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  Along Came a Spider

  ( Transplanted Tales - 3 )

  Kate Serine

  Along came a spider…

  When Trish Muffet is attacked at a grisly crime scene, the last person she expects to come to her rescue is Nicky “Little Boy” Blue. But since walking away from everything two years before, Nicky’s been doling out vigilante justice as “The Spider,” taking on the vicious predators of the night in hopes it’ll lead him to his ultimate target – Vlad Dracula. And he needs Trish’s help.

  Although Nicky’s renegade style goes against everything Trish stands for, she’ll do what she must to bring Dracula down. With danger stalking her, Trish knows the only person she can count on is the one man who has the power to leave her breathless. There’s no way she’s letting this spider frighten her away…

  Along Came a Spider

  Transplanted Tales - 3

  by

  Kate SeRine

  Acknowledgments

  As always, many thanks to my friends, family, and fans. Your love for the Transplanted Tales inspires me! And a big high five to the amazing group at Kensington. It is an honor to work with every single one of you!

  Special thanks to my unbelievable agent, Nicole Resciniti. You keep me sane with your friendship, guidance, and encouragement. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Nic! I also need to thank my agency “siblings,” all very talented and supportive authors who have been there for me every step of the way.

  And speaking of being there, loads of hugs and kisses to Cecy Robson and Kait Ballenger—two incredibly talented authors whom I have the privilege to call my friends. Thanks for all the laughter on the good days and the encouraging hugs on the bad ones. Love you gals!

  Lastly, I have to take a moment to thank my dear friend Paul Parnell, who suggested the character of Rumpelstiltskin to me. Paul, I hope I did him justice! And special thanks to Kathryn Merkel for giving Rumpelstiltskin his “true” name.

  Prologue

  I remember darkness—deep, impenetrable. Not even a hint of ambient light in the void that had consumed me. And falling. I was tumbling through space and time in a nauseating spiral that forced the blood to my feet and sent another sort of blackness rushing toward me. Clinging desperately to consciousness, I curled into myself, wrapping my arms around my abdomen in an attempt to stop that sickening rush that made me want to vomit and sob at the same time.

  A scream of terror surged up from the center of my chest, but I bit it back, forcing myself to remain in control. I had to keep it together, could not let the fear consume me. That’s what my father had drilled into my head time and time again.

  You must control your fear, Beatrice, or your fear will control you. Never let your mind slip into the abyss where chaos reigns. . . .

  I’d been there once before and had clawed my way out of the chasm one agonizingly pitiful inch at a time. And now I was falling again—but this time the abyss was not of my own making.

  One moment I’d been playing on the floor of our cottage with my niece Mariella, and the next, my body had been snatched away from all I’d known and loved. I’d heard my family’s cries of surprise, caught the look of horror and panic in my father’s eyes as his arm shot out to grab my hand, but his fingertips had just barely brushed mine before I’d been jerked into the void.

  And then I was falling. In darkness.

  Suddenly there was light. A blinding flash that made me wince even though my eyes were already squeezed shut. Then a sudden impact jolted the breath from my lungs. I had to blink several times before I realized I was lying on my back in a field, staring up at a sky that was not familiar, at stars that didn’t shine nearly as brightly as they should have.

  Slowly, I sat up and looked around, seeing others nearby—just as dazed and disoriented as I was. They were Tales, some of whom I recognized from my little village. But we were no longer in Make Believe. That was clear. Gone was the scent of dew-kissed roses and sunshine on daisies. The air that now filled my lungs was stale, thick, heavy. The wind that whispered through the trees did not bring with it the laughter of fairies or the secrets of the pixies flitting about in the night. And the grass beneath me was no longer the velvety soft bed I’d lain upon as a child, watching the clouds drift lazily into fluffy white knights on pudgy steeds as they leisurely made their way to battle. Coarse and savage, these blades poked through my muslin dress, stabbing my skin like a thousand Lilliputian swords.

  “Are you hurt?”

  My gaze darted toward the sound of the voice. The man standing over me was devilishly handsome, his chiseled features stark and sharp, giving him an air of danger, but his dark amber eyes were kind as he gazed down at me.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, phrasing the question differently in response to my blank stare.

  This time I nodded and took the hand he extended, letting him pull me to my feet. “I think so.”

  “Good,” he said, the corner of his mouth hitching up in a mischievous grin that completely altered his countenance. He lifted his hand and wrapped one of my buttercup yellow ringlets around his index finger. “Hate to see harm come to a girl as pretty as you.”

  I felt my cheeks growing warm at the intensity of his gaze and quickly looked away, not wanting to peer too deeply into those amber eyes for fear of what I might see. “What has happened?” I asked, glancing around the crowd as confusion and panic began to make them uneasy, their frightened voices growing louder. “Where are we?”

  The man at my side shrugged and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Not in Make Believe, that’s for damned sure.”

  I let my gaze drift over his shoulder and saw a tall Tale I recognized from the story of Aladdin trying to take control of the rapidly deteriorating situation, his deep voice booming over the din of sorrow. “My friends—please! You must remain calm!”

  A woman with long black hair and eyes as blue as robins’ eggs hurried past me, glancing my way and giving me a terse nod before joining Aladdin as he tried to herd the crowd toward a series of carriages drawn by black horses. “That was Tess Little,” I breathed.

  “Little Red Riding Hood?” my companion asked, his brows arching with interest.

  I nodded. “Yes, but . . . Well, it can’t be! She disappeared almost a hundred years ago with the others.” My heart began to pound. “Have we been transplanted, too?”

  He shook his head. “No idea, but I’ll tell you one thing—I’m not letting them haul me in like a criminal just so I can find out. If I’ve broken out of Make Believe, I’m making the most of it.”

  At this, his eyes met and held mine. I felt the connection beginning and started to look away, but his gaze was so unguarded, so unapologetic, I let it come. And in that glimpse, I saw a soul so steadfast, so dauntless and true, that I gasped at the beauty of it.

  It was rare that a Tale let me past his defenses, rarer still that I was so taken with what I saw. But here was an intensely intelligent and quietly courageous man who could command respect from his friends and instill fear in the hearts of those who weren’t. He was also capable of genuine kindness and the deepest and most profound love. But I was shocked to see that he had absolutely no idea what a remarkable man he could be.

  “Want to come with me?” he asked, grasping my hand in his and severing the connection between my soul and his.

  I blinked at him, hardly daring to believe what he was saying. But more surprising was that I did want to go with him even though logic and reason warned me that such a thing was reckless and foolish. I swallowed hard, hating what I was about to say. “I cannot,” I told him, wishing I had the courage to flout propriety and take my chances with a man whose name I didn’t even know. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
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  He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. “Well, maybe some other time.” He backed away, grinning a little sadly as he released my hand, his fingertips touching mine for just a moment before he gave me a wink and turned away.

  “Wait!” I called, hurrying a few steps after him as he sauntered toward the tree line. “What’s your name?”

  He turned and offered me a rakishly charming grin that held more than a hint of mischief. “Nicky Blue.”

  “You there—with the curls!” I started at the voice behind me and whirled around to see Tess Little striding toward me, her long black duster flapping around her dark skirt and cherry red high-button boots. “Time to go.”

  I obediently moved toward the carriages with her. “Is it true?” I asked. “Have we been transplanted?”

  “Afraid so,” she replied. “But don’t worry—we have people with the FMA who will help you settle in.”

  “The FMA?”

  “Fairytale Management Authority,” she explained. “I’ll tell you everything on the way to headquarters. By the way—I’m Tess Little. But everyone calls me Red.”

  “Beatrice Muffet,” I replied, attempting a smile. “Everyone pretty much just calls me Beatrice. Or Ms. Muffet.” I chuckled a little. “Except my niece Mariella—she has trouble pronouncing my name.” My voice caught in my throat, the words lodging around the lump of sorrow that had rapidly developed at the thought of never seeing little Mari again. I coughed, forcing my emotions away, and blinked rapidly to clear the tears that pricked the corner of my eyes. “She calls me Trish.”

  Tess motioned me toward the last remaining carriage. “Well, welcome to the Here and Now, Trish.”

  I placed my foot on the step, but paused and turned to search for Nicky Blue, hoping that perhaps he had changed his mind and had decided to come with the rest of us after all. My heart sank when I didn’t see him. I sighed, a part of me already regretting that I hadn’t gone with him. But it was too late to change my mind. Nicky Blue had vanished, having faded deep into the shadows like a spider in the night.

  Chapter One

  I pulled on a pair of latex gloves, the no-nonsense snap as comforting as always. As the head of Forensics for the Fairytale Management Authority, I never quite knew what I might find at a crime scene, but as I strode toward the shadowy figure standing at the mouth of the narrow alley on Chicago’s South Side, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, mentally preparing myself for what always came next.

  “What do we have, Grimm?”

  Nate Grimm, the FMA’s lead detective and part-time Reaper, doffed his fedora and ran a hand through his dark hair, stirring the shadows that surrounded him. “It’s not good, Trish.”

  I raised my brows, perplexed by the fact that he seemed a little distressed. The guy had been a Reaper for centuries. Seeing him rattled by death was enough to drop a cold stone of dread smack-dab in the middle of my stomach. “Is that why you called me personally instead of going through headquarters?”

  He nodded. “I didn’t want Red to show up here.”

  That stone of dread got a little heavier. If he was keeping something from his fiancée, who was six months pregnant with his child, this was going to be even worse than I’d thought. “She’ll be here eventually,” I told him. “I was in the lab when you called. My assistant knows I went out. Tess is probably already on her way, and she’s going to be seriously pissed when she finds out you were trying to keep this from her.”

  Nate placed his fedora back on his head, pulling it down a little over his eyes. “Come take a look and you’ll know why.”

  I followed him into the alley and felt the hair on my arms begin to rise even though I was bundled up against Chicago’s bone-numbing February winds. I’d been working for the FMA as a coroner and forensics investigator for going on a century, but that initial hit of negative energy surrounding a violent death still had the power to bring me to my knees if I let it get to me. And this one was particularly nasty, sending a chill of apprehension up and down my spine. I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat and focused on the details of the crime scene, making note of everything I saw and cataloging it in my head to include in the report I’d write later that night.

  I glanced up as I walked, searching the network of fire escapes for anyone who might be lingering to watch as his deeds were discovered by the authorities, but the rusting ladders were deserted. And no one peeked out from behind the curtains of the dilapidated apartment building. Apparently, whatever had occurred had gone down quietly, not drawing the attention of any of the people living in the low-rent apartments.

  Dumpsters heavy with trash that wouldn’t be picked up until morning lined the length of the alley in evenly spaced groups of two. It was just beyond one of these groupings in the darkest part of the alley that Nate paused and jerked his chin toward the shadows. “There.”

  I peered into the darkness and gasped, my arm coming up reflexively so I could bury my nose in the sleeve of my FMA standard-issue wool pea coat. “Shit.”

  I shook my head slightly, clearing away my emotional response, and ran the facts in my head. White male, medium build, sandy blond hair. Deceased. But the manner of his death was what got me. His throat had been ripped open. No, that wasn’t exactly true. It had been gnawed open. And his blood had been drained from his body so quickly, his skin had shriveled and sunken in upon itself.

  Frowning, I pulled my small flashlight from my pocket, shining it on the ground, the wall, the dumpsters, but there were no blood splatters that I could see in the immediate area. He’d either been killed elsewhere and dumped here, or drained so swiftly no blood had even dripped from the wounds. Either way, not good. I’d seen wounds like this before and knew the kind of creature behind it.

  “Vampire,” I announced, a wave of apprehension washing over me again as I uttered the word aloud. I heard Nate curse roundly under his breath. There was no shortage of vampires that had crossed over from the folklore of Make Believe—and even some who’d already been hanging out in the Here and Now long before we ever showed up—but their attacks rarely resulted in death. We made damned sure that our bloodsuckers were rehabilitated and taught how to control their cravings to keep them from showing up in the Ordinaries’ tabloid newspapers and blowing our cover among the humans.

  Every once in a while one would lose it and we’d need to call in FMA’s Damage Control agents to spin some ridiculous story that was promptly debunked and then forgotten. But this particular attack—so savage and brutal—wasn’t like anything I’d seen in decades. Not since—

  “Dracula,” Nate growled. “He’s back, isn’t he?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the Reaper, understanding the deadly edge in his voice. It’d been almost two years since the infamous vampire had gone to ground after being involved in a series of killings perpetrated by an enchantress named Sebille Fenwick. Nate had killed Sebille when she’d tried to add Red to her list of victims, but a radical group of Tales had tried to raise her from the dead a few months ago, believing she would lead them to a new day where Tales ruled supreme in our adopted world. I’d been around to witness that incident first-hand, having nearly become one of Sebille’s victims myself. But Lavender Seelie, Cinderella’s former fairy godmother and the reason why we’d been transplanted in the first place, had killed Sebille for good, making it impossible for her to ever return.

  Knowing that Sebille and Dracula had been in league once before, I’d done a full investigation of the events at The Refuge, but had found no connection between Vlad Dracula and the plot to resurrect Sebille Fenwick. The findings were comforting in that he hadn’t been behind the plan, but had also left me with more questions.

  Like what the hell Dracula had been up to since he’d disappeared.

  There’d been murmurings of sightings now and then—but they always turned out to be unsubstantiated, Tales who’d been spooked and just blamed the ultimate villain at large. What was indisputable, however, were
accounts of Ordinary women found dazed and confused with two puncture wounds in their skin. Unfortunately, even then we couldn’t confirm anything beyond that a Tale was to blame.

  I had my suspicions that Vlad was responsible, taunting us, leaving a trail of blood-soaked bread crumbs as part of his game to draw Red out so he could make his move and finally claim her for his own. I couldn’t prove it, but my findings would’ve been enough to send Tess after him. She had a score to settle and was determined to bring him down at any cost—even if it put her in serious danger of getting herself killed.

  Which was why I’d been doctoring my reports and burying any evidence that could’ve been even remotely connected to the bloodsucker of legend.

  I’d promised Nate I’d do whatever I could to keep Tess safe, and I was going to keep that promise no matter what. Not just because I’d struck a deal with Death or because Tess Little was my closest friend and more like a sister to me than my own back in Make Believe. The fact was, we Tales needed her. She was one of the only reasons we had it as good as we did in the Here and Now, and I’d protect that safety and security with my life if I had to.

  “Shit,” Nate muttered. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

  I turned toward the mouth of the alley and saw Red’s brand-new Range Rover screeching to a halt, a black FMA van right behind her. “I’ll get what I can from the victim,” I told Nate. “Then you can take his soul.”

  Nate gave me a tight nod, then headed toward Red, starting his apology before he’d even reached her. I grinned for a moment, imagining the kind of hell Nate was catching, then turned back to the victim. The dead man was a Tale—the auralike impression Tales could sense in one another still hovered around him, although it was growing faint. I analyzed the blurring edges. He’d been dead only about an hour.