Otherworld Nights

Otherworld Nights

Rare and never-before-published short stories featuring fan favorites from   the #1  New York Times  bestselling Otherworld series It’s been more than ten years since Kelley Armstrong began the Otherworld series and drew legions of fans to a realm roamed by witches, werewolves, necromancers, vampires, and half-demons. Many of the novels have become bestselling favorites, but not all of the Otherworld adventures have been easy to find. At last, Otherworld Nights shares short stories that have previously been available only online or in obscure collections. Fans have long been clamoring for this anthology and they won’t be disappointed—they’ll find plenty of surprises are in store. Praise for the Otherworld series   “[This] might just be the welcome diversion you need.” — The Washington Post “A witty, suspenseful, and well-paced tale…[ Bitten ] will both thrill and absorb you.” — Houston Chronicle "A taut, sensual thriller that grips from the first page. Elena Michaels is at once sublime and sympathetic, a modern heroine who shows that real women bite back." —Karin Slaughter,  The New York Times "[A] fast-paced story."— Orlando Sentinel "Kelley Armstrong has long been a favorite of mine."— Charlaine Harris,  New York Times  bestselling author of the Sookie Stackhouse series   KELLEY ARMSTRONG  is the #1  New York Times  bestselling author of the Otherworld series, as well as the  New York Times  bestselling young adult trilogy Darkest Powers, the Darkness Rising trilogy, and the Nadia Stafford series. She lives in rural Ontario, Canada with her husband and three children. ***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***   DEMONOLOGY Talia stared at the painting. A tiny fishing boat caught in a raging storm, swirling in an eddy, the crew members barely managing to keep it afloat . . . while a giant wave swelled behind them. That’s my life, she thought. I fight the storm and I keep fighting, but somehow, I never shake the feeling that a huge wave is gathering behind my back, waiting to make a mockery of my efforts. Her eight-year-old son, Adam, was sprawled across the office floor doing his homework with his blond head bent over the math workbook, pencil in his mouth, scowling at the numbers as if that could make them surrender their secrets. He’d been quiet for fifteen minutes now, a sure sign that he was dreading this appointment. In her support group for parents of hyperactive children, the other mothers always rejoiced over their children’s “quiet times,” those rare occasions when their kids stopped bouncing and chattering and sat for more than a few minutes at a stretch. Talia never joined in. When Adam went quiet, it was a sure sign that something was bothering him. These days, he sank into those spells several times a week, more often if that week included appointments. In the last three months, they’d been to at least a dozen doctors. General practitioners, specialists, psychiatrists, psychologists, social workers . . . a never-ending parade of professionals all claiming they could figure out what was wrong with Adam. Talia hated that phrase: “what was wrong with Adam.” There was nothing wrong with her son, and she told him that every day. But the fact that she needed to give constant reassurances proved that even Adam knew something was wrong. How many blood samples could a little boy give, how many questions could he answer, how many X-rays and tests could he undergo, before he stopped trusting his mother’s reassurances? “Mom?” Talia looked over and met his brown eyes, the mirror image of her own. “I’m thirsty.” She lifted her purse. “I brought juice boxes and animal crackers—” “I’m more thirsty than that.” He wrinkled his nose, freckles forming new constellations. Then he slanted a sly look her way. “I saw a pop machine down the hall.” “Did you, now? And let me guess. That’s how thirsty you are: full-can-of-pop thirsty.” “Please?” With a dramatic sigh, she opened her change purse and counted out enough for a soda and a candy bar. Yes, she was apologizing for the appointment with junk food, but sometimes you’d do just about anything to make the medicine go down easier. His grin as she handed over the money said she’d done the right thing, whatever the parenting books might tell her. “Thanks, Mom.” He bounded for the door and nearly knocked over a student walking in. A blurted apology and a sheepish glance at Talia. Then, as he turned backward to the door, he froze, his gaze snagged on a photo. An aerial view of a forest fire. Adam had noticed it the moment he’d walked in. Yet now he stared as if seeing it for the first time. “That’s a neat photo, isn’t it?” Talia said. “I wonder how they took it. From an airplane, I bet.” “Cool,” Adam said, then tore his gaze away and took off, back on target. Talia moved to the doorway. He shot her a look that said he was too old to have his mother watching out for him, but she stuck out her tongue and stood her ground. As he ran d