Rook cleared his throat and took another step back from us. “Would you like punch, Ms. Depraysie? Or wine? I think we have wine too.”

  “Yes, yes. Soon. But for now, I’d like to have a talk with my daughter, please.” She let out an exasperated sigh when he didn’t move from his spot, watching her with guarded eyes. “Oh, for the Goddess’ sake boy, I’m not going to stake my own daughter. If I can abide what was done to my nephews, I won’t condemn Astrid for what amounts to the same. Hexing you might be a different story though if you don’t busy yourself with retrieving us something to drink.”

  “Mom!”

  Rook’s lips twitched at my outraged cry and he finally moved away, casting glances back at us until he disappeared from sight. He was smiling all the while though, so I didn’t think she’d actually offended him. So now I was standing across from my mother, undead and awkward about it. I wasn’t sure what to do or say. So, it surprised me when her hands replaced Rook’s, closing around mine.

  “You’re so cold,” she murmured. “I suppose I should have expected that but...” she shook her head. “It will all take some getting used to.”

  “Rook says I’ll warm up when I can be trusted not to hurt things with heartbeats. Right now, he’s my main blood source, and he’s as cold as I am.”

  She didn’t quite meet my eyes. “I see.”

  “You didn’t have to come,” I said, trying to pull my hands free of hers. “If this is too much—”

  “Hush,” she said, long fingers wrapping like steel bands around my wrists. “I said it will take getting used to, not that I didn’t want to be here. You don’t get to assume the worst of me at all times. Charmin does that enough for the pair of you.”

  “You can’t tell me this doesn’t bother you,” I said. At the very least, I’d stopped tugging. She wouldn’t be able to keep a hold of me if I was serious about breaking free.

  “Of course, it does. You were brutally murdered and forced to endure the attentions of that vile man for days. I can’t imagine how frightening it must have been. The administration should have put a stop to this long before you arrived. You should never have been in danger here. I will take that out of Aurea’s hide, not yours.”

  “I’m a vampire,” I pressed. “With extra faerie powers and a royal bloodline, sure, but I’m a vampire. You fought so hard to make sure Maverick wasn’t one and now I’m... you hate this—I know you do.”

  “I hate it, but I don’t hate you. Like I said. I’ll adjust. Wanda’s...” Mother pulled a face. “Odd entanglement with that Lorcan Rowe makes it necessary. I won’t be squeamish forever. Can you forgive me for a little tactlessness in the interim?”

  The music shifted in tempo, the beat swinging up into a lively jig I recognized. I pulled her closer to the fire and offered her a cautious smile. She twirled me in place, lips quirking when the skirts flared out dramatically. Her Red Riding Hood getup didn’t have the intense petticoat action mine did.

  “I guess. But it might be a while before we see each other face to face again. Uncle Fox says I need to have privacy to learn how to use my Sidhe power. He’s torn between settling in Jinx Junction or the new Hollow in Louisiana... Misty Hollow, I think it’s called. They’re both pretty isolated.”

  Mom’s lips pressed into a hard line and her gray eyes went cool. “Reynard, you mean. I should have known he’d rope you into his schemes. It’s why I told Fennec I wasn’t having you and your brother embroiled in court politics. It would only get you into trouble.”

  I laughed and gestured broadly at myself. “If you hadn’t noticed yet, I get myself into plenty of trouble without Fox’s help. Besides, faerie magic is all I have left. He’s willing to teach me how to use it properly.”

  “For a price. He’s grooming you to be his heir.”

  “And I agreed. Mav sacrificed a lot for me in recent years. I think he deserves a little happiness, don’t you? And that happiness just so happens to be named Taliyah.”

  Mom’s eyes shifted over my head, watching Maverick perform his shuffle dance with Taliyah. The dance wasn’t exciting, but I’d catch the big lug smiling every now and then. Mav rarely smiled. He was as prickly as a cactus around most people and only slapped on a grin if he wanted to sell you something. What he had with Taliyah... it was genuine. Painful to watch play out in its awkwardness, but still genuine. I just wondered if she felt as intensely for him as he did for her.

  “But what about you?” Mother pressed, turning me again. “You deserve to be happy too, Astrid. How will you find that happiness now?”

  I caught a glimpse of Rook as I spun. He was leaning against the drink table, a glass of wine in one hand for mother and a blood-laced cup of punch in the other for me. He smiled at me briefly before he whipped back out of my sight.

  “You know what? I think I already have.”

  The End

  ~~~~~

  Return to Haven Hollow in:

  Georgian Ghouls

  ~~~~~

  Return to the Table of Contents

  GEORGIAN GHOULS

  Haven Hollow #28

  (Hallowed Homes)

  by

  H.P. MALLORY

  &

  J.R. RAIN

  Georgian Ghouls

  Published by Rain Press

  Copyright © 2023 by J.R. Rain & H.P. Mallory

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Georgian Ghouls

  Chapter One

  The dining room table was so covered in food, that if someone added one more stuffed cabbage roll, I was sure the whole thing was going to collapse.

  “Fifi.” Mrs. Petryka bustled over to me with a platter of tiny, crescent shaped dumplings and mushrooms, frowning down at my nearly empty plate. “Here, I made Halushki. You must try some.”

  Mrs. Petryka, my client, was a small woman, almost a full head shorter than I was. She wore a dress in different shades of brown, and her dark gray curls were caught up in a pretty kerchief. Even though she looked a bit like a wizened apple, her back was straight and she moved easily, almost floating across the floor.

  I was already so stuffed that I was shocked the top button of my slacks hadn’t shot across the room and taken out a window. I did my best to politely decline. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Petryka, but I’ve already sampled so much, I feel like I’m going to burst.”

  “Oh, but surely—”

  “The point of an open house is for me to talk to the guests, and to try and drum up interest in buying your home—not to eat you out of house and home,” I said with a laugh. “And you didn’t have to go to so much trouble. Most people just make a cheese platter, or something.”

  She listened to everything I said, and then smiled, a nest of wrinkles crinkling at the corners of her dark eyes. “Nonsense.” And then she scooped a healthy portion of the Halushki onto my plate. “No one will be leaving my house hungry.”

  I took a deep breath as she bustled off; her serving spoon held high as she hunted down empty plates to fill, and I resigned myself to my fate with another sigh.

  It was the third open house I’d hosted at Mrs. Petryka’s beautiful old Georgian style house in two weeks, and I’d learned fifteen minutes into the first one that she was going to politely steam roll everything I said until she got her way. At the rate she kept foisting food on me, I was going to be wearing sweatpants to the next showing, with extra stretch in the waistband.

  The truth was that Mrs. Petryka didn’t even need a second open house, much less a third. There was plenty of interest in the house as it was, with its gorgeous columned front porch, and the dozen windows on the front of the house, all facing east to let in the morning light. She already had tons of offers to search through, but Mrs. Petryka, even though she was eager to sell, said she was looking for a particular kind of buyer.

  Personally, I thought she just enjoyed showing off her home and listening to all the oohs and aahs. Hospitality was a pretty big deal to a Domovyk. Cousins of the European Brownies, they were supernatural people who tended to hearth and home. People sometimes looked down on them for being house spirits with mostly domestic powers, but they were very good at what they did, and could be extremely dangerous if you insulted them or threatened their home or the family they chose to serve. Just because Mrs. Petryka owned her own home didn’t lessen any of the above.

  And it really didn’t help that every dumpling I forked into my mouth was a soft, fluffy little bite of heaven, drizzled in butter. I had to close my eyes when I swallowed, and only years of practice in controlling myself kept me from groaning out loud.

  I finally managed to ditch my plate in the kitchen, and then did about twenty minutes of my actual job as a realtor instead of playing back up hostess with Mrs. Petryka. At open houses, my job was to mingle, to chat with the guests, and to try and get people excited about my clients’ homes by pointing out all the delightful little details.

  Honestly, selling the old Georgian would probably be the easiest job I’d had since I took over Hallowed Homes. Not only was the mansion spotlessly, scrupulously clean, but every bit of furnishing and décor was so comfortable, and yet so tasteful, the whole place just screamed ‘home’. Not to mention all the gorgeous little details that were original from when the place was built. The lovely fireplace, all the pristine crown molding, the colored glass light fixtures that bathed everything in a warm and golden glow instead of stark white bleached light.

  The hardest part of the job was the attack on my waistline. Being a Succubus kept me in pretty good shape, and almost effortlessly. But another night of stuffed cabbage leaves, cream cheese crepes, and golden, crispy potato pancakes, and I was going to have to take up jogging or something. By this point, I was pretty sure word had gotten out about the goodies and half the people showing up were just coming for the incredibly good, free food.

  Like the one guy hanging around, pretending to study the painting on the living room wall. Maybe he was just really into landscapes, but the way he kept glancing around the room to see if anyone was watching made me think he wasn’t here because he wanted to be a home owner.

  Haven Hollow wasn’t a huge town, even with the human population unknowingly filling in for the supernatural citizens who settled here to take advantage of the protection a Hollow offered. So, while I wouldn’t be able to say I knew everyone by sight, not even the people on the spooky side, something about this guy was putting me on edge.

  He stuck out a little, among the couples and families interested in a home with six bedrooms. The guy cleaned up okay, but it was done in a way that seemed awkward to him. Like, his day-to-day life didn’t involve suits and a tie he kept yanking at like it was choking him. His features were pretty unremarkable. Dark hair, dark eyes, thin face, skin kind of pale. It was the way his eyes moved across the room, his hands constantly in motion, touching this or that, tugging his ear, tugging his coat, that made him look like someone had slapped a suit on a weasel.

  He'd also been at all three open houses. Now, that was dedication, even from people actually interested in buying the house. I hoped weasel-guy’s dedication was to the buffet table, and not anything that might cause trouble for my client. Yet I couldn’t help but get the feeling he was exactly that... trouble.

  I squared my shoulders, ready to walk over to him and greet him with my best professional smile. People who were up to no good tended to get nervous and make themselves scarce once they figured out that they’d been noticed. If all he did was gush about the house and the food, then I’d know he was probably just here to score some dumplings, and while not the best, at least it was harmless and would frankly thrill Mrs. Petryka.

  For the hundredth time since I’d started applying it, I thanked Poppy Morton for the repelling potion she made up for me regularly. Before Poppy had come to town, I’d had nothing to rein in my Succubus pheromones. Which meant any time I got within breathing distance of someone, they’d be hanging off me, their tongues trailing behind them as they followed me like puppies. It had made it difficult to do my job. Any job. But at least now I could confront someone and the only risk was an awkward social interaction.

  My brother, Angelo, thought I was nuts not to take full advantage of my demonic nature. As his boss, I’d had to lay down the law on him. No using his powers in order to make sales or to encourage home owners to sell. No sleeping with clients. That last one he’d nearly thrown a fit over, but I’d finally got a kind of sullen acceptance out of him. Even with my restrictions, it wasn’t like he was hard up for company. Complaining was just his favorite hobby.

  I’d just started across the living room, when a small, but surprisingly strong hand hooked itself into my elbow.

  Mrs. Petryka smiled, her freckles almost swallowed up by her wrinkles. “Oh, Fifi, you can’t forget dessert.” She very firmly pressed another plate into my hands. On it sat what looked like a large pirogue, but instead of potato or meat inside, there were dark cherries and honey oozing out of the golden-brown crust.

  Good Lord.

  I’d thought I was safe, but I should have known that the Domovyk would be one step ahead.

  I kept my sigh locked up inside because I didn’t want to offend her and surrendered gracefully. “Thank you, Mrs. Petryka.”

  The first forkful had sweetness exploding across my tongue, and my eyes fluttered closed for a second.

  She patted my arm. “There you go. I made it special just for you. To thank you for all your hard work.”

  She looked around at the packed living room, and while she was obviously pleased with the number of guests, there was a bit of sadness in her face.

  “I’ve lived here a long time, Fifi. A very long time. This house has been my home for many years. I hate to leave her.” She smoothed her hands down her skirt, like she was trying to hide the sudden tremble in her fingers.

  It had to be hard, I thought with a sudden swell of sympathy. I wish I’d known the right words to say, but I didn’t. So, I just gently patted her small, fragile hand and gave her a smile.

  Mrs. Petryka turned her big, liquid dark eyes on me, blinking slowly. “The Hollow, it isn’t what it once was, Fifi.”

  Now that interested me. “What do you mean?”

  “Once, this was a safe place. A good place. But now? There are murders, Faeries war in the streets, and grave robbers can’t even leave the dead in peace.”

  I couldn’t quite hold back a wince. She wasn’t wrong—that was the problem. Things had been getting darker in Haven Hollow, and I was a little sensitive about it, because the Faerie war she was talking about, I still kind of felt like it was partially my fault. I’m not sure what I could have done differently, and still been able to look at myself in the mirror every day, though. And it’s hard to put on mascara without looking in a mirror.

  Though, I had to admit, the recent string of grave robberies was pretty disturbing, even for Haven Hollow.

  The Hollows were supposed to be safe havens for supernatural communities. Places where we could live together, without all the political baggage of our factions dragging us into conflict. They were places where we didn’t have to be afraid of hunters coming after us. All we had to do, in return, was play nicely with each other, and keep our human neighbors in the dark about some of the more interesting aspects of the town and ourselves.

  But if Mrs. Petryka was so frightened by the state of Haven Hollow most recently, where would she be safe? Another Hollow?

  “Where will you go?” I hadn’t known her very long, but I couldn’t help but feel a little protective of her. She was like the grandmother I’d never had. And honestly, even after just a few months, I liked her a lot more than the grandmother I did have.

  She patted my arm again, as if trying to reassure me. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m moving down to Misty Hollow, to live with my daughter.”

  “Misty Hollow?” I frowned. “I’ve never heard of that Hollow.”

  “Oh, it’s a brand-new Hollow. It’s just in the process of being built. But my daughter is there and I believe it’s time for a change. And, who knows, the bayou air might do me some good.”

  A little part of me relaxed. At least, if she wasn’t going to stay here, she was still going to be living in a Hollow and that meant she’d be safe. Well, at least safer than in the rest of the world, recent events notwithstanding. I’d worry about her, otherwise. Domovyk were strong in their houses, especially once they’d had a chance to build up a connection to the house, but outside, they were only slightly tougher than the humans they tended to cohabitate with.

  She must have seen some of what I was thinking, because Mrs. Petryka smiled, and went up on her tiptoes just enough to pat my cheek. “Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll be fine.”

  Dropping back down to her feet, she caught a glimpse of the table out of the corner of her eye and gasped. “Oh, goodness, we’re almost out of Deruny.”

  And then she bustled off to her incredibly well stocked and extremely modern kitchen to whip up another batch of crispy golden potato pancakes while I groaned. At least the kitchen was a huge selling point for the house. It was probably the most updated part. That and the bathrooms.

  With my client distracted, I figured I should have been able to try and pin down some serious interest in her house. But, first, that weaselly man who didn’t seem interested in leaving...

  “Fifi?”

  I turned at the sound of a man’s voice, my professional smile firmly in place, only for it to blossom into the real thing when I saw who was standing there. “Tobias?”

  A few months back, Tobias Mathison had hired Hallowed Homes to sell the house he’d inherited from his parents. As it turned out, he’d been desperately trying to get away from a ghost who was haunting it and possessing him almost every night. He’d been all but worn to a shadow when we’d met.