The Shadow of Mist

  Maggie screamed. She just wanted to go home. She’d be good, she’d be ever so good if the Mothers would come save her and take her home. She wouldn’t slap I’is, and she would eat her ground lamb and beef for dinner even though she wanted more of the cream drink instead! And she’d take her naps when she was supposed to.

  As tears streamed out of her big, round eyes, another blur shimmered in the air beside them. The goblin yelped as Milk Mother appeared, growling at him.

  With a grunt, he dropped Maggie and she fell into the grass with a jolt, but she wasn’t hurt, and immediately she started to crawl away.

  Milk Mother couldn’t touch the creature. Maggie knew that much because Milk Mother’s touch on her own self was always so light it felt like her hands were going right through Maggie’s skin. But the little gargoyle didn’t feel quite so alone now. As she did her best to hurry, the goblin lunged at her again.

  But this time, it was not Milk Mother who stopped him.

  “Hey, dead meat. Catch!”

  A shining blur flashed through the air, over Maggie’s head. Her eyes widened as blood began to pour down the goblin’s shirt, a dagger sticking out of his chest. He wavered, then stumbled back as another blur went bounding over Maggie to land in front of him.

  “Dee-ya-ya!” Maggie clapped, relief flooding over her. Cat Mother had returned for her!

  As Delilah began to beat the goblin senseless, another pair of hands scooped Maggie up, only these hands were familiar and smelled of warm flowers and spices from distant lands. Maggie snuggled against Camille, hugging her neck tightly.

  “Camey!” Maggie buried her nose in Sparkle Mother’s hair.

  Camille held her securely, whispering in her ear.

  “We were so worried, little one. We couldn’t find you! Never, ever wander off like that again, baby.” Camille carried her back through the long grass, with Delilah following her.

  Their words were still foreign to her—there was so much she couldn’t understand yet, and the world still seemed so confusing. But as she listened to them talk, Maggie sniffled, melting into Camille’s embrace.

  Delilah chucked Maggie under the chin and Maggie giggled. “How did she get out? Did Iris say?”

  “Little minx has figured out how to open the latch on her outdoor playpen. Hanna was watching her, but had to go check on the clothes and thought she’d be okay for just a few minutes. Apparently, not so much.” Camille’s voice was gentle.

  Maggie’s tummy rumbled, but right now the only thing that mattered was that the Mothers had found her. They hadn’t abandoned her, after all.

  “We’d better get Smoky to fix it this afternoon. Maybe the guys should just redesign the entire thing.” Delilah’s voice was like daffodils and the summer breeze. “Aw, she looks tuckered out. We’re lucky we got there before that goblin . . . I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “Mooph,” Maggie said gently, her eyes still closed. The scent of the Mothers was comforting, and her fear was already fading.

  “How did you know she was out?” Camille shifted Maggie to one side as she began to climb the porch steps.

  “Misha found me and told me. I was climbing a tree and had almost gotten my tail caught in a bunch of pitch, when Misha called to me from down below. I scampered down and she told me she’d seen Maggie out in the yard, alone, and that she was headed into the patch of wild grass near the rogue portal. That’s when I shifted back and called for you.”

  “The guards really need to keep a better watch on that portal. The wards went off inside just as I heard you calling.” Camille pushed open a door, and Maggie blinked.

  They were back in the kitchen, where all sorts of good things happened, and I’is was there with her cream drink and a plate of ground lamb. Maggie preferred the drink, but she remembered her promise to Milk Mother and cheerfully gobbled the lamb before reaching for the bowl of cream and sugar and cinnamon and sage.

  “She’s really hungry.” Iris smiled at her gently.

  Maggie gave her a wide smile. Growing tummy or not, Maggie could sense that the Little Mother loved her.

  “Give her all she wants to eat. Our gargoyle has had quite the adventure today.”

  Maggie ate up her lamb, then slurped up two bowls of the cream drink. Yawning, she didn’t even protest as Hanna carried her into the crib and gently laid her down for a nap and then tiptoed out of the room.

  Clutching her Yobie doll, Maggie blinked as Milk Mother once again stood over her, gently smiling down. The others couldn’t see Milk Mother, but she could, and as the older gargoyle leaned down to kiss Maggie’s head, Maggie closed her eyes and softly fell into sleep.

  Playlist for The Shadow of Mist

  I write to music a good share of the time, and so I always put my playlists in the back of each book so you can see which artists/songs I listened to during the writing. Here’s the playlist for The Shadow of Mist:

  Al Stewart: “Life in Dark Water,” “Song on the Radio”

  Alan Parsons: “Eye in the Sky,” “The Raven”

  The Battlefield Band: “The Gallant Grahams”

  Beck: “Think I’m in Love,” “Broken Train”

  Cat Stevens: “Katmandu”

  Clannad: “Banba Oir,” “I See Red,” “Newgrange”

  Crosby, Stills & Nash: “Guinnevere”

  Dead Can Dance: “Tell Me About the Forest,” “I Can See Clearly Now”

  Donovan: “Sunshine Superman”

  Enya: “Orinoco Flow,” “Cursum Perficio”

  Gabrielle Roth: “Oceana,” “Dolphin,” “Rest Your Tears Here”

  Gerry Rafferty: “Baker Street”

  Gypsy: “Magick”

  Heather Alexander: “Voices of the Sea,” “Animals All the Same”

  Howard Shore: “The Steward of Gondor,” “Many Meetings”

  Jethro Tull: “Jack-A-Lynn,” ”Dun Ringill,” “Old Ghosts,” “Overhang,” “Mountain Men,” “Rare and Precious Chain,” “Wounded, Old & Treacherous”

  Led Zeppelin: “When the Levee Breaks”

  Neil Young: “Cinnamon Girl”

  Nirvana: “You Know You’re Right,” “Oh Me”

  The Rolling Stones: “Miss You,” “Gimme Shelter”

  Simple Minds: “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”

  Steppenwolf: “Jupiter’s Child”

  Suzanne Vega: “Calypso”

  Keep reading for a special excerpt from

  AUTUMN WHISPERS

  An Otherworld Novel by Yasmine Galenorn, available September 24, 2013 from Jove Books

  Chapter 1

  I stood at the top of the ravine overlooking the waterfront below. Nestled on the front of Lake Sammamish, my destination was a sprawling behemoth of a house—like many in the greater Seattle metropolitan area, jokingly referred to as McMansions. Cookie-cutter design like its neighbors, the monster was a tribute to the high wages and high cost of living that came with this area.

  Only tonight, all the money and success in the world wouldn’t help the owner of the palatial estate. Tonight, the man who owned this house was going to die—and he was going to die the final death.

  Behind me, in a sheer flowing robe that mirrored the twilight sky, stood Greta, my mentor, the leader of the Death Maidens. Petite, with hair the color of burnished copper, Greta and I bore the same tattoos, only hers were far older and more brilliant.

  Emblazoned on our foreheads were onyx crescents, hers burning with a vivid flame. Mine sparkled a glistening black most of the time. An intricate lacework of black and orange leaves wound up our forearms. Hers were vivid. Mine had started as a pale shadow but now were nearing a similar intensity.

  Patiently standing a few steps behind me, Greta waited as I contemplated the house. I was dressed in a flowing robe similar to hers, though mine wasn’t sheer. I absently toyed with the tasseled belt girding my waist as I gauged the timing. This would be my fifth kill in the past month—or oblition, as it was called in Haseofon—and this time, I wa
s on my own. Greta was merely supervising.

  I’d been on a fast track the past eight weeks, spending a lot of time in Haseofon, the temple of the Death Maidens, learning to fight on the astral where we worked. And I’d been taking a high dose of the panteris phir, or Panther’s Fang, to gain better control over my shifting into the black panther side of myself.

  I was surprised the latter had been working so well, considering how little control I still had over shifting into my Tabby self. Greta told me that since Panther was a gift from the Autumn Lord rather than something I was born with, my half-human heritage wasn’t a stumbling block to controlling the ability.

  Now, I closed my eyes, listening for that internal sensor that would tell me the exact moment in which to move in. A pause . . . I lowered myself below my conscious thoughts, deep into my subconscious. And then I heard it.

  Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . There it was, echoing in the corner of my mind. The gentle chiming of a clock as it counted down the last moments of Gerald Hanson’s life. The clock—or sensor—was my guide, urging me on, directing me when to move in, at what precise moment to grapple with Gerald’s soul and send it spinning into oblivion.

  The only thing I knew about Gerald at this moment was that he was a lawyer, and his life was forfeit to keep the balance. Grandmother Coyote had called in a favor from the Autumn Lord, and Hi’ran had specifically directed that I be the one to take care of this. For whatever reason, I was to be the Death Maiden who attended his departure.

  I glanced back at Greta. She remained impassive, waiting for my move, so I set out for the ravine and she followed me. We raced through the etheric winds as if we were meteors, shooting through the sky.

  Movement on the astral still confused me, although I’d been here a number of times, but I was slowly getting used to it. And here it was that the Death Maidens paid their victims their last visits—on a tiny sliver of one of the astral planes reserved for our work and our work alone.

  We were the last people our victims would ever see, the last faces they would know. Some, we escorted to glory and to great rewards for their courage and bravery. For others, we were the harbingers of doom, the final hand of judgment. And we could not be denied. We sent the latter into the churning pool of primal force, where their souls were cleansed, purged, and reborn as pure energy ready for use.

  Gerald Hanson would be among the latter.

  As the clock ticked down the last minutes of Gerald’s life, I walked through the walls of his house, followed by Greta, until I was standing beside him. He wouldn’t see me until it was too late.

  Technically, I wasn’t the one who would kill him. Oh, to the outer world, it would appear that Gerald Hanson had died of a sudden, massive stroke. In reality, the Hags of Fate would cut his cord that they had spun since his birth and that severing blow would trigger the stroke. Whatever sins Gerald had committed, they were great enough to earn him a one-way ticket into oblivion. His soul was so tainted that it could not be allowed to continue on the eternal cycle.

  I stood beside him, waiting. There was no one else in the house except a little dog who was asleep on the sofa. The beagle would be well-cared for. I’d call Chase after I finished to make certain. This case—along with whatever notifications were necessary—would fall under the jurisdiction of the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigation (FH-CSI) unit. The FH-CSI would be involved because Gerald Hanson wasn’t human. He was part werewolf—a fourth, if you wanted to quibble, but still enough to earn him a spot on the rolls of the Supe Community registers.

  As the final seconds ticked down, I stepped forward, standing in front of him. A pause, then three . . . two . . . one . . . and Gerald clutched his chest, looking confused. I waited until he spasmed again, then went limp. As his body slumped on the sofa, his spirit rose to stand in front of me. At first, he looked confused, but then he saw me and jumped back.

  “Where . . . who are you? What . . .?” He glanced back at his body and a slow look of understanding crossed his face. As he turned back to me, I moved in.

  I grabbed his arm, and we vanished into a place where there existed only the swirl of mist and fog, as a thin silver crescent hung high overhead against the backdrop of stars. There was nothing familiar here, at least not to Gerald. There was nothing to comfort, nor to soothe fear or offer hope. Here, there was merely the whisper of vapor that flowed around us, and the cold shimmer of the stars. We stood there, between the worlds, and before he could speak I clutched both of his shoulders. His memories began to flow into my own, and I saw through his eyes.

  Flash . . . A long hall stretched out in front of Gerald. On either side, stood rows of cells. Cages with iron bars. The hallway was dimly lit and smelled like urine and feces. The faint sound of whimpering echoed through the air, but the smile on Gerald’s face belied the blackness in his heart. As he started down the passage, a lovely Fae woman knelt in the center of one of the cells, her hands pressed over her face. As she heard Gerald’s footsteps, she looked up, a plea filling her luminous eyes, but he snorted, and moved on. The woman would fetch a pretty penny, and there were plenty more like her out there. And plenty of men waiting to buy them . . .

  Flash . . . Gerald sat behind a desk—a large oak affair that dripped with money and prestige. He was fiddling with a brief, but as he looked out the window, his cell phone rang. A man’s voice on the other end of the line erupted in rough laughter.

  “Number sixty-five needs a replacement. He broke his toy, again, and is willing to pay an extra fifty grand to find one who can take the wear and tear. You have one week.”

  As Gerald pressed the End Call button, he stared out the window, a faint smile crossing his lips . . . he loved his work. He truly loved his work.

  Flash . . . Two men climbed into the limo, taking the seat opposite Gerald. One of them looked sullen, the other, afraid. Gerald rolled up the privacy window, cutting off the driver, then offered them a drink. As the men accepted the glasses and sipped, he leaned forward, waiting.

  After a moment, he spoke. “I told you to handle the entire family. You didn’t handle the entire family and now you’ve compromised our work.” His voice was steely.

  The taller of the pair shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t do kids. I told you that in the beginning.”

  “And I told you what was at stake. I had to send in someone to correct your mistake. That wasn’t a good way to conclude our business deal.”

  The smaller man began to shake and dropped his drink as he collapsed. The other man looked at Gerald, frantically clutching his throat, but within seconds, he followed suit.

  The limo stopped, and Gerald opened the window again to speak to the driver. “Take us to the Cove. We’ve got a delivery to make.” And with that, he settled back, opened a new bottle of bourbon, and carefully poured himself a glass as the car silently glided through the night.

  I pulled myself out of his mind. The images were confusing, but the feeling behind them was a darkness driven by avarice. The desire for money, the desire for power. And the willingness to do anything to get it.

  Repelled, I gazed into Gerald’s eyes. He was scum, worse than scum, and I’d seen enough to know he’d buy and sell people without a second thought.

  Nervous, he looked over his shoulder. “Where am I? How do I wake up?”

  Ah . . . so he still didn’t realize he was actually dead.

  “You’re on a one-way trip, Gerald. Time to let it go, dude. Just consider me your angel of death.” Before he could do more than whimper, I laid my hands on him—holding him so firmly that he couldn’t get away.

  He struggled, pleading, but his words fell useless. This was my mission, and whatever mercy or empathy I might possess vanished as my training kicked in. His spirit was no match for my strength.

  “Fires of the void, come forth to do my bidding. Cleanse this soul and pass it through your center.” The rite was second nature now—the ritual engrained in the core of my being. Greta had taken me throu
gh the rites again and again, and this time, I was doing it on my own, without any help from her.

  Gerald let out a sharp scream. “Please, don’t—I don’t understand.”

  I let out a sigh. This was the part that confounded me. They never understood—the ones who had been horrendous and brutal. They never understood the nature of cause and effect—that actions brought consequences. How they couldn’t see this escaped me, but then again, if I had no conscience, perhaps I wouldn’t understand it either.

  “Gerald Hanson, you sealed your destiny by your actions. The Hags of Fate have made their decree. The Harvestmen have agreed. Prepare to face the darkness of the abyss.”

  I closed my eyes, summoning the karmic fire. A purple flame washed over us, raging through his soul, crackling through the mist and fog to electrify his energy. A wisp of ash flew up from his aura, and then another, and then—with a loud chatter of static, the flames raced through his spirit, reducing it to harmless dust. Another moment, and Gerald Hanson ceased to exist, forever obliterated. His soul had been consigned to the final death. Only a fine layer of ash remained poised for a second, then it, too, blew away into the night.

  I watched the astral wind sweep away the remnants of everything Gerald had ever been, throughout all of his lives, all of his cycles. The only thing left was a harmless, benign energy. No trace remained of the person he’d been, no sign of the lives he’d lived. And then, with a final, silent whoosh, the lingering energy spiraled up and then returned to the central pool from which all things sprang.