Before I could say a word, Wanda reached for the hem of her black dress and peeled the whole thing over her head in one fluid motion. It left her clad only in her underthings, which were a fetching shade of red.

  “Turn up the power of the necklace,” I groaned as I glanced at the drop around her neck, which had been as black as her ensemble.

  She did as I bid and even though the energy radiating from the thing made me want to run in the other direction; I was also relieved. Returning my attention to her nearly naked form, I watched as her skin gleamed in the low light. Beads of water from the storm clung to the swells of her breasts and gathered in her navel. I couldn’t help but track their progress down her stomach, eventually disappearing into the waistband of her panties. More water rolled down her thighs, her calves, and gathered near her strappy heels.

  My mouth was dry, and I had to cudgel my brain to reinstate my grasp of the English language. “What are you doing, sweetling?”

  Wanda fixed me with a look that heartily implied I was continuing my trend of staggering idiocy.

  “Preparing for our ritual. It would be hardly respectful for me to complete it while dripping wet.”

  “Oh.”

  She paced away from me and bent over the fire. If I’d been human, I’d probably have died from the lack of oxygen to my brain. The curvature of her bare back, and the shape of her rump would likely tease me in my dreams for months to come. She was so damned beautiful, and I couldn’t have her. I tried to keep the pain of that truth off my face when she turned toward me again.

  “Where do you keep your blood?” she asked, finally.

  “In my body. Mostly.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re so funny, Lorcan.”

  “You asked.”

  “Ugh, where do you keep your bagged blood?”

  “In the refrigerator. And it’s not bagged, dearest. It’s within a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild.”

  “Great,” she answered, and started for the kitchen.

  “Why do you need it?”

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at me, while opening the refrigerator door. “We need to make sure you’re in full health before we start the ritual.”

  “My nose is healed.”

  “Right, which took a lot of your energy. So, now we’re going to fill you up again.”

  I watched her pull the bottle from the refrigerator. She didn’t bother with a glass, but just handed the whole thing to me.

  “Bottles up.”

  I looked at it, then her. “You mean, down the whole thing?”

  “I do.”

  “Doesn’t that seem like overkill?”

  “We’ve got a hefty ritual before us.”

  “The ritual didn’t appear very hefty the other night when everyone involved was half out of their minds with alcohol.”

  “That was then, and this is now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that was on the most important night of Yule, now we’re a day late. And that was also before you thoroughly insulted the goddess. This isn’t going to be the same ritual we could have finished last night.”

  “Very well.”

  I took the bottle from her hand, but just before she was about to release it, she tightened her fingers around the neck.

  “Is there any alcohol in the blood? I don’t want you drunk again. That’s what started this farce in the first place.”

  I shook my head. “No alcohol.”

  “Good. I’ll be right back.”

  And with that, she glided out of the room, all long-legged sensuality. I watched her go, admiring her ample curves as she did so.

  Chapter Nine

  I was nearly finished with the bottle of blood, all the while admiring the rapidly drying skin of Wanda’s calves where she sat in front of the firelight. When there was a knock at my front door, the sound was so unexpected, it brought me to my feet as I worried who it might be, hopefully not Rupert or one his kin. Wanda’s head rolled lazily in the direction of the sound.

  The Yule log lay across her lap, and in her hands it looked like some erotic decoration. Her hair was loose and fell like an inky black curtain around her pale shoulders. She looked like she ought to be seducing 007 in a classy hotel room, or hanging on the arm of an underserving villain as he laid out his master plan.

  “Are you expecting someone?” she asked.

  “No, I thought it would just be you and I this evening.”

  She waved one hand negligently toward the door. “Well, go see who it is and get rid of them so we can get on with this.”

  There was another knock, and she shot me an exultant look. After another instant, she was on her feet and reaching the door before me. She wrenched it open with a grin, completely unconcerned with her current state of undress.

  Jennifer was waiting on the other side, hand poised mid-knock. Her scrubs were soaked, and her blonde hair was plastered to her head in stringy clumps. Her eyes widened, and she stared at Wanda in undisguised shock. Shock which quickly morphed into a mix of hurt and embarrassment as her eyes turned to me.

  I knew immediately how this must look. A scrumptious, half-naked woman poised on my threshold, working every curve the Goddess had given her with unconscious ease. Jennifer’s boss dressed only in a bath robe and wearing a sheepish expression.

  “Oh...” Jennifer stammered. “I... um... I didn’t know you were... that you had...”

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  She didn’t respond, other than to reach into the pocket of her scrub pants before producing my wallet and keys. A scarlet flush crept up her neck as she handed both to me.

  “You left these at the office,” she mumbled.

  “Ah, thank you very much for bringing them to me.”

  She nodded and surprisingly didn’t vacate the premises immediately, as I imagined she would. “The, uh, the power came back on after you left. And RJ stopped by to board up the front and back windows.”

  “Very good.”

  “And, um, we notified your other patients and they’ve all been rescheduled.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and meant it.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Wanda asked, as she smiled up at me.

  “Oh, yes,” I started, and cursed myself for my own impropriety. I cleared my throat. “This is Wanda Depraysie,” I began, before Wanda extended her hand and interrupted me.

  “I’m Lorcan’s girlfriend,” she finished for me.

  “O—Oh,” Jennifer answered and blushed every hue of red. She shook Wanda’s hand and then waffled for another second before quickly mumbling a ‘good-bye’ and turning tail to sprint for her vehicle.

  “My girlfriend, eh?” I asked, eyeing Wanda with interest.

  “Yes, well,” she started and waved away the question as she started for the drawing room again. “We have a ritual to perform.”

  “You’re not getting off that easily.”

  She settled by the fire again, reclining on her elbow this time, and watched the flames dance in the grate.

  “So… first you need to pick up the log,” she started.

  I did as instructed and paused just before the fire.

  “You’re my girlfriend, then, are you?” I chuckled.

  “Well, I just… didn’t want the girl to get any ideas.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because… you and I… well, we have… lots going on.”

  “Can’t we have ‘lots going on’ and still be friends?”

  She glared at me. “You need to now place the Yule log in the fire and then we need to hold hands.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Oh, you are so infuriating!”

  “Almost as much as you are, my dear.” I gave her a smile. “Now, answer the question.”

  “No!”

  “No?”

  “No, we aren’t just friends!” she yelled, shaking her head. “Are you happy now?”

  “Not quite.”

  “What then?” she demanded.

  “If we aren’t friends, then it follows that we’re more than that?”

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  Figuring I wouldn’t get much more than that out of her, I bent to place the log upon the grate. Flames leapt up to engulf the log immediately, rising to lick eagerly along its surface. I returned to sit beside Wanda and collected her into my arms. Her skin was soft as satin when I ran a finger over the curve of her hip. She shivered, but didn’t push me away.

  “What next, my dear?”

  ***

  Even though Wanda and I had completed the two-hour ritual, the weather was still behaving oddly by the time Christmas rolled around, three days later, though the storms were nowhere near as violent as they had been.

  My home was still the focal point for a few disasters—the flooding had gotten worse, and the place had the overall smell of mildew, which wasn’t exactly pleasant. Thus, I’d been forced to sleep in a steamer trunk in Wanda’s basement, much to her displeasure. Though having ‘the dog formerly known as Disaster who still hadn’t obtained his new name’ in the vicinity to terrorize Hellcat seemed to have softened the blow somewhat.

  RJ estimated the repairs to the floors and walls would take a couple of weeks. In response, Wanda had decided to place the remains of my Yule log in her fireplace, where it would remain burning until the evening of January 5th. In the meantime, there were Christmas celebrations to attend, namingly Wanda’s, which had only come to be at Astrid’s insistence.

  As with last year, Wanda had little patience for Christmas decorations and had opted to allow the others to decorate in her stead. Thus, Poppy and Astrid were to blame for the festive atmosphere and the warbling Christmas music. I had made one request which, so far as I could attest, had been hearkened—that being no Mariah Carey!

  Wanda had settled on the seat by her casement windows, watching with undisguised glee as the beagle skidded around a corner in pursuit of Hellcat. He landed on his doggy rump and scrambled to get his paws under him to give chase once more. It was charming. To us, at least. Hellcat’s opinion was decidedly less pleasant.

  Poppy, Marty, Astrid, and Finn were playing a game of spoons in the kitchen, while Darla dominated the living room, doing an ungainly swing number with Henner. He was being dragged more than dancing along with her, but didn’t seem to mind. Libby looked pleased to be dancing the box step in one corner with RJ, though she was doing her best to conceal that pleasure, as she believed it to be in bad form for a married woman to be dancing with another man (nevermind the fact that her husband had been dead for decades).

  Olga Fischer, Betanya Tayir and her zombie, Florence, were in the kitchen, fussing over appetizers.

  “I guess love isn’t dead,” I said, leaning against the wall.

  I itched to have a glass of plain blood in one hand, but I wouldn’t risk staining the vest Wanda had so thoughtfully fashioned for me. She was quite correct, it did match my eyes exceedingly well.

  “Of course it is,” Wanda said, setting aside a glass of cider as she watched Darla sail around the living room, scarcely missing the couch and then the armchair. “Darla is an ex-ghost and Libby is a zombie. The love in this room is nothing but dead.”

  I chuckled, and she allowed herself a small smile. She didn’t pull away when I reached for her hand. And it wasn’t lost on me that she’d turned her necklace down so much, I wondered whether it were even on.

  “Sweetling, would you mind giving me a moment or two of your undivided attention?” I asked as I swept open the back door that led to the patio and she nodded, walking through it. Then I turned to the outdoor couch, which was covered for the winter season, and retrieved the birthday present I’d stashed beneath it.

  Standing up again, I handed it to her.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “A late birthday present.”

  “Lorcan,” she started, but I shook my head, laughing.

  “The fact that you are now one-hundred-forty-one is safe with me, sweetling.”

  She gave me a smile and unwrapped the gift, displaying a musical jewelry box featuring a dancing couple. She inspected it and, winding it up, gave me a huge smile.

  “It’s lovely, Lorcan, thank you.”

  I nodded. “It’s a Reuge music box which I purchased in Switzerland in 1886… when you were just six years old.” I chuckled again, and she laughed.

  “I love it.”

  “I’m glad—I’ve been saving it all this time in order to give it to someone… special.”

  She looked up at me then. “I don’t know… I probably shouldn’t accept this, Lorcan.”

  “Not another word,” I insisted as I gave her a very discouraging expression. “I have one more gift for you.”

  “Another one?”

  I nodded. “I’ve come up with a name for the dog formerly known as Disaster.”

  She laughed. “Okay, lay it on me.”

  “Yule.”

  “Yule?” she repeated, frowning.

  “In honor of the holiday during which he was found.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds as she then began nodding. “Yule… actually, I like it.”

  “Well, it was that or Banjo, Cletus, Ol’ Blue, Jethro, or Jimmy-Don.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “No, I like Yule just fine.”

  Then she grew quiet and just looked up at me as I grew equally quiet and looked down at her.

  “Happy Birthday, Wanda,” I whispered.

  She stood on tiptoe, seizing the velvet lapels of my vest, dragging me closer. I heard her heart speed up.

  Her eyes smoldered. “Stop talking, Rowe.”

  I smiled, flashing fangs at her. She didn’t shrink away. “Make me.”

  The End

  ~~~~~

  Return to Haven Hollow in:

  The Broken Mirror

  ~~~~~

  Return to the Table of Contents

  THE BROKEN MIRROR

  A Haven Hollow Novella #13

  (Remarkable Remedies)

  by

  H.P. MALLORY

  &

  J.R. RAIN

  The Broken Mirror

  Published by Rain Press

  Copyright © 2022 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.

  The Broken Mirror

  Chapter One

  “Breakfast is ready, Finn!” I yelled as I walked from the kitchen to the staircase. “We have to leave for school soon.” And I had a big day planned at my store—I was getting ready for a clearance sale on all the potions that hadn’t sold over the last year.

  “Do you want me to go check on him?” Libby asked from where she stood behind me, wearing an apron and looking every bit the part of June Cleaver.

  “No, I’m sure he’ll be down any second, but thanks for all your help, Libby.”

  Libby sometimes liked to walk across the cemetery that separated my house from her half of the duplex she shared with Wanda in order to see Finn off before he went to school. As Libby explained it, Finn reminded her of her own son (who was now dead and gone, much the way Libby, herself, used to be).

  This particular morning Darla had decided to accompany her, so the circus in my house was in full swing.

  Libby smiled at me and then pointed out, “your trousers are too long, Poppy.”

  Looking down at myself, I realized she was right—my jeans were a little too long and my red ballet flats were a little too flat so the hem of the jeans was dragging on the floor.

  “Hmm,” I said. “Guess I better go throw on another pair.”

  “Best tell that son of yours his breakfast is getting cold,” Libby added as I nodded and started for the entry and the stairs just beyond it.

  “Finn! You better be dressed!” I yelled while I hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Then I headed for my bedroom so I could throw on another pair of jeans.

  Interestingly, and it wasn’t as though I’d planned it, I had to have lost weight, which was the reason why the jeans were skimming the ground—they were lots looser around my butt and hips. Not a bad problem to have, if I did say so myself.

  There was still no answer from my son as I pulled open my bottom dresser drawer and yanked out my skinny jeans, throwing them on as quickly as I could. Then I checked my reflection in my full-length mirror, which was currently living behind my bedroom door, owing to the myriad of boxes littering every inch of floor space in my room.

  “Finn!” I yelled again as I grabbed the door, meaning to shut it behind me, but yanked it too hard, and the knob slammed into the mirror. I watched as my reflection watched me, both of us in horror, as the glass shattered into a million pieces, raining all over the carpet.

  “Crap!” I yelled and immediately hurried down the stairs and opened the door to the broom closet. Grabbing the broom and a dustpan, I started back up the stairs again (feeling like I was getting a workout and then some) and managed to clean up the broken glass in a matter of minutes.

  “Finn!” I called out while I carried my dustpan of broken glass towards the stairs, figuring I should make myself some toast or something to eat before we left. Today was going to be a long and busy day and I’d probably skip lunch.

  “Coming!” he yelled finally.

  With a sigh of relief, I walked into the kitchen, dumped the bits of broken glass and a few dustbunnies into the trash, and grabbed the bread out of the pantry. I’d vacuum up the rest of the mess when I got home this afternoon because there was no time now.

  “Need any help?” Libby asked me cheerily.

  “Nope, just making some toast,” I answered as I threw a couple pieces into the toaster before eyeing the heavy cardboard box of potion bottles I still needed to carry out to the car. Grabbing the box with one arm, I then realized Finn didn’t have anything to drink with his breakfast (which was sitting on the kitchen table, getting cold) so, with the box still in one hand, I grabbed a glass and placed it on the counter. Then I retrieved the bottle of orange juice I’d taken out earlier and did my best to pour the juice into the glass without spilling it.