. Martin’s Lane—not far from Trafalgar Square with its fierce lions—and watch a young couple stroll past. They are holding hands and, under the gentle illumination of the old-fashioned iron lamps in the narrow, cobbled court where I’m lurking, I can see the loving expressions on their faces. Something cold twists inside of me—somewhere in my chest—and I have to swallow to get rid of the suddenly bitter taste in my mouth.

My mind wanders to the crazy time I’ve had since touching down at Heathrow; getting through airport security was a nightmare of epic proportions. My bad feeling about this entire trip appears to be coming true, and a growing part of me is beginning to wish I could charter some kind of boat to take me over to Ireland. Maybe I could lose myself among my dad’s relatives. Perhaps they wouldn’t even care that I hadn’t aged a day since turning eighteen. They haven’t seen me since I was a kid, anyway. How would they know the difference?

Riiight. Like Theo wouldn’t send ... people to bring me back. He hadn’t wanted to send his “little Moth” on this particular assignment to begin with—where I’d be so far