Home > Finding Sanctuary

Finding Sanctuary
Author: Susi Hawke


Prologue

 

 

Voicemail left for Gene, the host of the Wish of Your Heart Podcast

 

 

As soon as I heard the prompt to leave my message, I started nervously babbling. “Hey, Gene. This is Darcy Valentine from Austin. Longtime listener, first-time caller… wait, do people still say that, or is it a radio thing? Anyway… I do listen all the time, and this is my first time calling, so… yeah. I guess it works?”

Pausing long enough to shift my phone to the other, less sweaty, side of my head, I took a deep breath and started over.

“I’m not calling to leave a wish or anything so silly. I’m calling because today’s topic about the fallacy of wish fulfillment bringing perfect happiness really spoke to me. Here’s the thing, Gene. It can’t. Why? Because every wish isn’t equal, and each one can’t possibly be important enough to provide joy, or we’d have world peace because nobody sane would wish for more shitty wars.

“I mean, people wish for things every day and get them. But does a driver who begs for a light would stay green remember later how happy they were when it didn’t turn red before they crossed, or was the frazzled mom’s life changed so much for the better when the line at the bank moved fast, like she’d wished when her kid had a meltdown, so she immediately rushes out to buy a lotto ticket? No. She wouldn’t even remember her paltry request by the time she finished her transaction. Those pathetic wishes are nothing more than ginormous wastes of time. Things will happen, or they won’t, and I disagree with Marc’s comments today and the overall air of toxic positivity he exudes. Getting even a minor wish fulfilled will not make a person’s day brighter. Sorry, not sorry. Those kind of blessings might make a person happy for a second or two, but no more.”

I paused again and took a second to gather my thoughts and stay on track before I went off on a complete tangent. As my mom liked to say, nervous rambling was my thing, and irritability was my game. Combine the two and I might have wound up saying far more than I wanted on my first call to my favorite podcaster.

And it wasn’t not like I could end the call and pretend it hadn’t happened.

No.

Because my stupid ass just had to start with my full name and the city I lived in.

FML.

Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried again. “Sorry, I had a point, so I’ll make it. I think wishes, truly from the depth of your soul wishes, should be saved for things like cures for disease. Or even the big issues like getting our society back to normal with the Supe-Human war ended. Hey, who knows? Maybe the armistice was finally reached between the human world and the different supernatural factions because someone wished it would happen. Or a lot of someones. And such a wish should be fulfilled because people would remember and treasure it.”

Okay, doofus. You made your point. Wind it down now.

Good advice. But I kept talking.

“You want to know what I’d wish for, Gene? Hmm… well, you heard my name. Darcy Valentine. Seriously. If I wanted to piddle around with silly requests, I’d request I’d been born with a different last name. Or that my meddling mom wasn’t a sex therapist with a serious Jane Austen addiction who thought naming me after her favorite hero would be awesome. Or maybe I’d wish she’d quit obsessing over finding me a partner and the constant matchmaking… or finally push me together with the right one. I don’t mind being stuck in my home, but I could wish I wasn’t stuck here.

“Nah, screw it. I wouldn’t ask any of those things because it’s luck of the draw and genetics. You know what wish I’d make? To meet my favorite author, Storm D’Arcy. Imagine if we fell in love at first sight? I could marry him and be Darcy D’Arcy. Actually, no. I wouldn’t ask. God. How stupid would I seem? A ridiculous name would not make me happier. I’d have to kick my own ass for laughing every time I signed anything. And my point’s proved—not all wishes bring permanent happiness.”

My hand shook as I lowered my phone and ended the call before I could say another word. Hopefully, the recording had run out halfway through, and I hadn’t opened myself to ridicule if he played it on air, and my friends heard the whole Darcy D’Arcy thing.

Dear God. Just no.

Especially since I secretly didn’t hate the idea. D’Arcy meant dark, according to Google, fitting for my snarky ass. But I would never admit this particular heart’s desire aloud… or be stupid enough to wish for it.

Silly, really. Besides, what were the chances it was even the author’s real name?

Shaking my head, I reluctantly left my safe place, the turret separating me from the rest of this sprawling suburban castle we called home. A storm was coming in, and the animals needed to be tucked away. Then I had another “fun” family dinner to get through. But afterward, the evening would be mine.

At least, I hoped it would.

There was no telling what my mother or our quirky “family” might have planned.

 

 

1

 

 

Darcy

 

 

Before stepping even so much as a toe outside the protected threshold of my home, I did a final check to make sure I was properly prepared.

Silver-infused bowie knife with its double-edged tip, strapped to my right hip in its leather sheath. Check.

Metal-lined Kevlar vest. Check.

Solid silver karambit in its holster on the outside of my left calf. Check.

I reached inside my jacket pockets, tugging the guns out one at a time to double-check them. Pulling the slides to make sure they were still loaded since my last inspection two minutes before, I smiled with satisfaction.

With fully loaded clips and one in the barrel, both weapons were good to go. The one with silver bullets went back in the left side, while the revolver holding wooden bullets infused with a dead man’s blood slipped back into the right.

Check and double fucking check. I was good to go.

As soon as I walked outside into what was left of the waning daylight and the cool, damp air, the unique scent of a June storm hit me in the face. The sweet, pungent aroma of ozone and the somehow fresh yet musky scent of petrichor always smelled like home to me. Like Texas.

Although nothing more than a drizzle could breach the wards fully surrounding and protecting my property like an invisible dome, enough raindrops misted through to dampen the otherwise dry soil.

Unsurprising, since three different storm fronts over the past three days had inundated our area. As I hustled toward the chicken coop, a quick glance at the property line showed the waters flooding against this small oasis. Flashes of lightning lit up the yard.

The water seemed to splash against an invisible wall before diverting around it. Even after two years, the wards held strong, keeping anything out who wished us harm—be it a supernatural creature or even natural disasters like the flood currently moving around us.

The wards had one flaw: they couldn’t keep out living beings, so I still needed to arm myself with supe-proof weapons. Even a creature with the best of intentions could be blinded by bloodlust if they scented my blood and realized I hadn’t been vaccinated with VPN-13.

The silver-infused shot would’ve made my blood toxic to any supernatural. The only people who hadn’t taken it were anti-vaxxers, conspiracy theorists who were positive it contained a way for the government to track them, and the seven percent of people like me… allergic to the very silver responsible for VPN-13’s effectiveness.

Hot Books
» House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City #1)
» A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire
» From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash #1)
» A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime
» Deviant King (Royal Elite #1)
» Den of Vipers
» House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2)
» Sweet Temptation
» The Sweetest Oblivion (Made #1)
» Chasing Cassandra (The Ravenels #6)
» Wreck & Ruin
» Steel Princess (Royal Elite #2)
» Twisted Hate (Twisted #3)
» The Play (Briar U Book 3)
» The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash #4)