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

by Erin Hayes

  His lips coaxed me into returning his kiss, and when I finally relaxed against him, his hand stroked my hair and my back in a way that made me want to touch more of him. When he finally ended the kiss, I was breathless, aching with desire.

  “How long?” Kaedon asked, his voice husky with disuse.

  I tried to bring my reaction to him under control and make sense of his question.

  “How long?” he repeated.

  “Seven days. You’ve been unconscious for seven days.”

  With a muttered curse, Kaedon rolled me off him gently and sat up. “I wanted to stop the next battle,” he said. “We only have two more days.”

  “Be careful,” I said. “Go slowly. You’re weak from having been sick for so long.”

  Kaedon cursed again, but when he swung his feet around to the floor, he didn’t try to get out of the bed. “Call Bertino to me.”

  I nodded. “I will. I’ll be in the spellcasting room…” My voice trailed off.

  Kaedon shot a glance at me. “Don’t leave.” I flinched at the order, reminded of my tenuous place in this castle.

  Kaedon saw the reaction and shook his head with a small smile. “We have quite a bit to discuss. Most of it when this is over. But I want you by my side right now. Please don’t leave.” His gaze burned into me. Even as I nodded and stood to go find Bertino, the heat behind his words and look made my knees weak.

  By the time I’d alerted the guard outside Kaedon was awake and asking for Bertino, Kaedon was standing and half dressed.

  “Wait for the healer,” I pleaded.

  “There is no time.” His hands shook, but he finished buttoning his pants and tugged an off-white shirt over his head, leaving it untucked as he padded into the hallway on bare feet.

  I followed, murmuring to the guard to send Bertino to the spellcasting practice room when he arrived.

  By the time I caught up with Kaedon as he strode down the hall, he was already talking. “I think I figured out the problem with our last attempt.”

  “So did I,” I said, lengthening my own stride to keep pace with him.

  “It was based too much on what we do to strip witches of their power,” he said.

  I stumbled at his words, astounded he could still be worrying about our initial plan when he had been magically poisoned. “What about…”

  “Elven magic is based on the concept of transference,” he continued, ignoring my attempted interjection. “Whereas witch magic is dependent on individual power storage.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “After all, elves have to store power they take from witches. It’s more about generation of power. Witches do it within their own body, but elves…”

  “Transfer it from someone else before they can store it.” Kaedon finished my sentence for me, nodding. “Yes. That’s what we need to focus on. The difference between internal generation and external generation.”

  “Right—it’s not about how the power is moved around, but how it’s created.” We stepped into the grand hall, and I paused, shaking my head again. Somehow, Kaedon had once again drawn me into his plan, his schemes, his conversation.

  He didn’t wait for me, either, but continued walking across the open space. I scurried after him, realizing I had spent the last week overcoming my fear of this strange room, both so enclosed and so open.

  I still wouldn’t want to eat a meal in here.

  “We cannot do anything until we figure out how to deal with the magical blight you’re carrying.” I said as I caught up.

  Kaedon paused. “I’m not carrying the blight.” His eyebrows crinkled.

  “Yes, you are. I saw it travel out of me and into you—mostly, anyway.”

  Kaedon moved toward the base of the stairs. “We don’t have time to fully purge it,” he said. “We’ll have to see if we can find a way to contain it.”

  Like my mother’s magic, once again closed tight within me.

  Now was the perfect time to tell him about the additional magic I carried. Some part of me thought it might be helpful, not only as an example of how magic might be partitioned off from a practitioner’s identity and self, but also as a means to help him overcome the magical blight in his system—and the one in mine.

  But I didn’t say anything at all. Instead, I followed him up the stairs as he continued muttering about various ways to fulfill our original scheme.

  But as we reached the top of the stairs, I knew, as surely as I had known how to find the answer to waking Kaedon from his coma.

  “How do elves steal power from witches?”

  Kaedon turned to face me, his expression quizzical.

  “You already know this. They torture the witches until they can siphon the power out.”

  “Yes, but what is it about torture that allows your people to remove the power?”

  Kaedon’s eyes narrowed as he thought. “If this is about power generation, then the torture disrupts the place where power is created,” he said slowly.

  I nodded, glad to hear someone else putting into words the intuition that had flashed through me. “So the question becomes—at least for witches—how can we disrupt that power from a distance and without torture?”

  “And among elves,” Kaedon said, “how can we create a similar disruption in that internal hold on magic?”

  “Especially,” I said, extrapolating from his words, “when the source of the power is not their own to begin with.” I thought for a moment longer. “What if elven magic does exist on its own? But doesn’t express itself without some kind of catalyst?”

  “In that case, elves and witches…” His eyes grew huge.

  I knew how he felt. I was fairly certain we had just come to the same conclusion, though neither particularly wanted to say so.

  But it was something we needed to explore.

  “If that’s true,” I said, “then elves and witches who willingly combine magic might actually be stronger together.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment. The memory of his waking kiss danced through me, and I blinked at the thought that elves and witches might somehow be meant to end up together.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Harper, I admonished myself.

  Just because elf and witch magic might work well together didn’t mean we should attempt to combine our two races into one people.

  But something deep inside me bloomed with heat at the thought.

  The sudden flush of desire along my skin drew Kaedon’s eye, and an answering spark flared in his eyes.

  His gaze traveled to my lips, and he seemed mesmerized.

  Then his gaze traveled back up to capture mine, and he said, his voice husky, “I very much want to explore those possibilities with you, Harper.” Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, he closed his eyes, swallowed visibly, and added more briskly, “After we stop a war.”

  I nodded and murmured my agreement, but at least part of me wanted to say to hell with the war, let’s find out now.

  But I shoved that impulse down and prepared to get to work with Kaedon.

  And suddenly, I realized there was no place I would rather be than here, with this man, this idealistic Fae lord who believed he could actually bring a generations-long war to a sudden halt, and perhaps even bring the warring people together.

  I couldn’t imagine anything better.

  For the second time that day, I used my special mix of honey, salt, oil, and chrysanthemums, explaining my reasoning for each ingredient to Kaedon as I swirled the mixture together. He watched as I created a closer, tighter circle, stepping in just before I invoked it.

  This time, the golden-pink dome surrounding us seemed smaller than before. When I took Kaedon’s hands in mine, I simply closed my eyes and opened myself to allowing our magic to mingle.

  I felt it the moment Kaedon let down his own shields. Rather than attempting to actively pass magic to him, I simply… waited.

  After several minutes, Kaedon finally said, “What should I do?”

  I c
onsidered, and discarded, several answers. “Just be here with me,” I finally said.

  When my magic rose and began sending questing tendrils through my hands and into Kaedon’s, I allowed it—I didn’t try to direct a specific spell, or give the power any specific guidelines. Instead, I continued to wait.

  Several minutes after that, I knew we had made the right choice. Somewhere just out of reach of my internal vision, I felt it—an infinitesimal strand of power shooting up toward me, like a plant pushing through Earth toward the sun.

  It was the color of the icy mountains, blue and white, and it was rooted in Kaedon.

  The swirling hot pink lines that had been infested with something blackened and infectious swirled into a ball that seem to come to attention. For an instant, I was terrified that it would once again cause Kaedon to collapse. But deep within me, that magic that had been my mother’s once again bloomed, this time like a metal, mechanical flower, and the same golden sheen that had provided safety when Loren and I needed it burst forth to encapsulate the blight within me.

  Meanwhile, some other part of my magical power—something more basic, more primal than the poisoned magic I had carried from the island—spread out to cover, to take over the part of me that the blighted magic held.

  Like the meadow I loved on the island, this magic was green and new and lush, full of Harper, without any other magical constraints. And from it came its own new, questing shoot. It snaked up like a vine through me. In the internal space where I saw all of this, it reached out to combine with that tiny new shoot of magic from Kaedon.

  Like new lovers, our magics were shy with one another, but they twined around and around until they were wound together in a way that felt like love.

  When I opened my eyes, I found Kaedon’s gaze upon me, awe in his expression.

  “You felt that, too?” he asked, and I nodded.

  Our hands were still clasped, and Kaedon held them up and examined them in wonder.

  “What does it mean?” he asked.

  “That we’re right. We are stronger together than we are apart.” I felt it even now—the way our magics were threading together, knitting into something new, something stronger than they had ever been before.

  But also, something familiar.

  “What next?” I asked, determined to explore the origin of that familiar feeling, but only after we were done here.

  “We could practice,” Kaedon suggested.

  I shook my head. “Either we can do this, or we can’t,” I said. “If we can’t, then there’s no use trying more than once. But if we can…”

  “If we can, we will stop the war—at least for now.”

  I nodded, my jaw clenching at the thought of what was yet to come. “Then I think we should begin with targets that will make an impression.”

  It took us less than an hour to sketch out our plan. We spent slightly more time preparing. I called Marie, the maid who had helped me with my clothing, and Kaedon met with Bertino.

  And within two hours, we were back in his study, in front of the vision mirror. Against Bertino’s better judgment, he had given Kaedon a stimulant to help keep him up and moving through the next part of our plan. Although he was perhaps more gray-faced than usual, Kaedon looked every inch the Fae lord. His dark eyes snapped brightly, and his dark hair—that I still had not had a chance to run my hands through, despite how much I wanted to—was wound into elaborate braids and threaded through with beads and other elven ornaments that somehow denoted power, privilege, and accomplishment. He stood tall, proud, and strong.

  Marie had outdone herself with my clothing, as well. Though I was much smaller than most elves, she’d once again found a dress to fit me. Its dark blue fabric set off my pale skin and dark hair—and matched Lord Kaedon’s waistcoat. The tightly laced bodice of my dress cinched in my waist and pushed up my breasts, making me look older, more sophisticated, than I ever had before. My hair, too, was wound around my head in elaborate braids, painstakingly penned.

  I looked like a perfect match for Lord Kaedon.

  We glanced at one another without speaking. With a nod, Kaedon turned to the vision mirror and sketched a rune into the air.

  The mirror split into two halves, each showing a different view. On the left, directly across from Kaedon, the mirror reflected the office of a high-ranking elf. On the right, across from me, was a view of the exterior of the Battle Circle’s building. I was less certain about my ability to reach my target than Kaedon had been, so I had reached out instead to find my friend Lacey.

  Apparently, the wards around the Battle Circle held well enough that I was unable to see directly inside.

  It didn’t matter. I knew I could reach her, anyway. We had completed our childhood scrying lessons together. She was my best—my only—friend on the island. She would recognize my call.

  I held onto that hope with all my will.

  With a single glance at me, Kaedon drew the second rune in the air. Then the third.

  Taken altogether, the spell was designed to allow two-way communication through the vision mirror—not unheard of, but generally considered too taxing on the practitioner to be worth the effort.

  The kind of communication that was reserved for emergencies—for only the most important of messages.

  We anticipated this would be the most important message in the entire history of this war.

  I followed his example, setting up the communication with the island.

  Kaedon began. “Lord Daeneld,” he called out, his voice booming. “May I have your attention, please?” On the other side of the mirror, a large, pale elf glanced up, startled, from the work he contemplated on his desk.

  “Lord Kaedon,” he replied. “How can I help you?”

  “I understand you are leading the offensive against the eastern islands,” Kaedon said. The other elf acknowledged the statement with a nod. “I have important news to share regarding that offensive.”

  Lord Daeneld crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of me. “You have an informant, I take it?”

  “Something like that.” With an apparently dismissive jerk of his chin toward the door, Kaedon gestured for me to step out of immediate sight. As soon as I had done so, I whispered a spell to cloak me from Lord Daeneld’s sight. At the same moment, Kaedon erected a silence barrier around himself.

  With any luck, Lord Daeneld would believe these to be security measures.

  I saw Kaedon speaking, but I couldn’t hear him.

  If I concentrated, however, I felt our magics, still woven together.

  With a slight smile, I turned to my part, invoking the same spells that had allowed Kaedon to communicate. “Lacey,” I called out as loudly as possible. “Lacey, I need to speak to you.” It took several more shouts, but Lacey eventually stepped out of the Battle Circle house, her eyes wide as she looked at me.

  “Harper?”

  “Lacey, I need you to go get Mother Jonas.”

  Lacey waved her hand in front of her, and I knew she must be slicing it through my diaphanous image. “Where are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Mother Jonas sent me out to gather news for them—for the High Council. Tell her I have vital information to share. Please, hurry.” I almost felt bad using Lacey this way, but unlike Kaedon, I had never communicated with anyone else—I didn’t have any ready channels to people in power. I needed to reach out to someone I was close to.

  Lacey was the only other witch I felt comfortable with.

  I hoped she would forgive me someday.

  Moments later, my friend returned with the coven leader in tow.

  Mother Jonas’s eyebrows crawled up almost into her hairline when she saw me. “Thank you, child,” she said to Lacey in clear dismissal. Lacey frowned at being dismissed and called a child, but she left—though not before shooting a significant glance at me that promised we would discuss this later.

  I hoped there would be a chance.

 
; “You said you were sending me into the world to gather information for the council,” I said. “I have some.”

  “Tell me,” Mother Jonas demanded.

  “I think we need more council members for this. It’s important.”

  The coven leader’s eyes narrowed, but I could tell she was eager to hear what I had to say, if surprised I had survived.

  A single glance at Kaedon side of our barriers showed that Lord Daeneld, too, was beginning to surround himself with several advisors.

  “Well, what is it, child?” Mother Jonas said when she had several other of the coven members surrounding her.

  “It’s about the war,” I said, glancing sidelong at Kaedon, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  Even as Mother Jonas was saying “What about the war?” Kaedon and I dropped the barriers and reached out to clasp hands.

  “There will be no more war.” My voice seemed to echo, bouncing through the room and into the mirror, even as Kaedon sketched out the sigil that allowed for three-way communication through the mirror.

  Suddenly, everyone could see and hear everyone else. All sides stood in sudden shock, even as Kaedon and I tapped into our shared power.

  Lord Daeneld began to bluster, and Mother Jonas to sketch her own spell into the air, but neither could undo what Kaedon had wrought.

  “This war must not continue.” Kaedon’s voice also echoed, and I realized it was our combined force. Our magic pushed our words out into the world, working to make them real even as we said them, to work our will so it became part of reality.

  I drew on that knowledge and began speaking—not the stylized words of formal spells, and not the written words that were so often used in our gestures to create spells, but a simple, complete truth. “This war is evil. Our people should not be at odds. We should connect. And if you will not, then you should have no more power.”

  Kaedon continued, taking up where I left off. “You will obey us. Or everyone involved in this unconscionable fight will face the same fate.”

  With that, we reached down into that fledgling power, and though it might have seemed like the intertwining of two fragile threads, they were merely the top tiniest portion of what we might become together. And they drew upon a vast reservoir—everything we had known of power until now had been merely skimming across the surface of a well of magic the size of which we couldn’t even comprehend.