A Rhine Maiden Omnibus: Books 1-3

By Erin Evans

This Omnibus edition collects the first three Rhine Maiden novels into a single volume.

Don't Rhine on My Parade: "She speaks and they obey," but even a supernatural ability can't help this stay-at-home mom control her own life.

Don't Rhine on My Parade is a laugh-out-loud urban-fantasy with an unlikely protagonist, a young mother who has an unusual power. Blessed, or perhaps cursed, with the ability to command obedience, Piper Cavanaugh's normal life turns upside down in this full-length novel.

A descendant of the Rhine Maidens who sang sailors to their deaths, Piper has vowed to never use her power of command, but one little slip-up and her secret has come back to bite her - literally. Now she must gain permission to join the United Supernatural Beings, or it's open hunting season on all of humanity. While juggling toddlers, keeping her husband in the dark, and babysitting her rebellious kid sister, Piper finds herself befriending a vampire, stealing from murderous witches, and doing battle with "Satan," otherwise known as her mother-in-law. And she thought grocery shopping with her kids was hard!

Don't Rhine on My Parade is a refreshing switch for readers who long for a more relatable heroine. With commonsense and sass, Piper handles diapers to decapitations as only a mother can. Filled with comedy, action, and thrills, Don't Rhine on My Parade expands the borders of urban fantasy into the suburbs!

It Never Rhines But it Pours: Rhine maiden, Piper Cavanaugh, is on the job as a Guardian hit-man, but can she execute an innocent witch? When she discovers her target has been framed, Piper has to find the true killer or risk losing her job – and her life. As she sorts through a dwindling number of suspects, Piper tries to keep her trigger-happy vampire friend in line, fix a back-fired spell, deal with some unwanted house guests, and still find time to mother her two toddlers. With every use of her power of command bringing her closer to immortality, Piper soon realizes, it never “rhines” but it pours!

A Little Rhine Must Fall: Rhine Maiden, Piper Cavanaugh, is no stranger to unusual houseguests, but an alien and an Egyptian goddess might be more than even she can handle. Throw in a homicidal vampire bent on revenge, and an pushy mother-in-law bent on redecorating, and Piper’s world is in turmoil. With her life crumbling around her and the future of mankind in the balance, Piper must reveal her secret ability and risk losing everything she holds dear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Evans
• Release date: Sep 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370947393

Erin Evans

Erin Evans is a stay-at-home mom of eight (!), wonderful, little children. When she's not chasing after children, changing diapers, teaching school, cooking, chauffeuring, or potty training, she is writing, playing drums at her church or crashed out dead asleep. In urban fantasy, she loves Charlaine Harris, Patricia Briggs, and Kim Harrison. All time favorite authors would be Robin Hobb and Jasper Fforde. Jim Butcher's Codex Alera has become one of her favorite series. BOOKS: - In her first series, "The Rhine Maiden", Erin based her character Piper Cavanaugh on her own life, but decided to have pity on Piper and only gave her two kids to start off with. - Erin's latest work, the "Pernicious Princess Trilogy" is a take on twisted fairy tales. - Her other works include "Food For Love", a foodie romantic comedy with a twist.

Book preview

A Suburban Fantasy

Book One in the Rhine Maiden Series

by Erin Evans

Don’t Rhine on My Parade

Copyright Erin Evans 2008, 2013

Chapter One

I dreamed again of those pitch black eyes, staring at me. Cold, alien, hungry. It was the same nightmare I always had. I was trying to run away, but this time my feet were stuck to the ground. The eyes were getting closer and closer and in a moment I would see the teeth I had tried so hard to forget: long, sharp, and deadly white. Then the dream changed. Instead of teeth, there were hands, closing around my neck and slowly choking the life out of me as I screamed and screamed and woke myself in a panic.

The piercing wail of screams moved from part of my dream into reality. A soft cloud was pressed firmly into my face, slowly suffocating me. Otis, my huge cat, got a shove that was meant to knock him off the bed but only succeeded in dislodging him from my pillow. I sat up, spitting out cat hair, my heart-rate still going a million miles an hour.

Your turn, my husband mumbled, rolling over and pulling the pillow over his head. I groaned. The dream was fading and my fear was quickly turning into resigned annoyance as the screams were increasing in volume and intensity. I gave Otis another shove as he tried to usurp my abandoned pillow and he waddled with as much dignity as he possessed to the end of the bed where he tried to skewer me with a look of abject disdain. He never seemed to understand why I didn’t appreciate his nightly show of affection. In his mind he was paying me the greatest compliment by getting as close to me as physically possible. (I’m sure it was also the height of compliment when he rubbed orange and white hair all over my black pants, but I didn’t appreciate that either.)

The screaming had now reached epic proportions. It sounded as if a hapless victim was being disemboweled and skinned alive at the same time. I threw on my bathrobe and staggered through the still dark house. It was way too early for this. It was always way too early for this. I missed the days when I got to sleep in. I popped open the child safety gate in the back hall with a little too much force and marched into my children’s room.

"What Is Going On?!" I queried in a calm and reasoned manner. Okay, it was more like a barely controlled scream. Not a good way to start the day. I’m sure there are parents out there that never raise their voices, but I am sorry to say that I am not one of them.

I took a deep breath and surveyed the room. Every book from the shelf was now on the floor. Every toy bin from the closet had been emptied onto the floor. Every puzzle had been dumped and the pieces scattered. Clothes had been pulled out of drawers, shoes were everywhere, and blankets and pillows had been ripped off the two twin beds. If the proverbial tornado had hit the room it could scarcely have looked worse.

In the middle of this mayhem, half buried in the mess, sat my two little daughters, Cassidy, age two, and Megan, age four. Cassie was the one emitting the migraine producing screams. Her hair was a tangled rat’s nest, a bright red mark adorned her cheek, and tears were streaming down her face.

I didn’t do anything! Megan yelled as soon as I walked in. She tried to hide a hairbrush behind her back.

What happened? I asked at a lower decibel, clearing a space on the floor with my foot so that I could flop down and gather Cassie up into my lap. She was still hysterical and impossible to decipher through the sobs. Not that I could ever easily understand her baby gibberish.

I pierced Megan with a gimlet glare. What did you do? Don’t lie to me.

I could see Megan trying to come up with the best story. I didn’t do anything! she repeated, I was just brushing her hair. I looked down at the knotted mess in question and sighed.

Cassie, still sobbing, burst out, Eg it me!

I rolled my eyes and sighed again, Did you hit your sister, Megan?

She was still trying to put a good spin on it, She wouldn’t sit still. I was trying to fix her hair and make her look pretty. I noticed that the tangle contained some added hair clips.

"And so you hit her?" I don’t know why I sounded so surprised. It wasn’t like this had never happened before.

But, Mom! Megan’s face told me she thought she had the perfect get-out-of-jail-free card. "Then she tried to bite me!"

Okay. I struggled to my feet, still holding an almost quiet Cassie, You are in time out.

"What?" You would think I’d just sent her off to Siberia.

Time. Out. I mouthed the words with emphasis. "You do not hit your sister. I don’t care what she tried to do to you. Do. Not. Hit." For a moment I felt the temptation to enforce the command welling up in my chest, but pushed the feeling down. Cassidy started squirming in my arms.

Wanna pay. Apparently her previously life threatening wounds had miraculously healed now that her sister was in trouble. I sighed once again and let her down. Exasperation seemed to be an almost constant emotion for me, only alleviated by moments of heartwarming bliss when everything was calm, and little arms clasped my neck and little lips whispered, I love you, Mommy.

I’m going to get a shower. You two play nicely together until I get back.

Am I still in time out? Megan interrupted.

I mentally slapped my forehead. Yes. You sit on your bed. Cassidy, leave her alone and play by yourself. The giggling started before I was even half-way across the living room. Giggling and laughing were good; they were also just a fraction away from screaming and fighting. Oh well, they were happy for the moment. I thought about going back to make sure Megan was really staying on her bed, but then thought better of it. It might not be the best parenting technique but sometimes I had to operate under what-I-don’t-know-I-don’t-have-to-deal-with.

My husband, Mark, was sleeping soundly when I returned and I almost crawled back in next to him, but I knew whatever sleep I managed to catch would be short lived. Besides, Otis was ensconced once more on my pillow and he looked adorable. Sue me, I love my cat. Before Otis I had always been a dog person. Cats were too unfriendly and detached for my liking. But Otis made it clear he adored me so I loved him right back. Cat hairs and all.

Thinking of dogs, I had forgotten all about Harvey. I turned back around and opened the laundry room door. Harvey was there, waiting patiently. He was a little, black Cairn Terrier. A Toto dog, if you will. He had to sleep in the laundry room at night because he sometimes forgot that the bathroom was outside. Cute as a button and probably about as smart (My apologies to buttons). We had adopted him from the Humane Society in a moment of weakness. He had been three years old and the sign on his cage said partially housebroken.

Why on earth would someone dump off such a sweet dog? I had cried, cuddling the squirming body that was trying to plant wet doggy kisses all over my face.

Mark pointed to the sign, Maybe because he’s not housebroken.

Oh no. I was totally confident. They probably abused him and locked him alone in the house all day. He’s probably perfectly housebroken if taken care of.

That was three years, tons of frustration, multiple rug cleanings, and repeated training attempts ago. Harvey could now be trusted in the house as long as someone was there to open the sliding glass door as soon as he whined to go out. Harvey was also the cause of the biggest rationalized compromise in my life. I always felt a little guilty when I looked at him, but my sanity and the cleanliness of my house were totally worth it. Or so I told myself.

I walked Harvey to the back door. Go off the porch, through the dog door and go potty outside, I commanded him. He gave me a happy dog look and trotted off. I slid the door closed but watched to make sure he obeyed. His memory was not the greatest and I had to be very specific with my commands. One day I had opened the door, half asleep, and just commanded, Go potty. You can imagine what happened.

Mark made jokes about how specific I was in my instructions, as if I thought Harvey actually understood me. Those jokes made me hugely uncomfortable, since he also noticed that Harvey obeyed me better than anyone else.

By the time I got a shower, got dressed, and started getting the girls’ breakfast, my sleepy husband was up moving around. Mark! I hollered from the kitchen, Do you want eggs for breakfast? He rushed out of our room, laptop case in hand, and gave me a quick kiss.

I’m late, babe. I’ll just grab a breakfast bar. He planted a kiss on each of the girls’ heads and was out the door. Amazing that, no matter what time he woke up, he always had to rush out the door without helping with breakfast. Okay, that’s not totally fair. Some days he tried to let me sleep in, but it is impossible to sleep in a house where little children are awake and squealing and I always gave in and got up.

I don’t like eggs, Megan announced.

I wasn’t going to give you eggs.

"But I don’t like them," she insisted.

"I’m not giving you eggs," I said again a little louder.

"Mommy, I don’t like them."

I sighed yet again. It was going to be one of those days. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a stay-at-home-mom! It’s just that sometimes I yearn for more adult conversation. Eight hours alone with a four year-old and a two year-old can drive you a little bonkers.

Mark and I had gotten married right out of college so I had never had a real job. Like everyone in college I had been full of high aspirations. I was going to conquer the world! Be the best! Have people looking up to me and respecting me! Well, some of those came true. I hadn’t conquered the world, most days I was happy if I could just conquer the laundry. I wasn’t the best or even close. But I did have people looking up to me, mostly because I was taller, but it still counted.

What I really wanted, more than anything in the world, was to be normal. Every day that went by where no one looked at me and said, "What are you?" was a success in my book. Most people don’t want to think of themselves as normal. It seems too mundane. They want to be different and exciting. Not me. I was different, and I didn’t like it.

I’m not your normal mom. I’m not even your normal person. Some days I worry that I’m not a person at all. Except for commanding Harvey around, (which is totally called for) I’ve been able to completely repress my ability. Not even my husband knows what I am.

I am a monster.

Chapter Two

It started when I was twelve. I wanted to get my ears pierced. Dad thought I was too young. He said I didn’t take care of my belongings and I wasn’t responsible enough to care for the piercings. He told my Mom horror stories of infected ears and girls losing their hearing.

My older sister Karen had pierced ears. All my friends had pierced ears. I was convinced that I was the oldest girl in the entire world to not have her ears pierced. It made me look like a baby. I knew that if only I could wear earrings a whole new world of adult emotions and maturity would be mine. I would finally be what I so wanted to be – grown up.

I begged. I pleaded. I pouted. I connived. I tried everything I could think of. I made promises that, in retrospect, would have been impossible to keep. I tried mature, rational negotiating. I tried the silent treatment. Nothing changed my Dad’s mind.

One day all my frustrations boiled over. A popular girl at school had just gotten her second set of piercings, and was flaunting them to the entire class.

I could see how fascinated everyone was. How the boys laughed and joked with her. How the girls looked up to her. And I longed to be that confident and carefree. If only I had pierced ears, I would be a new me. People would like me. People would think I was beautiful.

I had wandered too close and the girl noticed me. She’d never noticed me before, but now I had caught her attention. She stopped in mid-laugh and gave me a stare that questioned why such a lowly worm was daring to intrude into her circle of sparkling awesomeness.

I wanted to sink into the ground, but I drew up my courage and said softly, I like your new earrings.

She’s rolled her eyes, Thanks, she said, looking around at her friends to show how silly it was for her to be talking with a lower creature.

Did it hurt? I’d asked, wanting to run and hide, but also taking advantage of the sudden lull in the conversation.

She had half-turned away, but now she swung back, annoyed at my persistence. Her eyes roamed my body from head to toe, zeroing in on my unadorned earlobes. What? she’d sneered, Is that why you don’t have pierced ears? Are you so much a baby that you’re scared of a little pain?

Baby! Baby! some of the other girls chanted, thrilled to join in with mocking someone else. It was either mock or be mocked and we all knew what side we wanted to be on.

I am not a baby! I’d yelled back, my eyes welling with tears.

You are too! the girl had shot back. If you’re not a baby, prove it! She grabbed a thumbtack off the wall. Stick this through your ear!

I was trembling with fear and excitement. I wanted those earrings so bad, but I knew that if I returned with holes in my ears I would be grounded for a month. I couldn’t deliberately disobey my father like that.

Stick it through your ear! she’d said triumphantly, seeing my refusal. "Stick it through your ear, baby!"

Rage rose in my chest till I could hardly see straight. Stick it through your own ear! I yelled at her and raced off to hide in one of the bathroom stalls. It wasn’t until the next day that I heard the story. Heard how a girl in my class had accidently fallen and gotten a thumbtack jammed in her ear. That was the official story. The one they had told the adults. But another story circled the school in whispers. Whispers that she had taken the tack herself and violently thrust it through her ear.

If I had stayed a minute longer, perhaps I wouldn’t have faced off with my dad that night. We were at the mall, shopping for a birthday present for my mom and we passed a piercing kiosk.

Please, dad? I’d begged. Please can I get my ears pierced?

No, he’d said, distracted and not taking me seriously.

I’d stamped my foot. It’s not fair! I’d snarled quietly. Everybody else has their ears pierced! You let Karen pierce her ears when she was younger than me! Why can’t I get mine pierced?

You’re just not responsible enough yet, Piper, he’d said calmly, refusing to budge.

In my head, I heard all the kids chanting, Baby! Baby! Baby! I was not a baby! I was not scared of the pain. I would show everyone!

My dad was already walking away and I tugged at his arm. You have to let me get my ears pierced now! I’d said, emotion filling me till I felt like a water balloon about to burst.

To my surprise, he’d sighed, squeezed my hand and said, Okay. If you really want it that bad, you can get your ears pierced, Piper.

I’d sat down on the chair in a daze, hardly believing my good luck. I didn’t understand why he had changed his mind so quickly. What had I said to convince him? I didn’t even feel the pinch as the needle shot through my flesh. I was just so happy. Now people at school would take me seriously. Now I would be a somebody.

As we drove home my dad kept looking over at me and shaking his head. I can’t believe I let you do that, he’d said in wonder.

Thank you so much, daddy! I’d smiled. You’re the best!

Your mother is going to kill me, he’d muttered.

She didn’t. She just laughed and laughed. After all the times he had stood his ground, she thought it hilarious that he had so quickly caved.

I went to school that next day proudly sporting my studs, reaching up to spin them gently, making sure that they were really there. I thought that nothing could ruin my effervescent mood, until I heard the whispers, saw the hooded stares, felt the nervous fear that followed me down the halls.

That was when I knew the truth. There was something wrong with me. I was a monster.

I tried to tell myself that I was imagining things and pretty soon it blew over, erased from memory by the latest teenage drama. I wondered though, but as the months passed, even I started to forget. Every time something happened I would explain it away. But there were more instances. Probably more than I even realized. A teacher who was notorious for never allowing extensions happily gave me an extra week on my paper. A police officer gave me a warning instead of the ticket I deserved. I was hired as a summer intern by a company who had filled their last slot the day before my interview, yet somehow made room for me.

The older I grew the more I started to recognize the signs. The sudden change of mind in the person I was talking to. An uncharacteristic acquiescence to whatever it was I wanted, followed minutes later by a puzzled look, the person surprised at their own actions. I began to fear myself.

I didn’t know what it was, but I called it the Voice. I could feel deep inside me a change, a way of speaking that forced people to my will. Most of the time I could control it, I would begin to experience the feeling building inside me and I would push it down, refuse to speak, or simply flee the situation that was tempting me. But sometimes it would pop out when I wasn’t expecting and turn my words into horrible weapons against a person’s free will.

I wanted to talk with my parents. To ask what was happening to me. But I was too afraid. It was too strange. Too hard to explain. I doubted they would believe me and worried about what would happen if they did.

Every time I slipped up I would renew my vow to not use the Voice. It was evil and creepy and I was sure that I could control it, bottle it up, and never have to face it again. I thought I was alone, the only monster in the world, and I resolved to be even more normal than everyone else. Until one night in college I used the Voice again.

It was junior year and I was downtown, leaving the gym where I had been trying to work off my freshman fifteen at a Zumba class. The parking lot had been packed that night and I had been forced to park down the street. I had my gym bag slung over my shoulder and I trotted quickly to my car, eager to return to the dorm to shower and eat back all the calories I had just burned with a tub of ice cream.

There was a popular club on the corner, the kind where the music pulses so loudly that conversation is impossible, and dancing involves swaying in a huge group of tightly packed people. I’d gone once with my roommate, Beth, and had quickly decided that it was not for me.

As I passed the alley next to the club I heard a familiar voice laughing. It sounded like Beth. I paused in mid-stride and debated what to do. She was an adult and I wasn’t her keeper, but I didn’t want to leave her alone in a dark alley. Something seemed off.

I reached for my phone but stopped. I didn’t know who to call or what to say. I think I hear my roommate down a spooky alley and I’m going to investigate just sounded too silly.

I bit my lip and thought about it. As a child my mother had filled my head with warnings about strangers, about strangers’ cars, about strangers with candy, about going out at night alone, about drunk drivers, and especially, as I got older, about date rape drugs. There was no way you would find a Schultz girl alone in an alley at night! And yet here I was, ready to do just that.

I carefully arranged my car keys in my fingers so as to make a weapon which would probably be highly ineffective but made me feel slightly safer. So armed, I stepped out of the comforting glow of the street light and walked down the alley.

I heard Beth laugh again and I was sure this time that it was her. She sounded drunk, which was not exactly a surprise. Beth had no head for alcohol and made really dumb choices when she was drunk. Choices like leaving the club and hanging out in an alley. Oh, I could slap her!

Beth? I called cautiously. There were several dumpsters lined up by the club’s back door and the voices I heard were coming from beyond them. I rounded the dumpster and saw I had been right, it was Beth and she wasn’t alone.

She was leaning against the dirty alley wall, shoes held in one hand and laughing up into the face of a young man I had never seen before. He was hovering over her possessively, one hand on the wall by her head and the other placed on her bare thigh. I disliked him at once. This was clearly the sort of stranger that my mother had tried to warn me about.

I marched up to them, determined to take Beth home to safety. "Oh, there you are! I said cheerfully. I’ve been looking all over for you. It’s time to go home."

She laughed again in surprise. What’re you doing here? she slurred.

The man refused to back off of her, his eyes glittering strangely in the dark. I didn’t want to get close to him, but Beth wasn’t leaving me a lot of options. I approached gingerly and took her arm.

It’s time to go home, I said gently, trying not to make eye contact with the man.

I don’t wanna . . . she trailed off. Let’s get ‘nother drink! She squealed with laughter.

I got a firmer hold on her arm. Let’s go, Beth.

The man spoke, still not taking his hand off her leg. She doesn’t want to go.

I finally got a good look at him and it gave me the chills. It wasn’t just that he was tall and ripped, or that he had a spider tattoo covering the side of his neck. He was creepy. I wanted to run away and leave Beth behind. My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt like I was going to faint.

I’m going home with him, Beth slurred with a smile, poking the guy in the chest. My eyes widened. There was no way I was letting her go home with this guy. I couldn’t. And suddenly I knew what I had to do.

My brain protested. I had promised myself that I would never use the Voice. But I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t force her to come with me physically. And she needed to come with me. It was for her own safety. I had to force her with the Voice. It was the right thing to do.

Beth, come with me now, I commanded.

The young man’s head shot up and he stared at me. I felt like a deer in the headlights. Part of my brain was screaming at me to run, and another part was frozen in fear, hoping that if I stayed still he wouldn’t see it.

He knows what I’ve done, I thought.

The whites of his eyes turned black and became bottomless pits that threatened to pull me in and drown me. I tore my gaze away and grabbed blindly at Beth.

Wait, the man said and I caught a glimpse of his teeth. I swear I saw his canines grow longer. It sounds crazy now, like a bad B movie, but I know what I saw. Even though what I saw can’t exist, doesn’t exist, I knew what he was, and it scared the living daylights out of me. But all that mattered then was that he was a predator and I was lunch. I knew we had to get out of there fast.

I grabbed Beth and pulled. The man grabbed her other arm.

Stay, he said seductively.

I used the one move I had learned from my semester of Karate and kicked him as hard as I could in the crotch. He stumbled back with a puff of expelled air, but he wasn’t rolling on the floor screaming like my dojo master had promised. In fact, he was smiling like he was enjoying this.

I looked frantically around for a weapon and saw a length of two by four lying in between the dumpsters. Dropping Beth’s arm I snatched it up.

This will be fun, the man said, flashing razor sharp teeth at me.

He leaped for me as I swung as hard as I could. I would have missed if Beth hadn’t chosen that moment to try and intervene. She stumbled between us, colliding with the man and knocking his head directly into the path of my board. It connected with a wet slap and the impact stung my fingers into numbness.

The young man fell face down to the ground, blood pooling under his head. I was sure I had killed him.

What did you do? Beth shrieked, finally realizing what was happening.

I killed him, I said dropping the board in shock.

We stood there, hearts pounding, staring at the corpse.

We have to call the police, I whispered. I reached into my pocket for my phone and the body on the ground stirred.

Beth screamed.

Forget the police, I said, grabbing her arm and racing down the alley. My hands were shaking so badly that I almost couldn’t unlock the car, and I ran every red light from there to the campus, but we made it to the dorm safely.

Beth was sobering up quickly, the adrenaline forcing the alcohol from her system. What happened? she asked me, after we triple locked our door and stood panting on the other side.

I don’t want to talk about it, I said.

I couldn’t explain what we had seen. Not without sounding crazy. I knew how hard I had hit the man. My blow should have killed him, but as we’d run away, I’d looked back and seen him climbing to his feet.

One thing I was sure of: I was a monster, and I was not alone.

Chapter Three

I thought long and hard that next week. I thought about who I was, and what I could do, and what it meant if things like me were possible. Stuff I should have thought about long before, but had been too busy pretending to be normal. I had wanted to believe that fairy tales were stories you read to small children, that magic was a Disney invention, and that humans were it. Facing the Voice changed all that.

I came back around to my original conclusion. I would never use the Voice again. And when, one day, as I crossed the campus between classes, I saw the young man from the alley scanning the faces of students as they passed, I transferred my credits to a college in another state and never looked back. I don’t know that he was looking for me, but I wasn’t going to hang around to find out.

My parents were utterly perplexed. None of my made up reasons for transferring made sense to them. They were pretty sure I was having an emotional breakdown. I wasn’t sleeping too well at night. I kept dreaming of black eyes and my grades suffered. But that’s when I met Mark and the rest, as they say, is history.

He was great. He was big and strong, tall and handsome. He made me feel safe and protected. He carried my book bag and opened doors. He walked me to my door at night and always put his body between mine and the street when we were out walking. He was funny and loyal and totally normal. I fell in love with him at once. It was tempting at times to confess all my secrets to him, but I didn’t.

I should have told him. I know I should have told him. A marriage has to be based on honesty and trust. But I didn’t tell him. I was never going to use my ability again, so it was as if I didn’t really have it, I rationalized. Besides, what man would be able to live with the fear of being under his wife’s control? It wouldn’t be fair to him to tell him and have him always wondering whether he was doing what he wanted to do or what I wanted him to do.

So when he asked me to marry him, I said, yes! and when we walked down the aisle, I said, I do. And I swore to myself again that I would never, ever use the Voice again. It was a lot harder than I thought. I was tempted whenever we fought or disagreed. I was sorely tempted when I wanted to get pregnant and he didn’t, but I did nothing and he came around on his own. And most of all I was tempted every single day of being a parent.

How nice it would be to have children who actually obeyed! You have no idea what temptation is until you are standing in the checkout line at Walmart and your child is throwing a temper tantrum on the floor and everyone is looking at you like you are a horrible mother. But I had made myself a promise and I kept it.

Except for Harvey. I had to use the Voice with Harvey. He’s the cutest little dog in the world and I love him. But he’s also probably the dumbest dog in the world. I tried to housebreak him for over a year. I did everything the books said to do. I even tried doggie diapers at one point. That’s love. When I got down to my last straw and was actually searching the internet for Cairn Rescue places to turn him in, I broke down in frustration and used the Voice. To my surprise, it worked. As long as I made him go outside to pee on a regular basis, we had no more accidents in the house.

But animals are different from people. With a person you are stealing their free-will. It’s almost a form of slavery. With an animal it’s just the natural order of things. They’re supposed to obey, and if a little Voice is needed, then it’s not really hurting anyone. Is it?

Even with all the temptations, I felt I was succeeding at my normal life. Hiding didn’t mean I was scared. Hiding was cool. Movie stars hid from the paparazzi, spies hid from the enemy, what else hid? Chameleons! Chameleons are cool, right? See, hiding and acting normal was fine.

The truth was, after a long day of being with my daughters, I didn’t have energy to worry about hiding, or being normal, or anything. I’d never dreamed that being a stay-at-home mom was such a demanding and exhausting job, but I was doing my best. Trying to be normal. As normal as being a parent ever is, which is not too normal, if you ask me. (I never thought I would be asking questions like, Why are you trying to flush your shoe down the toilet?)

I hadn’t used the Voice on another person since that night outside the club, and I thought, once again, that I was in total control. I had no idea how wrong I was.

* * *

I yon’t ike it! Cassie screamed at me, crossing her arms tightly across her body.

I don’t care, I smiled back calmly. Your Tinkerbell shirt is dirty. You have to wear Cinderella today. I waved the shirt in front of her face, See? Cinderella! She’s so pretty, you love Cinderella! (The parenting books say it’s important to remain calm and positive when arguing with a toddler.)

Cassie was just starting to be convinced when Megan piped in.

She said she doesn’t like it, Mom. Like I hadn’t understood. She wants her Tinkerbell shirt.

Thank you so much, Megan. Now please be quiet.

Cassidy was watching her sister so I took the opportunity to slip the shirt quickly over her head. There! You look beautiful!

She started wailing and threw herself on her bed sobbing. I shrugged. Oh well. She’d have to get over it sooner or later. Megan was shaking her head. I told you she didn’t like that shirt.

I glared at her. I was not going to be one of those moms who let their children wear the same clothes day after day because they wouldn’t wear anything else. I had principles. I had standards. I glanced over at the laundry bin and briefly thought about sniffing the Tinkerbell shirt to see how bad it smelled. No! We do not give in to terrorists!

Come on girls. It’s time to go! I put a lot of forced cheer in my voice in an attempt to jolt Cassie out of her crying.

Where are we going? asked Megan.

Shopping! I said with excitement.

I hate grocery shopping. If there is anything I hate more than grocery shopping, it’s grocery shopping with two little children. But, unfortunately, we have to eat.

Cassidy jumped up, tears forgotten, opping! she squealed and raced Megan to the back door.

Ten minutes later, after another diaper change, a hunt for a missing shoe, and a quick check through the pantry to make sure I hadn’t left anything off the list, we were ready to get buckled in the car. Car seat manufacturers like to make sure that only three-armed mutants can easily buckle a child into their seats. I’m sure it’s for safety purposes, but sometimes I miss the days from my childhood when we would lie on the floor of the van and color while mom drove. Now we strap kids down like they’re going to the moon and then turn on the car DVD player so their minds can turn to mush on the way.

Mark still hasn’t figured out why I don’t go out and do a whole lot of stuff during the week. Anytime I say that I’m getting cabin fever his response is, Why don’t you go out and do something? He doesn’t realize that just getting the kids in the car, out of the car, into a shopping cart, out of a shopping cart, back in the car, and then out of the car again at home is a hassle. Forget all the shopping drama and unloading and putting away the groceries!

Finally we were all safely strapped down to the car and ready to go. There was the constant argument of what to listen to in the car. On most days I am the most accommodating of mothers and let them listen to Junior Asparagus sing toddler songs to their little hearts’ content. But other days if I hear Junior mangle another melody in his high pitched fake child voice I will scream. On those days I turn to the country station and sing along.

Ooo-ee/shudma outh/slap my grandma! Megan sang loudly from the back, before stopping to ask, What’s ‘badonkadonk’ mean? And why should I slap Granny?

I quickly hit the volume. It’s just a song, honey. That’s not what it really means.

But why did the man say it then?

Just because, baby. Here! Let’s listen to Junior! They always win in the end.

We pulled into the Super Walmart parking lot while Junior was still loop-de-looing on a Saturday night. Opping! Cassie yelled.

Yes, we’re at the shopping place. Now what are the two rules, Megan?

She had to think, No touching and no biting.

Not quite what I had in mind, but good rules. Close honey, No touching anything in the store and no wandering off. Stay close to Mommy the whole time, ok?

Can we watch a movie in the car on the way home?

Sure, why not. Bribery works at least some of the time. If you are very, very good.

The next forty-five minutes were horrific. Everyone in the store knows my children’s names by the time we are done. Don’t touch that, Cassie. Come back here, Megan. Leave that alone, Megan. No, Cassie, put that down. Megan! Cassie! Come back here right now! Get off the floor, Cassie, it’s dirty. Megan, stop kicking your sister.

On a bad day, if the actual shopping time was unpleasant, the checkout line is nothing short of pure torture. Once you have your groceries on the conveyer belt, you are trapped until the process is done. Whatever lane you pick is the slowest and the people in front of and behind you give you disapproving looks as if to say, "My children would never behave that way in public! Why doesn’t that woman do something!"

By the time we got home, and I unloaded the car and put the groceries away, I was exhausted. Then it was time for lunch and naps. When I was a kid I never understood why my mom lay down for a nap every day. After all, naps are for babies right? Big people get to stay up and party. Ha. Naps are an integral part of staying sane.

Of course Megan and Cassidy never go quietly into that good night or good naptime. You would think I was starting a new form of torture every day. For some reason they never remember that they had to take a nap the day before and the day before that, and the day before that and so forth.

Lucky for me, no sooner had I drifted off to sleep than the doorbell rang. Now, I have this lovely little sign, hanging in the window by the front door that says ‘Please Do NOT Ring Doorbell. Baby Sleeping,’ but apparently ninety percent of Americans really are illiterate. Stumbling towards the door I heard Megan and Cassidy waking up in their room. Argh. We had only slept for forty-five minutes which was at least an hour short of my goal.

When I saw who was peering through my front window I wanted to turn around and go back to bed.

It was Satan.

Okay, so it wasn’t the Lord of Darkness, but I swear she does sub work for him when he’s out on vacation.

It was my mother-in-law.

Chapter Four

I know that hating your mother-in-law is cliché. And I am sure there are tons of wonderful, amazing mother-in-laws out there. I was perfectly ready and willing to love mine, but she made up her mind first to hate me. So, what am I to do? Well, in reality, I try to be sickeningly sweet to her face especially around my husband so that he can see what a long suffering angel I am compared to her. I save all my best comments for under my breath and in my head.

I opened the door and tried to put a smile on my bleary face. Carolyn, I said, failing to muster up much cheer. Hi.

She was a very petite five-foot-two, but in her high heels, that matched perfectly with her coordinated outfit, she met my five-foot-four eye to eye. I ran a hand through my tousled short cropped hair and hoped I didn’t have pillow creases or drool on my face.

Well, Piper, (She always said my name as if it was an insult.) Aren’t you going to let me in? It’s customary for a hostess to invite her guests to enter after greeting them.

We were napping, I said wearily, then with a rush of courage, Didn’t you see the note on the door? I pointed to the Do Not Ring Doorbell sign.

I knocked at first, but no one answered, she said pointedly.

"That’s because we were sleeping." I was getting a little peeved.

Granny! Granny! Granny’s here! came the joyful, piercing shrieks behind me. The girls were definitely not going back to sleep now.

"It doesn’t appear that you are sleeping now," my mother-in-law said, sweeping past me at the door.

What did you bring us? shouted Megan in complete unashamed greed.

Megan honey, that’s not poli— I started to correct her.

Nonsense, interrupted Carolyn. Of course I brought them something! Who wants cupcakes!

The cheering and high pitched shrieking rose in volume. Just what they needed. High levels of sugar before dinner.

Oh, I forgot something in the car, Carolyn trilled, Let me run get it, I have some more presents for you!

The girls were getting worked up into a frenzy of excitement. Let it not be said that gifts cannot buy love. I briefly considered locking the door behind her and not letting her back in.

Here we go! she returned cheerfully. Let’s go sit down and see what I brought you.

There was a mad dash to the living room. Harvey was lying sprawled out on the couch, all four legs in the air and tongue drooling a puddle on the leather. Carolyn looked at him in disgust.

Piper, darling, would you mind putting that animal outside? You know how he bothers my allergies.

I scooped Harvey up and kissed him on the nose. I knew there was a reason I loved him so much. Unfortunately he never seemed to bother her allergies enough to keep her away. I’ll just put him in our room, I said, determined not to cast my dog outside like an orphan child.

Do you really think that’s a good idea? Carolyn looked shocked. "You know that Mark is allergic to animals. I don’t know why he lets you keep them in the house. It’s not good for his health."

Mark was no more allergic to animals than she was. I smiled sweetly. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s okay. I carried Harvey off to our room and placed him on the bed in spite. Otis looked up from grooming himself and tried to kill Harvey with his laser eyes. When that failed he merely laid his ears back on his head and hissed. Harvey decided that under the bed was a much better spot.

When I returned, it looked like Toys R Us had exploded in the living room. When Megan was first born, Mark and I had sat down with Carolyn and explained to her that since, at the time, we were living in a small apartment, we did not have room for her to bring toys every time she visited. Apparently she believed that since we were now living in a house we had tons of room.

Megan and Cassidy were beside themselves running from toy to toy. Did you guys say thank you? I asked.

Oh don’t be silly, Piper! Carolyn cooed. I’m their grandmother, they don’t have to say thank you to me! I gritted my teeth and ran my hand through my hair again. Did you get a new haircut? she asked.

Yes, I answered shortly. A week ago I had tired of my shoulder-length hair and gotten a rather daring pixie cut. I loved it and Mark said it was ‘growing on him.’ Ha, ha.

I really liked the way your hair was before, Carolyn said sweetly. I can give you the name of my stylist. She can fix even the worst of hair disasters. Before I could think of a response she was up off the couch and into the kitchen to unwrap cupcakes for my greedy little monsters.

In the rush to go shopping, get lunch, and get everyone down for a nap, I had neglected the breakfast dishes. I saw Carolyn eyeing them and inwardly cringed. Piper! she called.

Yes? I dragged my feet over to the kitchen, feeling like a child being called before the principal.

"You know that I raised Mark to be very particular about cleanliness. I do hope that you don’t let him come home to this . . . mess." She waved her hand around including both the dirty dishes and the toys that were lying scattered about the living room floor.

My tongue took over my common sense. "Well, dishes and picking up after the kids is his job, Carolyn, I said with a straight face. After a long day of watching the kids I am just too beat to pick up at night. Mark always draws me a hot bath and then cleans the whole house for me. Her jaw dropped. You did raise him to be so thoughtful and considerate! I patted her arm. I only hope that I can be the same sort of mother." I quickly made my exit before she could think of a rejoinder.

When Mark and I had first met, we had thought it so wonderful that we both came from the same home town. I knew that Carolyn, being a widow with an only child, was not totally thrilled to be sharing Mark’s affection with another woman, but I thought all that would quickly pass when she saw how happy we were together. Then, I thought that grandchildren would so fill her heart with joy that she would forgive me for stealing Mark. Now, I was just grateful that she would babysit for us once a week so that we could go out on a date night. Although sometimes I wondered if free babysitting was really all it was cracked up to be.

My parents were still busy raising my baby sister, Sarah, who was ten years younger than me. Occasionally they would babysit, and, with a little arm twisting, so would my sister. My other sister and brother had each moved out of town after college and were pursuing careers in different states. Basically, we saw just enough of my family to like them, and not enough for them to drive us crazy.

To give her credit, Carolyn adored her grandchildren. She also spoiled them mercilessly. She thought I was far too strict and did everything in her power to undermine me. She was deaf and impervious to any suggestion that she had overstayed her welcome, and the one time I did say, I think it’s time for Granny to go home! she started to cry. Emotional blackmail was just one of the many weapons in her arsenal.

There would be no getting rid of her until Mark came home at six. Unless . . . but no. I had made it for years now without using the Voice on her. Oh, how satisfying it would be though! I could have her packed up and out the door in seconds. I savored the mental image before reluctantly discarding it. I would have to put up with being the third wheel in my own home for a couple of hours. My faithless children would act like she was the sun and moon and completely ignore me. And my skills as a housewife would be criticized at every turn. Joy. Exactly how I wanted to spend my afternoon.

Piper darling, Carolyn broke in on my reverie, I noticed the ‘For Sale’ sign is down next door. Our neighbors had moved several months ago and Carolyn had been threatening to buy the house and move in, so as to be of greater help to me. I was threatening Mark that I would slit my wrists if she did. He thought I was being funny.

I tried to hide my triumphant grin. Yes, a young woman purchased it and moved in just a couple of days ago.

That’s just too bad, Carolyn pouted, I was thinking that if I lived closer I could help you more with the girls.

I know, I smiled, But Cecily is really very nice. I’m sure she’ll make a lovely neighbor.

Cecily? What kind of name is that?

I shrugged, It’s her name. I like it. It’s kind of old fashioned.

Hmm. Apparently it was not on the approved list of names, rather like Piper. What does she do?

I stopped to think. I’d only spoken to the woman once when I went over to welcome her to the neighborhood, and offer, with complete insincerity, to help in any way I could. I was glad she knew how the game was played and she assured me that if she needed help she would call. Our social duties done, we had talked a little about jobs and families.

Umm, I think she works the night shift at the hospital, I remembered.

A single woman working the night shift! Carolyn was shocked.

Yup.

That sounds rather dangerous. Perhaps she should change to the day shift.

I mentally rolled my eyes. I’m sure she can take care of herself.

"Piper, I don’t know how you were raised, but in my day young ladies did not go out all night alone!"

I saw her carry her recliner into the house all by herself. I’m betting that she can handle going out alone at night. Besides, I added, "someone has to work the night shift. People don’t just get hurt in the daytime."

Well, the world would be a better place if they did, Carolyn huffed and then turned her attention back to the girls. I wasn’t sure if she meant that people should get hurt during the day, or just that they shouldn’t at night, but I wasn’t about to ask for clarification.

The afternoon dragged on. The girls were having a riot and were quickly reaching a sugar meltdown. Mark really hated to come home to wired, cranky, hyper children. If it was just me I would try to calm them down a bit, but since it was his mother, I hoped he would notice the difference in his children’s behavior. I’m evil, I know. All those parenting books that I follow so faithfully say that the key to good parenting is consistency. Does consistently being inconsistent count?

Of course, he was late and I was frazzled before he managed to shoo his mother out the door. Being her only son, he could say things like, You need to go home now, Mom. I want to have dinner alone with my family, and she wouldn’t get offended. I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if I said that.

Dinner, as usual, was part circus juggling act trying to keep all the plates and cups on the table where they belonged, forks in hands, and food chewed only one bite at a time. Mark and I paper, rock, scissored for who had to bathe and put the kids to bed. He lost. There were quite a few dishes, but at least I could do them in silence, blessed silence.

Of course, no sooner was I alone then I started missing being with the girls and felt left out of all the splashing and giggling that was going on in the bathroom. I tried to hurry so that I could get in some snuggle time before they went to sleep.

As I finished up the dishes, I could hear Mark in the girls’ room telling them a bedtime story. When he was a child, his father had read him a book about a gentleman rabbit named Uncle Wiggly. Megan and Cassidy loved to hear Uncle Wiggly stories but I was pretty sure that the stories Mark told had only the character’s name in common with the book his father read him.

Mark asked them every night what story they wanted to hear, and they would get to make up a title. Tonight it was Uncle Wiggly and the Steve Bong.

Steve Gong? Mark asked.

No, Megan said, Steve Bong.

What’s a Steve Bong?

It’s a machine.

A machine?

Yes. A machine that gives you candy whenever you want.

Honey? Mark yelled out to me. Do you know what she’s talking about?

No idea! I shouted back. Megan? Where did you hear about a ‘steve bong’?

I made it up, Megan shouted back.

She made it up! I yelled back to Mark.

I heard! he yelled.

There’s a lot of yelling that goes on in this house. Why walk across the room to talk to someone when you can yell? It’s much more energy efficient.

He started his story. Once upon a time, Uncle Wiggly woke up and was eating breakfast. There was a knock at his door. ‘Come in,’ said Uncle Wiggly and opened the door. It was his good friend Steve. He had a strange machine next to him. ‘What’s that?’ asked Uncle Wiggly. ‘It’s a bong!’ said Steve. ‘It’s so radical, man!’

Mark! I yelled disapprovingly.

It was her idea! he yelled back and continued, the girls giggling at his pot-head voice. Uncle Wiggly and Steve used the bong all day long. ‘This is so cool,’ said Uncle Wiggly, ‘everything is so green! This is way better than drinking Jack Daniels all day long!’

Mark! I yelled again, much sharper. The girls were in hysterical giggles. Fortunately they had no clue what he was talking about.

We like this story, Mommy! Megan yelled. Daddy has a funny voice!

Then it was time for Steve to go home. ‘Thank you for bringing over your bong, Steve,’ said Uncle Wiggly. ‘No problem, man,’ said Steve, ‘let’s do it again tomorrow!’ ‘Righteous, man!’ said Uncle Wiggly. The End. Now lie down and go to sleep.

eed a ug! yelled Cassidy.

I quickly gave the counters a lick and a promise and joined Mark to give hugs and kisses and snuggles. Their hair smelled fresh and clean and I wanted to hold them close and keep them this way forever.

We gently tucked them into bed and warned them of the consequences if they didn’t lie right down and go to sleep. You would think that eventually a kid would be able to remember that they weren’t allowed to get out of bed and run around the house. Nope. I could go in there, place them back in bed, walk out the door, turn around, and they would be walking right behind me.

No sooner had Mark and I flopped down on the couch (okay, started to make out on the couch) then the screaming started.

Mommy! Daddy! Megan sounded genuinely terrified. She’s a wonderful actress. I should sell her to Hollywood. I’m scared!

You’ve been in there less than two minutes!

It’s yark! Cassidy joined in.

"It’s supposed to be dark. Close your eyes and you won’t notice."

I’m scared Mommy! Megan’s voice raised in a petrified shriek. There are monsters and ogres in my closet!

I glared at Mark. This is your fault. I told you not to let them watch Shrek.

He shrugged, They wanted to. Megan, honey, he called, There are no monsters or ogres in your closet.

I saw them! I’m scared, Megan was screaming now in terror. I started to feel bad. Maybe she was really scared. She was only four years old. She shouldn’t be watching scary movies.

Cassidy started screaming too, I scared! onsters and yogurt!

Megan instantly stopped.

No Cassidy, she said firmly. "Monsters and Ogres. Not yogurt. Ogres."

Yogurt, Cassidy repeated.

No, Megan said patiently, Oooh-gres. Ooooh-gres. Not yogurt.

Yogurt.

Ogres.

Ogres, Cassie finally got it right.

Megan tried to pick up the terrified act where she had left off. We need the light on! We’re scared.

I wasn’t buying it and Mark was distracting me by nibbling on my neck. I giggled. Go to sleep! I called and then yelped as he scooped me off the couch and carried me back to our room. I don’t want to hear from you again! I yelled over my shoulder and got my head whacked into the door frame by accident. Ow.

This is all your fault, I said again to Mark. You never should have let them watch Shrek.

Shhh, he said and flipped off the light.

Chapter Five

Later that evening, I was standing out in the front yard waiting for Harvey to pee. Sometimes I just put him out the back door, but lately he had taken to staying out all night, and it took quite a yelling before I would give up and just use the Voice to command him back in. I never wanted to do it, always sure that this time he would obey on his own. But when you’re black and weigh twelve pounds it’s real easy to hide in a dark backyard.

He loved chasing frogs, which was fine with me. What I didn’t appreciate was that, if left out at night, he wanted to come inside at 5:30 in the morning. He would sit at the sliding glass door and yip and howl until I gave up and let him in, thus training him that obnoxious behavior is rewarded.

So, until I came up with a better plan, I was walking him out the front, where I could keep an eye on him, and crating him at night. I felt a little guilty about locking him up all night, even though all the dog books say that dogs view their crate as their den. If that was true, the words den and iron maiden were synonymous in Harvey’s mind. Tough luck for him. I had no desire to wake up in the morning and find a puddle of dog pee on the floor.

For some reason, it was always Mark who would step in it and then there would be trouble. I think Mark has a talent for stepping on disgusting things in the middle of the night. Otis could hack up multiple hairballs in the middle of the path to the bathroom and I wouldn’t step on a one. But if Mark got up to go to the bathroom, there would be