The Keepers: Christmas in Salem

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham

“An incredible storyteller”

—Los Angeles Daily News

“This delightfully offbeat yet sometimes unexpected story whips up its own brand of holiday magic.”

—Library Journal on Home in Time for Christmas

Praise for Deborah LeBlanc

“The Wolven seamlessly weaves a remarkably well-detailed mythology into the recent history of New Orleans. LeBlanc’s dialogue sparkles and the sexual chemistry between Shauna and Danyon is delicious.” —RT Book Reviews on The Wolven

Praise for Kathleen Pickering

“A novel story line, excellent description, and lots of sexual tension make this an irresistible story readers won’t want to put down.”

—RT Book Reviews on Where It Began

Praise for Beth Ciotta

“Well-drawn characters … sparks fly. A well-plotted raunchy adventure.”

—Publishers Weekly on Out of Eden

HEATHER GRAHAM

New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than one hundred novels. An avid scuba diver, ballroom dancer and a mother of five, she still enjoys her south Florida home, but loves to travel, as well. Check out her website, theoriginalheathergraham.com.

DEBORAH LeBLANC

This award-winning author is the creator of the LeBlanc Literacy Challenge, an annual campaign designed to encourage people to read, and Literacy Inc., a nonprofit organization that fights illiteracy in America’s teens. For more information go to www.deborahleblanc.com and www.literacyinc.com.

KATHLEEN PICKERING

Believing that stories are excellent tools for teaching life lessons while entertaining, Kathleen wants her characters to overcome their life challenges with dignity, grace and a good dose of humor to deserve that special “happily-ever-after” ending.

BETH CIOTTA

Dubbed “fun and sexy” by Publisher’s Weekly, Beth specializes in writing romantic comedy with a twist of suspense. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, two zany dogs and a crazy cat. To learn more about her colorful life, visit her website at www.bethciotta.com.

The Keepers: Christmas in Salem
Do You Fear What I Fear?

Heather Graham

The Fright Before Christmas

Deborah LeBlanc

Unholy Night

Kathleen Pickering

Stalking in a Winter Wonderland

Beth Ciotta

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Praise

About the Authors

Title Page

Do You Fear What I Fear?

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

The Fright Before Christmas

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Unholy Night

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Stalking in a Winter Wonderland

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Copyright

Do You Fear What I Fear?

Heather Graham

Dear Reader,

People come in all shapes and sizes. They have different backgrounds, different homes and different beliefs. But the message of the holiday season transcends all those differences. The season speaks to us in the language of peace and love.

No matter what we believe, this is inherently true; our time on earth is short, and the greatest gifts we can give focus on are health, peace and happiness. Our Keepers are certainly different. Their charges are extremely different.

But in all ways, we hope that they’ll bring the same message: may you have a wonderful holiday season; may all remember those who need our help; and to whomever we pray, may we pray for peace to all men and find it within ourselves.

Not, of course, that our Keepers won’t have a little trouble getting there … Then again, sometimes, don’t we all?

We hope you enjoy, that your trials and tribulations will be small, and that you’ll have the best holiday season ever!

Best,

Heather Graham

For families everywhere, in every sense of the word family. Sometimes we’re bonded by blood, and sometimes by friendship and caring.

Prologue

Winters came with a vengeance to Salem, Massachusetts. When settlers had first come to the shores of the then colony, many had not survived. Those who had settled Salem and her environs had been devout Puritans, and they had seen the Devil in the darkness, in the forests that surrounded the land they worked so hard to cultivate. They were, in fact, so convinced that the Devil was in the forest that they believed he also somehow entered their homes—and from this belief came the terror of the witch trials. But people learned the bitter lesson of the cruelty they had perpetuated. Salem’s name became famous in history, the city itself a place dedicated to the awareness of man’s inhumanity to man, where people could learn from the past so that they never again allowed such cruelty and injustice to occur.

By the twenty-first century, the city welcomed any and all, embracing those of different ethnicities and becoming a place where every religion was welcome, from Wicca to Buddhism to the more traditional forms of worship.

Even now, it was easy to understand how people without electric lights, without communication, could play on old grievances, look around the woods where natives they didn’t understand were lurking, where God only knew what might emerge from the never-ending forests and the land beyond, and fear what they didn’t comprehend. When winter came, the wind howled and ice formed on houses. They sat huddled before their fires and feared what lay beyond.

When winter was at its height, darkness came by late afternoon, and they shivered in their homes and prayed for dawn. Then.

But this was now.

And the darkness had never been anything like this.

At first the darkness had seemed to come normally. October arrived, and with it Halloween, Salem’s favorite holiday. November followed, and daylight savings time was gone. Then winter came, and with it, shorter days.

And that was when the darkness began to extend its reign.

People would get to work, stare at the sky and say, “Wow. It’s not light yet.”

Children would get out of school in the afternoon and say, “Wow. It’s dark already.”

The mayor called the governor; the governor called the president.

The president called the experts at NASA.

But they were all completely stymied. Because the darkness had settled only over Salem, Massachusetts.

For the most part, the citizens of that fair and historic city lived with it. But each day they grew a little more concerned, a little edgier. They became prone to rudeness, to attacking one another. They behaved the way people had a way of behaving whenever they were …

Afraid.

With winter came the holiday season. For the city’s Wiccan community, the winter solstice was the day of highest importance, and while they tried to make it a time of celebration, many were short-tempered, their moods as dark as the sky. Hanukkah was not much better. Now as the community moved to welcome Christmas, their shared but unspoken fear was that Christmas Day would dawn with complete darkness, and rather than being the celebration of rebirth it was meant to be, Christmas would bring something evil leaking from the stygian darkness that enveloped the city.

And even in this enlightened day, they began to wonder.

Was the Devil more than a myth, and was he running loose in the world?

Was he back wreaking havoc in the Salem woods—this time for real?

Chapter 1

The bulb Samantha Mycroft was trying to replace was just above her reach. She swore softly—and then felt guilty.

It was Christmas Eve. One was not supposed to swear on Christmas Eve. In the front yard, next to the tall and beautiful pine she was trying to decorate, the motion-activated Santa was singing in Bing Crosby’s voice, cheerfully telling the story of the Little Drummer Boy.

She should not be cursing on Christmas Eve, she thought again.

But, she thought, pausing to look at the sky, this was a most unusual Christmas Eve.

It was dark. Darkness was to be expected at night, of course.

But the darkness had started coming earlier and earlier. At first it had been natural, as fall had come to Salem. But four in the afternoon had become two. And where at first the sun had come out at six in the morning, six had become seven. Then eight. Then nine.

Finally there had been just an hour of light at midafternoon, and today, Christmas Eve, she wondered if even that hour would come, because it had gone from being one hour to fifty minutes, then forty, then thirty… .

They kept the Christmas lights on 24/7, which, Samantha was convinced, was why her Never Burn Out! Christmas lights were burning out.

She managed to reach the offending bulb and change it, and then, from her perch atop the ladder, looked up at the sky again.

The news, of course, was filled with the phenomenon. It was centered on Salem, but it had begun spreading—though to a lesser degree—south toward Boston and north toward the Gloucester area. None of the rest of the country was any darker than it normally was at this time of year. Naturally, scientists and meteorologists were having a field day with the situation. They all had theories that explained what was going on, from the extremely esoteric to a strange type of sun flare. How a flare could cause such darkness, Sam didn’t know.

It didn’t matter.

Their theories were all wrong; she knew that much. Whatever was going on in Salem was being caused by a miscreant in the Otherworld.

“Hey! Pretty lights!”

She heard the deep voice and for a moment, she froze. She knew that voice, though she hadn’t heard it in years. It was rich and fluid; it had made her laugh.

And its absence from her life had, once upon a time, made her cry.

She turned quickly, then remembered that she was on a ladder and grasped hold of it, absolutely determined that she wouldn’t humiliate herself by falling off and landing at his feet.

With all the control she could muster, she turned regally to look down.

Maybe she was imagining that it was him… . He had disappeared on a Christmas Eve, exactly two years ago now.

She’d imagined nothing.

There he was. Daniel Riverton in the flesh.

As if on cue, the stupid Santa began singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”

Daniel was tall and appeared lean, but she knew from experience that his shoulders were broad, his chest and arms muscled and honed, and he could move with incredible grace, speed and agility. He was the epitome of “tall, dark and handsome.”

Naturally.

Because Daniel was a vampire. And an exceptional one.

He was striking as only a vampire could be; his hair was coal dark and his eyes were that burning, intense hazel often seen among his kind. When he was passionate or angry, the hazel burned with a golden light that seemed more intense than the sun. He looked up at her now, those eyes of his enigmatic, a slight smile curving his lips.

Leave it to Daniel to come back smiling. She wanted to smack him—smack that smile from his face.

And she also wanted to touch him, feel his arms around her again, look up at him and smile and laugh because they were a duo, soul mates.

Yeah, so much for that.

“How are you, Sam?” he asked softly.

“Fine. What are you doing back in Salem?” she demanded curtly.

It would have been nice if he’d said something like I tried to survive without you but I couldn’t. I had to come back to Salem. I don’t care about rules or regulations or if we’re damned for all time. I can’t live without you.

He didn’t.

“I was called back,” he told her.

“Oh?” she demanded. She was the Salem Keeper of the Vampires. If anyone had been called back, she should have known about it.

“My father,” he explained.

His father. Great. His father, who hadn’t approved of a vampire dating a vampire Keeper. Her parents hadn’t approved, either, of course. But they had kept their disapproval fairly quiet, telling her that she had to make her own decisions about life.

She shouldn’t have had to take on the Keeper role for years, but the International Council had been formed and her parents—having managed the area exceptionally well since their arrival in response to the insanity of the witch trials—had been called to be part of that council. That left her generation, the younger generation, to take on their responsibilities far too soon.

Justin Riverton, Daniel’s father, was a pillar of the community. Or had been. Like her parents, he was now serving on the International Council. Everything, all those departures, had happened at around the same time. Daniel, fresh out of law school, had been swept up in the whole council thing, and now, while he didn’t sit on the council, he worked for it, going from place to place to settle vampire affairs whenever trouble arose and no local Keeper was at hand.

But the real issue was the age-old taboo against Keepers having relationships with their charges.

That was changing now in many places—newer places than Salem, where the old ways died very slowly.

She knew that everyone had considered what she and Daniel shared to be nothing but a fling—a silly school thing that would end. They were both excellent students, bright and responsible from an early age. When it was time for them to end it, they would end it.

Despite that prevailing belief, Sam was pretty sure that both her parents and Daniel’s had conspired to keep them apart. And, she was forced to admit, her attitude might have had something to do with it. Maybe she’d pushed too hard in her desire for some kind of passionate declaration from him. She’d wanted him to tell her that what they had was too unique, too incredible … too passionate … for him to turn his back on her and leave.

Hadn’t happened.

So the fact that he was here now was doubly galling. Not only was she embarrassed not to know he was on the way, his presence meant that the council believed she couldn’t keep her affairs, her responsibilities as a Keeper—her charges—in order. That what was happening here was somehow her fault.

Which was ridiculous. Vampires might be exceptionally fond of darkness, but they were not known to have any special powers to create it.

“Well. Nice to see you,” she said. There was no reason for her to remain on the ladder—she’d changed the bulb. If she didn’t come down, she would look like a coward.

Sam was the oldest of the new generation of Keepers now in charge of Salem’s Otherworld. It wasn’t an actual title or position, but with all the changes that had taken place, she was more or less the “Keeper of the Keepers.” She was supposed to be calm, cool, stoic—wise at all times. Looking like a coward—or appearing unable to handle Daniel’s sudden reappearance in Salem on Christmas Eve—just wouldn’t do.

She willed her hands not to shake as she started to descend. Maybe that wasn’t such a great plan. She was tall, nearly six feet. But Daniel, though only about six-three, seemed to tower over her. And he was standing way too close to the foot of the ladder. He might have moved to give her a little more personal space, but he didn’t.

“Uh, good to see you, but I have things to do, so …?” she said.

He smiled—well aware that he was blocking her path back to the house. “It’s nice to see you, too. I wanted you to know that, and that I was back in town. I guess we both have things to do.”

“Thanks. Now if you don’t mind, you’re blocking my way into my house,” she told him.

Ignoring her, he asked, “Still the best tour guide in the city?”

“You know I love my heritage,” she told him.

He grinned and said in a very proper tour guide voice, “In the winter of 1623, a fishing village was established by the Dorchester Company on the shores of Cape Ann. The settlers struggled with the windy, stormy, rock-strewn area, and then a man named Roger Conant led a group to this fertile spot at the mouth of the Naumkeag River. At first they called it Naumkeag, the native word for ‘fishing place.’ And then they chose Salem, for shalom, meaning ‘peace.’” He shrugged. “Well, after so many years of peace—years of infamy, too—now we have … this. This darkness.”

“Is it dark?” Sam asked, her voice dripping sarcasm. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He stared at her. “I know that you’ve noticed.”

“Good. Then you don’t need to be concerned.”

“It’s most likely not a vampire matter,” he said.

“Which is great—you’ll be even less necessary.”

“I never wanted us to be hateful toward each other,” he said quietly.

Good old Daniel. Always controlled. She wanted him to be hateful—to rage against the powers and circumstances that had separated them. Apparently she wasn’t going to get her wish.

“I’m not being hateful,” she said with a shrug. “That would require me to actually feel something about you. Please, don’t be concerned on that account—I do not hate you. Frankly, and not to be rude, I really don’t think about you at all.”

What a lie! She missed him every day of her life. Every single day she hurt, trying to figure out exactly what happened, how it had happened …

“Actually,” he said. “That was … a smidgen rude.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just busy. Seriously, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.”

He stepped aside. “I’m staying down the street,” he said.

The Riverton house had sat empty now for some time, ever since Daniel’s parents had joined the council and he had followed, leaving her behind.

“How nice that you still have the house,” she said.

He smiled, looking down at her. It was that slow, easy, somehow rakish smile that he had always given her. There was something in that smile that seemed to speak of a unique, sensual relationship, of things shared that were incredibly special and wonderful. She saw all that and more in the smile that he gave her… .

Her—and probably dozens of others.

“Happy Christmas Eve,” he told her.

“Thanks. You, too.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Soon?”

“At your party, of course. I got the invitation. I remember your family’s Christmas parties—I’ve missed them.”

How the hell had he gotten an invitation?

Because he was on the damned mailing list. The e-vites had gone out automatically.

Great—just great. He’d not only walked back in on her today—she would see him again tonight.

Oh, joy.

Sam managed to escape him and hurried along the path to the house, willing herself not to trip. It was a cold winter. Plenty of snow had fallen already, snow too easily turned to ice. She would not embarrass herself in front of him by slipping on the ice and landing flat on her backside.

As he walked away, the stupid Santa began singing again: “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.”

She somehow managed to refrain from yelling at it.

Forget Daniel Riverton, she told herself. She would do exactly that.

She had to.

Okay, just take a minute, she told herself. Take a minute; take a deep breath. Stop shaking. They had been so crazily, ridiculously in love. They’d spent all their time together. And once they’d gone away to college, they’d managed to slip away on regular “excursions,” once just to Boston, once to New York City and one glorious time to England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales. There was nothing she hadn’t loved about them together, sleeping together, waking together, shivering through horror movies, traveling and meeting interesting people along the way.

Even then, though, there were Others who had lifted their brows in disapproval.

What did they know? Mixed marriages were springing up everywhere.

She gave herself a firm mental shake; she was doing just fine. She was respected—she knew that most in the Other community gave her a thumbs-up. People still kept a wary eye on her less experienced cousins, but she loved them and knew that they would be fine, too—even June, who tried hard to appear strong, though she still felt overwhelmed by her Keeper role.

Sam made a note in her mind to make sure that the walkway was free of ice by this evening. She couldn’t have any eighty-year-olds—human or Other—crashing down and breaking a hip.

Tonight was traditionally a huge night for the Mycroft family and for the local Other community—and for those who knew about it and embraced it.

Salem was, in Sam’s opinion, an exceptionally fine community, and she felt privileged to be a Keeper here. Yes, at one time the Puritans had persecuted and executed poor human beings who were no more witches than they were angels. But that dark past had ultimately enlightened future generations. Now the city was filled with people of every religion, including the Wiccans—popularly if inaccurately identified as witches—whose presence had done so much to enhance the commercial value of what was now a tourist mecca. Salem was also home to many different Others, from vampires and werewolves to leprechauns, gnomes, selkies and more.

Every Christmas Eve—for centuries now—the Mycroft family had hosted a party celebrating faith, life, belief and love. The guests were of many faiths and many species—the requirement for the human guests, of course, was that they were among the few who knew about the Other community and respected its code of silence.

The world had come a long way from the days of the Salem witch trials—but not far enough. Knowing that your next-door neighbor was a vampire wouldn’t sit well with those who pictured vampires only as vicious bloodsuckers. They could never comprehend that the average, modern-day vampire was an upstanding member of the community—just one who had to survive on a great deal of slaughterhouse blood. Thankfully, due to the council and the widespread alliances that had been formed over the years, that commodity was readily available as long as you knew where to shop.

The minute she got inside, Sam leaned against the door and exhaled.

It was going to be a trying day and an even more difficult night, and she resented the hell out of that. Ever since she had been a small child, she had loved the Christmas season. But this year …

There was the darkness. And the suggestion that it might be caused by a vampire, and that she was failing in her duties as Keeper of the Vampires.

And now …

Daniel was back.

“Think of him as no more than a pesky fly that needs to be swatted,” she said aloud.

But even so, there were other problems. Her cousins were distracted, the cousins who should have been helping her.

This was the year Katie Sue was waiting for the love of her life, a selkie who could only return to land once every seven years. Talk about your long-distance relationships, Sam thought. But in truth, she was slightly jealous. Katie Sue was the selkie Keeper and she didn’t give a damn. She was in love with a selkie, and the hell with anyone who objected.

Her cousin June was just back from Europe; as Keeper of the Witches—the real witches, not the city’s many practicing Wiccans—she had been studying Celtic ways. She’d also, Sam thought, run away. She’d been madly in love, as well—only to find out the entire relationship had been the result of a spell.

And then, of course, there was her other cousin Rebekah whose greatest rival was also the man she loved, rendering any attempt at romance pointless.

None of them seemed to be lucky in love. Well, Katie Sue thought she was lucky—if seeing the one you loved once every seven years counted as luck.

She straightened. She was being too hard on herself and her cousins. They were good Keepers—especially considering the way they’d expected to have many more years to prepare and had simply been thrown into the fray when the International Council had been formed. They were just … Well, they had their own secret demons living in their souls, but they were able to step up to the plate when they needed.

And so what if Daniel was back? She still had matters to attend to. Mycroft House, first of all. There was a party tonight, darkness or no darkness, and she intended to be ready.

She looked around. The house was beautiful, and she allowed herself a moment’s pride.

It was an old house, of course. One of the oldest in Salem. The ceilings were low, and there were no closets in the upstairs bedrooms—the original settlers had used wardrobes and trunks. Back then, bedrooms were not elegant places of repose as they were now. They were where you slept when you weren’t working. The original house had consisted of a central hallway running front to back, a left room and a right room downstairs, and two bedrooms upstairs, along with a cellar and an attic. An addition in the early 1800s had given it a back wing and an upstairs apartment. Right now a gorgeous pine tree sparkled with lights to her right, while a menorah flickered from the mantel. Hard to know when to light the candles when you had a day without sundown. Both religious and secular adornments filled the house, which was colorful and festive—and demonstrated a respect for just about every belief out there.

She’d baked cookies and cakes, so the air was filled with the wonderful aromas of sugar and cinnamon and all things good.

She was ready.

Except, of course, for the last errand she had to run before welcoming her guests for the evening.

She was still leaning against the door when it began to open. She moved away quickly, startled for a moment, even a bit frightened, and then belatedly aware that it had to be her cousin June.

“Hey!” Sam said, jumping back and throwing the door open.

“Oh, good,” June said. “You’re still here. I was afraid I’d get here and you’d be gone already and I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I was about to head out, but thank you for coming over. I really do have to run out for a bit. You’re a doll for helping out, and I really need you. This group … You never know how soon people will start showing up. Give Johnny Fields a call. I pay him to keep the ice and snow off the walk. You don’t need to do anything, really, except verify that he’ll be here and do it. There’s a ridiculous amount of food in the kitchen. Everything’s ready to go—juice, eggnog, ‘special’ Bloody Mary mix and regular Bloody Mary mix. I should be back in plenty of time, but in case I’m not, you can go ahead and start serving.”

June was as pretty as a picture; she looked like a gorgeous gamin. Of all the cousins, she was the tiniest. She was also …

Eyes wide, June interrupted Sam’s thoughts. “Okay, but please hurry. I’m not the hostess you are.”

June was just a little overwhelmed, Sam told herself again. She tried so hard to appear refreshed and happy to be home, but coming back had been hard for her.

She loved her craft and her witches. Despite popular belief, even the real ones tended to love the earth, nature and being kind to their fellow man.

Sam offered her a smile. “You’re friendly, beautiful and a sweetheart. You’re the perfect hostess. The older ladies from the Baptist church sometimes show up early, but they’re sweethearts and easy to talk to. The Catholic crew tends to come late, and it’s hard to figure exactly when the Protestant groups will arrive. Rabbi Solomon comes really early sometimes, too. I don’t expect any of the Others to arrive too early, but every once in a while the leprechauns are feeling feisty. Don’t let them goad the Baptists. Okay, I’m off. I’ll be back quickly, I promise. I just have to pick up that Christmas mix CD from Mica and the cold-cut platter from the grocery store.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” June assured her, though she didn’t sound terribly convinced.

Sam turned and fled the house—and her too-vivid memories of Daniel’s return.

She was already in the historic district—Mycroft House was a federal landmark property. All she had to do was hurry down Essex Street to reach Ye Olde Tyme Shoppe, the establishment owned by her friend, Mica Templeton. Mica was a witch—a real witch, not a Wiccan. There was a world of difference. One was a state of being, while the other was a religious choice.