Poison and Potions: a Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by Erin Hayes

  Kyra shook her head.

  “We’ll call your attorney on the way.” He leaned over and gripped her shoulders. “I’ll do everything I can to help you. I take my divine appointments very seriously.”

  Kyra threw him a curious glance as he exited the room. Why did Danny always show up right when she needed him?

  A huge graphic of a spreading oak covered one side of the mental health transport van. Its protective limbs swept down over the words Hawthorne Wellness House airbrushed in black lettering over pearlescent white paint. The young, male driver muttered into his phone. His tattooed right arm rested on the partially rolled-down window.

  Kyra climbed in, avoiding eye contact with the bleary-eyed staff escort in the back. He masked a yawn as he tilted his head in their direction by way of greeting. A wave of nausea surged through her. This was just another shift at the cattle farm for these people. They could be driving a meat truck for all they cared. Had it really come to this? She was a court-ordered mental detainee, confined for the good of society and her own safety.

  She stared straight ahead, hearing the ignition starting somewhere in the back of her mind. Someone else was in control of her life now, someone she didn’t trust, taking her someplace she didn’t want to go.

  She watched the dark silhouettes of trees rushing by her window into the night. There were powerful spirits out there, bent on her demise, and she could no longer pretend she could save herself from them. Maybe that’s why Danny was here.

  Dawn crept across the ragged skyline when the transport van pulled up outside Hawthorne Wellness House. The driver jumped out and wordlessly rolled open the sliding door. A tall, large-boned woman with well-styled, short, gray hair walked over and greeted them when they climbed out. She made a few cursory remarks by way of greeting, and then hurried them through an arched entry to the white stucco building and into a modest office near the front.

  “So, what happens now?” asked Danny.

  “Someone will be right with you.” She pulled her lips into a strained smile and retreated into the hallway.

  “They’re not in any rush to put me in lockdown,” said Kyra, forcing a laugh to cover her discomfort. “Maybe they don’t consider me an imminent threat.”

  Footsteps rang down the hallway, and she turned when two men in dark suits entered the room. Something about their attire didn’t fit the image of the staff she was expecting to admit her. The taller man gave Danny a curt nod and extended a hand to Kyra. “I’m special agent, Gonzales, F.B.I. This is my partner, special agent, Davis.”

  Kyra shook hands with both men limply, a billowing fog descending over her brain. “What’s going on? You’re not doctors. I ... don’t understand.”

  Agent Gonzales pulled a plastic chair away from the wall and sat down opposite her, hands clasped, forearms resting on his thighs. “I apologize, Ms. Williams, you’ve been through a lot already tonight.”

  “If this has something to do with Brian Ferguson’s death, I want my lawyer present before I answer any questions.”

  “Not our gig,” said Gonzales, shaking his head. “We’re analyzing cold cases. Homicides we believe were mistakenly classified as suicides.” He leaned forward and looked intently at Kyra. “I understand you’ve undergone hypnosis with Dr. Damon Brenner.” He raised his eyebrows as if waiting for her to confirm.

  “Yes,” said Kyra, even more perplexed. “What is this about?”

  “Davis and I have been investigating Brenner’s practice over the past twelve months. Several of his former patients have turned up missing or dead in mysterious circumstances dating back to nineteen ninety-two.”

  Kyra swallowed, struggling to take it in. Rhonda Brenner died in nineteen ninety-two. Were there others?

  Gonzales leaned back, staring intently at Kyra’s face. “Your psychiatrist is a pioneer of mind-control techniques. He’s worked on several classified projects for the military. Turns out his research goes well beyond scientific boundaries. He has links to a clandestine spiritist cult. Three women died while under his care, all of whom underwent one or more hypnotherapy sessions with the doctor shortly before their deaths. All of whom were prescribed medication by him which we now believe was a psychedelic mind control drug.”

  Kyra’s heart strained in her chest. The room seemed to spin, or else Gonzales was spinning, or was it her? The cadence of voices around her ebbed and flowed.

  Gonzales flipped open a file folder and laid three color photographs side by side on the table in front of Kyra. He glanced under his brows at Davis who nodded in response. “One of these women is Rhonda Brenner, Dr. Brenner’s late wife who passed away twenty years ago. She jumped from a bridge after her husband hypnotized her.”

  “How does this involve Kyra?” asked Danny.

  Gonzales’s expression hardened. “We think Brenner used hypnosis, in combination with medications he dispensed to his patients, to take control of these women’s minds. We’ve subpoenaed the files on his current patients, trying to identify how he was profiling his intended victims.” He turned back to Kyra and cleared his throat. “That’s how we found you.”

  She stared at him, grappling with the import of his words. Gonzales’s lips were still moving, mimicked by the heavy eyebrows he drew together and then apart, but only snatches of his dialog registered.

  “ ... embedded thoughts of suicide ... expert in mind control ... psychological killer ... next victim ... ”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  It was all starting to make sense to Kyra now. Her life and career spinning out of control, the feelings of hopelessness, the growing desire to succumb to the thickening gloom and leave this world behind. Dr. Brenner had used the hypnosis session to embed this psychological darkness. He had plied her with pills, supposedly to help her, knowing she would become suicidal. He was bartering souls for the power he craved. He wasn’t a pawn in the Soul Stalkers’ deadly game. He was a player in it.

  Kyra looked up at Gonzales, the fragmented thoughts in her brain slowly reconfiguring. She rubbed her throbbing forehead. Had she unwittingly followed some suggestion from Brenner? “It can’t be just a coincidence that I ended up at Dr. Brenner’s lake house tonight,” she said.

  Gonzales raised his eyebrows. “You might be right about that. Brenner owns the property Martina Doyle was held in too.”

  Kyra and Danny exchanged glances.

  “Did Hal and Brenner know each other?” asked Kyra, struggling to understand the connection.

  Gonzales gathered up the photos in front of him. “Harold Doyle, he goes by Hal, worked for Brenner briefly about ten years ago. Handyman jobs on his rentals for the most part. Dr. Brenner also had him do some maintenance at his lake properties on various occasions over the years.”

  “What?” cried Kyra. “Are you saying he knew Hal was using the shack? That would mean he was in on the kidnapping.”

  “Perhaps. We know Doyle was blackmailing Brenner, but we’re not sure why yet. Our hunch is that Doyle came across something at one of the properties that implicated the doctor in the women’s deaths. Brenner was only taken into custody an hour ago, so we don’t have a statement yet. And Doyle has disappeared.”

  Gonzales slapped his thighs and stood up. “You both look like you could use some shut eye. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Kyra’s mind reeled. “You mean ... I can go?”

  Gonzales nodded. “The commitment order is invalid. We suspect Brenner forged your father’s signature—by the way, your father’s doing fine. Your sister’s with him at the hospital.”

  “I have to go see him,” said Kyra, her voice wavering.

  “Davis will take you both wherever you need to go. Thanks for your time.”

  A week after Dr. Brenner’s sensational arrest, Kyra and Bridget sat in a quiet corner of the Fox Creek golf course restaurant overlooking the pristine greens dotted with golfing pairs and foursomes. Kyra sipped her ice tea and glanced over at her sister. “Did you stop by Dad’s today?”

&nbs
p; Bridget nodded. “He looked better than he has in a long time. Even his skin tone looks fresher. Must be the improved blood flow from the stents. That, and the fact that you’ve forgiven him.”

  Kyra shrugged. “He did the best he could in a broken situation. And of course he earned some brownie points for not signing that commitment order.”

  “Still no leads on Hal’s whereabouts?” asked Bridget, stretching lazily in her wicker chair.

  Kyra shook her head. “He ransacked the house two days before the eviction date and disappeared.”

  “They said on the news that they’ve expanded the manhunt now that they have a witness who saw Hal firing shots at your rental car.”

  The words seared Kyra’s conscience. If only she’d been more forthright, Brian might still be alive. Instead, she’d lured him to her house under a false pretext. Her intention had been to help Taggert, but her deception had turned deadly and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to forgive herself for that.

  “I got a call from Buffington this morning,” she said, turning to Bridget. “They fired Todd.”

  Bridget’s eyes popped wide open. “What? Why?”

  “He had a fling with one of the girls in Human Resources. When it all came out, she admitted she’d given Todd access to my Personnel File. They both got their walking papers.”

  A wave of shock crossed Bridget’s face. “I didn’t think the scumbag would stoop that low. I really thought you’d imagined those evil notes.”

  Kyra shrugged. “The good news is that Ralph Jennings, the new VP of Marketing, wants to meet with me next week.”

  “That’s wonderful. Finally, a break you deserve.”

  “It’s a second chance I don’t deserve.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the old you.”

  “It’s the new me.”

  Bridget pulled a surprised face. “Well, at least Todd’s one thorn in your side who’s gone. Hal’s a bigger problem. But, he won’t be on the run for long. Especially with the F.B.I. after him.”

  Kyra turned away and stared out the window at the miniature carts shuttling people on the distant greens. She had a bad feeling about Hal. He wasn’t the type to go on the run and be content that he’d gotten away with kidnapping. She’d foiled his plans, and she felt certain he’d enact revenge.

  “He’ll bide his time, Kyra,” Martina had warned her. “Don’t let your guard down. He’ll come for you when you least expect it. Trust me on this one.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Kyra and Bridget left the country club restaurant shortly before three and headed back to the house to clean the guest room. Kyra had broached the subject of her sister moving back to her own place over morning coffee, and Bridget had jumped on it. She’d packed her stuff and loaded it into her car in less than an hour. But, instead of heading home after lunch as Kyra had hoped, she insisted on coming back to help “muck out” as she’d put it.

  Bridget grinned at her as she yanked the sheets off her bed and tossed them on the floor. “So you’ve had enough of high-stepping over my viral laundry mounds. You must be feeling more like your old self.”

  Kyra laughed. “You’re officially released from Zen-detention.”

  “It wasn’t all bad. I might even be inspired to try a little feng shui myself.”

  They’d just finished stripping Bridget’s bed when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Bridget headed down the hall to the front door while Kyra carried the armload of dirty sheets into the laundry room. Moments later, her elderly neighbor, Mr. Hogan, trundled into the kitchen with a handful of freshly picked daisies. “Not stopping, just wanted to give you these. Daisies are always a pick-me-up.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hogan.” Kyra squeezed his arm and took the flowers from his gnarled fingers. “They’re beautiful.” She leaned over the sink and slid the stems into a cut glass vase alongside the single red rose she’d bought on the way home from lunch.

  “You haven’t been troubled by any more visits from Mr. Private Eye, have you?” She asked.

  He gave a dismissive grunt. “Nasty piece of work he was, but I scared him off good. Hasn’t shown his face since.”

  Kyra smiled, picturing her elderly neighbor shaking a liver-spotted fist at Jim.

  Jim had finally admitted he’d been keeping her under surveillance, to be sure you weren’t doing illegal drugs. It was Brenner he should have been investigating all along. The only drugs involved were his idea.

  “Pushy, he was, too,” muttered Mr. Hogan.

  Jim had pushed it too far. Treated her like a criminal. She wouldn’t forget that easily, but she’d forgiven him for assuming she’d been high the day of the accident. The phantom truck story in the initial police report made her look unstable. To this day, she wasn’t sure if the truck was real or some kind of hallucination.

  Bridget and Kyra walked Mr. Hogan to the front door and waved him off. They were just about to head back inside, when a jeep pulled up behind Kyra’s rental. A blond-haired man stepped out and made his way up the driveway.

  Bridget whistled. “Who’s the sexy Swede?”

  Kyra elbowed her in the ribs and stepped forward to greet Danny. “Nice of you to stop by.”

  “Just checking up on the ex-suspect. Now that your notoriety’s over, life is exceedingly dull. No more crazy midnight stealth trips or daring rescues.”

  Kyra caught her breath. Daring rescues. She’d half-suspected Danny would turn out to be the celestial bodyguard who’d rescued her the day of the accident. They walk among us. But he hadn’t disappeared—yet. Maybe he wasn’t an angel, and he really was employed at the rescue mission.

  He introduced himself to Bridget and turned his attention back to Kyra. “Taggert says ‘Hi.’ He’s loving the safe house. Made several friends already.”

  “How’s Martina doing?” asked Kyra.

  “She’s got some issues to work through. She’s still traumatized, but she’s a fighter.”

  “I wish I could talk to her.”

  “The police don’t want to take any chances of revealing her whereabouts until they’ve tracked down Hal.”

  Kyra nodded, distracted by the provocative blueness of his eyes. Mortal eyes she hoped. She inhaled softly. Danny Riordan would be wasted as an angel.

  They chatted for a few more minutes before he took off promising to call her in a couple of days.

  “He’s hot for a homeless advocate,” Bridget announced, staring after the vehicle.

  Kyra rolled her eyes. “It’s time you went home.”

  After Bridget’s car sped off down the street, Kyra took a few deep breaths and went back inside her house. There was still something important left to do, and she had to do it alone. She reached for her purse, pulled the red rose from the vase in the sink, and locked up the house.

  A suffocating sadness hung in the air as she climbed into her car to drive out to the cemetery. She’d missed Brian’s funeral. His family hadn’t wanted her there under the strange circumstances. Even after the witness had come forward and identified Hal from the photo Martina had provided the police, they still blamed his death on Kyra.

  Until today, she hadn’t been ready to say good-bye. But now she needed to do it. To articulate her thoughts and feelings in the solitude of his final resting place. To say good-bye and to say she was sorry.

  She drove slowly, the evening sun warming her through the window glass. A red-tailed hawk stretched across the sky in glide mode and a parade of small clouds followed at a respectful distance. A private procession of sorts. On the outskirts of town the hills looked as if someone had thrown a green, velvet shawl over them and tucked them in for the night. Orange and yellow wildflowers carpeted the meadows in an upside-down sunset of sorts.

  With a flutter of apprehension, Kyra drove through the wrought-iron cemetery gates and parked in the graveled lot. Despite what Brian had believed, she was convinced now that there was more to life than death. She had been at the convergence point between this world
and the next, and her spirit had been very much alive without her body. Rick’s words echoed in her ears. The question is, what will you do with that knowledge?

  She walked slowly along the path until she came to Brian’s gravesite. No headstone in place yet, but the grave was a patchwork quilt of wreaths and notes. She knelt down, her heart swelling until a sob caught in her throat, and laid the rose on top of the already languishing wreaths. It was wrong to die so young. Wrong that he’d died at all. The Soul Stalkers had come for her.

  That night Kyra fell asleep on the couch too weary and emotionally exhausted to be bothered going to bed. She startled when the phone rang, and glanced over at the clock. Almost midnight. Only Bridget would call her at this unearthly hour. Kyra unwound her half-asleep leg from under her, and hobbled over to the kitchen counter where her phone lay charging. Blocked number. She frowned. Too late for a telemarketer. She grabbed the phone and took the call.

  “Hello?” She waited a moment for a response, then pressed the phone tighter to her ear. “Hello?”

  A faint rasping came over the line. The phone slipped from Kyra’s hand. She clutched her elbow to her chest to stop it from clattering to the floor. Fear sliced through her. She edged the phone back up to her ear with shaking hands. Her eyes darted around the room as though Soul Stalkers were gathered in the shadows, watching her frantic reactions.

  “Who is this?” she whispered.

  “I ain’t forgotten. I’m comin’ for you.”

  The phone clicked off, killing the toxic laugh that rattled over the line like a jackhammer.

  The End

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