The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance))

by Marie Hall

  Eve waved the herb through the air, allowing the smoke to filter under noses. They didn’t want to breathe it in. Only have the essence pass along their skin. The rest would take care of itself.

  “Cedar to bless this home.”

  She repeated the same process. Then lit the sweet grass.

  “Sweet grass to welcome in good influence.”

  Lighting the mugwort, Eve didn’t wave it under noses, but rather let the plant burn down in her hand. Its smoke was a hallucinogenic, not much was needed for its effect. This was what opened the portal between the physical and spiritual realms.

  She closed her eyes already lightheaded from the drinking and now becoming a little groggy from the herb. One last step, then the spirits would speak with them.

  “Light the black candle, Eve,” Tamryn hissed.

  A chill zipped up her spine. Already Eve felt the spirits around them, she couldn’t hear them or see them, but they were definitely there. The air itself was thick with the presence of beings. The room was growing steadily cooler, making her break out in goose bumps. What if Michael showed up?

  Her heart lurched. He might not, there was no way to know who would and wouldn’t show, just depended on the whim of the spirit.

  “Won’t this make me look stalkerish?” Eve asked, anything to stall and give herself a little more time to gather her courage.

  Celeste laughed. “A little.”

  That was the last thing she wanted. Maybe there was another way, and one that did not involve the possibility of seeing her dead husband.

  Fingers yanked the lighter from out her hands. She opened her eyes to see Tamryn lighting the black candle. “Too late to back out now, Eve. You’ll thank me later.”

  The last wick flared to life and the room gave a loud shudder. Floorboards groaned and a spiraling helix of iridescence opened before them. Many, nearly translucent bodies spewed forth.

  Old, fat, young, thin. Boys, men, girls, woman. They all came. Some yawning, others glaring murderously at the women.

  “What do you want?” A woman, looking to be in her mid-twenties demanded. Fat curls bounced around her head, she was dressed in colonial period garb, an old soul. Usually only the more recent dead choose to speak and they tended to be the most unreliable sources.

  Spirits were naughty, no other word for it.

  If there was one thing in life Eve was good at though, that was her magick, speaking with the dead was a particular specialty of hers.

  She narrowed her eyes. “One thing. Where can I find the vamp called Cian?”

  “And what do I get in return for this bit of information?”

  Always tit for tat, you’d think the undead wouldn’t be so stingy. Greedy little buggers.

  “How ‘bout bespelled into a doll, wench?” Celeste snapped. She’d never had patience for the folly of the spirits. What was so ironic was that Celeste actually loved to séance.

  The spirit huffed and stomped a dainty foot, her skirt flouncing with the movement. “I don’t like you, witch. You get nothing from me.”

  The air was growing colder, crisper, as more and more spirits surged through the portal. Eve’s teeth clattered. She was ready to get this thing over with.

  “Don’t pay attention to my sister, spirit,” Eve said. “What is it that you want?”

  The spirit turned cold blue eyes toward her, her austere face impassive. A harshness twisted the delicate features of the woman. She opened her mouth to speak, then paused before uttering a word and cocked her head.

  “You’re Michael’s, aren’t you?”

  Eve’s heart felt like it literally was going to rocket through her chest. She forgot the cold altogether. “You know him?”

  The woman bobbed her head, her curls bouncing becomingly. “He’s nice.”

  “Does he... does he talk about me?”

  Tamryn squeezed her fingers, in sympathy or to urge her to hurry it up, she didn’t know.

  “Not much. A little. He likes Cian.”

  Shock didn’t even begin to describe it. This conversation had gone from weird into the realm of Twilight Zone category.

  “Because of that, I won’t charge you. You can find your Cian at 2166 Baker.”

  ***

  Eve was putting away the candles, her mind consumed by the conversation with the spirit.

  “Man that went surprisingly smooth tonight, didn’t it?” Tamryn asked, placing the dagger on the coffee table and then helped Celeste to right the furniture once again. Already the apartment was warming. “Guess it helped that we just happened to bump into a spirit that knew Mickey, eh? Wish we could have learned more about him.”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled, only giving her sister half an ear. The only thing she could think about was the fact that Michael liked Cian. A sign? A signal? Had Michael somehow known that she needed to hear that? That hearing it had instantly freed her from her doubts, panics, and fears.

  Celeste grumbled, pointing to the window. “How long were we entranced?”

  Eve looked. Sunshine was creeping under the blinds. Daylight already? That was the problem with the spirit world, what felt like one or two minutes could actually be five or six hours in real time. It was part of the reason why she hated entering that world. It was just so draining.

  She walked to the window and drew up the blinds. Startling bright light poured into the room, nothing but blue skies as far as the eye could see.

  Crushed, she stepped back. She’d hoped to go to Cian’s as soon as possible and try to explain, make things right and really give this thing--whatever it was--a chance. She frowned, now she’d have to wait all day.

  “It’s seven o’ clock,” Tamryn wailed, sleepiness threading her voice. “We have really got to do that more often or we’re gonna lose our touch altogether. Goddess, I can’t believe we stayed with the spirits so long.”

  Celeste shook her head, blond hair curling around her face. “I’ve got to open shop in like the next ten minutes. Look, Tam, I still feel fine, so I’ll run first shift. You can relieve me at two. Sound good?”

  “What about me?” Eve asked.

  “You think we’re gonna make you work after what you just found out.” Celeste gave a wicked smile, green eyes shining bright. “You can have today off, tomorrow too, if you know... things start to get hot and heavy.”

  “Oh brother,” she chuckled. “I swear you guys must think I’m some sort of nympho.”

  “Umm, yeah.” Celeste gave her a duh look, then shrugged. “Look dolls, this has been fun and all, but I gotta run. And, Eve, since I’m sure you’ll be in hiding most of the night tonight and probably even tomorrow,” she grinned wickedly, “don’t forget the gathering, okay?”

  Trust Celeste to go into mother mode. The girl could go from teasing to serious so fast it gave you whiplash.

  “The gathering.” She frowned and glanced toward the calendar hanging on her wall. “Ohmygoddess, that totally slipped my mind. Yeah, for sure, I’ll be there.”

  “Good. Well then. Kissy, kissy and all that jazz, and Tamryn remember to wake up please. Cause if you don’t I’ll turn you into a dung beetle.” With a finger wave, Celeste was out the door.

  Tamryn turned back around, bloodshot eyes wide with humor. “There is something seriously wrong with that woman. You think we’re really related?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  “Yikes.” She shook her head and shuddered, her lips curled into a crescent shaped smile. “Anyway, all right if I crash here? I’m just wasted, and if I gotta go relieve the Queen B, then I’ll need all the rest I can get.”

  “Fine by me. Just pull out the couch bed. I’m going to bed too.”

  “Mmmhmm. Yeah, okay. No doubt thinking about that handsome hunk of a vampire.” She bit her lip, a grin spreading across her face. “Word of advice. Make sure to pull the door all the way shut if you’re gonna play with Blue Thunder, little loud.”

  “My goddess, Tam! You’re as nuts as Celeste.” Eve marched back to her room. Exhaus
tion crept into her vision, her sister’s tinkling laughter trailed behind.

  The fact that she’d been thinking about doing just that was what embarrassed most.

  What would life be without her sisters?

  Frenzy stood, exhausted--heart beat slowing down from the frenetic thumps of earlier. So many souls in one small area, he’d been bombarded with the fiery rush of shifting to reaper throughout the entire night.

  His arm ached with a deep throb in the very tissue of his muscle. What the hell had they been doing to call so many spirits to them?

  He growled and flexed his hand, now fleshy and hopefully for good this time. Never before had he been forced to shift so often. Regardless that the souls were no longer tied to bodies, being around them brought out the death in him, and the ire.

  “Witches.”

  The creak of shifting floorboards and patter of movements that had gone late into the morning hours suddenly stopped. He narrowed his eyes, giving them a second, seeing if it was truly over.

  He grabbed a hold of the brass bed knob and closed his eyes. Instead of three, two steady pulses reverberated through his eardrums. One sister had left.

  The heartbeats slowed into the gentle cadence of deep sleep. With a swipe of his hand he drew out some of his essence and covered himself in stealth, then opened a portal between his bedroom to Eve’s.

  Rosebud lips parted in a tiny gap. Black lashes fanned against the perfect paleness of skin. One leg wrapped around a body pillow stuck out the corner of a purple velvet blanket.

  The blinds were closed, but couldn’t contain the sun filtering between cracks. He walked forward and stopped just at the edge of the bed. Did she know how close to death she lay? Was there any awareness in mortals that each second was precious? That life could so easily be snuffed out?

  The thought that the next step, next breath might be the last crippled mortals.

  Frenzy pulled the leather glove off his still fleshy hand. He wasn’t to harm Eve physically. Fine. There were other ways to hurt and he was master at them.

  Lashes fluttered against her cheek like a moth’s wing. She was entering the first REM cycle. There would be no waking up now. He smiled and walked around toward the head of the bed and hung his hand inches from her forehead, so close her body heat seeped into his palm.

  The point today was not to harm bodily, but emotionally. Leave her scarred and scared. Draw her into despair, panic. Break her will and leave her numb.

  “Sleep. Sleep,” he chanted, filling her mind with memories drawn from his own. They were the nightmares of an immortal.

  Bodies, diseased and wasted. Children, infants staring into the great void, mouths opened in a soundless scream as their village burned to a cinder behind them. Flies buzzing around heads. Rotten stench of decay heavy in the air.

  She whimpered, tossing her head.

  The Great War. Witches staked at the cross, guts and intestines drawn from still breathing victims. Humans shaking their pitchforks, swords and daggers held tight in their fists. Faces of women and men--blue bloods and laymen alike--twisted into masks of hatred, contempt.

  Her breath grew labored, chest heaving up and down. The room grew heavy with the sharp crack of agony. Tangible pain tore at his face, chest, and back. He frowned. Pressure drew against his skull like the sharp rake of claws.

  His gaze flicked toward Eve. She moaned, twisting the sheets between her fists. Of course. It made sense now.

  Cian would never fall for anything less extraordinary than him. This woman was more than witch. Her emotions were a corporeal force.

  He slammed more into her. Fury from his past crept into his vision, fragmenting her thoughts with anguish, his anguish. Memories of his fourteenth century Middle English beauty. Adrianna. His beautiful Adrianna, beaten, raped and tortured.

  Mahogany rich hair covered in blood. Throat slit, jugular vein exposed and spouting scarlet--drowning in her blood and him helpless to prevent it.

  Eve’s pain ripped into him and he accepted its twisting, knifing ache. He growled, remembering and throwing it all at her.

  Mud and dirt caked on Adrianna’s royal blue gown. Fingers bleeding. Nails torn off in her struggle to escape. Gasping for air when there was none to take in.

  Left for dead on the side of a muddy road like so much garbage, and all because she’d rejected the advances of the Duke for his.

  Hate boiled inside him like a festering wound. The infection of his soul spewed over.

  The gown he’d bought for her, shredded beyond repair, exposing her long, lean crimson stained thighs.

  Eve cried out, they were low desperate cries. Tears rolled down the corners of her eyes.

  “Hell,” he snarled and ran from the room, from the memories. The sounds of Eve’s whimpering ripped into his back.

  His nostrils flared, the murky haze of madness crept into his vision. Opening the portal with a swipe of his hand he made ready to step through when the sound of rustling sheets caught his attention.

  He turned. On the couch and curled into a ball lay a petite redhead, hair much like his own. But where his was pure fire, hers was a deep blood red. One hand lay tucked under her chin. She had fragile elegant features. He drew from Curtis’ memories, searching for the name of the sister.

  Violet eyes. Redhead.

  Tamryn.

  Whimpers and moans spilled from the other room. With one final glance, he left.

  ***

  Eve sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea going on one hour now. She couldn’t shake the dream from her head. Three hours after lying down she’d woken with the sounds of screams and battle cries thundering in her head.

  She stared without seeing at the wall and bit her lip until it throbbed like the beat of her pulse. The babies lying broken. Women fallen to their knees wailing and screaming in absolute heartache. Fire eating the huts, destroying memories.

  She winced and took a sip of her lukewarm drink. The nightmare had been so real, vivid and terrifying, to the point that she could recall scent--unwashed bodies, sickly sweet smell of blood. Sulfur odor of ash and fire. Crushed grass and horse sweat. Her hands shook and she dropped them to her lap with a heavy sigh.

  An admitted history buff, she devoured books dealing with war and the ruin of empires. But she’d never before suffered like this. Her dreams had never been so fertile or realistic.

  And the woman. Dead, raped. The horror she’d been through trapped in the eternal stillness of her gaze.

  She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat and looked away, blinking. Bringing much needed relief to the grit locked behind her eyes.

  “Well I’m a memory.” Tamryn walked out the bathroom, dressed in one of Eve’s old scarlet and black baby doll dresses. She looked down and then up. “You don’t mind do you? Cel, would kill me if I relieve her late.”

  “No.” She waved her hand, stood and walked toward the kitchen sink, pouring out the rest of her tea.

  Tamryn grabbed her arm and turned her around, eyes narrowed and searching. “Eve, you okay?”

  She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Didn’t get much sleep. Just tired.”

  “You sure?”

  Her lips twitched into a half smile. “Yeah, but you’d better go before Cel starts hounding me trying to figure out where you are.”

  Tamryn frowned, doubt glittering in her eyes. She didn’t believe her. That much was evident. But she didn’t push it either, just shrugged and walked to the door. “It’s okay, Eve. Sometimes it’s better to keep things to yourself. Won’t pry. Don’t forget the gathering,” she reminded her again.

  “I won’t.” She shook her head.

  “Good. See you tomorrow and give that hunk of yours an extra nibble for me.” She winked and slid out the door.

  She smiled, but didn’t feel it, and walked toward her window. The sun was still hours from setting.

  Night. Finally. Eve threw on a pair of faded blue jeans, a black turtleneck, tucked her keys an
d wallet into her pocket and ran out the door.

  She only hoped he’d be willing to listen. She raced down the flight of stairs.

  Please God.

  So consumed was she by thoughts of talking to Cian that she barely noticed Curtis until it was almost too late. She came to a screeching halt, nearly running over Samhain in her haste. He reached out, his hands gripping her by the shoulders and holding her steady.

  Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. “Oh my gosh, that was too close.” She gave a weak laugh, grabbing her chest. “You seem to be saving me an awful lot lately, sorry ‘bout that, Curtis.”

  “Ah,” he shrugged her off, “no worries. You seem to have a lot on your mind.”

  She nodded, shifting from foot to foot. Antsy to go. What if he was already gone for the day? Doing whatever the heck vampires did at this time of day. It was getting late.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  His warm gaze stared into her own. She was getting ready to turn away when she caught a flicker of color burning in his eyes. Startled, her heart tripped in her chest. Had she seen what she thought she’d seen or only an illusion of light dancing inside them? She blinked, but all she found was a sea of deep brown. There had been something, she was sure of it.

  Ridiculous, nothing there. Stop being silly. She was just nervous at the prospect of seeing Cian. That was all. Threads of the dream still unnerving her obviously. Not a good day for her. Conspiracy theories would abound if she wasn’t careful.

  He gave her one last squeeze then dropped his hands. “You take care there, Eve.” And then he walked on, tugging ever so slightly on the cat leash in his grip.

  Samhain gave a small meow before finally deciding to follow.

  She frowned, turning to stare at Mr. Lovelace’s retreating figure heading into his apartment and shrugged the odd moment aside. There were other more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. Like getting to Cian’s posthaste. With that thought in mind she raced outside to find a cab and head toward Baker’s Street.

  ***

  She threw some bills at the cabby and got out, staring at the brick faced Victorian home with wide-eyed wonder.