With a Kiss (Twisted Tales) Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  SAMPLE CHAPTER: TWISTED TALES SERIES (BOOK 2) “AT MIDNIGHT”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY STEPHANIE FOWERS

  LIST OF FAERY CREATURES

  GLOSSARY OF FAERY TERMS

  MAP OF THE SIDHE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  *For FAERY GLOSSARY OF TERMS and LIST OF CREATURES, Also see www.stephanie-fowers.com

  With a Kiss

  a novel

  by

  Stephanie Fowers

  With a Kiss (book one of Twisted Tales Series)

  Stephanie Fowers

  ©2013 Stephanie Fowers

  Published by Triad Media and Entertainment

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places, incidents and dialogue are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

  Published by Triad Media and Entertainment, Salt Lake City, UT

  [email protected]

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  2013933259

  1. Fiction. 2. Young Adult. 3. Paranormal.

  ISBN-13: 978-0615767437

  ISBN-10: 0615767435

  Cover Design by Jacqueline Fowers

  Cover photography by Kristi Linton

  Editor: Tristi Pinkston

  Logo design: Ian Anthony

  Map of the Sidhe: Ian Anthony

  Typeset by Stephanie Fowers

  Typeset/ html mentor: Rachel Nunes

  proofreader: Catia Nunes

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission in writing from the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights.

  DEDICATION

  To my nieces

  All 20 of them.

  May I have many, many more

  So that I might write many, many, many more books for you.

  Chapter One

  Poor silver-wing! ah! woe is me !

  That I must see These blossoms snow upon thy lady’s pall!

  Go, pretty page! and in her ear

  Whisper that the hour is near! —John Keats, Faery Song

  “Stop crying. Please, stop crying!” I whispered.

  I should’ve been normal. There was no reason I shouldn’t be normal. I splashed water over my face. It ran down my cheeks. The bathroom mirror loomed in front of me, and I refused to look too closely at the dark smudges under my eyes. The crying wouldn’t stop. And it wasn’t coming from me—I had never cried a day in my life. It wasn’t coming from anything. I covered my ears, and tried to drown out the noise with the music from my old school radio. It didn’t work. The baby kept going at it. Crying and crying and crying until I smacked the bathroom wall with my fist. Nothing would make the noise stop.

  I could get used to pretending I was real. I could laugh when something was supposed to be funny. I could ask questions to make others think I cared. I was used to my numbness, but this? My life had turned into Midsummer Night’s Dream gone crazy, or actually, a Midsummer Nightmare. Our small town theater was celebrating the season by doing the Shakespearian play at the school. But that wasn’t the bad part.

  It was my night to play the faery queen. Yeah, it’s spelled faery with an e (that’s how these faery enthusiasts like it), and even though I’m not the best actress at Omak High, that still wasn’t my problem. It was just . . . that baby. It kept crying. And there was no baby. Anywhere. Something was wrong with me. The crying had haunted me from the moment I stepped onto that stage, and now it echoed in my dreams.

  I focused on my New York poster next to the towels, taking deep breaths. After a moment, I turned down the radio to hear blessed silence. The ghost baby had finally given it a rest. I fought down my shaky breath and pulled the toothbrush from my holder to go over my lines for the play that night. Anything to get my mind off what was happening.

  Hearing a nonexistent baby who cried all the time wasn’t one of my usual symptoms. No, I typically just had to deal with a heart that refused to work. I couldn’t love; I had no empathy. I couldn’t count my friends on one hand—not even one finger. Sure, they always counted me, but a girl had to hide how crazy she was when her dad was the town’s only psychiatrist. My parents thought I was normal, but what they didn’t know was that their little girl was a highly functional sociopath. Either that or something had punched a hole through my heart and made it so I couldn’t feel.

  I shoved the toothbrush into my mouth and scrubbed at my teeth. No big deal, right? Hearing a crying baby was the least of my problems. I could hide this, go on like it wasn’t happening. I had almost convinced myself, until I saw my shadow move in the mirror. My body tingled with fear. It wasn’t my shadow, or if it was, it sure wasn’t connected to me. It stood directly behind me, watching me as quietly as the late afternoon sun filtered through my window. My hand hesitated on my toothbrush.

  What were the odds that I was still asleep? I remembered taking a nap, getting up, reading some online college applications, but had I really? Or were my nightmares getting worse? I’d definitely take that over this being real. My fingers trembled as I pulled the toothbrush out of my mouth, and through the bathroom mirror, forced myself to study that thing behind my head. I picked out hollow eyes that watched me . . . as if the shadow thought I didn’t see it staring. The shadow thought? My mouth went dry. I hunched my shoulders and spun around.

  There was nothing there.

  Hairball, our orange striped tabby lounged on the edge of the porcelain tub like a Cheshire cat. My eyes fixed on him instead. Everything seemed peaceful enough until the cat’s head snapped up to watch the mirror behind me. The hair on my neck lifted in response.

  I felt something there, too, its breath in my hair. The cat let out a hiss and sprang off the tub, abandoning me like the traitor he was. With my heart ripping out of my chest, I swiveled and saw a pale face fill the mirror. It was rotting and covered in a strange burnt shadow of long, red hair. I stumbled backwards, colliding into the bathroom wall to escape it.

  “Reclaim the lost,” it whispered.

  “What?” I asked. “What is that?”

  “Come home.”

  “Halley.” I recognized my mother’s soft voice. She knocked gently on the bathroom door from inside my room. “Halley Starr! It’s show time. Get in the car, honey. You’ll be late.”

  The face was gone from the mirror. I tried to catch my breath. It was worse than one of those ghouls in the darkest corners of a haunted house. And now I had to pretend I hadn’t seen it. Like every weird thing that happened to me, I had to keep this from my family, too—just another sacrifice to be normal. I hated the thought, but not as much as I wondered what I would do if the shadow came back. I took another deep breath. No one knew I was hea
ring things . . . or seeing things. I just had to keep it that way.

  I had been a sickly baby. No matter how many doctors and specialists saw me, they couldn’t figure out what caused it. By the time the mysterious ailment went away, it was too late: my family was officially worried. It was all I could do to keep them from being suspicious.

  My mom knocked again, louder this time. “You’re not in the shower, are you?”

  “What? No. I’m ready to go.” I made my way to the door. The more the numbness wormed deeper inside, the more helpless I felt. I tried to fight it. Even if the shadow with the weird red hair came back, it couldn’t hurt me. It wasn’t real. And the cries? There had to be an explanation. I opened the door from my bathroom, seeing my mom smooth down the creases of the comforter on my bed.

  Her mouth dropped when she saw I was still in my blue plaid pajama bottoms. “Halley!” The usual dimples in her cheeks disappeared. My mom was all softness and sweetness in her signature worn-out jeans, but now she looked furious. “You aren’t even dressed. Your play! I’m talking your play begins in an hour. Your sister is already waiting in the car.”

  I opened my mouth to defend myself, but she headed for the door, picking up some dirty clothes on her way out and chucking them into the laundry basket. “But that baby won’t stop crying,” I whispered to her back. It was the first time I had said it out loud.

  There was no way she’d hear me. “You have three minutes!” my mom shouted on her way down the hall.

  It was time to execute another typical Halley Starr photo finish—as my dad liked to call it—I had to get ready and out the door in record speed. I ran out of the bathroom and tripped on a dumbbell then stumbled against the back of my computer chair. It hit me in the shin. I hopped on one foot and stubbed my toe on the desk for good measure. My legs buckled and I landed catlike on the ground. It would’ve been catlike if I hadn’t landed on a pile of dirty clothes. It was hard to be graceful when I was such a slob.

  That was not a typical Halley Starr photo finish.

  My bedroom was a veritable landmine of clothes and shoes. Some sociopaths turned to serial killing—I turned to shopping. Cover me in color, and it hid the drabness inside, except now there was something even worse hiding inside me, an evil lurking that I couldn’t explain. I tried to keep my mind off that hideous face, and rummaged through the clothes on the floor until I plucked out a flip-flop. I found a wing to my faery costume and then dragged out another from the hamper. It was a little wrinkled, but not beyond redemption.

  The chimes at my window crashed merrily together and I winced, digging around my computer for my cell phone. The messy room was the closest thing I had to being just another bratty teenager. I spent my life mimicking them—their concern with others, their crushes, their meaningless cares. I was fascinated with their emotions and relationships, even watched my sister’s favorite show, Hot Club, for tips. I thought I could get in some good practice being a real girl when I tried out for the play, but that’s what triggered the crying and plunged me into these nightmares in the first place.

  Lately my dreams were filled with hands. I had a feeling that something about the hands made me into the cold person that I was. The hands felt so real, almost like memories because in my dreams, I remembered how to feel . . . and it seriously hurt when they reached out and ripped that out of me. Afterwards, there was nothing. Like a void in my heart covered with rusty chains. The only thing that touched a nerve now was that baby’s cry.

  My mom leaned on the horn outside, completely oblivious to my inner drama. I gave a deep sigh, fished for my other shoe, and hobbled for the door, gathering my blue tutu hanging on the knob on my way out. I ran through the house and shoved open the back door to the driveway. The heat of the summer slapped against my cheeks and I winced against the bright sun.

  My mom lifted her hand from the horn seconds before I jumped into our gray minivan. The moment I slid the door shut behind me, she shifted the rearview mirror so she could look at me. “You still look tired, honey. After this play, you’re getting some rest.”

  My younger sister, Daphne, sat up in the front. She was already in her Peaseblossom costume, pink feathery wings, and glittery make-up. Her blonde hair whipped around her face when she circled in her seatbelt to smile at me. Daphne was always smiling. She was the typecast of the sweetest faery in existence, that’s why she got the part of Peaseblossom. We were complete opposites; she felt everything I couldn’t. Sometimes I tried to get her riled up to see what she would do, but she never let it get between us—I guess that’s why I got the part of the mean faery.

  “Dad and the twins are coming later,” Mom said. “He’s picking them up from swimming lessons.” Now that I was safely ensconced in the car, she was back to her loving ways. She backed out of the driveway, tucking her graying blonde hair behind her ear. I was responsible for quite a few of those grays. “We are all so excited to see your play tonight. You girls look so gorgeous. And you’re so talented! No wonder you both got main parts.”

  If things weren’t so serious, I would’ve laughed. The Starr family, of which I was strangely a part of, thought everything I did was great. Not only were they the nicest, most oblivious family in existence, they were also beautiful, blonde long-legged things. I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had dark hair and I was short—not just short compared to them, but compared to everyone. Family pictures in the Starr home always made me laugh. I was the emo among cheerleaders.

  After a three-minute drive down the only main street in Omak—that just happened to be called Main Street—my mom turned the car into the parking lot of Omak High. The parking lot was filled with Buicks and beat-up Chevy pickups. Everyone supported the Arts here, ritzy and redneck alike. No, we weren’t in New York or California; we were in Omak, nestled in the shire of Washington with our once-a-year Suicide Stampede to keep us occupied in the summers. Besides that, we had nothing else to do.

  Mom dropped us off at the high school with a cheerful wave, and a minute later, I found myself trudging down the newly painted halls with Daphne. It was silent until we passed the auditorium filled with people. Being on stage in front of my entire school and their parents wasn’t a problem. I knew how to put on an act, but I didn’t want to catch sight of that shadowy corpse again. It had better keep its distance during my scenes or I didn’t know what I’d do.

  A herd of faeries passed me in the hall and I waved along with Daphne. I nodded back at a few black dressed techies, mirroring their energy. I tried to return a teacher’s smile, but pretending to be like everyone else was getting to me. I felt my head hang the closer I got to the dressing room. Why did everyone look so happy and excited? Instead of going through the motions, I wanted to feel what they felt, too. I pushed into the dressing room and threw on my faery costume, knowing my face mirrored the dullness inside.

  “Faeries!” Our stage manager poked her head into the messy dressing room. “You have fifteen minutes until curtain.”

  Shoes and props lay scattered over the floor. I shoved my way to a make-up stool to put on the finishing touches. My legs dangled inches above the ground. Blush. I needed plenty of blush. Anything to cover the paleness of my face.

  “Hurry. Hurry.”

  Girls disguised as faeries stared into a mirror that had been placed cruelly above my reach; I could see my forehead. They danced around in a flutter of agitated skirts. I caked my eyelids with blue eye shadow. My lipstick was a shade too red and I tried to wipe it off. The other actresses took nervous breaths, darting glances at our frazzled stage manager.

  It all faded into nothing when I heard the faint sound of that crying baby again. My heart sank. I splattered too much glittery faery powder under my gray eyes, and turned cautiously to my neighbor. Her brush hovered over her face and she tilted her head. It gave me sudden hope. “Hey,” I said. “Did you hear that?”

  She gave me a blank look. Nope.

  “What’s the matter?” My younger sister was the only one paying att
ention in the crowd of gossamer wings. She waded through our street clothes piled on the dressing room floor to get to my side. “Hear what?”

  “Nothing!” I felt my voice hit a hysterical note.

  Daphne cocked her ear to catch a trace of it. Then she shook her head and dimpled. “Sorry, Halley. What does it sound like?”

  “It was nothing.” I glared up at the bottom corner of the mirror, my tight control unraveling as I pushed up to my tiptoes. My sleep deprived eyes gave my face a sinister contrast. Yeah. I looked the part of the haughty faery queen alright, and I didn’t like it.

  My sister stood next to me, easily a foot taller than me. Her concerned eyes met mine. “Is it that baby you used to complain about?”

  I shook my head again. Harder.

  “Oh, honey. What did you do? Did you hit your eye?” The girl playing Cobweb grabbed my chin and dabbed yellow make-up under my eyes while Mustardseed plaited my dark hair. And no, I hadn’t bothered to learn their real names.

  Cobweb fluffed my skirts. “Did you even try to iron this?” I shook my head and she gave me a stern look while trying to undo all the wrinkles. Everyone babied me. Maybe it was because of how short I was compared to these long-legged ballerinas. I slid back to the makeup stool and took the treatment out of habit.

  Moth danced past me in her puffy skirts. I actually knew her real name, since she had crashed our house almost nightly this summer to watch Hot Club reruns. Kolby was Daphne’s best friend, and the two were inseparable. I listened to their giggles, feeling dead compared to them. “Maybe it’s the ghost of the theater,” Kolby teased. “You’ve finally made him mad.”

  I gave a scornful laugh.

  “He’s tired of your bad singing and he’s trying to drive you crazy so you’ll run off the stage screaming like a Banshee.” Kolby stretched her arms up. Light glinted across the beautiful coppery skin that she inherited from her Colville tribe. She practiced a pirouette. I gave her a tired smile. If she knew what I was really hearing, she’d know I was already crazy.