The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

by Trisha Telep

  But as she had said to Paul, when it came to family, Caitlin pulled out all stops. And Jesse, for whatever else she was, was family.

  Well. Sort of.

  She stepped; she arrived. The world rippled around her for one dizzying moment. Then air became less oppressive, and she released the breath she had been holding. Caitlin blinked until the world settled back into its normal pattern of existence. Shapes sharpened. Colours brightened and sank within their lines. She found herself staring at an entertainment centre overstuffed with DVDs and CDs. A television roughly the size of an elephant took up most of the unit. A few framed Nagels decorated the walls. A battered coffee table stood in front of Caitlin, littered with magazines. To her right sat a plush sofa that promised to be comfortable.

  It was easy to see that this was a room that enjoyed being used. She could easily picture Paul and Jesse spending many an evening cuddling on the sofa, watching a movie, their fingers brushing as they both reached for the popcorn.

  But then, knowing her sister, Caitlin thought the sofa was probably used for other, less passive, activities.

  “Wow,” a man’s voice said behind her. “I believed you. But still. Wow.”

  Caitlin turned – slowly, because she was still a little dizzy – to face Paul Hamilton, the man her sister had sacrificed so much to be with. Light brown hair that was a little too long; small hazel eyes that had seen too much. Broken nose. Good smile. Had Caitlin been into big and brawny, she probably would have thought Paul had a great body.

  “Hey, Paul,” she said, dropping her travel bag and handbag to the floor. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  “Same here.” He flicked her a polite smile. “She’s over there.”

  He walked past Caitlin to the other end of the coffee table. She followed him, and there her sister was, sprawled prone on the floor. Most of her face was hidden by the unruly black curls of her hair, but Caitlin still knew that face intimately. Jesse’s eyes were closed, but Caitlin knew they were bright green and sparkled with mischief; Jesse’s mouth was slack, but Caitlin was well aware that when Jesse grinned, she had a slight overbite. Caitlin knew everything about how Jesse looked, down to her birthmarks.

  She had been there two months ago when Jesse had first stolen Caitlin’s looks. And her credit cards.

  Caitlin stared at her sister in flesh: Jesse Harris, the former demon Jezebel.

  For a long moment, Caitlin fought the urge to kick Jesse. Hard. But no matter how she felt about her twin, she had to protect her. All witches did, by the decree of the Hecate. That was why Caitlin had given the one-time succubus her name after turning her into a mortal two months ago: names had power, especially when offered freely.

  She hadn’t told Jesse why the Hecate was so invested in her. Caitlin wanted to give her sister more time as a normal human first – a couple of years, maybe, for her to be together with Paul, to learn how to truly love. Then she would tell Jesse about her destiny.

  But first, Caitlin had to figure out why Jesse was unconscious and glowing.

  She squatted next to Jesse and created a magical probe, one that would tell Caitlin more about the magic in play. It shimmered, lit up like a miniature nova, and incinerated. She murmured, “The spell that did this is still active.”

  “The glowing sort of tipped me off,” said Paul.

  She ignored the sarcasm. “Between the faintness of the glow and the colour, it looks like this has to do with dreams.”

  Paul hunkered down next to her. “You’re saying she’s sleeping?” He squinted at Jesse’s face as if he could will her awake.

  “No.” Caitlin peered at the small open box in Jesse’s hand. The patterns in the wood were intricate and beautiful, etched by someone with skill. Staring at those symbols, Caitlin remembered the last time she had seen anything like them before.

  She felt the blood drain from her face.

  Stop, she told herself. Don’t jump to conclusions.

  The torn envelope was on the floor next to Jesse. As Paul had said before on the phone, the package was padded and white, with only MS HARRIS on the front. No address. No information about the sender.

  Ms Harris. Not Jesse Harris. Ms Harris. Written in black marker – by a hand that Caitlin recognized.

  “Caitlin? What is it?”

  Grimacing, Caitlin said, “This package wasn’t intended for her.” She turned to face Paul. “It was supposed to go to me.”

  He stiffened.

  “That’s a memory box she’s holding,” Caitlin said, pointing at the open box in Jesse’s hand. “When the proper recipient opens a memory box, that person gets to experience a particular memory like it was happening now. It shouldn’t open for the wrong person. Technically, it can’t. It’s made specifically for a particular recipient.”

  “But Jesse opened it,” Paul said slowly.

  “Maybe it’s because she’s my twin.” More likely, it was because Jesse had been made Caitlin’s twin by magic. “The spell wasn’t meant for her, so what should have been passive instead became aggressive.”

  Paul’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “Once more, this time in words I can understand.”

  “She’s trapped in a memory.” Caitlin gritted her teeth. “The spell within the box became corrupted when she opened it. If you’d touched her, you would have been sucked into the memory too.”

  “Can you help her?”

  “Not without also getting pulled into the spell.”

  Something dangerous flashed in Paul’s eyes. “We have to do something. We can’t just leave her like this.”

  “We won’t,” Caitlin said, dreading her next words. “There’s someone I can call. He’s proficient in memory magic.” Goddess knew, he’d said that very thing too many times to count. “If anyone can free Jesse, it’s him.”

  “Who is he?”

  Caitlin sighed and closed her eyes. “My ex-husband.”

  Aaron Lighter had intended to spend a quiet night at home – just him, a couple slices of pepperoni pizza, a few beers, and both volumes of Kill Bill. Nothing like artful slaughter to cheer him up. He’d been in a funk ever since that afternoon, when he’d finally made the decision to send Caitlin the memory box. He’d crafted it months ago, from selecting the proper solid cedar board and making the initial cuts to bend the corners all the way to etching the outer designs with complex wards.

  Every cut he’d made, Aaron had thought of Caitlin Harris.

  Adding the memory had been the easy part; he was no master woodworker, but his subtle magicks were his strong suit. And memory was extremely subtle. Malleable.

  Maddening.

  He laughed bitterly as he popped open the beer bottle. Sending the memory box was supposed to be cathartic for him. Cleansing. Instead, it had left him feeling oddly hollow, and painfully lonely.

  Which, when he thought about it, was no different from how he’d felt when he’d been married to Caitlin.

  No, that was unfair. She’d been the one to leave him, after all. One too many fights, and both of them too proud to admit their egos had smothered their affection. She’d left him, and he’d thought at the time it was good riddance. Two years later, she had still infected his heart.

  When you compared love to a disease, it was time to take drastic measures. And so, he’d crafted the memory box.

  He was on his second bottle and his second slice when his cellphone rang. He checked the number and took a healthy swig of beer before he answered. Of course she’d be calling. Probably to thank him, and then make some small talk, ask how his rituals were going, that sort of thing. That’s all she was to him now: small talk. If he told himself that enough, he might actually believe it.

  Swallowing his beer, he took the call. “Caitlin,” he said by way of hello.

  “Aaron.” She said his name like she was spitting nails. “I know you sent the memory box.”

  He wasn’t the sort of man to think Well, duh. But in this case, it was damn close. “Given the memory that was inside, I’d c
ertainly hope so.” He’d chosen it specially, out of all the time they’d had together. Goddess knew that after twelve years, there had been quite a few choice memories.

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “Aaron . . .”

  “Listen, you caught me right in the middle of something, so enjoy the present.” He really wanted to watch some righteous murder right about now. Uma Thurman in a tracksuit was a bonus. Not that he was into tall, blond women with a thing for swords; he was much more about small brunettes with untamable curly hair.

  He wondered if Caitlin still kept her hair pulled back in a ponytail, or if she let it go loose around her shoulders.

  “Don’t hang up,” Caitlin snapped. “You messed up, Aaron. The box didn’t go to me.”

  Aaron rolled his eyes. He didn’t mess up, not when it came to memory boxes. While he enjoyed working various subtle craftings, the one area he truly excelled in was memory. Current actions defined a person only for the moment; memories defined them forever. “Of course it went to you,” he said. “I was very specific when I crafted the package. I infused it with the essence of your dazzling smile and sharp tongue, dearest.”

  She sighed, clearly exasperated. “Aaron—”

  “It couldn’t not go to you. Besides,” he added with a smile, “I felt it when you opened it.”

  Oh, he’d felt it, all right: the initial surprise, then a flood of lust so powerful it had given him a raging hard-on. He hadn’t known Caitlin could feel any emotion that strongly. Maybe he wasn’t the only one doing without sex.

  “That wasn’t me,” Caitlin growled. “Jesse got the envelope. Jesse opened the box.”

  Her words hit him like ice water in the face. His mouth worked silently for a moment, until he finally spluttered, “You’re joking.”

  “I wish I were. But I’m looking at Jesse right now.” Caitlin paused, and Aaron could hear her grind her teeth. “She’s trapped. Something went wrong, and she opened the box, and now she’s trapped.”

  Aaron ran his fingers through his hair. Of all the possible ramifications he’d thought of when he had first crafted Caitlin’s memory box – and he’d thought of just about everything, from Caitlin despising him to Caitlin throwing herself at his feet and begging for another chance – this scenario hadn’t come up. Hell, this scenario should be impossible. But then, he admitted to himself, when it came to Caitlin’s pseudo-sister Jesse, “impossible” didn’t really exist.

  He said, “Tell me everything.”

  She did.

  By the time she finished, Aaron was sweating and his heartbeat was erratic. Caitlin had been wrong – he hadn’t merely messed up. He’d fucked up, hugely. What was supposed to be a gift for his former wife had turned into a potentially lethal weapon against the one person the Hecate’s followers had sworn to protect. The old saying was true: no good deed went unpunished.

  “I need your help,” Caitlin said.

  Well, that had to kill her to admit. The thought made him smile. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said.

  “It doesn’t take that long to step.”

  “No, dearest. But it does take that long to get a cab.” He paused. “I’m right here in New York, Caitlin. I left Salem after you walked out on me.”

  “Don’t,” she said, her voice sharp.

  Caitlin never had liked hearing the ugly truth when it came to their relationship. Some things would never change. “Fine,” Aaron said. “I’ll get there shortly. Just don’t touch her.”

  She snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “The address would be nice.”

  After Caitlin gave him the address, she said, “You could just step here and be done with it.”

  “Unlike some,” Aaron said pointedly, “I don’t like throwing around power when something more mundane does just as nicely.”

  “Aaron—”

  “And taking a cab,” he added quietly, “doesn’t cost me a year of my life.”

  There was a long pause before Caitlin said, “Just get over here, Aaron.” With that, she hung up.

  Aaron dumped the leftover pizza and beer and turned off his television and DVR. He wasn’t surprised that she had stepped all the way from Salem, even with such a high price to pay. Of course she’d come running to her sister’s side. It’s what Caitlin had been handpicked to do. Jesse was part of her life now – and Aaron was not.

  The thought was distressingly bitter.

  Steeling himself to work with his ex-wife, Aaron went to flag down a cab.

  “I was starting to think that witches didn’t travel like regular people,” Paul said as Aaron took off his jacket.

  “Female witches might not,” Aaron confided. “But male witches tend to be more practical. We even ask for directions.”

  Caitlin bristled. She hated that Aaron looked so damn good, from his hazel eyes to his mop of sandy hair to the dimple in his left cheek. He wore all black, of course, from his button-up shirt to his slacks to his socks and shoes. His underwear – if he were even bothering with any – would also be black. She remembered that far too well.

  Damn it. Stop thinking about him in his underwear. Or not in his underwear.

  She did not find him attractive any more. Absolutely not. They were exes, formers, already-done-thats. She wasn’t sorry that she was wearing her comfortable, baggy sweater with its shredded collar, or her well-worn sweatpants. No, not sorry at all.

  He was by her side now, flashing his teeth. “Dearest,” he said, offering his hand.

  She wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face, but she forced herself to remain calm. Calm, calm, calm. She took a cleansing breath and blew it out slowly.

  Yes. She was perfectly calm.

  “Call me ‘dearest’ again,” she said sweetly, “and I’ll curse your hair to fall from your scalp and grow on your back.”

  Aaron threw back his head and laughed. “Still the charmer, Caitlin.”

  “Still a pompous ass, Aaron.”

  “Hey.”

  Caitlin tore her gaze from Aaron to look at Paul, who was glowering at the both of them.

  “Fight later,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “You’re here to help Jesse. So make with the helping. Now.”

  Caitlin felt her cheeks flush, but she ignored it. Paul was right. “Take a look at her, Aaron.”

  Her ex-husband walked over to where Jesse lay on the floor, and he squatted next to her. His lips moved as he cast a silent spell – Caitlin used to joke that if he were ever gagged, he’d never be able to work magic – and then white sparks flew from his outstretched hands and covered Jesse’s form. After a few moments, the lights faded. The glow around Jesse’s body remained a steady, soft blue.

  “It’s as you said. She’s trapped in a memory. But it’s not yours, as I would have thought.” He glanced at Caitlin. “It’s hers.”

  Oh . . . crap. Caitlin sank down on to the sofa and held her head in her hands.

  “What?” That was Paul, sounding worried and angry. “What does that mean?”

  “Jesse was a succubus for 4,000 years,” Caitlin said grimly. “Three guesses what sort of memory she’s stuck in.”

  “And the first two don’t count.” Aaron let out a strained laugh. “Sex and demons. This is going to be fun.”

  “Don’t forget that she’s an exotic dancer now,” Caitlin added with a groan. “So that could be in there too.”

  “Sex, strippers and demons,” Aaron corrected. “What’s not to like?”

  Oh, Goddess. There was no way Caitlin was going to survive this with her dignity intact.

  “So,” Paul said slowly, “what are you going to do? How can you help her?”

  “We have to enter her memory and pull her out,” said Aaron.

  “You’re making it sound simple.”

  “Hopefully, it will be.” Aaron paused, and Caitlin felt his gaze on her. “She knows you, so I suggest that I anchor you.”

  Caitlin looked up at him. He was still smiling, but it looked
forced. And what she had first taken as haughtiness sparkling in his eyes now looked more like worry. Not that she blamed him. The worst that could happen to her if she failed to find or free Jesse would be getting stuck in Jesse’s memory. But the worst thing for an anchor, should the rescue go awry, would be death. Caitlin was a strong anchor, though. Chances were, she wouldn’t die, even if things went terribly wrong.

  “You’re better at navigating memories than I am,” she said. “Maybe it should be the other way around.”

  “Won’t work. Jesse doesn’t know me, so she won’t trust me enough to shake her loose from the memory.”

  Caitlin couldn’t help it; she barked out a laugh. “You think she’ll trust me? She hates me, Aaron.”

  His smile slipped into something warmer. “That doesn’t mean she won’t trust you.”

  He had a point. Sort of.

  “She’s your sister,” Paul said to her. “She’ll listen to you.”

  Caitlin’s lips twitched. For all that Paul was a good man, sometimes he was horribly naive. Even though he knew about Jesse’s sordid history, he still believed she was a good person. He loved her, despite her faults. Paul and Jesse made it work, even though it shouldn’t. A former succubus, in love with a mortal man bound for Heaven? Impossible. And yet, there they were, Paul and Jesse. Together.

  “Together,” she said to Aaron. “We can go in together.”

  He frowned at her. “That’s not how it’s done. One to enter, one to anchor. It can’t be any other way.”

  “Just because it’s not done that way doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Think about it,” she said, imploring. “You’re a strong navigator; I’m a powerful anchor. If we join, we can be both navigator and anchor, with all our strength combined. If we do it together, we have a better chance of getting to her quickly and pulling her free.”

  Aaron asked softly, “And how do you suggest we join, Caitlin?”

  She blushed again, but she refused to look away. “I brought my ritual bag. We can call upon the Hecate to bless us and join us.”