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

by Erin Hayes

  “I said GET OUT!”

  “Roman!” she screamed back, matching his tone. “I will not be ignored! This is too important. If you don’t listen to me, I don’t know what will become of you.”

  “Whatever,” he muttered, opening the dresser drawer and pulling out a bottle of dragon fruit shavings.

  He opened it, letting it fall to the floor and mix with the Himalayan salt and lilac surrounding the room.

  Julia looked down at it, her eyes widening. “Roman, don’t you dare.”

  “Exile,” he said softly.

  Julia’s body lifted from the floor and flew through the open bedroom door.

  As she was deposited out into the hallway, she continued screaming at me.

  “Roman, listen to me!”

  Her body continued out the front door, and then the door shut in her face.

  That was it. He was done. Whatever he thought they had once had was gone.

  Chapter Five

  Julia shuddered as the door slammed shut in her face. Had this really happened?

  The thoughts in her head whipped past. She thought about knocking on the door, or knocking the stupid thing down. But she knew better. That was an exiling spell. Even if she banged so hard it woke the neighbors, Roman wouldn’t hear it. Even if she took a battering ram to that door and splintered it into a thousand tiny shards of wood, she still wouldn’t be able to enter the doorway. Not until Roman decided she could.

  At the moment, that didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon.

  She shook her head and turned toward the stairwell, thankful that she at least hadn’t brought a purse that would be lost within that room. Whether or not another piece of her would be left within those walls was yet to be seen.

  She marched down the stairs with frustrated steps. Nothing between Roman and Julia had ever been simple. How could it be when they came from families who had hated each other since before either of them were even born, and when that hatred ran so deep that it ended things even before they begun?

  But for everything they’d been through, for all the odds against them, she never thought Roman would hate her. Was it all inevitable?

  The heat between them, the sex that was perhaps the best of her life, their romantic and layered history—could it all really be torn apart by one idealistic explosion?

  Julia pushed out into the open air and took a deep breath. The magic he was dabbling in was the baddest of bad news. It might have been his family’s legacy, but she remembered the conversations Roman and she used to have about it, when he would tell her how stupid his ancestors must have been to even consider tapping into something so dark and deadly.

  And here he was, doing it himself. If Cassandra could be believed—and she always could—he was even going as far as competing in those awful black magic competitions.

  Julia bristled, and not just from the cold seeping into her clammy skin. The neighbors across the street whistled at her, and a chemical smell drifted down the street from the corner ahead.

  She blinked and took the hard look around at the neighborhood she must have been blind to before. Roman and she had been so excited to score this place. It was the first step toward what should have been their lives together. But things didn’t turn out the way they were supposed to. Walking through this decaying alley that smelled of sewage and smoke, Julia wondered if anything ever did.

  “Hey there, pretty lady.”

  Suddenly aware of just how alone she was, Julia shook her head and hurried her step.

  “I’m talking to you,” the voice said, and this time, it sounded as though it was in front of her.

  She froze. Here she was, a waif of a girl in the middle of a dark alley in a bad neighborhood in the dead of night all by herself. Unsure if she should continue forward or turn back. And what if she did? Where would she go? Not to Roman’s apartment.

  The situation would be cliché if she were just any woman. But Julia wasn’t just any woman. Not by a long shot.

  Grandfather had been right. She had always been a natural with the magic. Back in the day, there wasn’t a single instant where she hadn’t been able to defend herself. But back in the day was a long time ago, and she had spent the last eighteen months pretending she was a normal person. Could she muster enough energy to light a candle, let alone fight off a guy or two?

  Maybe not, but she did have one shot. Her name carried some weight in these parts, and her reputation would have no doubt preceded her. Hopefully that would be enough to send these goons running.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to do this,” she said, setting her jaw. “I’m assuming you don’t recognize my face because, if you did, there’s no way you’d be stupid enough to harass me.” She cleared my throat. Time for the money line. “So let me introduce myself. My name is—”

  “Julia Fairweather,” two voices said in unison. “You’ll fetch quite the price.”

  She shuddered. There was something intrinsically creepy about the way they did that.

  A man appeared in front of her, walking out from the darkness. He was tall, with pale skin and black eyes that matched his hair. There was a strange, strung out air about him. Great. A magical junkie. She knew she smelled something wrong. That meant that not only was he a warlock, but he was a desperate one. She couldn’t think of anything more dangerous.

  Julia sensed a presence behind her and spun around. A second warlock, exactly like the first one.

  “Twins,” she muttered.

  She hated twin warlocks, especially twin warlocks who undoubtedly wanted to dispose of her and sell her power for cheap mystical thrills.

  “If you’re completely still, this will only hurt a lot,” the twins said, again in unison.

  Julia tensed. This wasn’t going to work. Not only was she criminally out of practice, but she was panicking. There was no way she would be able to muster the focus necessary to put these losers in their place.

  She could run, but the truth was, she probably wouldn’t get very far. And, if she did, the only place to go was Roman’s apartment. And even if he was inclined to help her out, he wouldn’t be able to hear her shouts.

  She would have to go all or nothing and hope that if her own personal attributes weren’t enough to get these guys shaking, maybe the rest of her family’s might be.

  “Do you have any idea what the Fairweathers are capable of?” she asked, her hands balled into fists. “We practically run this city. If my family found out that you even considered doing something to me, they’d turn your skin inside out.”

  “Then we’ll have to make sure they never find out,” one of the twins said as they bridged the gap to her on each side. “How will we do that Brother?”

  The other one chimed in now. “I can think of a few different ways. Most of them involve hatchets, though. Do you have a hatchet?”

  This was it. She was about to become the victim of some very tweaked-out magic junkies. All she could do was hold her ground. If she was going to go down, then she was at least going to keep her pride intact.

  The twins reached for her, their bodies moving in tandem in what had to be the creepiest thing she had ever seen. That was the thing with twin warlocks. They, and their magic, were an endless reflection of one another.

  That’s it!

  She remembered exactly what she needed to do to defeat them. So she braced herself, preparing to dodge their first magical attack. If she could cause them to miss her and hit one another instead, their negative energy would feed into each other until they stopped the spell. That would give her enough time to get away.

  That was if they missed. If they hit each other instead. But she had to try.

  A loud screeching noise filled the air. It wasn’t unsettling, painful, or even necessarily bothersome, but apparently the twins felt differently about that.

  Their hands shot to their ears as they crumbled to the ground. They screamed, still in unison, as blood poured from their ears.

  Another figure appeared from the
dark—a muscular man with burnt auburn hair and blue eyes that popped even in the dark. He could have been dangerous. He was, in essence, also in this dark alley. For all she knew, he was fighting these junkies for the right to kill her himself.

  But somehow, she didn’t sense that. Something about the way he moved put her at ease. Something in his face, in the way his eyes flickered up at her and the concern reflecting in them, told her this guy was different.

  The twins splayed unconscious on the ground, and the noise stopped.

  The man with the red hair looked up at her, a sigh of relief passing his parted lips.

  “Are you all right there, ma’am?” he asked, his voice colored with the deepest, thickest southern accent Julia had ever heard. “I know you might be a little confused about what you just seen. ‘Fraid to say, there are things in this world that simply ain’t what you might—”

  “I had that,” she said, scowling. “I was waiting for them to make a move.”

  The man’s eyebrows rose along with the corners of his lips. “Were you now? Didn’t look so from where I stood.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” she muttered. “You’re not the only witch in this town, you know. I’m a witch, too.”

  He blinked. “Well, I suppose technically it’s warlock. But no use in siftin’ through grain when the hay’s already been baled. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  Julia chuckled. She didn’t mean to. She was tired. She was scared. And, more than that, she was heartbroken. But she wasn’t dead, and that was down to this guy, pride or not.

  He smiled, a bright thing that seemed to light up the dark alley with ease.

  “Name’s Paris Wheeler, and it sure is nice to meet you, even if it is under less than perfect circumstances,” he said, offering her his hand.

  Though she was still a little hesitant, she took it. He shook her hand firmly, biting his lower lip.

  “Julia. Julia Fairweather,” she offered. “Paris is an interesting name.”

  “For a man, you mean,” he said, her hand still in his. “It’s all right. It’s hardly the first time I’ve got that reaction. I’m named after the city.”

  “The city of lights,” Julia said, nearly stumbling over the two unconscious assailants at their feet as she stepped closer. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “Oh, Lord, no.” He shook his head. “Paris, Texas. It’s where my momma is from. Where I was conceived, I think. Not that that’s conversation I’m supposed to be havin’ in mixed company. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m afraid you’ve got me all flustered.”

  “I’m sorry,” Julia answered.

  “Don’t be,” Paris said. “It’s not an entirely unwelcome sensation if I may be so bold.”

  “You may,” Julia said, again chuckling. “Is everybody from Texas so chivalrous?”

  “Could be. Kinda doubt it, though.” He shrugged. “Not that I would know. Me myself, I’m from a bit farther down.”

  “I can tell,” she said, listening to the way his voice twanged. “Listen, I appreciate what you did out here. Really. Sorry if it didn’t sound like it earlier, but I’m sure you can understand my skepticism over a stranger helping me after what these two strangers were trying to do.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. If my granddaddy would have seen me walking by a woman in trouble and not offering my hand, he’d have tanned my hide six ways from Sunday.” He shrugged. “So, in all honesty, it was just as much for me as you. Guess I oughta be thanking you, too.”

  Julia hoped the dark would hide her sure blush.

  “So, Fairweather, huh?” Paris asked. “My papa’s here to talk business with them actually. It’s what’s got me walking through downtown at this God-forsaken hour. We just landed.” His hand was still in mine. “What’s got you running back and forth like this?”

  “A mistake,” she mumbled.

  “I know how that goes. May I take you home?” He cleared his throat and looked toward his feet. “I mean, to your home. Can we go to your house? Dang it.” His turn to blush. “What I’m trying to say, rather unsuccessfully, is that I’d like to walk you home if you’d let me. Just to make sure you’re safe.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “But this city is always buzzing. I’m just going to get a cab.” She pointed to the end of the alleyway, toward the undoubtedly busy city street. “I’ll be fine.”

  “All right, then,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Julia answered, looking down at their joined hands. “Now if you’ll just…”

  “Of course,” he said, pulling his hand away so that the cool air hit Julia’s hand fresh again. “Look at me. I don’t know what I’m doing. You got me all flustered.” He looked at her again, biting his lip as he tucked his hands into his pockets and strolled a couple steps back. “I wonder why that is.”

  “No idea.” Julia smiled. She looked down at the magic junkies still at their feet. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

  She was already planning what to do with the bodies. She wasn’t inclined to help them. After all, she hadn’t been the one to kill them, and she felt no moral responsibility to mourn people who wanted her dead themselves.

  Paris nodded. “I’m sure you will.”

  “See you around, Paris Wheeler,” she added when she sensed he was still standing there.

  “Sure do hope so, Julia Fairweather,” he said, then he grinned at her before turning and walking away.

  Julia crashed into bed nearly the instant her head hit the pillow. The ancestors were speaking to her, mumbling about something she couldn’t quite make out.

  No real surprise there.

  Still, she didn’t need them. Her mind was loud enough even without the words of all the Fairweather witches that had come before.

  Thoughts of Roman ran through her head on an endless ticker. Even in her sleep, she saw him: his lips, his eyes, his hands as they roamed her body, pushing all her buttons with the ease of someone who had put them there in the first place.

  She woke in a heap of sweat and frustration. Her entire body ached—not only from the push and pull of passion, but also from nearly being attacked in the street.

  She had been so foolish, being out there on her own. But that was the effect Roman always had on her. He brought out her reckless side, made her do things she otherwise would never even consider.

  Part of her always knew that would be the death of her. Of course, the other part of her knew it as the only way she could ever truly be alive.

  A light knock sounded on her door and, before she could manage even a sluggish response, it opened.

  She had forgotten about that—how privacy was more an illusion than an actual constitution. Doors, locks, even beds, were all up for grabs here. Julia had lived the vast majority of her life in this very room, surrounded by these very things, trapped within these four walls, and still she didn’t feel as if they were really hers.

  Julia expected Jenkins to brush through the doorway. His easy eyes and happy demeanor would be a welcome sight after all the recent drama.

  Instead, her Grandfather—leader of the Fairweather Moon Coven himself—strode into the room.

  “What’s wrong?” Julia asked, stiffening in bed as her heart dropped straight down to her gut. Her breaths shallowed. If her grandfather had taken the time out of his day to wake her, then something was definitely amiss.

  “Relax, Julia. I can feel your uneasiness from halfway across the manor.” He shook his head. “If something was wrong, I wouldn’t be waking you with such gentle hands. And I certainly wouldn’t have knocked.” He pursed his lips. “Even if it is midafternoon.”

  “Oh,” Julia answered, reaching over and tapping at her phone. The screen lit up. 3:27 PM. God, she had nearly slept the entire day away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  “No need to apologize,” Grandfather answered. “Even witches suffer from jetlag. That being said, there’s some business that needs to be attended to. And
you’re needed in the dining room.”

  “The dining room?” Julia asked, sitting up straighter in her bed.

  “We have company—people in need of a warm welcome.” He cleared his throat. “From you specifically.”

  “From me?” Concern rose in her chest. “May I ask why?”

  “You may,” he answered. “Just as I may refuse to answer, at least for the moment. There are things at play here, Julia. Things that have been building since well before your return.”

  “Grandfather, I—”

  “That’ll be enough, child. I’ve spoken. Bottom line is you don’t need to know why right now. You just need to do as you’re asked. Now make yourself presentable and meet me in the dining room in ten minutes.”

  Julia scrunched her nose and imagined the state of her skin and hair. “Ten minutes isn’t a very long time to get ready.”

  “Think of it as a chance to brush up on your magic.”

  Grandfather turned and marched through the door, which closed itself gently behind him.

  Julia used every minute of those ten minutes to comb the knots out of her hair and slide into a blue and white sundress that she had left here when she trekked out to Iowa (for good reason). She could have been ready much sooner, but those ten minutes had been intended more as mental preparation than physical, and going through actions of getting ready was cathartic.

  Luckily, she had a few extra pomegranate seeds in her suitcase and she wasn’t particularly stressed, at least not in the life threatening way of last night, so she managed to use them to brighter her appearance near instantly, sending a soft sheen through her dark hair and whitening her teeth just enough to look natural.

  A little glamour, that was all.

  Leaving her bedroom, Julia made her way to the dining room, again ignoring the voices of the ancestors, who still hadn’t seen fit to tell her anything she could actually process.

  One of these days, she would either hear them outright or get them to shut up once and for all. That day, unfortunately, didn’t look as though it was going to be today, not with them yammering on like Sunday afternoon gossips under the hairdresser’s heating lamps.