The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (2 page)

So, I thought it might be fun in this introduction to confess my sins and reveal to you how much trouble you can actually get into when putting together a Mammoth if you don’t keep your eye on the ball. In my exuberance, I took my eye off it for a moment, and look what happened. Chaos! Mayhem! I must admit that I am susceptible, as are most chronic readers, to getting carried away by a good story and losing hours, days, weeks in a great tale. That’s just the way it goes. It’s a book-lover’s curse, I’m afraid.

But the seventeen stories that
are
in this book are going to knock your socks off. As well as a novella prequel from the amazing Karen Chance (with a word count that almost killed me – but how in tarnation could I say no? Oh, I am weak . . . so weak . . .), you’ll get to grips with some great, gritty, sexy urban fantasy, some fast-and-furious paranormals, some hilariously fun magic and, of course, endless other-worldly beautiful men stretching as far as the eye can see!

Trisha Telep

Jackie Kessler

People have the oddest ideas about witches. They should be green-skinned. They should fly on broomsticks. They should have black cats as constant companions. Caitlin Harris blamed Hollywood for all the misconceptions. When it came to Caitlin, the truth was that her skin was pale, she flew only in airplanes and she was allergic to cats.

She could also throw magic like snowballs, reshape specific portions of universal memory, and brew a potion to transform demons into humans. But just because she
could
nudge probability on its backside and magic up her favourite movie on television whenever she wanted didn’t mean she
should
. Magic had a price. And DVDs had been invented for a reason. Caitlin used to hear that all the time from a man who had once meant everything to her: magic was too important to be used for frivolous things.

Of course, without the remote control, the DVD was just a big dust collector. She used to tell that to the man in return – even as he’d pluck the remote out of whatever crevice it had fallen into. But his lesson still stuck, even two years after she’d told the man goodbye. So there Caitlin was, in the middle of tossing her sofa cushions around for the umpteenth time to find the wayward remote, when her phone rang.

Growling, she stomped into the kitchen to pick up the receiver. After the call, she’d give into the inevitable and use magic to locate the clicker. What she really needed, she thought as she answered the phone, was a GPS for her remote control. Maybe she could magic one up . . .

“Caitlin? It’s Paul Hamilton.”

Her eyebrow arched. Paul was her twin sister’s boyfriend. Nice enough guy, from what Caitlin knew, although he was a little too Captain America for her taste. Still, he was good for her sister – and Goddess knew that Jesse Harris needed good influences in her life.

“Hey, Paul,” Caitlin said, trying not to sound too weird. She and Paul had never actually spoken before. Everything she knew about him had come from Jesse . . . and from Caitlin’s under-the-radar scrying. It wasn’t being nosy. Really. She just had to keep tabs on her sister. “How are you?”

“I need your help.”

Caitlin rather admired that Paul didn’t waste time with social niceties. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jesse. She’s in trouble.”

Of
course
she was. Caitlin’s twin had a penchant for trouble. “Could you be a little more specific?”

“She’s unconscious and glowing.”

Yes, that would be trouble. “Tell me everything.”

He did so, calmly and coherently, even though tension laced his words. He’d come home at six-thirty, right after work. He’d been surprised to see Jesse’s bag on the kitchen table; she should have been at her job since four. He’d called out hello, but there’d been no answer. At first, he hadn’t seen her sprawled on the living room floor because the coffee table had partially blocked his view. When he found her lying prone, he’d rushed over to her. She was breathing; that much he could see. But she was also glowing with a pale blue light, so as much as he’d wanted to touch her, he’d held back.

“That was the right decision,” Caitlin murmured. When mundanes fooled around with magic, the results were unpredictable at best.

“I can’t tell if she’s hurt,” Paul said, the anger all too clear in his voice.

“Touching her might have triggered something even worse. Tell me what else you see. Any marks? Anything out of place?”

“There’s a small box in her right hand. Looks like a jewellery box, made of wood. It’s open.”

“Don’t touch that, either,” Caitlin said, frowning. “Just in case it has something to do with her condition.”

“Figured that part out all by myself.” He paused, but Caitlin heard the wordless snarl of him blowing out an exasperated breath. “Sorry. I’m just . . .”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Anything else you see?”

He cleared his throat. “There’s a padded envelope. Torn. It’s on the floor near the sofa. Jesse’s name is on the envelope, written in black marker. But there’s no address, no postage. And no return address.”

“Don’t—”

“Touch it. Yeah. I didn’t.” He took another breath. “I don’t know what to do, Caitlin. I can’t call 911. I can’t touch her. She’s not waking up, no matter how loud I yell her name. Tell me,” he said, a plaintive note creeping into his voice. “Tell me what to do to wake her up.”

Well, she wouldn’t be magicking up the remote control after all.

“Sit tight,” Caitlin said. “I’ll be right there.”

A pause, and then Paul stammered, “You’re in Boston. We’re in New York City.”

Actually, she was in Salem, but she didn’t bother correcting him. “For family, I break out the big guns. I just have to lock up. Be there in a few minutes.”

“Um. Okay. You have the address?”

“Don’t need it.”

“Right. Of course not. Um. See you soon.”

Caitlin hung up, thinking that all things considered, Paul had sounded all right. That was something. Usually, mundanes didn’t take too well to anything extraordinary that interrupted their lives.

But then, her sister wasn’t a mundane human, so Paul had some experience under his belt.

Caitlin pulled together her travel bag, complete with basic spell ingredients, a small version of her Book of Shadows with its various magic recipes, and a portable ritual box. Then she slipped on her shoes and a jacket, grabbed her purse and locked the door. With a whispered word of power, her magical security system clicked on – enough to scare away the casual burglar as well as discourage any other practitioners or supernatural critters from entering her territory without permission. One experience of coming home to a houseful of fairies was enough for her, thank you very much.

Purse strap on her shoulder and travel bag in hand, she raised one arm and closed her eyes. She thought of her twin, and she felt the bond between them, the one that linked their souls together. Grasping that bond, she cast a silent prayer to the Goddess, asking Her to deliver her to Jesse’s side.

The Hecate responded: power danced through Caitlin, pulling her skin taut until she was crackling with magical energy. She inhaled deeply, and then she
stepped
.

Caitlin always equated
stepping
through reality to swimming under water – space thickened around her, slowing her down. She could see when she
stepped
, but everything was distorted, and looking too long stung her eyes. She couldn’t breathe when in Between places, and even with a lungful of air before
stepping
, she always felt like she was smothering. After, Caitlin would desperately want to shower, to wash away the remnants of Between from her skin. It didn’t itch, exactly, but it felt wrong, and reminded her of just how precarious existence really was. Caitlin would be the first one to say that it was far more enjoyable to take a plane first class – and that the plane ride would be significantly cheaper than the cost of
stepping
.

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.”