Dark Pact Read online

  “I’m glad I didn’t bet against you,” she said. “You were right about your mom.”

  “What’s so funny?” Mom sounded aggrieved. “I can’t believe that thing didn’t survive.”

  “It did,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “I took it with me.”

  “You little shit,” Mom said. “You took it, and were planning to leave us to come home to nothing?” Her voice rose.

  Which made Tuesday and I laugh even harder.

  “Dare I ask?” Daniella said.

  “I’ll explain later,” Gran told her. “Dee, be glad it’s still alive. Even if it has been stolen!” That last bit was for me.

  “Well at least it didn’t melt into a puddle of goo,” I said. “I’m a damned hero.”

  “Now that we’ve solved the coffee concerns, can we get to the matter at hand?” Daniella asked. “You can’t be Deana Holliday anymore. Not since you’re supposed to be dead.”

  “Oh, shit,” I said.

  “Yeah, I wondered if you thought about that,” Deirdre said. “But never fear. The aunties have sorted it for you. DeAnna has agreed to let it be known that she was a bit indiscreet in younger years, and gave a daughter up for adoption. You are her other granddaughter, but you won’t be discovered until sometime next year.”

  “You okay with that, Gran?” I asked.

  “I am. Now I asked that she be named Deana, according to our family tradition, and she was. But when she had a daughter, she said that she’d be damned if she was going to name her kid after people she didn’t know.”

  “So who am I?” I asked.

  “Delilah Night,” Desdemona said. “You’ll be able to change your name once the family reunion occurs.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Tuesday chimed in. “Unless you’d already considered this?” She asked me.

  “Nope, hadn’t even thought about it. What happened to my rebel mom?”

  “She died of cancer. Before she died, she told you about her adoption, and said that if you wanted to find your family, she wouldn’t mind,” Daniella chimed in.

  “You all seem quite comfortable with this sort of thing,” Tuesday remarked.

  “We have to die and reinvent ourselves regularly,” Desdemona said. “I’m my own great granddaughter.”

  “Clever,” Tuesday said.

  “Necessary,” Deirdre replied. “Deana, I’ll need to know where to send the papers for your new identity. I’ll think about how Deana and her cousin met, too. Just to make everything easier to move over.”

  “Well, there goes our anonymity,” Tuesday said.

  “We’re not going to tell anyone,” Gran snapped.

  “82 Main Street, in Bisbee, Arizona.”

  There was a silence, and then Mom said, “Good grief. What are you doing there?”

  “It’s a long story. But it’s perfect,” I said.

  “I’ll get them out tomorrow,” Deirdre said. “Express, so you don’t have to wait. Lay low until then, will you please?”

  “I will,” I promised.

  We chatted a bit more, and then ended the call. Tuesday looked at me. “This is becoming more complicated.”

  “I didn’t even think about how I was going to live if everyone thought I was dead,” I confessed. “I’m glad they did.”

  “I’ll need to start thinking of you as Delilah so I don’t slip.”

  “I’ll need to the same.”

  The papers arrived the next day. Whoever their forger was, my aunts had a great connection. I was able to get a driver’s license, although I wasn’t sure what to do with all my vehicles. Shit. But it was another complication that could be worked out.

  I was from Kokomo, Indiana, and I’d moved here for a change. This was going to take some time to get used to.

  But I’d do it. Because there were things to do, and people to bring to justice. The cost of my name was a small price to pay.

  It was another week before I was ready to go public as Delilah Knight. I found that I was nervous, and couldn’t sit still. I’d started to transfer my life over from Deana to Delilah, but it was slow going.

  Tuesday helped me at night, cleaning the place until it gleamed, and given its original shape, that was saying something. Finally, there was no more reason to delay. I pulled out the sign I’d ordered on a whim when we were in Yuma.

  “You want to help me put this up?” I asked.

  We hung it in the window, fiddling with the chains until it was level, and perfect. It took up most of the window, but I could still see out around the neon. “Let’s turn it on,” I said. I ducked back inside, and turned on the switch. The pink and white of the neon sign lit up the window.

  Going back out to the sidewalk, I smiled when I saw it.

  “What does it mean?” Tuesday asked.

  I realized I hadn’t explained the snide remark that Madigan had made when he blew up my office. I also realized that I hadn’t told her that it was Madigan that blew up my office.

  “Tuesday, why did you agree to come with me?”

  “Because I felt it was good for both of us. You needed to get out of town, and upon reflection, so did I. You’re never going to get rid of the vampires who are interested in you, even after you reappear as Delilah. You need someone who is part of that world, that you can trust, with you. How are you going to explain having Deana’s car, and bikes?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, and I think I can take a page out of the aunts’ book.”

  “More subterfuge.”

  “Hey, Miss living under the radar of society. You don’t get to throw shade my way,” I said, but without any heat. “Can I trust you?”

  “Do you not think so?”

  “I think so, but I’m scared.”

  She looked at me for a moment. “Shall I make an oath to you?”

  “Is that wise?” I had no idea what it meant, I mean, to vampires. It sounded serious.

  “Give me your hand.”

  “Are you going to bite me? Right here, on the street?”

  “Oh, all right. Come inside,” she huffed.

  We walked into the office, and she held out her hand. I gave her mine, and she bit it, a thin prick in the middle of my hand. Then she bit her own, and clasped our hands together. “I swear, on our shared blood, that I will not hurt you, or work against you. I am your friend, and your ally, Deana Holliday. Do you accept my oath?”

  Wow. “Yes, I do.”

  “Then consider it done. If I should break it, all you need to do is find a vampire and tell them of this. I will pay for breaking my oath.”

  “You didn’t have to do this,” I said.

  “No, I did. We are friends. I have made the choice to be here, to be your friend. And I hope that you are mine. You can trust me.”

  I sighed. “Then sit down.” I told her almost everything—that Madigan wanted something I couldn’t find for him, and when I told him it wasn’t happening, he blew up my office, as well as the rest of the strip mall for good measure.

  “And when he left, the smarmy shit, he told me he’d kept his word, that he hadn’t closed me down. I was just mostly closed.”

  She stared at me, and started to laugh.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Being your friend is never going to be dull, is it?”

  “Probably not, despite my best efforts.”

  After that, she went out to feed—there was a concert down the street at the little theater, and she was pretty sure she could zip around and get plenty with the crowd. I turned off the light, and went to bed.

  The next morning, I got up and felt refreshed. While I hadn’t unburdened myself totally—I couldn’t, because of the pact I’d made with Caleb—I had a friend. An ally. When questioned, she hadn’t hesitated.

  I got a shower, and went down to my office, taking great pleasure in turning on the sign. In fact, I was so pleased, I had to go out on the sidewalk and look at it again. It looked just as good in the daytime as it had at night.

  The
Mostly Open Investigative Agency.

  “Delilah Knight, Owner,” I said out loud.

  How long I stood there, I didn’t know, but I was starting to get hot in the morning sun when I made myself go in. I took out my laptop and spent the morning closing out all my Deana accounts. I made a note to remind the aunts that they’d done this for their dearly departed niece.

  Then I created all new accounts—although I had some already on social media sites, thanks to my aunts’ diligence in making Delilah have a life—and registered my business on the Arizona state website. I took out an ad in the Bisbee paper.

  And for nearly two days, I enjoyed the idea that I was safe for the time being. That I had a family, and a friend, and a plan. I was in control of my life once more. If anyone tried to come and take it from me again, I’d have their ass.

  Although maybe I’d need to do a little planning on the Madigan front. He was strong, and it would take some major effort to go up against him again. But I knew he’d find me eventually. The next time, however, I wouldn’t be someone he’d throw against a wall. That was for damn sure.

  The next morning, I got up with an inclination to bake. Today it was Shepherd’s Pie. I’d never eaten it myself, but after the experience with Kel, I wasn’t going to ignore the urge. I did wonder, however, who the Shepherd’s Pie would bring in. If my suspicion was correct.

  Just like before, I made the pie, cut it, and brought it down to the office, setting it with some plates and forks on the coffee bar. And I waited.

  I’d put an old fashioned brass bell on the door, liking the sound of it when I found it in antique shop down the street. The bell jingled, and a young girl with a wild, nearly feral look came in.

  “Are you Delilah Knight?” she asked. “And wow, it smells delicious in here.”

  “I am,” I said as I got up with a smile. “Welcome to the Mostly Open. How can I help you?”

  The events that Deana refers to as having happened in Deadwood are from another book, Hellborn, which is Book One of The Deadwood Sisters: The Unlucky. You can find that here, and meet her Deadwood aunties, as well as more of her mom and gran.

  Book Two of The Deadwood Sisters: The Unlucky is Hellfire, and it’s coming out in September of 2019. In October, Dark Night, Book Two of the Mostly Open Paranormal Investigative Agency will be out. Click on the links and they’ll take you right to them. (Keep reading for a sneak peak of the first chapter of Hellborn.)

  These two series—The Deadwood Sisters, and the Mostly Open Paranormal Investigative Agency—are about a great family, the Nightingales who are also Hollidays. They have a lot of family baggage, as you might have figured out from Deana’s running commentary about Deadwood. Which they are totally okay with. Except for the secrets. And the lies. And the demons. And the curse. But hey—they’re working on it!

  You can also click onto my Author Page to see all the books and sign up for my Newsletter to keep up with all the things coming.

  I love these women. I hope you do too.

  XOXO,

  Lisa

  Smokin’ Hawt Cherry Chipotle Pie

  Ingredients

  Pie

  1 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar

  1/4 cup flour

  1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

  1 chipotle pepper, canned

  1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar

  1/4 teaspoon almond extract

  3 pounds frozen pitted dark sweet cherries

  1 Honey Maid graham cracker crust pie shell

  Crumble topping

  ½ Cup all-purpose flour

  ¼ cup brown sugar packed

  ¼ cup butter

  Directions:

  Thaw and drain cherries.

  Remove the seeds from the chipotle pepper and chop to a fine consistency.

  Heat the oven to 400°F.

  Mix the confectioners’ sugar, flour, and cinnamon in a large mixing bowl. Stir in the chipotle pepper, vinegar, almond extract, and cherries until all of the dry ingredients have been moistened.

  Fill the pre-made crust with the cherry mixture.

  Mix crumble ingredients together with a fork until crumbly. Top the pie filling with crumble mixture.

  Bake for approximately 50 minutes until the crumble is golden brown.

  Cool 15-20 minutes.

  **Adapted to Deana’s tastes from the Homemade in a Hurry Cookbook**

  Sneak Peak of Hellborn

  The sound of breaking china echoed around the house as I slammed out the front door. I made sure to slam the screen door hard, just to make a point.

  “Damn woman,” I muttered.

  “I heard that!”

  “Good!” I yelled over my shoulder. “I wanted you to!” I stomped to my car, pulling my keys from my pocket. As I got into the car, I pulled my hair up into a messy bun. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Dark brown hair, brownish green eyes, and the nose ring. I couldn’t get used to it, but I needed it to look like someone else. The only thing that would cure me now was to race down the road in my Porsche 911. Speed was a universal healer.

  Or killer, if you weren’t careful. But it didn’t matter. I couldn’t die. More’s the damn pity. The nose ring sparkled in the sunlight. Having to look like someone else was one of the joys of not being able to die. “I hate my life!” I made sure to yell out the window.

  “I heard that!” came from the house again.

  As I gunned the engine, I saw our neighbor, Mrs. Kittrick, glaring. She hated us. And for this, she’d probably call the cops. Noise complaints were her favorite bitch move. Like we didn’t have Sturgis here every damn year. But gotta call the po-po on those Nightingale … women.

  That’s how she referred to us. Those Nightingale…women. You could feel the pause. I knew that she wanted to call us whores. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. As the supposed daughter of myself, I was another one in a long line of those … women.

  Which made me nice as pie to her. It nearly killed the old bat.

  “Hi, Mrs. Kittrick!” I called out the window as I pulled away from the house. “Your yard is gorgeous, as usual!” I waved like we weren’t bitter foes and grinned as I looked in the rear-view mirror to see her glaring at my amazing gunmetal gray automotive ass.

  That simple act of petty kindness alone eased my anger and brought it down to a non-killing level.

  My sisters were enough to make anyone homicidal on a normal day. Add my mom to the mix, and it was a miracle that our house was still standing. Four women who were never, ever wrong was challenging on a good day. The small fact that we’d been here for over one hundred and twenty years didn’t help, either.

  That whole ‘can’t die’ thing was a pain in my ass. But if we left the area, we lost the immortal factor that had allowed us to live here and threaten one another for over a century. We’d only had one of my sisters leave the Deadwood area, and she’d died over sixty years ago. The rest of us stayed here, fussing and fighting, as my mom said.

  As I left the neighborhood, and got out onto the highway, I hit the gas, letting the RPMs vent all my frustration. Normally, my family and I resolved our disagreements easily, being skilled practitioners at the sport, but not this time. This one was too big.

  You can’t just ignore it when a necromancer moves into your street. You just can’t. They have their craft, like everyone else. But their craft involves the dead. That’s where they get their power from—the dead. Hence the ‘necro’ part of necromancer.

  Not to mention I’d never met a single necromancer who did his thing for the good of humanity. Nope. They were always self-centered. Usually raging narcissists, and they exploited the dead. Generally, the dead want to be left in peace, but necromancers are based in holding up that process.

  So … no. No ignoring the friendly neighborhood necromancer. Not on my watch.

  My mom—known as Meema--didn’t agree. She’d been the one throwing the china at me as I left. My sisters, Deirdre and Daniella, didn’t feel strongly one way or the oth
er, which was miraculous, but they were tired. We’d had a busy month with a warlock and the tea shop. So they took the path of least resistance.

  Which wasn’t the path I was advocating. It had escalated from there. Meema wanted to wait and see if he managed to make things troublesome.

  I hated to wait and see. This meant that any pets in the neighborhood would disappear suddenly, at the very least. The dead liked to eat when brought back by necromancers. Cats were a favorite. So were nosy dogs.

  Not that we had any. But our neighbors did. I didn’t even want Mrs. Kittrick’s two evil old cats to get eaten. We had a house chicken, but I’d back Evil against a zombie any day of the week.

  Three against one meant we were going to wait and see. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t just go introduce ourselves, and let him know the rules, mainly: One Strike And You’re Out.

  I shook my head as I blasted down the highway, Bowie wailing from the speakers. This was just making more work for us. We’d have to start a regular patrol of the cemeteries immediately. That was a shit ton of extra work. Keeping the supernatural side of Deadwood, South Dakota on the rails was enough.

  As I got closer to the Wyoming border, I realized that this wasn’t going to solve my problem. I made a giant loop of a U-turn at the next exit ramp and headed back to Deadwood. But I wasn’t going to head home. I’d stop at the Saloon No. 10 and get a Crab Hollandaise burger and a whiskey. Maybe a couple of whiskeys. Comfort food before heading back to face my dragon family.

  Not real dragons, or anything like that. Although there were dragons still around. I’d heard of some hiding out down in the Southwest. No dragons in my family. We had enough problems with being witches. Immortality, as long as we never left Deadwood. We could all see ghosts.

  And we all had a finely tuned sense of right and wrong. All of us did things to even the playing field, make things square. Meema called it our justice-meter. We also looked out for Deadwood. Granny, long gone, had laid down the law. We protected Deadwood from all the supernatural shit that liked to try and park here and do whatever it was that was on their agenda. It was never anything good for the humans that lived here. Granny had felt coming to Deadwood had not only changed her life but saved it. Looking out for Deadwood was the family business.