With These Wings

By Red L. Jameson

For more than a thousand years Samuella Dís has been a fairy godmother. The fairy title is ironic, since she’s a dís—an ancient society of all-female, winged, immortal avengers who paint their toenails with reckless abandon and have difficulties with real swearwords. However, something’s wrong with Sam’s latest assignment. Her newest orphan is a six-foot-three soldier, who’s indubitably handsome, and a flausching man. Not a boy at all, but a flinging flanging man!

Luke Anderson is home barely a week when he loses his parents in a drunk driving accident. Already plagued by nightmares from his tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, he’s not sure how much more he can take. And maybe he’s gone a bit crazy because he can’t keep his eyes off one spunky strawberry blonde at his parents’ funeral—inappropriate, right? But she offers so much comfort in those huge amber eyes of hers, and, hey, it’s not like the world would end if he hit on the woman.

Since the dís are a dwindling species, The Norns, Sam’s bosses, are trying to matchmake Sam and Luke. Only, the last time they played cupids England almost collapsed. Plus, there’s the issue of human men going insane once they’ve had sex with a dís. And Sam could die from a broken heart. Oh, and there’s the little matter of when a dís gets upset she can cause apocalyptic events. But it might be worth it for love. Then again, the Norns have been stalking Oprah lately, and there’s no guessing if they’re merely insane or certifiably brilliant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red L. Jameson
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310310140

Red L. Jameson

Red L. Jameson lives in the wilds of Montana with her family. While working on a military history master’s degree, she doodled a story that became her bestselling, award-winning romance, Enemy of Mine, part of the Glimpse Time Travel Series. After earning her gigantic master’s—the diploma is just huge, she couldn’t stop doodling stories, more Glimpse stories—because she couldn’t get enough of hunky Highlanders and buttoned-down Brits—and other stories, a paranormal romance series and a contemporary series, which grew into the pen name R. L. Jameson, under which she writes cerebral and spicy erotic romance. While working on yet another master’s degree—nowhere near as giant as the first, she wrote her first women’s fiction novels. But no matter which genre she writes, her novels always end with a happily ever after.She loves her readers, so please feel free to contact her at http://www.redljameson.com

Book preview

One

Wings

Look at them, Samuella, Astrid Dís said to her cousin in a Starbucks. These humans have no idea that among them is one of the world’s most lethal warriors of all time.

Sam ground her teeth and stared at the white plastic lid of her unsweetened soy latte, detesting being reminded of the past. Never wanting to lose her temper with Astrid, Sam chose not to say anything. Well, she never lost her temper, period. No dís did. For that matter no dís were encouraged to have any emotions that weren’t, what might be considered as, chipper. Yeah, she’d been one chipper warrior in her day. Which might seem odd to most humans, but she knew it was startling as all get out to see a female skipping and laughing hysterically on the battlefield while wielding a claymore.

The not talking only prompted Astrid to speak more.

I mean everything in this place seems so normal. Normal coffee smells—sweet yet pungent. Normal young-and-perky Starbucks employees, singing something about caramel. Normal crowd of coffee drinkers, sitting behind laptops, staring furiously at their screens hoping for just the right word to write in their blogs or whatever. Astrid sniffed and grabbed hold of her thick flaxen flowing mane then twisted it over one of her thin shoulders as she leaned forward, a different tilt in her smile than anything Sam had ever seen before. They have no idea that among them is someone who could kill at least ten humans in less than five seconds.

You know, Sam hissed, whirling a protection shield around Astrid and herself so no human could eavesdrop, I don’t like talking about when I was…when…why are you bringing this up?

Gods, Sam had come here—not just the Starbucks in the middle of America and away from their home in Ireland—hoping to kick up her heels with her cousin. Not talk about the past. And not just any past, but medieval past, as in more than a thousand years ago. Although, she had gone all medieval on some mortals too. While smiling cheerfully, of course.

Sam eyed her cousin and best friend who did seem apologetic now, frowning and giving her own plastic lid a good stare. Being a dís—or fairy or angel or goddess or whatever the humans wanted to call them now—meant there weren’t any friends in their Spartan-like lives. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have fun. But often the fun would be forced upon them. It was one of the unwritten rules: Need to blow off steam from continually serving the humans? Have an impromptu ice cream party. Or a surprise pedicure party. Or get very drunk and end up waking in Venice on a mermaid statue in a suggestive pose. Yeah, Sam’s kind knew how to have a good time. But how to bond, share, let each other talk was a big no-no.

That’s why she loved Astrid so much. Okay, it wasn’t as if Sam had ever put Astrid to the test and cried in front of her, but she thought her cousin would handle it and not placate her. Not try to get her drunk. However, she and Astrid did end up in Venice more times than she could count. Still, it seemed her gorgeous cousin would allow Sam to have emotions other than just Stepford-Wife sentiments. It’s also why Sam was so, although not encouraged to feel it, annoyed at this moment. It wasn’t like Astrid to talk about their past, especially because she did know how much Sam hated being reminded of it.

Sorry, Astrid mumbled.

Another fine quality of the dís: They could hardly communicate with each other. But Sam knew Astrid was trying. And she loved her for it.

Thanks.

Astrid bit her bottom lip, her violet gaze shyly peeking up through thick black lashes. She was trying to be cute, so Sam rolled her eyes, earning a wide grin from her cousin.

I knew you couldn’t stay upset at me.

As always, Astrid was right. But Sam would never let her know. Unless they were in Venice.

I just—I guess, Astrid stammered, I brought up the big-bad past because I wondered if you’re happy.

Happy? Could a dís be anything but? Sure.

"I mean it, Sammy. Are you happy? I asked you here to this stupid mortal, normal Starbucks so I could do the very human thing and ask if you’re really happy."

Sam shrugged. I guess. I mean, I’m not going to ask to be on Oprah’s network sharing how happy I am, but I’m fine.

Oprah, Astrid shook her head with a warm smile. The Norns—I’ve heard but don’t know if it is true—are trying to get on one of her shows. As an audience member. But knowing them, they’d probably kidnap her.

Sam snickered. The Norns were called the Wyrd Sisters in most human mythology. The three sisters were also called The Fates, although they didn’t have foresight. They were just older than dirt and because of that were the leaders of the dísir—that’s the plural for dís; it’s an old language. Yeah, the Norns talked about ice ages and times when they’d helped humans come out of caves to share food and stories over a fire.

And in 1985 the Norns found Oprah Winfrey. Since then, they’d become day-time TV junkies, reading every book Oprah mentioned, watching all the shows sprouted from the talk-show host, and generally becoming fanatic fans of the woman. Just mention the name Oprah, and the Norns swoon, hailing her as the bravest of the brave, the noblest of the noble, and the most worthy human of all time. Heck, they even had Oprah dolls. So it wouldn’t be that difficult to imagine the Norns kidnapping their favorite television star.

Studying her cousin, Sam decided to turn the tables. "Are you happy?"

Astrid beamed, just friggin’ beamed, which Sam hadn’t seen in…gods, at least two hundred years. Yes. I’m so glad you asked. I’m—

Wait, Sam interrupted. Are you trying to get me into some pyramid scheme? I’m not selling Amway. Is that why you’re asking if I’m happy?

Astrid snorted. Contrary to her ultra-ladylike image, the pig noise made her seem real. Not like the slightly prettier version of Brigitte Bardot she looked. She shook her head. Stop it. Don’t make me laugh. I’m serious.

About how happy you are.

Yes. Gods, that does sound asinine.

I wasn’t going to say it, but…

Astrid threw a crumpled tan napkin at Sam’s chest.

Come on, cous. Sam threw the napkin back, landing it in Astrid’s cascading hair. "I don’t need to talk about how happy I am. I just need to be happy. I’m between jobs, probably going to get a new case any second, and I came here hoping we could—"

Do the normal thing: laugh, talk about bullschmit that doesn’t matter, and go about our merry way.

Yeah. That was freaking poetic by the way.

You know me. I’m just like Byron.

At that Sam felt bubbly happiness rise in her chest, like champagne in a glass. She loved this banter; she adored spending time with Astrid between cases. It made everything worth it.

Granted, she cherished being a fairy godmother. Okay, the fairy godmother title was said with irony intended. After all, the dís were well known for kicking ass rather than nurturing kindness. However, after mortals began having crazy-ass wars about land, of all things, the dísir decided collectively to become godmothers to helpless mortal children.

Surprising Sam even more, since she’d agree rather reluctantly, being a godmother was more phenomenal than anything she could describe. It was the kids—the kids had this older than old magic in them. They knew the primordial enchantment of laughter. Their little fat fingers were pruney from soaking in all that cheerful, colorful, everyday magic of white, fluffy dandelions shedding their tiny feathers in the wind, of counting in Mississippis after a thunderbolt, of snuggling close and giggling under a blanket that smelled like a child.

So, yes. Sam could affirmatively say she was happy.

But obviously Astrid was…

"What’s making you so happy?" Sam asked cautiously.

You know I’ve taken the last four months off. No work.

All play?

Astrid rolled her violet eyes. I—don’t laugh at me—I’ve been introspective. Thinking a lot.

Sam shook off the desire to make another joke, knowing her cousin needed her to be there for her. Good. Whatcha been thinking about?

Astrid’s gaze lowered to Sam’s neck, where a white ribbon necklace held a glass-encased, tiny, heart-shaped ironstone. It was the last thing Sam’s mother had given to her before she’d died, now more than one thousand, seven hundred years ago. Sam had only been four years of age.

When Sam had been a spry two hundred years old, she’d accidentally touched for less than a second a Corieltavi coin that had been made from iron. She’d instantly screamed from the burn the metal singed into her fingertips, and her throat squeezed shut from the intense allergic reaction. There had been hives for two weeks after that. All dísir had similar effects from iron. It was one of three weaknesses the winged immortals had: beheadings, iron, and broken hearts.

If the glass ever shattered and the stone touched Sam’s skin, she could die. Perhaps it could be said too that the dísir were allergic to heartache, which Sam’s mother had died from. The glass around the iron heart reminded Sam of how her mother had built a wall against her, had toxically loved some male more than her own daughter and had died as a consequence. It was a bitter reminder, which Sam never took off.

She began to finger the iron rock, shielding it from Astrid. Her cousin glanced away, a faint pink dusting her cheeks.

I’ve been thinking about the way we were raised, Astrid said.

Astrid’s mother had also died, not too soon after Sam’s mother. The Norns had taken them in, raised them as their own daughters. Kind of. Although the Norns now loved Oprah, they weren’t exactly known for their warm and fuzzies. They weren’t cruel or mean, and they followed the no-negative-emotions rule to a T. They just…okay, imagine My Little Ponies mixed with Pokemon and rainbows and silver sparkles and just a dash of punk rock and that was the Norns. They were adorable. But not exactly nurturing.

What about it? Sam asked.

Astrid leaned closer, surveying if anyone watched or listened; although, Sam knew Astrid felt her protective shield around them.

Have you ever stopped and wondered why we do what we do?

Sam nodded, perhaps mechanically. We’re making the world a better place—

One child at a time. Astrid rolled her eyes. I know our organization’s slogan. I used to say it all the time. And I used to believe it myself.

"What do you mean you used to?" Sam’s heart sounded in her ears. Whish-whish-whish. What was this feeling that made her heart pound so? And how could Astrid not believe in the dísir code? It was all they lived for. Each of the very few winged immortal females left on earth promised to protect the humans. Even to the bitter end, which hopefully it would never come to.

Astrid leaned even farther over the table. Her perfect form catching the eye of a young mortal who had been staring feverishly at his laptop. His male appreciation for Sam’s cousin was noticeable. Heck, everyone noticed Astrid. Even if she wore an invisible shield, it seemed the humans felt her sensual presence. Or maybe they caught her jasmine scent?

Sam had, for a few hundred years, been kind of jealous of that. Yes, jealousy isn’t exactly a happy-go-lucky feeling, so she’d had to censor it. A lot. Astrid was a Barbie doll come to life, while Sam looked like…well, she hated to admit how elfin she appeared. What every human might imagine when thinking of a fairy was what faced her in the mirror daily. Short light red hair, a sharp little nose, and even sharp points at the corners of her—gods, she despised them—lips. And she happened to have gigantic round brown eyes. Making her look like a teenager. A fairy teenager.

Astrid frowned at the young man. He returned to scowling at his laptop. After licking her lips, she said, Don’t you ever get tired of serving them? She glanced around the Starbucks—judge, jury, and executioner in the glint of her eye.

Sam shook her head. Some emotion she wasn’t used to began to curdle the soy latte in her stomach No. I love my kids. I’ve loved all of them.

"I mean, serving them." Astrid pointed with her nose at the adults in the Starbucks.

Sam couldn’t help but stare at the woman sitting closest to them. She was scrolling through something on her smartphone, smiling down at the small screen, utterly ignoring her toddler who was chewing on a white plastic straw. Ironically enough, before Astrid had brought up this odd conversation, Sam had been thinking how to remove the straw from the chubby baby. His face was a mess of chocolate and crumbs from his cookie. His tear-streaks obvious as the only clear spots on his cherub visage. He was darling as Sam always thought of human children. What living for so long gained her was the marrow-crushing sense of how short time was, how the Smartphone Mother would regret the time she’d lost while reading through someone’s snarky Twitter posts.

I’m not serving her. Sam frowned.

Yes, you are. In serving the whole of humanity, you’re serving her too.

Astrid, as always, had a point. Sam felt her scowl deepen.

You’re so cute when you’re almost mad. And heaven forbid if any dís gets truly mad. I mean, aren’t you tired of that too? Of always being so…cheerful? Astrid reached across the table and pulled one of Sam’s strawberry blonde tufts that had been trying to fly away. Gently, she tucked it behind Sam’s ear.

For the last two years, Astrid had been saying things that Sam didn’t dare speak. The Norns forbad the not-so-chipper emotions. Of course, being a guardian and protector of humans, Sam knew it was better for them to display all of their emotions, and she encouraged her godchildren to do as much. Because of that Sam did have a certain amount of envy to have a temper tantrum. Gosh, it would be so great to stomp her foot and whine, like when she’d first encountered the long line in the Starbucks.

However, Sam liked being dutiful. Her service to humans helped her from sitting in her head too much. Otherwise, she’d think about her mother’s death, how life wasn’t fair…and what good did that do? So, yeah, there were things that sucked about being a dísir, but, hey, she could föhnig fly. Oh, the swearwords for all dísir had to be G-rated since they worked with children. However, they’d come from times where swearing was once considered acceptable. Hey, they were warriors, which made it difficult not to have colorful adjectives and adverbs sprinkled throughout a sentence. Hence, the flinging flanging imprecations or interesting German words that kind of sounded like curses.

Sam uncomfortably sighed. The only defense she had against a cousin and friend she adored. All Sam had in this world was Astrid. Sure, when she was on the job, she had a kid to look after. But eventually he’d outgrow her, and she’d have to move on. And although the Norns were the only mothers Sam knew, they were also her bosses and the enforcers of fun and lack of any sentimentality that didn’t go with a smile.

Donkey Kong, this Starbucks meeting was such an odd get-together. Usually Astrid would be a balm for Sam. But now, all she felt was a raw sensation just under her skin, like the way a new scratch can pucker and burn in a too-hot room.

What—what’s going on, Astrid? Sam asked, unsure of what to say to her beloved cousin. "Why are talking like this? I mean, I don’t need a break, if that’s the point you’re trying to make. And I will take one if I need it. I don’t fault you for taking the last four months off. Being a fairy godmother is tough. It’s blammed tough sometimes. So, rest. Relax. Take the vacation you deserve. After all, you were a godmother way before I was. You were a godmother for—what?—at least two hundred years more than I’ve been. You’ve probably seen a lot more schmit—"

I have. Astrid’s lips thinned. The humans aren’t loyal to their own kind. They don’t take care of each other. So why should we?

Sam drew in a sharp breath. There. Astrid had said it. Sam was scared this was how she felt, scared she’d forgotten why they protected mortals. The dísir had served mankind since the very beginning. It was a proud heritage she and Astrid shared.

Because it’s what we do, Sam whispered.

Astrid ground her little Chicklet white teeth together. Haven’t you ever wondered why? Why we do what—

I like what I do. I love taking care of my orphaned kids. This time it was Sam who leaned over the table, stamping her forefinger into the wood. She hadn’t yelled, but she’d come blammed close, which made her worry she might retch, having such strong, not-exactly-positive emotions swirling through her.

Sure. Astrid nodded. Kids are great. Even with all the crapola they go through, they’re great. It’s what happens to them when they grow up that’s the problem. You know that. I know you feel the same way.

Sam opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It wasn’t as if she agreed with what Astrid had said. She just didn’t disagree either.

Listen, Astrid took out her iFairyPhone from her jeans back pocket. I’ve been talking about this with a few other dísir and even the valkyrie, and we’ve been talking about no longer serving the humans.

This couldn’t be happening, Astrid saying these things…

Why? Sam swallowed after her voice cracked. "I—I don’t understand. It’s not like the Norns make you serve the humans."

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. Our fearless leaders the crazy Norns—

Yes, our mothers essentially.

Astrid snorted derisively. "What kind of mothers were they? They fed us sweets at all times of the day. Woke us up at midnight to tell us ghost stories. And always, always told us about the jobs we were to do when we were old enough. It was our destiny to serve the humans. Never told us—"

Look, Sam interrupted, the scratch-in-a-hot-room feeling augmenting and sizzling in every pore. If you need more time off, I know the Norns will give it to you. Whatever you need, they’ll give it to you. Heck, Keira has taken the last eighty or ninety years off. Doing who knew what, she thought. Thank gods for Netflix to pass the hours nowadays, but Keira had been off since Little Orphan Annie was on the radio. Not a great age of entertainment. Besides, as exhausting as it was, as hard as it could get, Sam never felt more alive than when in the service of humans. Alive and so grateful to be alive.

I’ve been talking with Keira, Astrid slowly said.

Jungfernflug, Keira was known as the quirkiest of them all. That was the nice way of putting it. There was also the saying sane as a mad hatter floating around.

Sam had to ask, You’re talking to her about quitting the humans?

About how we think the Norns are brainwashing us to make us keep serving the humans.

Sam shook her head, about to swear, for real swear, when her own iFairyPhone chimed. Fetching it from the inside of her black leather jacket, she was relieved it was one of her bosses, Vee. No matter what Astrid said, the Norns were always comforting. Kind of. The text message was short and made Sam’s heart flutter.

She glanced back up at the cousin she adored more than anything, torn apart because she’d never disagreed with Astrid. I have a new kid.

Astrid’s nostrils flared.

Hey, I like my job, and I don’t feel brainwashed, okay?

How would you know if you were? Astrid’s voice had grown soft but persistent.

I would know.

How?

Sam pursed her lips for an answer.

I’m just saying think about it, okay?

New kid. I gotta go and meet him.

It’s a boy?

Sam nodded.

You’re really good with boys.

Thanks, Sam said curtly, but then huffed. I—I don’t know what to think about everything you said. But—but I will think about it. However, let me tell you again, so you know in no uncertain terms, how much I love my job.

You used to love being a warrior too.

Sam stood, jammed her phone into her jacket pocket again. Now, that scratch-in-the-too-hot-room feeling morphed even more, felt like everything under her skin blistered and oozed. She didn’t understand this sensation or what the hellgrün Astrid was talking about. All she knew was she was grateful for the new kid, grateful for the time to think, but more than anything she was grateful to have Astrid, as odd as this conversation had been. She reached for her cousin, hugging her although she felt pulled in opposite directions and so raw she wasn’t sure she could talk any longer.

I’m sorry, Astrid whispered against her ear, holding her tightly. I didn’t mean to say…I don’t know. You okay?

Sam nodded and began to walk away, unable to look at her cousin. I’m a dís, and I have a job to do, taking care of a little boy who’s scared and alone. So, of course, I’m okay. But that feeling inside, the one she couldn’t name, pestered, making her wonder if it could be anxiety about what Astrid had said, what Astrid might do.

Watching Sam walk away was as painful as watching a puppy drown. Astrid didn’t know why she’d thought of the metaphor. But it fit. She felt helpless and desperate to do something.

She’d been hoping to break into the conversation slowly, work up to the more pointy edges of the discussion, like the fact that she believed the Norns were brainwashing the dísir. Instead, she’d barreled into the conversation, just shooting off her thoughts. And she probably came across as a lunatic for it. She sounded like one of those conspiracy loons she’d seen on the TV. The kind that prepared for doomsday by stocking up on gallons of Mountain Dew.

Only, what if it were coming? Doomsday, not gallons of Mountain Dew. What if those silly humans weren’t so silly after all?

Astrid punched in Keira’s number on her iFairyPhone, needing to talk to someone. Afraid if she sat still in her own thoughts another minute, she’d start screaming at Sam to come back, to not disappear as she would, so no one could see her wings when she took to the air to fly to her newest boy. She wanted to beg Sam to quit taking care of kids, to forget the humans.

How’d it go? Keira’s scratchy yet wispy voice answered.

I blew it, I think. I told her everything, Astrid whined, hating the tone in her voice.

Did she run screaming from you?

Well, no.

That’s a sign, Astrid. That’s a sign.

I don’t know about that. It’s a sign that my cousin loves me and is willing to listen to me. That’s all.

Keira was silent for much too long. Just as Astrid was about to ask whether she was even on the phone any longer, she said, Love. Love is good, but this is bad. Her voice had gone eerily soft. I know the Norns are up to something. I’ve seen it in my dreams. And I think it’s something concerning Sam. Finally, her voice returned to the land of sane. You have to work on her while I get the proof. I’ve called the valkyries. They’ll be coming tomorrow. We’ll convince them the Norns are doing something with Sam. Maybe the valkyries on their black pegai can help me get the proof that the Norns are up to no good. Only bad.

Astrid wanted to cringe when Keira sounded wacko-doodle, saying things like, Only bad. Yes, yes, only bad. As if she were the Joker or something. Or some beautiful but brittle-looking villain in a comic book, which coincidentally Keira did look like with her multicolored hair and body thinner than most other dísir. However, she always had a solid point. A weird point, but a good one.

Okay, Astrid nodded, cloaking herself in invisibility so she could ascend from the coffee house. One minute she was there. The next she was gone. She loved that trick. Smiling, she said, I’ll keep working on Sam. We’ll figure out what the Norns are up to and get Sam on our side. That will stop— Astrid didn’t want to finish her sentence.

It was Keira who had told her that the end was nigh. Those were Keira’s exact words because she had a hard time keeping times and languages straight. Because of her foresight her mind had become fragile. And sometimes just broken. But Astrid was sure that Keira had seen the end of the world. And the end began with Sam.

Two

Wings

Lilies. The funeral home was plastered with white lilies. Sam wondered when her favorite flower had become the official mourning bloom. Sometime in the last hundred years or so, especially in America. Now, she kind of hated how much she liked them, their curved petals, their feminine scent—evoking, somehow, fragility and power at once. They reminded her of her, she supposed, but now that made her sad.

Still protected by an invisibility spell, she tucked her wings into her body, adjusted her silk navy tank top, then slung her arms through the black leather jacket sleeves. Vee, one the three Norns—mothers and bosses, had given directions to the little funeral home in Salem, Oregon. In all her years, Sam wasn’t sure she’d ever been to the town. It was quaint. Adorable. Quirky. And she instantly loved it.

Or maybe she desperately wanted to love something after her odd conversation with Astrid because she needed something positive to think about. Gleichartig, what the he-double-hockey-sticks had gotten into Astrid? How could she think the Norns were…brainwashing anyone?

The funeral was yet to begin, making it easy to scan the mortuary. There, in the back row, was tiny Vee, cloaked in invisibility as well, waving at her. Sam had the nagging thought that maybe Astrid’s ideas weren’t as strange as she’d initially assessed. However, it was hard to keep from smiling or thinking ill of Vee. Or any of the Norns for that matter. They’d raised her. And maybe Astrid had a problem with sweets and ghost stories, but Sam didn’t.

Vee, like her two other sisters, looked like a petite, skinny, fourteen-year-old. And, yes, when Sam herself had been a teenager, it had been difficult to take the Norns seriously. However, she’d learned that although they looked young, nothing was what it appeared when it came to the Norns. They were more than a few thousand years old by now. And under the punk-rock dyed hair and black eyeliner were three souls who knew primordial magic, earth, and life better than anyone else. In Sam’s eyes the Norns were the epitome of wisdom in a cotton candy façade. That’s why she had such a hard time with Astrid’s accusations.

She sat close to Vee and her enormous pink hair. Hey, she whispered.

Hey, yourself. Vee grabbed her and wrestled her into a tight embrace, kissing her cheek a million times, before saying, What took you so long?

I flew from Wisconsin. Sam gently pulled away from the hug.

Vee’s brown eyes widened slightly. Oh, I thought you were home, and Skuld would materialize you here.

Home for the dísir, only seventy-four strong now, was in Ireland and called a Women’s Correctional Facility. A couple of centuries ago it had been titled an Insane Asylum for Women, but, sadly, many mortal women tried to join, begging for help with their hysterics. Gosh, psychiatry of that time was flicht up.

Now, the dísir were a tad smarter about their home, which didn’t need a magical shield, but hid in plain sight—after all orange is the new black. Signs all around the huge cinderblock building stated it was a women’s prison with a ten-foot chain-link fence surrounding it, topped with razor wire. Inside, thanks to the enormous skylights, which they did disguise as nothing but a plain brown roof, the fairy godmothers lived with year-round flowers and vines and a few short trees. And most of the dísir still slept on the moss on the ground. That is, if they weren’t working, which most of the time they were.

Vee patted Sam’s leg. I thought I’d heard Astrid was in Wisconsin. Been hanging out with her?

Yeah.

She good? Er, doing better?

Sam didn’t know what was with her cousin and wasn’t about to share that with one of her bosses. So, she tilted her head in a speculative gesture as if thinking hard.

Anyway, Sam said, trying desperately to steer the conversation away from Astrid, I have a new boy?

Vee smiled widely. You do. Her grin disappeared as she stared ahead of them, at the somber funeral. I hate that you do, but I know you’ll do such good work with him, as you always do.

Thanks. I didn’t get any information on him yet.

Vee checked her iFairyPad laying on her ripped-apart jean-clad lap. You know, I haven’t received any info on him either. I think Skuld is having technical difficulties.

Skuld was another of the Norns. She was the technological genius of the dísir, having achieved their own secret internet, smart phones and other gadgets. So, something about the almost-omnipotent Skuld having technical problems rang a weird warning in Sam. Skuld had never had problems before. Ever. Sam couldn’t help but think about Astrid’s accusations.

But that was preposterous. The Norns couldn’t be up to something. Could they?

Suddenly, Vee’s iFairyPad beeped. The screen lit up with a pink scroll. Vee touched the icon and instantly a document unrolled itself and appeared. Sam’s own phone chirped, and she grabbed it, flicking at the screen.

Luke Anderson.

That was it. That was the only information about her boy. Usually, Sam would be able to read how the boy became orphaned, what his likes and dislikes were, what he wanted to be when he grew up and other relevant information. Most of the time her kids were younger than ten. There was something magical about that age, where her kids could still see her, invisible cloak or not.

So, Sam searched the funeral home for a little one. Only, this crowd was older than she was used to. The majority who sat quietly in the pews were at least in their fifties if not older. They were waiting for the funeral to begin, and that was when Sam took better stock of where she was.

Two caskets. Closed. Both draped heavily with white lilies. The floral decorations seemed to be crying as some of the petals floated down to the gray-carpeted floor. The room was surprisingly bright with daffodil sunshine pouring in from twelve floor-to-ceiling windows on the south side. The rest of the open room was somber notes of gray, pink, and peach. Occasionally, Sam heard a sob hushed behind tissues. Her heart clutched at that sound.

The two people in the coffins had been loved. More often than not, her kids’ parents hadn’t been. Sometimes not even liked. Sam had figured the children had needed her more, then. But little Luke’s parents were adored, it seemed.

Blast it, why didn’t her phone show more about Luke?

She shook her iFairyPhone then glanced over Vee’s shoulder. Her iFairyPad also showed Luke’s name, but the rest was gibberish. Even to Sam who knew thousands of languages and dialects.

What’s that say?

Vee glanced up, shrugging. Something must be really wrong with the system. This is just gobbledygook to me. She pointed with a tilt of her head toward the back of the room. Could you grab us some of the funeral’s pamphlets? We could find out more about Luke that way.

Good thinking. Sam was already up and heading to the stacked programs. Grabbing two, she made her way back to the pew where Vee sat when a side door opened and a handful of official-looking men in black suits appeared. In the back of the group lagged behind a younger man—black ruffled hair, tall, broad shoulders, muscular outline. His head was bowed. He looked desperately tired, as if he might fall asleep at any second. But he caught sight of the caskets and stiffened. His gait became jerky. Pure rage poured from him in wave after crashing wave. The man’s anger was so palpable Sam felt strangled by it, paralyzed from moving.

Then, oddly enough, his gaze shot straight towards her. Vibrant blue eyes met hers. The color was reminiscent of the summer sky after a storm, even if they were rimmed red. The man was a storm. He was a walking cloud of loud emotions, whirling out to her. Not only did her heart stutter when the man seemed to look at her, but it squeezed so hard it felt trapped in a vice. There was so much pain in the man, around him.

He blinked and caught up to the other men, ascending the three stairs to the altar, breaking the spell that had bound Sam still. She hurried to Vee.

Who’s that man? she found herself asking.

Which one?

The young one. The one who just sat down.

Vee turned to her, a blank expression in place. How am I to know? Let’s look at the pamphlets and see if we can find out. Why do you want to know who that guy is?

I think— he saw me. But she couldn’t finish her thought, too fearful he had somehow seen through her invisibility cloak, seen the real her.

Instead, Sam opened the funeral program, glancing at an image of two people, maybe in their mid-fifties, smiling, embracing each other. Lance and Deborah Anderson were about to retire, had their twilight years to look upon with joy, but sadly departed from this world too soon. Sam hated how funeral homes phrased death. However, she knew there was no kinder way of saying Lance and Deborah Anderson had been