Read Broken Heart 10 Some Lycan Hot Online
Authors: Michele Bardsley
She entered the storeroom, and locked the door behind her. She flicked on her flashlight and shone it around. Boxes were neatly lined on labeled metal shelves. That was rather convenient. She would start in here, and if she found what she needed, she wouldn’t have to risk going into the front of the store.
Her visit to Garrett just before her little “shopping trip,” only made her more desperate to find something—anything—to help her husband. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what made Alaya different than others, but she knew the woman had extraordinary healing powers. Sandra had seen the results with her own eyes. Why the bitch wouldn’t help Garrett ate away at Sandra ever since she’d embarrassed herself by begging for help. Begging! Maybe Alaya Bennington was jealous of Sandra, and simply wanted her to suffer. She was used to the envy of others. She had the perfect life, after all. At least she did until Garrett got sick, and his cancer became hers and eroded everything.
Sandra perused the shelves, aiming the flashlight’s beam at the various labels. One shelving unit was filled with office supplies, another held restock items for the customer bathrooms, and yet another contained cleaning provisions.
Damn it. She turned a corner and examined the next row of shelving units, and the one after that. Most held the store’s more mundane sellers—herb poultices, dream catchers, smiling Buddha statues, and books about nonsensical subjects. Vampires? Werewolves? Fairies? Sandra chuckled as she read the spines. Good God. Who on earth was Theodora Monroe? A nut case, no doubt.
She moved on, frustration growing with every step, every shelf that held nothing, nothing that would help her. Frustration surged and her grip on the flashlight tightened. She wanted to throw all these useless things onto the ground and stomp until them until they dust under her Prada heels.
She stopped and took deep breaths until she had control again.
Five more minutes of searching, and then she was at the end of the storage room. Only one shelving unit was left and it had been labeled “Miscellaneous.” Only one of the items caught her eye: a heavy dark wood box decorated with odd symbols.
Sandra ran her fingertip along its ornate edge. It looked old. More than old, really. Ancient.
Hmm.
Holding the flashlight steady, she examined the box more closely. It didn’t appear to have a lock of any kind. Foreboding slithered through her, as cold and dry as a rattlesnake, but she ignored the feeling. Here was her solution. She was sure of it.
Carefully, she lifted the lid. Carved on to the inside was an image she recognized: a weighing scale. No, this particular version was called … a balance. Beneath it was some kind of inscription. At first, she couldn’t read the strange words then she blinked, and suddenly she could:
Daughter of Justice. She from whom there is no escape.
What did that mean? She looked down and spotted the only item in the box—a coin. “Well, I don’t see how that helps me,” she murmured. She picked up the coin. Whatever had been engraved in the copper had long ago worn away. Time had taken away its sheen, too. What was the importance of this box and its strange little coin? Maybe nothing. After all, Alaya hadn’t locked it away.
Her phone rang, and she yelped.
The trilling noise was only partially muted since her purse was unzipped. She gripped the coin, placed the flashlight next to the box, and retrieved her cell.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Ruthridge, it’s Dr. Macintosh. I’m afraid your husband has passed.”
Sandra lost her breath and she sank to her knees. No! It wasn’t true! She had just seen him. She fed him a few bites of Jell-O. He’d smiled at her, and whispered, “Love you.”
“Y-you said if h-he took a turn for the worst, you w-would call.” Grief tore at her. She couldn’t breathe. God, she couldn’t breathe! “I should’ve been there with him. He wasn’t supposed to die!”
“I’m so very sorry,” said Dr. Macintosh. “Sometimes, it happens very quickly. He fell asleep, Mrs. Ruthridge. He died peacefully.”
Sandra’s throat knotted and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. Garrett was gone? How could that be? Grief howled inside her like an imprisoned beast.
“Mrs. Ruthridge? Would you like me to call someone for you?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I know there are—” She stifled a sob. “—arrangements to make.”
“There is no hurry,” said Dr. Macintosh. “One of the nurses will sit with him until you arrive.” He paused. “Please. Call someone. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I appreciate your advice,” she said. “Thank you.” She ended the call before he could say anything else. His obvious compassion was salt in her wounds. She didn’t want his sympathy, damn it.
Sandra shoved the cell phone into her purse. She stood and grabbed the flashlight. Her legs wobbled uncontrollably, and she slid to the ground once more. She turned off the light and sat in the dark.
While she tried to find the strength to face what lay ahead, she grappled with her new reality. Garrett was dead. She hadn’t been able to save him. If Alaya had only offered just one healing secret, Sandra’s husband would be alive. Recovering. Healthy.
Her grief tore at her, and she cried. For the longest while, she could nothing but sob and wail and moan. When she was out of tears—and the grief became as steady and strong as her own heartbeat—she realized she felt something else.
Rage.
Alaya Bennington had killed Garrett.
Fury wrapped around her grief, hardening into resolve.
The bitch deserved punishment!
Sandra’ hand suddenly felt warm. The coin. She lifted her fist, and opened her hand. The little circle of ancient metal glowed fiercely. It lifted about an inch off her palm and began to spin. It brightened and brightened until the space around Sandra was filled with the radiant light. Then she heard a female voice:
I am Nemesis. She from whom there is no escape. I have looked into your heart, Sandra Ruthridge, and I have seen your pain. The scales of justice must be balanced. And I shall wreak your revenge.
Sandra braced herself against the shelf, and watched the figure of woman walk out of the light. She was tall, over six feet at least. She was dressed in a tight black leather vest and even tighter black leather pants, and shiny black boots. Her long dark hair was woven into a long braid, and her face was porcelain beauty—strangely expressionless except for her eyes. Her eyes burned with the same kind of fury that consumed Sandra.
The woman—Nemesis?—held a sword. She pointed the tip at Sandra’s heart. “Do you accept my gift, mortal?”
“G-gift?”
“Vengeance. You have suffered loss at the hands of another. And I bring you justice.”
Sandra understood. This being would make Alaya Bennington pay for the death of Garrett.
“Yes,” she said. “I accept your gift.”
CUT SCENE 4: THE COST OF HATE
“YOU SAY YOU’RE her cousin?” asked Dr. Macintosh. He had short, dark hair and storm-cloud gray eyes. He was in his thirties, unmarried, and spent most of his time at the hospital. He had a very compassionate nature, obvious from the care he gave to his patients. “I didn’t think Mrs. Ruthridge had any family left.”
Aphrodite smiled. “I’m from the East Coast. It’s very distant relations. I think I’m related to Sandra on my father’s mother’s side. Something about a second cousin twice removed? I’ve never really paid attention to the family history, so I don’t understand myself.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Dr. Macintosh. “I’m glad she has someone.”
He walked her into the psychiatric ward and guided her to the day room. “Sandra? You have a visitor. This is your cousin Di Teamo.”
Sandra Ruthridge wore a nightdress that peeked out from under her bathrobe. Men’s socks too big for her feet drooped on her ankles. She stared blankly at Aphrodite. “I don’t know you. I requested Garrett. Where is he?”
“He died, Sandra,” said the doctor gently. “Remember?”
“He’s not supposed to die without me. Hundred years and day.” She started muttered to herself and rocking, her eyes taking on a distant look.
“Do you mind if I talk to her on my own? Just for a few minutes?” She smiled winsomely at the doctor.
He nodded. “Five minutes. I’m going to check in with the nurse.”
Aphrodite sat down next to Sandra and took her hand. “Do you remember my friend? The one you called with the coin?”
“I lost the coin,” said Sandra sadly. “I thought I put it in my pocket.”
“The coin disappears after you use it.” Aphrodite patted Sandra’s hand. “Only a person seeking revenge can call forth Nemesis. You were tricked by her, but all the same, you are not innocent and you were not wronged. There’s a price for using the gods to do your dirty work, Sandra. You traded your sanity for your vengeance.”
The former mayor’s gaze cleared. “Alaya should’ve saved Garrett.”
“She couldn’t. Nobody could. Saving Garrett’s life was for you, not him. He needed you to stay by his side, to give him comfort, to love him. You denied your husband what he so freely gave to you. He died alone while you pursued retribution. And that is the greatest tragedy of all.”
“I’M SORRY SHE didn’t recognize you,” said Dr. Macintosh.
“I really didn’t expect her to know me. She just kept talking about Garrett, like he was still alive. Poor dear.”
“I’m afraid the psychosis isn’t one that would be easily … if at all. It’s likely Mrs. Ruthridge never recover. She’ll need a private care facility.”
“I understand. I’ll see to her affairs and make sure she’s cared for.” said Aphrodite. “I’m taking over my cousin’s residence, and I’ll be moving my business to Broken Arrow.”
“What kind of business?”
Aphrodite opened her pursed and drew out a silver business card case. She opened it and withdrew one of the white cards, handing it to Dr. Macintosh.
“Cupid, Incorporated: Matchmaking Services.” Dr. Macintosh grinned. “You do know you’re in Broken Arrow, don’t you? We have less than 10,000 people here.”
“I’ve worked with less, believe me.”
He offered the card back to her, but Aphrodite shook her head. “Keep it. I have a feeling you’re going to need us.”
Dr. Macintosh will appear in one of the upcoming Broken Arrow novellas. I think he’s a quiet guy with some dark secrets. He needs to find love and balance before he works himself to death. And with the curse of the apple slowly poisoning the hearts of Broken Arrow citizens—the town will need all the love it can get.
“I’ve been visiting someone,” said Mom.
“Who?” I asked. “Where? When?”
I didn’t believe it was possible, but my mother’s cheeks reddened even more.
“For the last six months, I’ve been seeing a very nice gentleman.” She cleared her throat. “His name is Arthur.”
Mom had never dated. Not ever. I mean, maybe before my dad died, but after he passed away, she claimed he was her great love—and she never blinked an eye at another man. For twenty-freaking-years.
“Where on earth did you meet him, Mom? You don’t own a computer. You only go into town for groceries. And the only people you see are—” I gasped. “You met Arthur in Broken Heart?” Patrick’s arm tightened around me, as if he were afraid I was going to tackle my mother and pinch her until she told me everything.
Which wasn’t a bad idea.
“Yes,” she said. “I met Arthur in Broken Heart. He lives in the Golden Oaks Retirement Community.”
“The senior citizen nudist colony!?” My mouth dropped open. Patrick gently used his free hand to close it, and then he laid his fingers across my lips.
“It’s clothing-optional, dear,” she corrected. “You’ve been persistent about having me move into town, so I decided to check it out.” She raised her hand to forestall my protests, even though Patrick had already ensured I wouldn’t speak. Or yell. Or lose my shit completely. “I know you’ve said you have plenty of room at your house, but my independence is important to me. I need my own space, Jessica. And God forgive me, but you would drive me so crazy, I would end up staking you.”
Eros laughed, and his guffaw was followed by those of my supposed friends, Brady and Simone. And even my own husband wanted to laugh—which was why his stomach muscles were tensed and his hand trembled as he fought for control.
I batted his hand away from my mouth. “If you’re dating someone, then why in the hell do you need a lonely heart’s wish?” I spun and glared at Flet. “You wanna add something to your story, frog bait?”
Flet immediately looked guilty. He shuffled his tiny feet, and then he sighed. He placed both hands upon his heart. “Maybe I interfered a little,” he admitted. “But only t’ help. I swear upon the soul of Saint Valentine.”
“Which one?” asked Eros. He leaned down and studied Flet through the glass. “You’re not just any pixie, are you? You’re the little bastard who enchanted Geoffrey Chaucer.” Eros chuckled as he straightened. “Chaucer was the one who associated romantic love with Saint Valentine’s Day. The story was called
Parlement of Foules
.”
“I did not enchant him,” said Flet. “He was my friend. He made a deathbed wish, okay?”
Uh, I was drawing a blank. I didn’t have enough room in my head for all the vampire shit I needed to remember, much less anything to do with pixies.
“A deathbed wish is far more powerful than a regular wish. Geoffrey asked nothing from me, even though I offered time and again. Except on the day he died. He asked me to grant love to a deserving couple each Valentine’s Day in remembrance of him.” He turned to my mother. “So, I gave it to you and Arthur.”
“You need another shot of bourbon, Mom?” I asked.
“Maybe several,” she said, looked dazed. “Oh, dear.”
“Why am I here?” asked Eros. “I’ve never fulfilled a Valentine’s Day wish while under pixie enchantment.”
“That’s not my fault,” said Flet. “Your appearance clearly had something t’ do with the words of the wish.”
“You gave them a lover’s wish without telling them?” I asked.
Flet looked at his feet. “Sorta.”
“Wait a minute,” said Simone. “You said
and
… Colleen
and
Arthur.”
“Is that bad?” I asked. I looked at Simone’s alarmed expression, and gulped. “It is bad. Crap.”
Music burst into the room. Huh. It sounded like a Bon Jovi song. I listened harder. Oh, yeah. That song from the ‘80s … waaaay back when music still made sense to me. Golden light shimmered in front of Eros, and then it consumed him completely. After a few seconds, the light and music faded, and Eros stood there once again dressed in pink-stripped Armani. At least his shoes were—oh. Never mind. They were pink, too.
In his hands, he held the golden bow.
“Fuck,” said Eros.
Then he disappeared.