Dedication
To the Rathers
(aka the wonderful readers
on the WickedLovely.com fan site),
who’ve been such a joy to me
these past several years.
Thank you for conversations,
teas, and fab art.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Introduction
Where Nightmares Walk
Winter’s Kiss
Transition
Love Struck
Old Habits
Stopping Time
The Art of Waiting
Flesh for Comfort
The Sleeping Girl and the Summer King
Cotton Candy Skies
Unexpected Family
Merely Mortal
Other Books by Melissa Marr
Copyright
About the Publisher
Since then, I’ve continued to mix fairy tales and folklore together in novels and short stories. They’re scattered in anthologies, ebook-only editions, and special editions of my novels, so I figured it might be nice to have some of them together in one book.
Well over half of these pages are taken up by Wicked Lovely world stories; the rest of the pages are reserved for other worlds. These are stories pulled from lore and nightmares, set in places I’ve visited and places I’ve imagined. In the tales, you’ll find a selchie story influenced by Solana Beach, CA; a tale of vampires inspired by parties I once went to in a dead-end town I won’t name; a goblin encounter set in the woods where I once picked berries; and a tale of dark contentment in a mountain town that owes a debt of gratitude to a Violent Femmes song I love. Of course, you’ll also spend time with the Wicked Lovely faeries who have lived in my head and my novels since 2004. I hope you enjoy them.
“Over here!” my companion dog calls out to them, exposing me.
I didn’t know he could speak, but there is no mistaking the source of the sound—or the fact that I am trapped in a field with Nightmares bearing down upon me.
The dog shakes, and his glamour falls away like water flung from his fur. Under his disguise, my helpmate is a skeletal beast with holes where its eyes should be.
“Run,” it growls, “so we can chase.”
I want to, but much like the rest of the things I want my legs to do, running is no longer an option. If I could still run, I wouldn’t be alone on the night when Nightmares walk free. If I could still run, I’d be out in costume trick-or-treating with my friends.
“I can’t run.”
I hobble toward an oak that stands like a shadow in the fog.
The monstrous dog doesn’t stop me as I drop my crutches and pull myself onto the lowest branch. It doesn’t stop me as I try to heave myself higher.
“Faster!” it calls out to the Nightmares, which are almost upon me.
The only question left to answer is whether their running or my climbing is quicker.
In winter, Nesha could drape snows over every hill without fear, but in the summer, if she forgot herself and blew the white tops of dandelions gone to seed, if she laughed too freely and her cold breath spilled out, she would wither whole fields, blighting the crops her people needed to survive.
Her father built her a great tower with no windows through which her cold breath could escape, but Nesha wept at being alone and enclosed.
So Nesha left her tower and sought out her father in the great hall. Gazing at the fields she could see through the tall window before her, she said, “I do not belong in this place with its long months of warmth and sun.”
Though he knew she was right, the king wept, for he loved his daughter. “Nesha, stay. We can find a way.”
She turned and rested her head against her father’s shoulder, thinking of the windowless room and months indoors, of trying not to laugh for fear of the cold air that slipped through her lips. “No. I must go.”
The king’s warm tears fell onto her cheek, but he said nothing.
Nesha did not sigh or weep; she gazed out the window at the new plants in the fields, wondering why she had been cursed so cruelly.
The
