Part 1 (1/2)

Wuthering Frights.

Dulcie O'Neil series.

HP Mallory.

I dedicate this book to myself seventeen years ago when I decided I wanted to become a writer and then wondered if I actually had enough talent to make it happen...

You did it.

Acknowledgements:.

To my fabulous mother: Thank you for all your help.

To my editor, Teri, at : Thank you for the clean up!

To my husband: Thank you for all your love and support.

To my son, Finn: I love you.

To the winner of my ”become a character in my next book” contest, Christina Sabbiondo: I hope you enjoy seeing yourself in print!

And to my past contest winners: Dia Robinson, Caressa Brandenburg and Alexandra Fields Garrity, I hope you enjoy your return in this book!

One.

It is said that during times of immense fear, shock or heartache, your body does weird things. And I'm here to say it's true. Why? Because I endured all three of those emotions as I stood in front of the Head of the Netherworld, a double-dealing b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd been importing illegal potions from the Netherworld to Earth for Hades-only-knew-how-long. And in dealing with the feelings of fear, shock and heartache, my knees went wobbly and I had to stabilize myself against the bookshelf standing next to me. Afraid I might accidentally blow a hole into the floor, I rested my Op 7 handgun, similar to a Glock 31, on the shelf. Why had my knees suddenly become the consistency of jelly? And why was I now finding it difficult to breathe? Because the b.a.s.t.a.r.d standing before me had just informed me that he was my father.

It was almost as if the doors to my brain had blown open in a hurricane because I was bombarded with thoughts and memories-memories of a time long ago, nine years long ago, when my mother was still alive.

My mother ...

In general, I tried to s.h.i.+eld myself from thoughts of my mother because those thoughts invariably led to feelings of darkness and depression that would clutch my insides until I could barely breathe. My mother had been killed by a goblin nine years ago, which is why I'd decided to become a Regulator (think, law enforcement agent) for the a.s.sociation of Netherworld Creatures (ANC) in Splendor, California.

I felt my eyes narrow as I glanced up at the man who called himself my father. It wasn't that I doubted him-I couldn't. If our last names weren't ill.u.s.trative enough of our shared lineage, the similarity of our faces was-I had my father's emerald green eyes, both in shape and color as well as his high cheekbones. And my mane of honey blond hair seemed borrowed from the man standing just before me, although his hair was now generously sprinkled with grey. But while I was a fairy, my father was an elf. 'Course, he'd failed to mention his elfin ancestry when he'd introduced himself to me as ”Melchior O'Neil, your father.” But, as a fairy, I possess the ability to detect bloodlines of everyone I meet, his included.

Family likeness aside, it was time I asked a few questions of my own and got some closure on some subjects I'd always wondered about. I'd practically abandoned my search for the answers seeing as how my mother was dead and prior to this moment, I'd never met my father.

”My mother said you left us, that she came to California because she was pregnant with me and you ran off,” I managed to say in a constricted, sore voice.

My father nodded but that small smile he'd been wearing since he'd admitted to our familial connections was still in place and still just as infuriating. ”Yes, I imagined your mother would say something of the sort.” He shook his head like he was amused, like I'd just told him some funny little anecdote about when I was a kid. ”That Marjorie ...”

”Then it isn't true?” I demanded, hating the sound of her name on his tongue. And that was when it was pretty clear that I hated him. I felt my hands fist at my sides and glanced down at the floor as I forced myself to count to five. An outburst would do me no good at this point. No, I had to maintain my cool while I figured out how to get myself out of this mess. Glancing down, I suddenly remembered I was wearing nothing but my bra and jeans. In the process of breaking into the Head of the Netherworld's office, I'd lost my s.h.i.+rt.

Lost a s.h.i.+rt but gained a father ...

”No, it isn't true,” my father announced and then turned to face the third person in the room who I could honestly say I'd completely forgotten about since I'd realized Melchior was my father. Quillan, who I'd mistaken for the Head of the Netherworld when I'd broken in and found him occupying my father's chair, was really Melchior's henchman, his right-hand man. And Quillan was also my ex-boss and exaclose friend. But that was a long and convoluted story.

Quillan remained silent and I found it strange that Melchior bothered to glance at him. Did he think Quill might have something to say about the mess known as my family? Instead, my old man looked at me and shook his head slowly.

”I never left your mother. She left me.”

I nodded as everything suddenly became crystal clear. My mother hadn't wanted to raise her child in the Netherworld, which was basically a combat zone and completely unsafe. More than that, though, I'm sure she didn't want to raise a child with this a.s.shole, Melchior-someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a crime boss. He was making a killing off the black market in the illegal potions trade and was so high up the proverbial ladder, he was untouchable.

”Smart woman,” I said in the same tight voice.

Melchior said nothing but eyed me with no expression of sadness in his eyes at all-like it was no skin off his teeth that my mother had left him to raise me all by herself, like he could have given a rat's a.s.s that he'd never had a connection with his daughter. As soon as that thought entered my mind, his demeanor changed, as if he'd clued into my feelings and wanted to prove me wrong.

”You look just like her,” he said in a haunted tone, something that sounded barren and void. It was as though he was suddenly sad that he'd missed out on all those years, like he was b.u.mmed he hadn't been there to potty train me, teach me to ride a bike, or tell me how beautiful I looked on prom night.

”Lucky for me,” I answered, my lips tight.

He chuckled then and shook his head, eyeing Quillan again almost as if he were embarra.s.sed that Quillan was still sitting there. Then my father faced me and seemed to study me as if he were about to draw a detailed portrait of me. ”Your mother was a beautiful woman and you are just as lovely.” He paused, as if waiting for me to say, ”Ah, gee, thanks, Dad,” but when I remained silent, he continued. ”Though she had none of your fire.”

That was when I realized the entire time I was making small talk with this jerk, Knight was still imprisoned, subjected to the beatings of the ruthless guards and probably worried that any minute could be his last. The main prison of the Netherworld was no vacation, not by a long shot.

I turned to face Quillan, no longer interested in playing the game of family charades with Melchior. ”Get Caressa on the phone,” I said in a voice that warned him not to argue with me. ”And put her on speaker.”

Quillan started to shake his head at the same time that he looked at my father. ”Dulce, Caressa can't know you're here.”

I nodded. ”She won't know I'm here-I won't say a word. I just want to make sure you're really going to call her and that you aren't trying to pull a fast one over on me.” I took a deep breath. ”And don't call me Dulce. My name is Dulcie,” I finished with as much bravado as I could muster.

”Have you always been so suspicious?” Melchior asked me, his eyebrow raised in an amused sort of way.

I glared at him. ”Yes, which is why I've survived this long.”

My father said nothing more but turned and nodded at Quillan as if to say putting Caressa on speakerphone was okay. Caressa Brandenburg was the only respectable, high-ranking ANC employee I'd encountered so far in the Netherworld. I knew she'd make d.a.m.n sure Knight was out of High Prison and on his way back to Earth as soon as Quillan gave her the go ahead. Yep, Caressa was an angel of mercy, as far as I was concerned.

I watched as Quillan faced the rotary phone which looked like it was straight out of the sixties and any hopes I had of getting Caressa on speaker phone flew out the window. That was the weird part about the Netherworld-it was almost like a third world country, no modern conveniences. When I'd first met Knight, he'd described the Netherworld as existing in the same spatial plane as Earth. He'd said it was like a cake with layers, the Netherworld being one layer and Earth the layer just above. So even though I was currently in the Netherworld, I was also in the twenty-first century, yet you'd never know it by looking around.

”No speakerphone?” I asked, irritated.

Quillan frowned. ”Not everything is as it appears, Dulcie.”

He started dialing when my father interrupted him. ”Before you dial Caressa,” Melchior started as he gave me a nonchalant smile. My heartbeat pounded inside me as if it were still trying to deal with the bewilderment I'd been experiencing for the last ten minutes.

”Yeah?” Quillan asked. He paused with his index finger pointing aimlessly in the air as he faced my father.

”Then you agree to everything I've laid out for you, Dulcie?” Melchior asked me. His lips were tight and his expression stern.

I swallowed hard as I remembered the bargain I'd made-that I would resume my place as a Regulator for the ANC located in Splendor, California, and Knight would again be my boss. Only this time, I'd also be working for Melchior to make sure his illegal potions made it to Splendor so they could hit the streets and be sold on the black market to thugs, addicts and ... kids. I felt bile climbing up my throat and had to swallow it back down. The only reason I'd agreed to such terms was to save Knightley Vander's life. At the moment, that was all that mattered to me. I promised myself to think of a long-term solution later; but for now, I just had to save Knight.

Knight headed the ANC Splendor branch and he was a good, honest and loyal guy. For reasons unknown to me, he'd been kicked out of the Netherworld and forced to Earth. But when he'd taken the rap for me by pleading guilty to a mistake I'd made, he'd found himself back in the Netherworld. And back in the Netherworld, Knight had been exactly where Melchior wanted him. It was becoming increasingly clear that my father had always wanted Knight Vander dead.