Death's Kiss

by McKenzie Hunter

  “You don’t have to tell Madison when I miss a meeting. She’s not medical power of attorney. I am.”

  “These sessions were court-ordered, so you don’t have the same rights,” he said coolly.

  After several moments of silence, he asked, “Are you still meditating?”

  I nodded.

  “Drinking?”

  “I don’t understand why that is even your concern.”

  “You have a control problem, and alcohol compromises control. From past reports, you’ve had problems before. Magic isn’t something you play with, Erin, and your situation is even more difficult. I can get you a prescrip—”

  “I don’t need a goddamn prescription. Sorry.” It all came out as a long outburst that I ended with a sorry, using it more as punctuation than an actual show of remorse.

  “I don’t even think about possessing magic for myself anymore. I know that for me it will always be fleeting. That I will never have it indefinitely and at my disposal. And when I use magic, I only borrow it from one source, Cory, my best friend, and I would never take his magic as my own.” I didn’t elaborate because Dr. Sumner knew what it entailed to take someone’s magic. I didn’t want to remind him of it, of what I was, or my past transgressions.

  “Are you two lovers?” he asked, tilting his head before scribbling something on his pad. The unreadable look on his face bothered me, and he always kept his tone low and even the way that they had at the clinic. But it wasn’t the clinic. His office had light-colored walls and a nice-sized window that looked onto the street. He used to have the curtains open, but because he claimed I was too easily distracted he now kept them drawn. Dark wooden bookcases lined the wall and were filled with books. His desk that was just a few feet away was neat. Everything had a place. Structure.

  I let my eyes meet his light blue ones again. They always held a hint of disgust, although he managed to keep it off his face.

  “You don’t like me?” I asked. He didn’t say it—I doubted that he could as a professional—but I wondered if he thought I was nothing more than a woman who’d gotten away with murder. A death mage. A person whose gift and curse revolved around someone dying—maybe for a few minutes, or permanently.

  His eyes widened at the question, and he moistened his lips. “Would you like another therapist?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He looked me over slowly. I had made sure my hair was neat, a few soft curls framing my face. I had on lip gloss, and his eyes stopped on it while measuring the smile that it highlighted as I waited for him to answer. I had on a fitted white shirt. I liked white. It was calming, pure. But only for clothes. I hated white walls. His gaze roved over my jeans and lace-up boots and then back up to my face.

  “Why does it matter?”

  “You always look like you’re disgusted with me.”

  “I’m not disgusted with you. I don’t think you realize how fortunate you are. You could be locked up right now. And because of your condition—”

  “It’s not a condition. It’s what I am.”

  He gave me a slight nod. “Because of what you are you probably would have been in isolation. I would like to see you take this more seriously.”

  “I am.”

  “No more missed appointments. You will not drink …” He hesitated, his eyes flooding with derision. “Or take drugs, either. I’d like you to start weaning yourself off of using a donor, too. I think that will be the best.”

  “I need magic for work.”

  “Then get a different job or work with someone who has magic and doesn’t have to kill to use it.” His tone had dropped the soothing lilt and become harsh, but he belied it with a gentle smile. A fake smile.

  The rest of the session became me answering his questions with monosyllabic answers and him working harder and harder not to show his irritation.

  * * *

  I was nearly running to get out of his office when the session was over. I was headed for my car when I spotted Mephisto, leaning against his own car, waiting for me.

  “Have you had breakfast?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you join me?” This wasn’t the first time he’d made an invitation like that, but it was the first time I accepted.

  We walked just a couple of blocks to a small French café. After we had ordered, he rested back in his chair. “We have a thief terrorizing the good folks of our city,” he said with a wry frown.

  “They robbed Landon and Alex and some of your friends. I think calling them ‘good folks’ is really using those words rather liberally.”

  He shrugged off my assessment. “We have a thief among us, and he’s very active.”

  “Did you smell smoke at your client’s place? Smoke and a leathery odor?”

  He considered the question before nodding in assent, which confirmed it was the same person. When the server dropped off the drinks he’d ordered, he pushed the mimosa in my direction before taking a sip from his bloody Mary.

  “I don’t drink,” I said, pushing it back.

  “Aren’t you the principled one. I can honestly say that you are the first death mage I’ve met who doesn’t. Is there a reason?”

  Mephisto and I weren’t going to be friends and I didn’t want him to know any more about me than I’d already told him. And I had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on. I shrugged an answer.

  He took another drink, making a show of removing the tomato juice that ended up on his lips. “It’s unfortunate that your kind have two modes: docile or sociopath. Most just slip into a pedestrian life as though they are simply human. It has been instilled in them to fear their magic, so they don’t bother to explore it. It’s like they find out what they are and then withdraw themselves from the supernatural world and ignore that part of themselves. I suppose they feel they can only have an insipid life. There really isn’t a middle with your kind, is there?” He gave me a sullen smile. “Those of you who explore it seem to love it too much and end up in institutions, prisons, or worse.”

  It was usually the “or worse.” If a death mage went on a bender, lost control, or indulged too much then more than likely he or she “accidentally” died while being apprehended.

  His finger ran along the rim of his glass. He looked up, studying me with renewed interest. “Then there are the very few like you who love their magic and how magnificent it is.” He leaned in. “And learn to manage it.”

  Did it look easy from the outside looking in? I struggled daily. Being near it was an exercise in discipline, using it a challenge to my control. It wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t any better than those who totally abandoned it. I just couldn’t totally abandon it. Magic was so entwined in my very existence that sometimes I lied to Cory just to experience it. But I managed it.

  “I’m in awe of your magic.”

  Of course you are, Satan’s little helper.

  He leaned back in his seat, his deep, penetrating gaze fastened on me. His voice dropped to a low drawl. “Such a strange and enchanting gift to be able to use death in a positive way. To be able to take the very energy that it creates is masterful. As is the ability to manipulate that into anything you want and to do the same with the magic you borrow from others.” He looked off, past me, drawn into his thoughts so much that he held his breath. Then he returned his attention to me, where it stayed with great intensity.

  After a long pause, he finally asked, “Is it easy for you to manage? Have you had any problems?”

  Fine, I’ll play your game. I was sure he knew everything about me, even the records Madison had been able to have sealed. “No.” I provided my lie with the confidence of someone swearing on a Bible. I winced inwardly at how easy it was. I saw the word flash before me: sociopath. A lie just to end an uncomfortable conversation didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t want Mephisto’s attention—his fascination with me made me feel uncomfortable.

  He smiled. “Good for you.” A knowing smirk played over his lips and made it all the
way to his eyes. They seemed to glint with mischief and an appreciation of my lie.

  Throughout the meal he smiled, gentle and languid, each time he looked in my direction. I spent most of the meal ignoring both his gaze and the drink a couple of inches from me. I wasn’t drinking, but I hadn’t been sober as long as I’d told people. I was always starting over with my sobriety. I didn’t want to admit it, but Dr. Sumner was right; alcohol did lower inhibitions. I only had one donor, someone I would never kill, and yet I didn’t want to risk losing control. I was always craving and wanting magic. If I got drunk and went to a bar with others, I was always aware of the energy being just an incantation and a kiss away. It was easy—no, easier—to deny it when I was sober. I didn’t deny it when I was drunk. I’d deluded myself into thinking I had control.

  I did. I said that mantra over and over, but I couldn’t quiet the voice that reminded me that I had Cory and that made a big difference. Having a dedicated donor that I could borrow magic from, to get that fix—that feeling—occasionally helped. I knew he was the one person I would never hurt. He kept me grounded, probably more than he would ever know.

  CHAPTER 4

  It had been two days since my appointment with Dr. Sumner and breakfast with Mephisto, which I’d spent impatiently waiting for him to set up another game. Unlike Landon, he operated on discretion. I was sure it would be difficult for him to have such an event and discuss it so that others would know, hopefully alerting the thief who had stolen from Landon and his guests. It was for our clients—and money—so he did it.

  I wasn’t expecting anything less than a posh and extravagant event from Mephisto, and I found that was exactly what he’d delivered as I slowly walked throughout the room where the game would take place.

  Mephisto leaned against the wall, his hands shoved into the pants pockets of his black suit. This one had a slimmer fit, and he’d returned to his customary black shirt. As my smile threatened to emerge, I realized I probably wasn’t doing as good of a job as I thought I was hiding the fact that I was amazed he didn’t actually live in a lair or a den that belonged in the otherworld. The walls had an odd texture that kept them from looking bare without any art or pictures on them. Heavy curtains filtered out any light, but not for the benefit of Landon, who would be arriving soon, because vampires his age could walk in the daylight.

  All the furniture was dark; I’d expected that. Even the two people he had as servers were dressed in all black. “How many people did you invite?” I asked, looking over at the bartender and the two servers who stood at the bar.

  “You said to invite enough people to make an impressive showing. I invited eight.”

  “Eight?”

  He finally smiled. “I can assure you the offerings of the ones I’ve invited will be enough.”

  “I’m sure. Why do you have servers? Are these people too good to get off their asses and walk a few feet to get themselves a drink?”

  His chuckle was melodic, with a hint of haughtiness. “I can assure you they aren’t used to it.”

  “Well, perhaps you can do them and the community a favor, and make them.”

  “Are they coming here to receive your lecture on etiquette and their sense of entitlement or to be pawns in your little plan, Erin?” He nearly sang my name. As he approached, I wasn’t thinking devil, or servant of the devil, although the devilishly wicked smile he gave me should have led me to that. I looked away from his deeply commanding eyes, a reddish glow rolling over them. He was just inches from me.

  “I know you lied about never having had a problem managing your magic before.”

  So, now do you want a cookie? “I’m no fool, I don’t doubt you know everything there is to know about me. I was playing your game.”

  He laughed. “You are a very wise woman.”

  “I have a donor,” I insisted. “The same one every time. I have more control than most. I will never hurt him.”

  “You do make me curious. I have a feeling you’re a little curious about me, too. I’ve never been a donor for a death mage—I’m intrigued by it. What does it feel like?”

  “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never almost died.”

  His face had inched close to mine, his warm breath feathered over my lips, and his eyes were lively with unsated curiosity. I wondered if it was just my magic that had him interested.

  “Most people aren’t really curious about death.”

  “Then you don’t get this offer often, do you? You should consider taking me up on it.”

  I closed my eyes. It wasn’t just curiosity on my part, it was the addiction—that surge I got when the magic was first absorbed. It was a high that never got old. Add that to the energy from death, and I was intoxicated by it—easily forgetting that I only had a matter of minutes to use the magic, displace the energy, before the donor died. Cory could go for longer than most, able to sustain a place between life and death for nearly fifteen minutes without crossing over. He could resist the seduction of the other side that would give him peace from the disturbing void. He said it wasn’t painful, just a feeling of overwhelming emptiness, which he said was worse because he craved feeling something. I wasn’t sure how much truth there was in this description. Everyone always had a grimace etched on their faces, their mouths parted ever so slightly as in a state of shock, as they were ushered into a liminal state between life and death.

  Mephisto didn’t move, and the intensity of his gaze wouldn’t fade. The unique magic that wafted off him was becoming more difficult to deny. Sensing my wavering abnegation he inched even closer. I moved in, sliding my hand up the nape of his neck and then grabbing his head. People always jerked away when it started. No matter how much they prepared for it, life slipping out of their grasp was shocking. Impulse and fight or flight kicked in, the desire to leave overruling any of the physical desires. I only had to be close—our lips didn’t have to touch—but I let mine touch his. Warm, sensual, alluring. I tasted his lips and then whispered the incantation, the only words of power I possessed, and I started to draw just a little. He relaxed under my touch, and I felt the first wave, the initial energy. That undeniable spark as the magic unfolded, stretched, and released from its owner. It slowly and gently coiled around me, embracing me; it always started out this way. Magic licked at my senses and desire to feel it, control it, be part of darkness, be ensorcelled by something that I wasn’t likely to be able to control.

  I should have feared Mephisto and how easy it was. He didn’t rail against it but gave in to it freely.

  He intrigued me. His magic spoke to me and tempted me on a carnal level. It elicited a desire that made me forget the reckless behavior of my youth, the trail of bodies that haunted me, the long nights of withdrawal, the small rooms with white walls, the disappointed looks from my parents. I’d forgotten the control I’d worked so hard to master; now that I was in the thrall of that strange, alluring magic, I didn’t want to be responsible and strong. I wanted to be weak and careless. I grasped his hair even tighter, slowly inhaling the power, breathing it in, waiting for the typical reaction I got from other people. But I didn’t get it from Mephisto. He welcomed the darkness and was so easily willing to claim death. He wanted it. I could sense the desire. I’d never felt anything like it before, and it intrigued me even more, heightening the moment. I would give him a good death.

  I kissed him harder, tasting him and hints of the delectable magic.

  “Am I early?” a voice asked from behind me. I jerked away, abruptly severing the link. Mephisto panted softly behind me.

  Kieran’s eyes bounced between us. “No,” I said, increasing the distance between me and Mephisto. “You’re right on time.”

  It took a few minutes before I could look at Mephisto. He hadn’t realized how close he’d come to death, but I had. I knew how near I’d come to being sent back to the Sty—short for Stygian, where misbehaving supernaturals were sent. That had been my residence for a year, where they’d treated the incident as if it had been the result
of an addiction as opposed to a criminal act. I’d been lucky, I’d had people advocating for me, and after I was released Cory had agreed to be my donor to prevent it from happening again. Our friendship ensured that I’d be careful with his life.

  “No, you are just in time,” I repeated. And he was. He’d prevented me from making a big mistake. I walked over to the bar and looked at the tequila. Nope. The last thing I needed was to be less inhibited. I moved across the room, trying to escape Mephisto’s watchful gaze.

  “Everyone should be here soon,” Mephisto’s deep voice said as he directed his attention to Kieran. I took that moment to busy myself with other things. The entire half an hour it took for the other guests to arrive I stayed far away from my enigmatic would-be donor.

  Once everyone was seated, I looked at the various objects brought as ante, things a good thief wouldn’t be able to pass up.

  I stepped out to watch the game and see if the thieves struck again. I sat in Mephisto’s office, where he’d escorted me as I’d worked hard to keep the distance between us, ignoring the beckoning looks he’d cast in my direction. I’d ignored the lingering desire that remained.

  Dropping down into the large executive chair, I kicked my legs up on the desk, looking at the three monitors of his surveillance system that gave me a panoramic view of the room I’d just left. It didn’t take long, nearly forty-five minutes into the game. I blinked too long, and everyone was frozen in the same spot. I grabbed my Taser and 9mm with rubber bullets, checked the knife in my sheath, and ran out of the room.

  Two people, as I suspected, with bags in hand that they filled like children grabbing candy on Halloween. When I burst through the door, one of the duo’s eyes widened. They were as bright green as her hair was red. Her parchment skin flushed. She wasn’t able to dodge the rubber bullet. It hit her hard, knocking her on her ass. I ran toward her, realizing she wasn’t likely to use magic since she was using it to freeze the others. The man with her had a slim, coltish build. His hair was light brown with darker streaks. I landed a front kick to his chest; he went back. A spin kick sent him crashing into the wall. Zip tie in hand, I approached him. Magic slammed into my back, and I lost my balance and crashed to the ground with a thud. I rolled over and quickly came to my feet in time for my elbow to catch him in the throat. He gasped, straining for breath. I took advantage of the moment and kicked the back of his leg to break his stance. He came down on his knees. Snatching up the zip ties that I’d dropped when I fell, I approached, ready to secure him. His red, watery eyes slipped in her direction. He wasn’t leaving without her. She was the witch, he was the transportation. I was comfortable in the fact that she probably wasn’t going to use magic again. She didn’t have an infinite pool of magic to pull from and was weakened by the magic she was using to keep the others in a frozen state.