Erica Stevens - Ghost Light

If I were looking for love on Craig’s List, my singles ad would begin something like, “Must Love Unicorns.” Of course, I didn’t have to look for love online. My heart now belonged to Ceff.

Ceffyl Dŵr, or Ceff, was a kelpie. In fact, he was king of the local kelpies. Since discovering my wisp princess birthright, that seemed somewhat fortuitous. It was also extremely dangerous. The kelpie king had plenty of enemies. He also had a murderous, sociopathic wife.

I didn’t care. For the first time in my life, I felt like I truly belonged. I had so much to be thankful for; a gorgeous date; an amazing best friend, business partner, and roommate; a wonderful mentor; fabulous new friends; numerous clients; and a pet freaking unicorn.

I should have known that something bad was coming. I have said it before and I’ll say it again; Fate is a fickle bitch.

Most people have skeletons in their closets. I wasn’t born yesterday, and I am fully aware that my boyfriend was born more yesterdays ago than I can count. Since Ceff is a few millennia old, I expect some dusty bones lurking behind the perfectly pressed shirts, faded jeans, and tailored suits—no shoes of course. What I didn’t expect was for Ceff’s skeletons to come storming from the dark corners of his closet with finger bones raised in anticipation of clawing my eyes out.

Ceff was married once. To put it nicely, the woman was a freaking bitch. I’d say the chick was a harpy, but that would insult harpies everywhere and I didn’t want to piss off potential clients. Melusine, Ceff’s ex-squeeze and former queen, was pure malicious evil.

Judging from the memories I witnessed in a psychometric vision I had while hunting for Ceff’s bridle, the woman was also bat-shit-crazy. Coming from me, that’s really saying something. But seriously, what other reason explains a mother murdering her infant child in front of her husband?

Their union, an arranged marriage based on fae politics, may not have been based on love, but Ceff hadn’t been a bad husband. He was attentive to his wife and lavished her with gifts befitting a queen. But his true love was reserved for his sons. Unfortunately, that love would spell their doom.

Melusine became so filled with jealousy that she began scheming how to remove her eldest son from his prized role as heir to the kelpie throne. She framed him as a traitor—a crime punishable by death under kelpie law—and watched with glee as her husband meted out the punishment. But her eldest son’s public execution was not enough.

Melusine wanted Ceff’s love and undivided attention, but even in his grief, Ceff didn’t turn to his wife. Instead he shone his affections on his youngest son who was then still just a babe.

Melusine seethed with envy for the love she felt was rightfully hers. What kind of child steals a parent’s love from the other? Enraged, she dangled the child over a pit of flames and watched as Ceff struggled to save him. His attempts to plead with her, for the sake of their child, only maddened her further. She threw their baby into the fire and, with a flick of her serpent tail, disappeared into the sea.

I had hoped that the bitch had been eaten by a shark, or run over by a motor boat. Maybe she’d remarried some other poor guy and was making big with the crazy in his ocean. I didn’t care, though I was fond of the shark scenario, so long as Melusine was out of the picture.

Too bad she didn’t stay that way.

Have you ever taken pictures with friends and everyone is smiling, but when you see the photos later they are dotted with white orbs? Okay, sometimes those are my people, wisps, but more often they appear like ghosts haunting the picture’s inhabitants and making the smiles seem grotesque rather than cheerful.

Melusine was like one of those photographic ghosts. She was back in the picture, haunting me and tainting the near-perfect relationship that Ceff and I had with painful memories and the threat of violence. The honeymoon was over before it began—and that really pissed me off.

I’ll be turning twenty-five soon and I have never dated anyone until now. I’ve also never been intimate with anyone. The closest I’ve come to intimacy was one magical night with Ceff during the winter solstice. Jinx thinks I’m nuts for cuddling on the couch all night when I had the chance for something more, but for me being held was a huge first step. Nearly twenty-five and never been kissed. But I was getting closer to achieving that with Ceff, until his ex-wife showed up.

She better hope she had a leprechaun somewhere in her family tree, because that bitch was going to pay.

Fog rolled in off the harbor to smother the Old Port and strangle The Hill with its embrace. I trudged through the chill mist beside Jinx, lamenting the shopping bags filled with shoes hanging from every gloved finger. I hate shopping. The threat of getting an unwanted vision without the reward of a payday was too high, but my roommate and business partner wanted to celebrate our newfound success and I was a sucker for tears.

Now I was acting as a shopaholic’s Sherpa while Jinx scaled Joysen Hill in six inch platform pumps. I figured carrying the bags was slightly better than having to carry an injured BFF. Jinx was the most accident prone person I’d ever met. Just watching her teeter on those shoes, while tripping over cobblestones, made my ankles hurt and teeth ache.

I tried to rub my jaw with my shoulder, but gave up with a grunt. My neck and shoulders were tight and I’d likely pull a muscle. Walking around Joysen Hill always made me tense, even during daylight. The oppressive gloom of the incoming fog made my ears itch, as if I were being watched.

I spun on the balls of my feet, suddenly sure that someone was approaching from the gloom, but when I scanned the street behind us I saw only harmless shoppers out on a chilly spring afternoon. I peered through the pea soup fog further down the hill, my gaze darting into shadowed doorways and alleys, but couldn’t spot the source of my unease.

The alarm bells going off in my head could be good old-fashioned paranoia, but worrying about being hunted in this part of the city wasn’t necessarily my imagination. The big baddies of Harborsmouth, both supernatural and human, have holed up in the warrens of Joysen Hill for decades. It’s a fact of life in Harborsmouth that bad things happen daily on The Hill. Vampire slumlords suck their tenants dry, djinn provide favors for those who…rub their lamps, and carnivorous fae find creative ways to bait humans into their lair.

That was the other reason why I had agreed to go shopping. Jinx had access to faerie ointment which allowed her to see through a basic faerie glamour, but the stuff was expensive. She’d rather spend her money on shoes than on the potions my witch friend brewed. So I tagged along to make sure Jinx stayed out of trouble. Jinx may only be able to see shopkeepers hocking their wares, but I could see the fangs and mandibles behind the glossy smiles.

I steered Jinx away from a display of pottery bowls, that beneath a shimmering glamour were actually hollowed out skulls, and into the shop next door. The smell of leather filled the air and a hiccup erupted from behind the till. I smiled and let the tension ooze out of my neck and shoulders. We had entered a clurichaun’s leather goods shop.

My hands were currently sheathed in a pair of clurichaun crafted gloves, a Christmas gift from Marvin. I smiled and flexed my fingers, trying not to drop the bags I was holding. Marvin had gone to a lot of trouble to bargain with one of the perpetually inebriated faeries, but I was glad that he did. The gloves were beautiful, fit me perfectly, and hadn’t given me terrifying visions.