Thanksgiving

By Lizzy Ford

Half angel. Half demon. 100% teenager.

On Halloween, Esme's life changed.

This Thanksgiving, she'll count her blessings - and her curses.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lizzy Ford
• Release date: Nov 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781623783495

Lizzy Ford

I breathe stories. I dream them. If it were possible, I'd eat them, too. (I'm pretty sure they'd taste like cotton candy.) I can't escape them - they're everywhere! Which is why I write! I was born to bring the crazy worlds and people in my mind to life, and I love sharing them with as many people as I can.I'm also the bestselling, award winning, internationally acclaimed author of over sixty ... eighty ... ninety titles and counting. I write speculative fiction in multiple subgenres of romance and fantasy, contemporary fiction, books for both teens and adults, and just about anything else I feel like writing. If I can imagine it, I can write it!I live in the desert of southern Arizona with two dogs and two cats!My books can be found in every major ereader library, to include: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, Kobo, Sony and Smashwords.

Book preview

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

Esme Novella Trilogy

Lizzy Ford

Captured Press

Esme copyright ©2017 by Lizzy Ford

Cover model: Esme Letitia Phillips, https://www.facebook.com/misstyneandwear/

Cover photography: © 2016 by David Telford of Cos Togs, https://www.facebook.com/CosTogs/

Cover design copyright © 2017 by Lizzy Ford

Beta edition

Published by Captured Press

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Any references to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Thanksgiving

Also By Lizzy Ford

About the Author

Thanksgiving

I’m relieved when I wake up. My dream was pretty crazy, even for me. I shift around in my pink princess bed and frown. I feel like a mummy trapped inside layers of gauze. Opening my eyes, I struggle out of the blankets encasing me .

My mom is curled up in the bed beside me and in her arms, Taco, who remains in the form of a miniature werewolf. Two empty mugs are rimmed with the telltale chocolate streaks of hot cocoa. Hot cocoa is to angels what alcohol is to humans. If my mom downed both mugs, she had to have been a mess.

Uneasiness fills me, and I look towards the fireplace. Water and ashes have mixed to form a puddle in front of the hearth.

It wasn’t a dream, I whisper. My mind fills with horrible images of hell, brimstone – and the goat-hooved, horned monster that is my real father. I look down at myself and begin to wonder when I’ll start to grow horns or hooves or to devour the souls of the innocent.

My mother stirs at the sound of my voice and pushes herself up onto her elbows. Her eyes are bloodshot, as if she spent the night crying before falling asleep beside me.

She gazes at me, distraught.

I’m not sure what to say.

Taco wakes up and crawls into my lap. I pick him up and stare into his blank eyes.

You’re a familiar, I murmur. Or is he half-familiar? And that’s why he has issues with life?

Are you okay, angel? my mom asks and sits up.

What part of sleeping with the devil sounded like a good idea? I retort, unable to wrap my head around the idea. I know my mom can be gullible but … the devil?

He seemed really nice, she replies.

You slept with the devil because he seemed nice?

The devil isn’t who you think he is, she says. "He takes the form of someone you want to trust. It’s how he manages to draw so many people to him. You don’t know it’s too late, until it is too late."

I thought it was bad when my mom admitted to sleeping with someone she thought loved her after a few days together. But this is so much worse.

Am I going to hell? I whisper, my eyes watering.

No, angel, you’re not, she says with conviction. You’re my child, too. Angels can’t go to hell.

Can half of me go?

She wraps her arms around me. No, angel. You’re safe here. I promise you that.

Until he finds me.

She offers no counter argument, which leaves me with the impression she doesn’t want to tell me how bad it is if that happens.

Why would he want me anyway? I ask. If I can’t go to hell, and I’m not a real demon, then what value am I to him?

He uses people to get what he wants. He’ll have a plan to use you, too.

I’m not at all satisfied with that response, either. I don’t feel like I’m an angel or a demon. I don’t feel like I’m anything but a stupid teenage human who can’t get life right.

I guess we’re never going on vacation, I murmur. Even if Oscar can run things.

Oh, of course we will! There are two bed and breakfasts in town. That’s been my plan for a while.

I roll my eyes. It’s not exactly my idea of a vacation. Do I have demonic powers? I ask. I have to admit the image of stabbing Addison and her friends with fiery pitchforks has some appeal.

If you do, they’re similar to your angelic abilities. Very limited.

If I can’t send my classmates to hell, what use is it being a demon? I mutter, disappointed. I pull away from her hug. For the first time in my life, I take no comfort at all in my mom’s embrace. Her soothing nature does nothing to soften the turmoil building within me.

Everything will be okay, my mom says.

I gaze at her skeptically. How so? Can you go back in time and warn yourself not to sleep with the devil, no matter how nice he seems? Or undo whatever I did during the fire that told him where to find me?

No, angel. But I brought in the only other two people who can protect you.

My eyebrows shoot up. Werewolves?

She nods solemnly. Mortal enemies of demons and protectors of angels. Before the werewolves began to die off, every angel had a werewolf companion.

Was Oscar yours?

No. There aren’t enough of them anymore to protect all the angels. When I moved here after you were born, I didn’t need a companion, because we’re on sacred ground. But I began to suspect I’d need help before you turn eighteen. If you decided to leave Cherryville, your father could find you. I prayed for a companion, someone to protect you, if I can’t, and two of them appeared.

I gasp. Does this mean Jasper’s my companion, and he’ll never leave?

Not unless you send him away, she says with a smile.

I like that thought. I have a permanent friend.

My eyes drift to Taco, whose tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth. His tail is wagging. He’s been my friend and companion since I was five. I love him, but I feel like he’s betrayed me. If he could talk, would he have told me what I am? Or what he is?

Is he an outcast from the familiar community, like I am from the human community? Because he’s not a normal anything from what I can tell, and he lives on sacred ground, where demons allegedly can’t go.

Or does living here cause him to short out somehow?

What happens now? I ask, afraid to imagine the alternatives.

Life goes on as it has, my mom responds. If your father finds you, we’ll deal with it. Until we know for certain he knows you’re here, we’ll continue to live as we have.

And here I thought being bullied at school was the worst that could happen to me this year.

Werewolves don’t like demons, and demons don’t like werewolves. That’s why I didn’t like Oscar when I met him, I muse. "He’s not the serial killer. I am. Or could be."

No, angel, you’re not. Being from both worlds means you can choose who you want to be.

I want to be a normal human! I want to go on disappointing dates to trite movies and complain about a bad hair day or homework or not being able to find matching socks.

You never wear matching socks, even when I buy them.

That’s not the point, mom! I want to be like everyone else.

Esme, you’ve never been like everyone else and never will be, my mom says softly. You have the potential to be so much more than any of them will ever be.

I don’t believe that at all. Thus far, I’ve lost the battle of life, and I can’t help feeling a sense of deep sorrow. If I don’t fit in with humans or angels and I assume I won’t fit in with real demons, where do I fit in? I hate the despair in my voice and how my eyes fill with tears.

You fit in with a mother who loves you and animals who adore you and two werewolves who want to be your friends.

Some part of me probably knows this makes sense, but I’m too emotional to care right now. Can the animals tell what I am?

I imagine so. Animals have a good sense for these things, she replies. But they’ve never said anything to me except that they all love you.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I can never leave here, can I?

My mom doesn’t have an answer to that.

I’ve never wanted to leave here, but I also never thought my mom not wanting to take me to the mall had anything to do with the fact my demon father might find me, if I leave town. I’ll never go to the theatre or out to eat at the nicer restaurants in the nearest big towns.

I love it here. But there’s a difference between being where I want to be and not being able to leave.

I don’t know what to think, except I drew the short end of the stick in every area of my life. I can’t converse with animals. I probably can’t send my classmates to hell. I can’t leave town, and I’ll never be a normal human.

What