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

by Erin Hayes

  Connie reared back. Wavy golden hair brushing his brow, piercing blue eyes, dimples that screamed dashing and carefree. Most of her perps looked to be on the wrong side of used up. Too many souls passing through one body took its toll on the vessel, showing it on the skin.

  "Lovely, isn’t he?" Father Reynolds shifted in his chair to meet her eyes around the tablet, the creak of leather breaking her concentration.

  Connie made a noncommittal noise. "Who is he?"

  "This man is your next assignment, Constance."

  She furrowed her brow and stared at him again.

  Father Reynolds touched the screen and brought up a number: 321. "This is the number of souls he has stolen—at least, the ones we can verify. The assignment requires you to have a...less conspicuous partner than Xander."

  "I thought all Reapers looked so...obvious?"

  A new voice entered the room. "Maybe you should read your Reaper Manual."

  Connie turned her upper body toward him. The new arrival surveyed her from the dark corridor before he entered and took the vacant chair next to her. The man took up all the space in the chair and then some, looking kind of ridiculous, but the rigid set of his backbone kept Connie from laughing. He had beautiful eyes, deep brown fringed with long dark lashes. His hair seemed to have a mind of its own. Brown curls here and there added a texture inviting her to touch him, and so did his deep five o’clock shadow.

  "Some Reapers are born and some are made. The ones who are made look like your former partner. The ones who are born look like an everyday human being," he said, as he looked her up and down from toes to forehead.

  "But how is a Reaper made?" she prompted him further, ignoring his obvious perusal of her person.

  "I would have thought you worked that one out by now, Princess." The man turned back to Father Reynolds. "Father, how is she qualified to handle this case?"

  The priest cast his glance between them, remaining silent. He knew her too well to speak for her.

  He'd gone too far, but hitting the man in Father Reynolds' office would be overkill. She settled for an icy glare and a hard grip on the chair arm. "Excuse me, but I am well qualified to be on this case. I’ve been training with the mass theft unit since I was eighteen years old and I have brought down over a dozen criminals. I am, without a doubt, the best investigator our team has. Just because I don't have my head up some Reaper's ass doesn't mean I'm not a qualified investigator."

  She would never admit her fear of the Reapers to him —it was the only flaw in her career. Not enough interaction with their Element. If only she could get over it and work with them properly. The secrets of the Reaper Brotherhood would remain intact as they were a cloistered bunch, always hidden in shadow and most of them didn't even speak. She also had no will to learn their ways.

  "Be careful. You may have to add 'telling a lie' to your daily confession."

  Connie snorted and rolled her eyes. "Oh, the sass is strong with this one."

  She took a deep breath and looked back to Father Reynolds, who looked concerned. "Father, can you please corroborate my credentials for this...person?"

  The priest swallowed and steepled his fingers under his chin. "Mikon, she is the best we have, and the most qualified for this particular task."

  Father Reynolds reached out and pulled the screen from the air, tapped it once, and handed it to Connie. "You can start as soon as you’re ready. I expect full progress reports. Mikon is authorized to strip the souls from this man and hold them, save one for trial, on contact. Oh, and one more thing. We already leaked a photo and your identity to the underground. Your alias is Prudence Acquitaine. I trust you will figure out a suitable way to approach the target."

  Connie stared at Father Reynolds, not believing he would use that name, that alias. She hadn’t even heard the name spoken aloud for many years. That it would happen today, now. Connie didn’t believe in coincidence. "Father—" she began, but he held up his hand.

  "Good night, Constance."

  She looked over at her new partner who stared back at her with equal displeasure.

  Chapter Two

  Noah Hannock had his target right where she should be. A tiny push with a little chemically-laced champagne would bring this game to an end. This had been one of the longest cons he’d ever undertaken, but the payout would be worth it once he collected from the woman. It was nothing more than dumb luck that he’d met Lydia at a party a month ago. Usually he liked to know more about his marks before that he went in, but there they were a month later, on the cusp of marriage.

  She had no idea he’d courted her for her souls, and she wouldn’t find out until the day she died from grief that he didn’t want her at all. This particular con worked like a charm on the old birds. He’d pretend to love her, she would fall for him, and not even a month later they would be married and sharing souls. He always ensured he only kept two souls on him at all times leaving him to take all of his mark's souls. They couldn’t do a damn thing about it either. Some of them had gone to the church for retribution, surely, but he'd never encountered a problem there either, no Reapers lurked around corners waiting for him.

  He arranged himself on the chaise lounge in the lady’s bedroom, awaiting her arrival as she’d asked. She was at least forty years his senior but he didn’t mind if it got him what he wanted in the end.

  The gold-inlaid doorknob turned, and then she slipped into the room. She was a petite woman with furs draped over her shoulders and her soul-mark bare as customary with most of the high-society set. She had nine intact souls, eight for his taking if all went well. The rich didn’t care. They always bartered or paid for more souls if they got down to too few. She would do the same. Although she did fancy herself in love, she might decide to do herself in once he left her heartbroken and soulless.

  "My love," she whispered, peering into the candlelit room. "Are you here?"

  He stood and led her to the chaise lounge. She held his hand and stared into his eyes. All of his marks were so trusting, so easy to manipulate.

  "Why has someone as beautiful as you never married?" he asked, kissing the back of her hand.

  "I had a soul mate once, but the pain of losing him before my next soul proved too much to bear and I couldn’t move on. I’ve never tried to love again until now."

  Noah kissed her hand, lingering at her pulse point, picking up her arousal. "Now, Lydia, my dear. I wish we could continue this night. I want to show you all the things I have planned for us once we’re married." He leaned in and whispered naughty suggestions in her ear.

  Lydia shivered in his embrace

  "I think I should go now. We can talk tomorrow," he said while adjusting his dinner jacket.

  She gripped his coat so he couldn’t get away. "Wait. Please don’t go."

  He turned back and met her eyes. They were green with soft flecks of amber. The wrinkles framing those aged eyes only a slight mar to the beauty she'd held probably all her life. She must have been exquisite in her prime.

  "I must leave. I don’t want anyone to suggest something," he whispered fiercely. "I am an honorable man." He unclasped her fingers and set them in her lap. The look in her face suggested she had misplaced her favorite book. "I will return tomorrow, my love."

  "But you only have two souls left. What if something happens between now and then?"

  He smiled and patted her hand, as if placating a child. "Nothing is going to happen, and when we sign the marriage agreement you can share yours with me. Then we won’t have to worry about a thing."

  This seemed to clear up her terror. She let him leave.

  Once in the hall he took off his jacket and tie. The glittering party still raged downstairs, so he slipped out back, not wanting to mix and mingle. This was the penultimate moment of his scheme. He had to get his accomplice to marry him and Lydia so he could take her souls and be on his way. He smiled when he recalled how he’d blackmailed that priest into doing all his marriage ceremonies. Best investment yet.


  Ever since the church had gotten ahold of the Soul Program, they’d tainted the system to their own ends, and without them Noah would be out of a job. People used to retain their souls individually when married, before the church had decreed married partners would share souls between them. The rule left people vulnerable, however, because anyone could just slip in and take the souls away once the marriage ended in the divorce settlement. Many married couples went to court to fight for custody of the souls. Some even died, as in the case of Rogers v. Rogers, when the wife had won all the souls but one because her husband had committed adultery. The wife enticed the mistress to testify in return for a share of the bounty. The man had been robbed in Noah's opinion.

  He opened his cell phone as he walked to his car. The phone made a soft beep and he said, "Call Tanya."

  His sister’s face appeared on the screen, and he smiled as she smiled. They had the same wavy blond hair and crooked nose. Tanya was the only family left in the world to him and seeing her smile made all the trouble he went through for her worth it.

  "How was your day, sweetheart?" he asked.

  She coughed then returned to smiling. "Fine, love. I can’t wait to see you in a couple of weeks."

  "Good. I’ll be happy to take a few days off to spend there. How is the nurse? Are you faring alright with her alone?"

  She nodded. "She’s much better than the one I had before. Very attentive."

  A month back he’d caught the previous nurse flirting with his guard, and found out she'd been neglectful. His sister had developed bed sores so severe it hurt her to even breathe. He’d fired both the woman and the guard on the spot. He’d had a worse punishment in mind but his sister wouldn’t have liked his methods so he’d withheld for her sake. Lucky them.

  "Good, sweetheart. Good."

  "How was your day, Noah? You save any lives?"

  He smiled even as his heart ached. Tanya didn’t know his true profession. She would never approve if he told her. "No. Only some research and follow-up today."

  "Oh, good. I’m glad you’re taking it easy as well."

  She stopped speaking and looked away. Noah waited. "I have to go it’s time for my medicine," she said while trying to cover a cough.

  "We can talk soon," Noah said, swallowing through the heavy ache in his chest that squeezed his heart every time he spoke to his sister.

  "Okay. I love you."

  "Love you, too."

  He hung up and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. Every time he spoke to his twin sister she looked peaked and feverish, breaking his heart anew. All his spare time was spent researching and finding doctors to pay, con, or kidnap to help find a cure for the type of cancer she suffered.

  He remembered how lively she used to be, the mirror image of him in female form. They would run through town discovering new ruins to poke through, on the rare occasion finding a new place offering food to urchins like them. As soon as he’d reached his majority he signed on with Marcone, the crime boss, and started his own enterprise. His sister remained safe and that was all he cared about.

  His sister thought he was a lawyer. He tried to be that man for her but life didn't cooperate. Crime suited him much better, especially when he could play by his own set of rules.

  As the world and science had evolved, so did the diseases and he’d watched his sister waste away with no help from the church or medicine. If the blasted church hadn’t ruled religion over science he might have had a better chance to save her.

  Noah climbed in the car and slammed the door. His task tonight involved a doctor who had been hanging out at one of his clubs. The man had a taste for women, and Noah could provide him with an endless supply or rip his medical practice right from under him. The decisions would remain in the good doctor’s hands.

  He sped through midtown all the way to the old financial districts to his club close to the water. The back alley entrance doorman greeted him with a tip of the hat. Once he parted the beaded curtains into the main room, his senses came alive. Jazz music pounded through the club. Liquor was being served from two gleaming wood bars, and a line of beautiful women danced on stage. Creating a club after the old vaudeville style had been a genius move on his part.

  The doctor would be in the back rooms tonight, no doubt playing with a new toy.

  Noah stared through a hidden peephole as the man did unspeakable things to the hooker he’d bought at the bar, surprising him with some of the moves the man possessed.

  Once he’d finished, the girl waited on the side of the bed for her payment. The doctor settled up, and she sauntered out, leaving the door open for Noah.

  He allowed the man to dress before he interrupted. "I have a proposition for you, sir."

  The doctor glanced up as he tied a boot. "I’m not interested in men, sorry."

  "Neither am I. I have a business proposition." Noah moved into the room but didn’t touch anything. He’d witnessed the depraved acts taking place here.

  The doctor tied his other boot and looked at Noah. "I’m not interested."

  "Oh, but I think you are."

  The doctor stood, towering over Noah. The man was at least six-foot-three and 250 pounds of solid muscle. His skin glowed in the low light a deep brown. "I said ‘no.’ Do you want trouble?"

  Noah smiled. Anyone who knew him would have cringed and backed away, but the doctor didn’t know him and didn’t back down. Noah reached out and pressed a nerve tendon in the doctor’s neck, dropping him to his knees. He grabbed the doctor’s ear in a vice-like grip and leaned down to whisper. "If you don’t do what I tell you to, I’ll make sure the video of what you just did to my girl is sent to the church. Something tells me you leave certain things out of your confession." The doctor went stiff against his hand and Noah released him to get up.

  "I’ll send you the details," Noah said, wiping his hand on his pants before exiting the room.

  Now business was settled, Noah planned to get roaring drunk and see exactly how many women would offer him their beds for the night. A lucrative game he enjoyed, as it provided blackmail information about a number of high profile women in the city and it certainly helped boost his ego. After spending the evening with that old woman, he needed fresh youthful faces and more life than he knew what to do with.

  On a good night he had women offering single souls to spend an evening in his bed. He didn’t prostitute himself out to them, oh no, but he took what they offered, gave them just enough to feel they needed more, and left them bereft. Of course they couldn’t report it to the police because many of the women had husbands, very influential men, and wouldn’t want to be caught up in a scandal. Most moved along with their lives, bought new souls, and tried again later. Most never learned their lesson.

  He went back into the darkness of the main bar area and sat on a polished stool facing the stage.

  His dancers were tasteful and all beautiful as they performed burlesque numbers to entice the crowd of gentlemen sitting close to the stage. Not the usual entertainment, but effective. Tomorrow he would talk to the manager and get her to make it a regular act.

  Speak of the devil.

  His manager, Seraphina, approached him from behind, sliding her arms over his shoulders so she could nuzzle his neck. Her shoulder-length inky black hair hung around her face as she leaned forward, hiding the heavy makeup she lived behind. The one woman he loved dearly, who wasn't a relation, somehow made him look like a saint. The moment he planned to open a club he knew she should be the one who would run it. Seraphina had to be the only other person in the city as unscrupulous as he was. By all the circles in hell, the night he’d met her she’d tried to rob and then assault him. She hadn’t quite succeeded, though, and now he couldn't ask for a better platonic match.

  "My dear," he said, gripping her hand as he kissed her inner left wrist.

  "I’ve missed you, Noah. Where have you been?"

  He smiled. "The usual places. I’m just finishing up a mark. I should have her by week’s end."
<
br />   "Ah, is this one beautiful?"

  Noah considered it. "Maybe about twenty years ago she might have been. She is old. Really, I’m doing the woman a service by putting her out of her misery."

  Seraphina motioned the bartender who poured her a glass of whiskey on the rocks, then walked around to his front, settled on the stool next to him, and stared toward the stage. "Mm. I might have to make this a regular act."

  Noah nodded. "That’s exactly what I was thinking. Those men are salivating on the stage lights. I bet those girls are going to make a pretty penny this evening once they clean them out."

  All the women who worked at Noah’s club knew what they were getting into. They were all paid very well for their discretion and for everything they had to deal with. He designed the system to work perfectly and all the working girls knew what was expected. He rarely had defectors.

  He recalled the last girl who did leave them. She wasn’t cut out for the business. He could see it when he hired her, but she was beautiful, and he knew his clients would love her. A heart-shaped face matching a heart-shaped ass. She had magnificent proportions. The night she ran off it took less than an hour to hunt her down and ensure she’d never work again. Angelina had been her name, and she became a clear sign to all his girls what happened to those who stepped out of bounds.

  "Seraphina, my love. Have you heard about any new marks headed our way?"

  The woman’s smile seemed almost predatory. "I actually heard of one that might be up your alley. Her name is Prudence Aquitaine."

  That got his attention. He leaned in closer. "Of the Aquitaine legacy? The long lost heiress?"

  Many had spoken of the old man and his adopted concubine. The underground had gone abuzz the night she’d disappeared, thinking he had murdered her for his own pleasure. An investigation took place, of course, but no body, no crime. When the man died no one could believe he’d left his fortune to a dead girl so that only meant she still lived and, it seemed, she had finally been found.