Beneath a Waning Moon: A Duo of Gothic Romances (14 page)

I hope you find your own adventure. If there is one thing love has taught me, it is that one should never wait for life. Dare to live dangerously. You never know what mysteries could be waiting in the shadows.

I remain your true friend. Happy to the end. Content. And eager for the unknown embrace of night.

Yours, always,

Josephine Shaw Murphy

THE pretty, brown-haired woman set down the letter with tears in her eyes.

“Did she go peacefully?” she asked.

“Of course not,” Tom said with a rueful smile. “Not Josie. She fought it, and I held her till the end.”

A small sob escaped Miss Tetley’s lips, and she covered her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief. Tom recognized Josie’s slightly messy stitches on the edges.

“She was happy,” Tom said. “She didn’t linger long. Was active and writing up until two nights before she died. I’m happy for that.”

Miss Tetley smiled. “She would have liked that. She could never be idle. A homebody, yes, but not an idle one. She loved working too much. There was always another book to read or a reference to check. A story to plan.”

“She had great respect for you. And great affection. She spoke of you often.”

“Thank you, Mr. Murphy. I am so sorry for your loss. Yet so happy you had the time with her that you did.”

He nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”

“Her father… it was only a few nights before that he died, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Only two nights.”

“They were so very close.”

“They were.”

“Did…” She fidgeted a bit. “I know she was very keen that Mrs. Porter would receive the house in Bray, along with a generous allowance. Can you see that it be done? I hate to intrude, but Mrs. Porter—”

“Will be well looked after,” Tom said. “Josie was very clear. I’m happy to see that she has a good retirement.”

“Thank you, Mr. Murphy. I worried that Neville would make problems for you.”

“Mr. Burke, as it happens, seems to have left Dublin. There’s no sign of him at his usual haunts. There were rumors he’d fallen in with some disreputable companions.”

“Oh.” Miss Tetley’s eyes widened. “How fortunate her father’s business interests were transferred to your family then.”

“We do not take the responsibility lightly, miss.”

A few more polite exchanges left Tom feeling adrift. He had never been one for small talk—even less so when he felt as if he was lying—so he departed soon after Miss Tetley’s father and mother returned from the theater. The young woman wiped her eyes and stood, clearly wrecked from grief but with a smile on her face.

“Thank you, Mr. Murphy, for delivering her letter and the books she left me. I’ll treasure them.”

“I’m glad.”

“Will you be all right, sir?”

Tom paused. “I will never forget her. She was the most unexpected gift of my life. But she’d want me to keep going, wouldn’t she?”

Miss Tetley nodded and gave him a brave smile. “She would.”

“Then I’ll be fine.”

He put on his hat, tipped it toward her, and walked into the foggy London night.

THE house in Kinvara belonged to Anne. It was a great old farmhouse build up from a stone cottage that stood at the edge of Galway Bay. Most importantly, it was isolated. No humans lived around them for miles.

Like Tom, Josie had an affinity toward saltwater, which was lucky as the whole of Galway Bay was available for their play.

And they played.

They roamed the ocean, Josie buoyant with the joy of unexpected vitality. Tom often caught her breathing deeply as she sat in the salt air. She’d listen in wonder at the silence of her own lungs. Then a rare joy would cross her face, and she’d leap into the ocean, dancing beneath the water as if she were a mermaid.

Josie loved the sea. She told Tom she always had, though the doctors had warned her away from ocean-bathing when she’d been human. Now she held nothing back.

Her amnis was another story.

While Murphy and Declan were busy in Dublin, Anne had traveled out with them, hoping to help her friend along with learning to control her elemental strength. But even the most rudimentary lessons seemed to fail.

“Try again,” Anne said, holding both of Josie’s hands. “Do you feel it?”

“I do.” Josie nodded. “It’s sitting on the back of my neck, moving over my shoulders, like water poured from a pitcher.”

“Excellent. Now I want you to push it. Try to spread it over your skin. As if you were smoothing a stocking or pushing a glove up your arm.”

Tom looked up from his newspaper, catching the small frown that grew between his wife’s eyes.

“Are you trying?” Anne asked.

“I don’t know,” Josie said with a huff. “I can feel it, but it’s not… It simply won’t do what I want. I don’t understand. Why is this so easy for all of you and not me?”

Anne sighed. It was their third lesson of the week, and so far, even the most rudimentary manipulation of amnis seemed beyond Josie. While a basic shield of amnis came instinctually for most vampires, it was not instinct to Josie.

“If you can’t do this, you’ll have no way of heating your skin,” Anne said.

Josie shrugged. “Poor circulation? I can’t see any humans for a long time anyway. Tom won’t care, will you, Tom?”

“Course not,” he grunted, trying not to be nosy. He didn’t want to interfere with the lessons, after all. Just didn’t want Anne to push his girl too far. She was still new at all this.

“And your skin will be too sensitive,” Anne added.

“Sounds like an excellent reason to eschew fancy clothing.” She winked at Tom, who only shook his head.

“Josie, you won’t be able to hide forever,” Anne said. “At some point, you’ll have to rejoin society.”

“Why?”

Tom blinked and looked up. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why will I need to rejoin society? Or at least public society.” Her eyes were wide and guileless. “Will you need me to entertain for you?”

He snorted. “Not likely, love.”

Anne said, “Tom’s not much for company.”

“Well, neither am I. I’d rather stay home and write. Perhaps read books or visit with family. Isn’t that what I’ll be doing for the foreseeable future anyway?”

Tom shrugged. “Sounds grand to my ears.”

Anne said, “But… you’ll be a hermit. You can’t be a hermit. At least not forever.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I…” Anne frowned. “You wouldn’t be lonely?”

“I don’t think so,” Josie said. “We’ll see. I never was much for company. And as long as I can go to the odd play or concert, walk in the park—”

“That’ll be at night,” Tom said. “No people around anyway.”

“—and work in my garden with a friend every now and then, I think that’s all I’ll need. I love company, but only friends. I always hated formal parties.”

Anne shook her head. “Good heavens, you two really are perfect for each other. Who would have guessed?”

“Me,” Josie said with a sweet smile. “I knew we’d get on the first night he called on me.”

Tom smiled and went back to his paper. Sweet butterfly girl…

“Oh?” Anne asked. “Why’s that?”

“It was obvious,” Josie said. “He brought me a book.”

Epilogue

Dublin, 2015

JOSIE DUG INTO THE EARTH, feeling the coarse scrape of grit beneath her fingernails as she moved the loose soil from beneath the honeysuckle vine. The gardenia would be too overpowering, she thought. Perhaps the rosemary would provide a soothing note to balance the honeysuckle’s sweet scent in the summer.

“Josie?” Tom called from the front of the garden.

“Come hither, my demon lover!”

His amused chuckle might have been her favorite sound in the world.

“Where do you want these roses?” he asked.

She turned and watched him as he placed one large pot down, then another. He’d stripped his shirt off and the misty night air clung to his muscled torso. His damp skin caught the light from the glass house he’d built her ten years ago.
 

He turned to her and caught her stare. “What?”

“You’re a fine specimen of a man… for a monster.”

“Am I?” He shook his head, his taciturn mouth never moving, though she caught the humor in his eyes. “Don’t try to seduce me, fairy temptress. You’ll never deter me from my mission.”

She stabbed her trowel in the dirt and sat back, elbows propping her up as she turned innocent eyes toward him. “Your mission?”

“Yes.” He swiped at the dew on his forehead, leaving a smear of dirt. “My lady has given me a task, and if I fail in it…” He sighed.

“She’d be disappointed?”

“Far worse than disappointed. Her fury would burn like the sun.”

“Your lady sounds harsh, sir!”

“She is.” He shook his head. “A right harridan. She beats me regularly.”

“Oi!”

Tom finally broke into laughter. “Where do you want the roses?”

“One on either side, please.” She pointed toward the willow in the corner. “Beats you regularly… I
should
beat you, ornery monster.”

Josie didn’t even hear him coming when he tackled her to the grass. She rolled across the lawn, laughing in his arms as Tom growled in her ear.

“I’ll show you a monster.” He nipped her ear and slowly scraped his fangs over her throat. “This monster has a taste for fair maiden. And look! Here’s one sitting in my garden.”

They wrestled in the grass until Josie was breathless from laughter. She threw her arms out and inhaled the fragrant night air, eyes closed and a satisfied smile on her face.

Tom reached out and traced her profile from her forehead, over her nose and down to her chin.

“Did you just smear dirt all over my face?”

“Yes. I’ve decided you’re not a fair maiden. You’re a warrior goddess, and this is your war paint.”

“I like it. I could definitely write a story about a warrior goddess.”

“Josie…” He leaned over her, taking her lips in an achingly sweet kiss.

She smiled. “What?”

“Nothing,” he murmured. “I just like saying your name is all.”

“One of these days, Tom Dargin, I’m going to tell the world how sweet you are.”

“No one’d believe you. Everyone knows writers are compulsive liars.”

She burst into laughter again, and something about his expression, about the curve of his mouth just then, reminded her of the first time she’d seen him.

Solemn and serious, standing proud in her father’s old house on Merrion Square. Telling her to stand up straight and never apologize for who she was, even if that was a rail-thin spinster with an overactive imagination and a withering cough.

And so it still was.

She adored him so much he could make her his slave. But then he wouldn’t be the Tom who’d seen the quiet girl in the corner and asked her to stand tall, and Josie would be the caterpillar who never turned into a butterfly.

“I love you, Tom.”

“Love you too, sweet girl.”

“What a pair of monsters we are.”

THE END

☩

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The book quoted in
A Very Proper Monster
—Josie’s favorite story—is
Carmilla
, a vampire novella by Irish writer Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. It was originally published in 1871 in the magazine
The Dark Blue
and later in his collection of short stories
In a Glass Darkly.

Le Fanu’s
Carmilla
predates Bram Stoker’s classic vampire novel
Dracula
by over twenty-five years, and though lesser known, this influential story featured a female vampire who became the prototype for many important works in early vampire fiction and has been adapted or referenced many times in different media.

In a Glass Darkly
is an early classic of Gothic literature and available for everyone through Project Gutenberg and major retailers.

GASLIGHT HADES

☾
✥
☽

Grace Draven

☩

This tale is dedicated to my darling Willow who loves all things unique and eccentric, just like her.
 

Also to my intrepid editors, Mel Sanders and Lora Gasway, my saviors in all things writing-related.

Sincerest thanks to Antioch Grey, my favorite Brit, for her invaluable help.

CHAPTER ONE

FOR THE LAST TIME, Lenore gazed at her father's coffin, draped in black velvet and topped with a spray of everlasting flowers.
 
Her mother's doing of course.
 
Arthur Kenward would have hated the frippery, but Jane Kenward was adamant that no expense be spared, and the bouquet had been ordered and delivered for the funeral.
 
Lenore found it repulsive.
 
The flowers were as lifeless as the body resting beneath the coffin lid.