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

by Erin Hayes

  He watched as Michael Ross finished giving his statement and then turned away, ignoring the shouts from the rest of the reporters. Euros had enough information to write a decent article for the Daily Times, enough facts mixed with just the right amount of suspense, conjecture, and skirting-the-edge of lies, to make his editor happy. His editor was all about circulation, readers, keeping them on the hook, getting them to come back for the next story.

  Euros could do all that in his sleep. Reporting for the newspaper wasn’t the reason he worked there, or the reason he was here at the crime scene, or even here in this mortal world. For the last decade or so, he worked at one newspaper, or another, searching for clues, keeping track of stories, the bizarre, and unexplained. It had been so much harder before the advent of the internet, but he’d done it. Doggedly tracking those who escaped through the portals from the Other Side, coming to the mortal world from the realm of magic. Coming into the world where they would do nothing but cause trouble, and wreak havoc. This wasn’t going to turn out good—it never did.

  The reporters moved away, grumbling among themselves and starting to call their pitches in to hungry editors. While Euros had an article to write, he had more pressing business now, and that had to come first.

  As the crowd of reporters and gawkers slowly dispersed, the patrol officers relaxed, able to focus less on crowd control, than watching the CSI team putting away their gear. Even without using magic, he slipped through the crowd, and past the cop leaning against his squad car. This was going to be too easy, he thought. Until he hit his head on the brick wall hidden behind the hedge. He stopped, rubbing his forehead.

  “Shit.”

  Sometimes he forgot, even after all this time in the mortal world, that his body couldn’t just pass through walls.

  “To hell with it.”

  It was too dangerous—and not strictly necessary—to use magic now. Besides, he didn’t want to let whatever it was, know he’d been here, if whatever it was that had killed Lansing decided to come back. He’d mastered the ability to cover his tracks, so to speak. He’d have to be very careful. There were mortals who could sense magic. They were rare, but they were out there. Jessica was one of them. He’d known from the instant he’d met her, that she knew there was something different about him, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. He’d kept his magic under wraps, and let her chalk up the difference in him to the exotic heritage he’d concocted as a background. It wasn’t far from the truth, but he’d skipped over several hundred years of that history.

  Taking one last look at the patrol officers, he moved along the wall. The magic grew stronger, even with a brick wall between him, and whatever the power was on the other side. Static crackled, as he ran his fingers over the brick, sending little, tingling jolts across his skin. Something inside him responded, was pulled and tugged by the magic he felt. Whoever—whatever—had come through the portal was very strong. The trail was hours old, but the magical residue was still potent, still exuded evil. It had been many, many years since he’d felt something this darkly intoxicating. For a minute, he closed his eyes, wondering if he was strong enough to deal with this, if he had the luck—or bad luck—to meet whatever this entity was. And if he did, what exactly did he planned to do to stop it?

  The wall ran along the length of the property, and Euros struggled through privet, and weeds, and boxwood, wishing he could just invoke his magic and do this the easy way. But he was bound by the rules of the Other Side. Sighing, he resigned himself to getting scratched and poked along the way.

  At the corner, where the public couldn’t see, the wall changed beneath his hands from brick to something less expensive. The stench of magic was so strong that the sulfurous smell burned his nostrils. Whatever it was, had come this way. He needed to move fast, before the trail dissipated into the air.

  His fingers traced along rough cement, and then abruptly fell between the openwork of a wrought iron gate. The gate was open. He moved away from the wall, took a breath, and then stepped through the gap in the wall.

  The sudden onrush of magic caught him off guard. A bitter, cold breeze wrapped around him, cutting through his wool coat, razor-sharp, down to skin and bone, sinking into his soul. He thought he’d seen it all, felt it all, been exposed to every type of magic there was. But this was beyond fairies and goblins, beyond the little wisps of magic that slipped through and back from time to time. This magic was pure evil.

  “Dammit. This is all wrong,” he muttered under his breath. Wrong was an understatement—this was an absolute disaster.

  The magic came through the gate, and led away from the property, down the alley between Lansing’s home, and the house next door. Euros followed it, and when he stepped onto the side street, he knew exactly where he was headed.

  Oh, please, no, he thought.

  Brooks Park was down the block. He knew about it, had known about it for decades. It held a hidden portal that led from this world to the Other Side – into his world. Growling to himself, he crossed the street.

  “A portal that’s supposed to be sealed.”

  A woman walking her dog looked at him and crossed the street, the dog tugging at the leash and barking at him.

  Mental note: I should pay attention to when I talked out loud to myself, he thought.

  The woman hurried down the street, and out of sight. Even without the trail of magic laid out like a sooty carpet on the ground, he knew that’s where he was headed.

  Brooks Park was small, tucked away on a block with several large homes. There had been a wall around it at one point in the past, laid over a hundred years ago out of native stone, but that had fallen, and been carted away, leaving behind only a pair of pillars on the 46th Street side.

  As he approached, he was incredibly relieved to see that the portal was intact, at least as far as he could sense. The park was visible on the other side, oaks and maples losing the last of their leaves in the weak sunshine, the circular, cement path that mortals used for walking, empty. Euros stopped on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets. His magic pushed against the portal, the membrane between the worlds shimmering slightly, like looking at the world through a wavy piece of old glass.

  For a minute, he thought about walking through the portal and staying on the Other Side, where he belonged. With his own kind, in a world that was much easier for him to exist in. Frowning, he looked over his shoulder. Maybe this world could get along without him.

  But then, there was Jessica, he thought.

  Seeing her today, even knowing she’d be there, had set off a cascade of emotions that confused him. She’d left him, walked out leaving coffee, and the early edition of the paper, on the kitchen table. The paper was open to his article—the words he’d written, almost limned with fire. The words that suggested she had mishandled serving the search warrant that had gotten her promoted. Words that suggested she wasn’t ready for that promotion.

  The magic swirled around him, and for the thousandth time, he wished he could turn back time, go back and toss out that article, take back what he’d said, and keep her in his life. Unfortunately, even his magic couldn’t send him back and give him a chance to make it right.

  He had been careless, and while he truly felt that way about her inexperience at the time, he knew how badly his words had hurt her, how harsh they had been. If only he could undo the damage he had caused.

  But magic didn’t work that way. Or at least his brand of mage magic didn’t work that way. There was a spell, something with a piece of black velvet, and a silver pin set with a moonstone, that could fold time over on itself, take you to the present, or the future. His fellow Gatekeeper, Mixt, could conjure a spell that would take him ahead in time, but not even he, had mastered the reversal of time. Euros, on the other hand, had never done magic with objects, didn’t have the patience for it. He thought it was for hedge witches, or kitchen witches…or…

  Something ran in front of him, and he managed to catch a glimpse of a tabby ca
t slinking past the portals. He watched it disappear into the darkness of the park.

  “Let it go,” he told himself. He was tracking a murderer, not trying to resurrect his past. Or waste his time watching stray animals in the park. This was real. His relationship with Jessica was over and done with, and he just had to accept it and move on.

  Closing his eyes, he let his mind see the magic around him. It was thicker here, denser, swirling in a malevolent storm that made his skin crawl. The sooner he found the source, the sooner he’d end whatever it had planned.

  When he opened his eyes, the park was still there, still peaceful in the early morning light. He knew should do it now, before morning dog walkers and joggers showed up. With a quick glance around him, he took a deep breath, and stepped through the portal.

  The rush hit him hard—harder than he remembered from the last time. For a second, he was nowhere, in neither world, but rather in a swirling, chaotic limbo. It was exhilarating in a disturbing way, as some kinds of magic could be. Then he came back to himself, cells joining back to each other, blood and bone and muscle reuniting. The last part of him, the spark that made him whole, the bit of life that was always the last to return, came back, rushing through his body. He resisted the urge to feel his arms and legs, to make sure he was all in one piece. He knew he was—he always was.

  He opened his eyes slowly. Movement on the ground caught his eye, and he looked down. A small mouse ran over his foot, disappearing into the grass.

  “Euros. Welcome back.”

  Euros glanced up. “Mixt. Long time no see.”

  A slender man stepped out from the shadows. Dressed in white robes, he carried the faintly androgynous look of his elven heritage in his fine features, and long white-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Mixt stood, hands clasped in front of him.

  “What brings you home, my friend? Have you decided to give up the mortal world, and return to where you belong?”

  Euros shook his head. “Mixt, I won’t lie; some days, I think about returning home for good, but that’s not why I’m here today. I need to talk to you about something that I’m not sure I fully understand. I’m hoping you can help me with it.”

  Mixt’s elegant features creased into a frown of worry. “Of course. What is it?”

  “There was a murder in the mortal world, the murder of a very prominent person. I heard about it at work…” He’d given up trying to explain the newspaper business to Mixt. He grimaced as his ears continued ringing. He really should make a habit of passing through the portal more often. He was out of practice.

  “I heard about it through channels. When I visited the scene of the murder, there was magic there. Dark magic. I haven’t felt anything like it before.”

  Mixt’s eyes widened, and if anything, his face got even paler. “Magic? There is dark magic out there in the world of mortals?” He looked at the portal, his expression one of alarm. “But how can that be?”

  “Yeah, I think so. It leads back here, to this portal. I thought…” It hit him. The magic had evaporated completely. Amid this world, even though magic was everywhere, the dark magic should have stood out, like a skunk in a bed of roses.

  “It ends.”

  “Ends?” Mixt recoiled. “Ends where?”

  “At the portal. It doesn’t come through the portal, but stops just outside of it. It’s as though...” Euros shook his head, trying to clear the last of the cobwebs from his head.

  Mixt stepped forward, sniffing the air between them. In alarm, Euros stepped back. “It’s as though someone is trying to enter the portal, but hasn’t yet succeeded.”

  “No…” With a growl, Mixt straightened. “Euros, the portals are sealed—have been sealed—for centuries. Unless they are Gatekeepers, like us, no one can pass through them.”

  “But you know the portals aren’t completely sealed, Mixt. Leaks do happen.”

  “Yes. But…” For a moment Mixt’s careful control of his expression slipped. In all the decades that he’d known Mixt, he’d never seen the man look nonplussed.

  “The leaks, as you like to call them, happen from within the portal, magic entering into the mortal world. Yes, from time to time little bits of magic seep through—a fairy here, a goblin there. We catch them, send them back. But we have never had a mortal enter the portal, or even try to. They can’t even see it. This just can’t be.”

  “I’m not saying it’s a mortal that’s trying to get through the portal. Like I said, I sense dark magic. Mortals don’t possess that. Not even the Wiccan kind.”

  Mixt sighed deeply, his face contorting into one of stress and confusion.

  “What do you propose we do, Euros?”

  “I’m going back. I’ll have a look around, and see if I can figure out what—or who—is trying to get through to this world. You need to keep an eye on things here; see what you can find out. Maybe find out whether a Gatekeeper went rogue.”

  “I do keep an eye on things.” He squinted at Euros. “I know how to do my job, but yes, I will find out whatever I can.”

  Euros shook his head in annoyance. “Okay, I’m going back. I’ll check in with you, if I find anything. And you know where to find me.” Euros looked at him intently. He knew that Mixt would never enter the mortal world to find him, or for anything else. His disdain for humans, and the brutal history between their world and the mortal one, had been told to him many times as a child. He was taught never to trust humans.

  “I do.” Mixt slipped silently back into the shadow of the oak tree. Euros cast one last look around his world, his home, and then stepped back through the portal. Returning was easier, it always had been. He emerged on the sidewalk to sunshine and blue skies, the same sunshine and blue skies on the Other Side of the portal. But here, on the mortal side, somehow the sun wasn’t as bright, the sky not so blue. This world was gray around the edges, worn down by life, by those living here.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the park. It was the same park it was before, the concrete walking path, cracked in places, leaves on the ground, the trashcan by the entrance, full of garbage. It all looked a little run down, a little tired. And of course, there was no sign of the white-robed Mixt.

  The Other Side wasn’t his world anymore, not really. He’d been on the mortal side of the portal for so long, feeling like an outcast at times, but he’d made his peace with being in this world. And now he had a job, had a duty to find Lansing’s killer, and who was behind the dark magic.

  He started down the sidewalk, hands jammed into his jacket pockets, his short, chestnut hair washed in the cool breeze. Magic swirled around him, not as strong, but still as dark. It pulled at his nerves and whispered against his skin. It made him nervous, a feeling he thought he’d grown immune to over the years.

  From his pocket, his cell phone vibrated against his hand. Without even looking, he knew it was his boss, checking on where he was, on the story, when he was coming in. Calling to remind him of his deadline. He ignored it as usual, and it stopped vibrating.

  He could write the article blindfolded. Saving the world—both worlds—from whatever was trying to make its way through the portal, was another story.

  Chapter Four

  Jessica had to admit, one of the perks of being promoted to detective was having her own desk. It gave her room for files and photos, a place to work, and privacy, even though it put her right in the middle of the guys that she worked with. Except that she didn’t exactly work with them anymore. For all intents and purposes, on this case, they worked for her.

  And that bothered her a bit, even though she didn’t want to think of it that way. It made the divide between her and the guys seem even deeper. On patrol, they’d accepted her as one of them, one of the guys working, doing the job. But those guys were still on patrol, and she was now sitting at a desk, trying to work her first case as a lead detective.

  Her phone rang, for what had to be the hundredth time. She wanted to ignore it, wanted to get this damn press statement finished, but s
he couldn’t leave it ringing. Snatching it up, she took a breath, aware of several guys turning to look at her.

  “Homicide. Detective Sharpe.”

  Jessica listened, as a CSI tech rattled off the list of evidence they’d found. She jotted notes down, listening with half an ear, watching the other detectives go back to what they were doing.

  Michael Ross had come through the squad room door, dressed in a fresh suit, looking even more put together than he had at three in the morning. She straightened, remembering again that she still wore yesterday’s clothes. She tracked her boss as he walked through the squad room. He was heading toward her, but taking the slow route, checking the case board, stopping to talk to a few of the other detectives. Her focus was on him, not on the phone. But something the CSI guy said caught her attention. She scribbled on her notepad.

  “Wait…what? Go back. Hair? Got a DNA match?”

  “Not hair. Fur. Fox fur, to be specific.”

  “Oh, okay.” She crossed out hair, scrawled something that resembled the word fox, and promptly forgot about it. On the list were precious other clues. The blood on the body was all Lansing’s, the other samples of DNA collected were either his, or his wife’s, or Sleeping Beauty’s under the tree in the back, or the myriad of other people who passed through that house. The bloody footprints, of course, were from the guard.

  That interview had been a bust, at least from the standpoint of pinning any of this on him. The guard been so distraught that he’d had a hard time even getting through the interview without breaking down. He’d stuck to the story of walking his rounds, of waking up under a tree, of not seeing anything suspicious. He’d agreed—not just agreed, but was almost grateful—to a blood draw. They’d sent that off to the lab to test for any kind of drugs, and to check his blood against that found at the scene, but Jessica wasn’t hopeful they’d find anything. She was sure, even though he looked good from all angles as a suspect, that the tapes from the security cameras would show that he was telling the truth. Those tapes were still being logged into evidence. Tapping her pencil on her desk, she debated pestering the techs one more time to get it done.