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

by Erin Hayes

  "Apparently his only heir, and I hear she is as lovely as she is rich."

  Noah did some calculations in his head. If he could close the con he could start on his new mark within a month. "Do you know what she looks like?"

  She smiled that feline grin again. "I can do better than that." She lifted her phone from her pocket and scrolled through before turning the screen to face him.

  He gasped out loud. She was absolutely stunning. Her fire red hair hung wild and free around her face and down her back. He loved a woman with sexy hair. "I wonder if her hair is real," he mused.

  "Looks real to me," his companion said.

  This woman would be his next mark, he had no doubt about that. The anticipation of ending his current con beat heavy in his chest. Soon he would hold this goddess in his arms and relish as he stripped the life from her. Not only would he take his pleasure, he would use every part of her before doing so.

  Chapter Three

  Mikon followed entirely too close as they exited Father Reynolds' office. His breath fanned the back of her neck in warm gusts.

  She swung her head toward him as he crowded too close. "Don’t you believe in personal space?"

  "Don’t you believe in being polite when you first meet people?" he countered.

  She stopped, and he almost ran into the back of her. "I believe in being polite to people who deserve it, sure."

  "What did I do to you that makes me unworthy, oh qualified one?"

  She threw her hands up in the air. "You questioned my ability to do my job and called me a little girl, all in front of my boss. Why wouldn’t I think you were a raging dick?" No one criticized her abilities. Yes, occasionally she made a blunder, but never anything that hurt anyone else. If something bad happened it would be her own ass, she made sure. She spun back and marched outside as she thought of Xander and how she didn’t even get to say goodbye. Her last remarks to him had been full of anger and sarcasm.

  "You missing your former Reaper? I don’t think he liked you very much. He did leave you soulless for forty-seven minutes."

  She pursed her lips and shifted her still damp jacket closer. "Well, apparently there was traffic." It sounded dumb even as she said it but she owned it once the words tumbled out.

  "You know, my timing is impeccable. I don’t even have to have contact to bring forward a soul."

  "Are you bragging or comparing sizes now? Because in case you hadn't noticed I don’t have a penis."

  His lips curled in a suggestive grin. "Of course I noticed."

  She rolled her eyes and kept walking toward her car. He followed behind. At least Xander had remembered to send someone for it before being called away.

  "Stop staring at my ass," she said, as she added another curse word for her mental confession tally.

  "I’m not staring at your ass."

  She turned again to face him, walking backward. "Oh yeah, I forgot. You boys have dicks, but you can’t use them."

  His eyes clouded, and the man's face morphed from innocent ribbing to menacing Reaper in two-point-two seconds. "You should watch what you say." A midnight quality had entered his tone. Almost unworldly, as if something else spoke through him.

  She’d never actually riled up a Reaper before, but for some reason this one didn’t scare her the same way the others did. She stopped and watched his face change back to arrogant ass. Mikon had the readability of a dictionary. She could almost see his thoughts entering his head to leak out his big ears. "How often does that happen?"

  He shook himself and met her eyes. "As often as dumb investigators get me riled up."

  "Oh, so now I’m dumb?" She stalked to her car and ripped open the driver’s side door before throwing herself in the seat.

  He climbed in the passenger side as she buckled in.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Going with you?"

  She chuckled as she started the car. "Uh...no. I think not."

  He buckled his own belt. "Like it or not, we are stuck together so we need to start working and you obviously need to change so...I’m going with you."

  She rolled her eyes and threw the standard issue black 2124 Buick into drive. You obviously need to change so I’m going with you. She mocked him in her mind. Even though he wasn’t as scary as the other Reapers, her bravery only went so far.

  The entire ride she imagined ways to throw him out of her moving vehicle. She wondered if that would require a confession. Would be worth a few extra Hail Marys. His voice interrupted her as she imagined unlocking the door and pushing him out.

  "You do know I can read your mind and emotions right?"

  She slammed on her brakes at the stoplight, almost skidding through it. "What?"

  "Yeah...you really should read the manual."

  Yet another Reaper who could rifle through her mind without her permission. "You really should stick to your own damn head and stay out of mine." Another thing everyone knew except her. If only she could find that cursed book so she could read it. He acted like he knew everything. Her mind still raced at all his showing off in Father Reynolds' office. "Hey, what did you mean about Reapers being born or made?" She looked over at him and he cast his glance out the window.

  He took a deep breath like he had to prepare himself for the conversation. "There are a group of criminals, people, humans, that do things, horrible, awful, unimaginable terrors. When those individuals lose their first soul, and they always do, the remaining souls they have are locked in hell. They come back to life to serve the church, but that’s it. Until the day the church no longer needs them or they die."

  A backfiring car nearby shook her to reality. She drove forward, processing Mikon's words. "So your souls are in hell?"

  He jerked his head toward her and scowled. "My soul, just the one, never went to hell and it never will." He spoke with a sharp edge and Connie refrained from touching that topic again.

  "So, Xander?"

  "Yeah."

  "I didn’t know. I wish I’d known, I would have..."

  "What? You would have what? Been nice to him, took pity on him, for being such a horrible human being that he has to exist in hell? He deserves every miserable second. I can read those Reaper’s sins as well yours or Father Reynolds. He deserves every minute and more."

  Connie kept her eyes fixed on the road as she thought of Xander and what he could have done. She thought herself competent at reading people. Reapers aren't really people though.

  She pulled up to her place, turned the car off, and looked at Mikon. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. Can we start over?"

  He let out a long sigh then gave her a brief nod.

  Connie climbed out of the car and walked into the abandoned warehouse that held her loft. The roof had already begun to collapse and the worn wood and steel barely hung together. Her loft had been one of the few salvageable places to turn into living space and the two other tenants below her kept to themselves. She knew she pushed the church's line by living on the edge of the safe zone, but out here, no one bothered her, and it usually remained quiet. This area of town used to be known as the Garment District, and she sort of liked the old world name. It fit the style of the buildings. Once they managed six flights of stairs she slid the door open to her home and allowed a Reaper access.

  Church employees usually lived in the church or at least within walking distance, but Connie liked her independence. She enjoyed the fifteen minute drive to her place and besides she could decorate however she wanted and change it as often as she wanted. Right now she had a bright red couch in some sort of microfiber with plush cushions that sucked you in. Her throw rug was cobalt blue, and her kitchen decorated with nothing more than bare bones and steel. Just inside the door stood her bathroom. It was tiny, and she’d never bothered to decorate it. On the other side of the bathroom was her bedroom, also never decorated, as she often slept on the couch while working. Okay, passed out on the couch while overworking.

  He walked in like he owned the place, a
nd Connie grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom to change. "I’d tell you to make yourself at home, but you probably already have," she said through the thick door.

  Once changed into a pair of black pants and a black t-shirt, she exited the bathroom. She tried to tame her hair, but it was a mass of tangles, the red strands twisted and knotted around each other. He watched as she tried to the work the knots out. "What?"

  "You’re strangely...peaceful."

  "What’s that supposed to mean," she asked, finally giving up to get a brush.

  "It means you don’t think much. Not that you’re simple, but that you don’t require a ton of extra energy to do small tasks."

  He confused the crap out of her. One minute he spouted bullshit, the next he put on ol’ Reaper face, and then stood tongue-tied in her living room. Mikon was going to keep her on her toes.

  "Here, let me." He crossed the room and took the brush from her hand. Carefully he pulled it through the knots and loops in her hair until it fell down her back in a red curtain. With each pass of the brush, she melted into herself. The pleasure she got from such a simple thing was incredibly indecent, but it felt so good to have someone touch her hair and brush it.

  Sometimes when she recalled her youth, there were memories of her sitting on the floor, a caring hand drawing a brush through her locks until they sparkled in the firelight. She pushed the memories away. "Thanks," she whispered, taking the brush.

  She flopped on the couch and he followed suit. "So...you can look over the case." She handed him the tab Father Reynolds had provided.

  As he began to read aloud, Connie dropped her head onto the back of her couch cushion and listened. His voice rang beautifully when not spouting stupid comments. Somehow it combined the rich and melodic tones with deep dusky undertones, creating a voice that vibrated through her, straight to her toes. "Noah Hannock. Born 2098. Works the high-society set. Favors romance cons targeting unsuspecting older women."

  Connie chuckled, interrupting him.

  "What’s so funny about that?" he asked.

  "Nothing. It's typical. He’s beautiful, so he goes for what he thinks he can accomplish."

  Mikon continued, "To date he has stolen over 321 souls, but nothing can be tied to him directly. All souls have been given willingly."

  He stopped reading, and Connie looked over at him. "What is it?"

  "This is the first picture I’ve seen of him and even I have to say he is sort of stunning."

  "It’s probably why he’s so good at what he does. What woman wouldn’t want a man who looked like that to love her? Especially if her beauty is already fading. He offers a jolt of youth to the unwary. It’s disgusting."

  There was a comfort having someone in her apartment. She had no friends and never many lovers. It was always awkward admitting pre-marital sex at confession. Connie watched her new partner. He was certainly smart, seemed to be in decent shape, and might be a capable partner. "Can you do me a favor," she asked, climbing to her feet.

  He placed the tab in his lap and gave her questioning look.

  "Please."

  He stood and put the tab down on the couch.

  Connie shifted her weight into a fighting stance, and his eyes rounded in surprise.

  "You want to duke it out to see who’s in charge?" he asked, with a smart-ass grin on his face.

  "No, dipshit. I want to duke it out to make sure you can handle yourself if things go south."

  "Ah, of course. You’re worried about me."

  "Um, no. I’m worried about me."

  He chuckled, and put his hands up to guard his face. His fighting stance seemed solid, but she would see. Every single day since she was old enough to watch the old man teaching martial arts across the street from her home, she’d practiced and learned anything and everything about fighting that she could. Practicing had become a haven for her, a place where she could turn her mind off and be free.

  She shifted forward and threw out a right hook. He easily blocked it.

  "Come on, honey. You’re toying with me."

  "Perhaps. I don’t want to break you on your first try."

  "This isn’t my first time fighting. Give me all you got."

  Connie shifted and threw out a kick. He wasn’t expecting it, and her foot landed in his stomach, throwing him back a few paces.

  He laughed, stepping back up. "Okay." This time he led, throwing an uppercut.

  She dodged around and slammed his head forward with her forearm. He spun back and aimed a punch to her kidneys, which she blocked. They set up again, and she aimed another kick, but he grabbed her leg and took her down to the soft carpeted floor. She tried to twist him into a headlock, but he maneuvered out of the way and pinned her arms. They stayed locked together for a moment, breathing each other’s exhales. Connie recalled his fingers in her hair and the obvious strength beneath his clothes. Her thoughts took another turn.

  Mikon immediately released her, got to his feet, and stepped a few paces back.

  A flush of heat crept up Connie’s neck and face. "Sorry about that."

  He straightened his clothes and resumed his seat on the couch, although stiffer than before. "No problem," he said.

  "I guess I’m going to have to learn to control my thoughts. Can all Reapers do that?"

  "No, only born Reapers. Punished Reapers have no special abilities save reaping souls."

  Connie got up and sat on the other end of the sofa then rearranged her hair.

  Awkward tension stretched between them as Connie picked up the tab to learn more about their target. They had three long weeks of training together before they could even begin the mission tasks. A new Reaper investigator pair had to work together for a minimum of three weeks before any serious work as they needed to learn each other's habits and interactions.

  Connie did not relish spending three weeks training with the man.

  Chapter Four

  Mikon woke with a start, glancing around his sparsely furnished bedroom. There was something here with him, but he couldn’t quite get a read on it. It felt like the soft presence of a soul, but it wasn’t lost. He stayed flat in his bed staring at the ceiling until he felt the soul brush closer to his bed. It was a strange feeling, like trying to use your arm after it had fallen asleep. Finally, he looked where the soul should be and made out the hazy figure of his new partner, Constance. Three weeks ago he’d begun to mentally carve her body into his head. She dragged his mind to places he didn't want to go. He blinked to clear his vision and stared again at the hazy figure, still Constance.

  He climbed out of bed so fast he twisted in the covers, and they almost took him down as he ran to his phone on the kitchen counter. He dialed her number quickly and waited an eternity while it rang.

  "Hello," she said. Her cheeks looked raw and red, like she rubbed them in a haste to answer. He could see her bed tousled hair and swollen eyes through his phone. Had she been crying?

  "What the hell did you do?"

  She made an unintelligible sound then said, "What?"

  He shouted into the receiver, trying to jar her sleep addled mind. "Check your arm. Check your soul-mark. Now!"

  His shout jolted her into action. She put the phone on the bed and lifted her arm from under the covers. "There’s nothing wrong with it. It looks the same, feels the same."

  "Let me see." He shouted it before he even realized what he was saying. Asking someone to show him something so personal was taboo. By all rights she should have slammed the phone shut in his face but she didn’t. Instead she lifted her arm slightly and bared the sapphire scrolled soul-mark to his eyes.

  Being able to see her soul-mark was being able to see her soul. It glowed bright with clean, innocent energy. She was so pure of heart he could barely look at it straight on. Rarely did he find anyone with such souls. "It’s fine. Thank you for trusting me."

  She dropped her arm and pushed a mass of hair out of her face. "What’s going on?"

  "I don’t know. Can I com
e over and speak to you about it? I’d prefer not to talk on the phone about such things."

  She yawned and stretched, her nipples poking through the thin tank top she slept in.

  He looked away but the image seared in his brain.

  "Sure, come on over, I’ll make some coffee."

  She clicked the phone off, and he dove for his jeans at the end of his bed. As he slid each foot through the denim he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d seen. Lost souls were one thing, something he lived with every day, but seeing a soul of someone he knew to be alive and well unnerved him. It wasn’t right. There was more to Constance Grace than he knew, and he wasn’t going to wait around and allow it to bite him in the ass.

  He finished dressing, grabbed his faded brown leather wallet, keys, and phone, and jogged out the door and down the stairs of his apartment building near the church.

  Once he hit the street he hopped on his motorcycle in the side alley and rode out to Constance’s house. She lived on the edge of the safe zone. He’d need to speak with her about it. Anything outside the church's protection didn't guarantee safely. The people who lived on the outside usually bartered in souls and food making them a dangerous caste to walk amongst. The night pressed in as he rode, but the need to make sure Constance was safe, in person, was an all- demanding pounding in his brain.

  Constance opened the door as he jogged up the stairs.

  "Are you sure you’re okay?" he asked as he entered, turning toward her as she slammed the door.

  "I’m fine."

  He looked her over. She appeared much smaller without most of her clothes on. Long lean legs, a small waist, and he could clearly the see the handful that made up her breasts outlined by her tank top.

  "If you’re done?" She interrupted him as his eyes trailed upward from her breasts. Heat immediately sizzled straight to his ears; he was sure his cheeks had to be a matching pink.

  "Sorry. I just needed to make sure you’re okay."