Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  He dialed the phone number. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. The sound of a beep as the answering machine clicked on, “You’ve reached Witch Playground. No one is available to take your call right now but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, we will get back to you after we’re done spelling things.” There was an evil little cackle before the message abruptly ended.

  Onyx quickly hung up the phone. He didn’t have time to wait for someone to call him back. He needed a solution right fucking now. Unfortunately, he didn’t know of any other witches.

  He needed to figure out a way to kill or disable the trapper before he got his meaty paws on his little witch. No one could touch her but him. Even after just one night with her he was feeling territorial.

  He stood up and began to pace the room. The brute might be bigger than him but in a fair fight when he had all of his strength Onyx could take him down or at least be able to defend Samantha.

  He paced the room at least three times when the phone rang. He ignored it as best as he could, and kept formulating new ideas that he could try. The caller must have hung up because the phone stopped ringing. Which was good because it was annoying. The phone started to ring again. Over and over and over. Obviously, this caller did not get the memo that they were closed during daylight hours.

  After the phone rang yet again for fourth time, a total of 16 rings, Onyx picked up the phone and snapped, “What do you want? We’re closed.”

  An older woman’s voice crackled across the line, “Don’t take that tone with me, boy. You are the one who called my establishment. It’s called Caller ID.”

  It had to be the witch calling him back. “My apologies, ma’am. I’m looking for a very special spell and I was hoping that you could help me out.”

  “What kind of spell do you need?” she asked businesslike.

  “I need a spell that will allow me to walk in daylight without sacrificing the majority of my strength.” He didn’t know if such a spell existed but if it did or she had an alternative he would be open to hearing it.

  “Ah, you must be a vampire.” She didn’t wait for him to reply before she spoke again, “I have something that would allow you to do just that but it doesn’t come cheap.”

  “Money isn’t a problem. Just name your price. Can you get this done right away?” he asked.

  “One million dollars.” She shot her price back at him. “Yes, I can be there in ten minutes to get this taken care of.”

  “Is the price even negotiable?” He doubted it but it never hurt to ask.

  “Sorry, my prices are firm.” She obviously knew her market. “And the other part of this deal is a favor of my choice. In the future, I will call on you for this service. Without question, you will honor our arrangement.”

  This entire thing was in her best interest. Though he wanted to touch on a few points. “Nothing illegal that would get me into trouble with the Council. Nothing that would hurt myself or others I consider family or friends.”

  “Fair enough. We have an agreement.”

  The phone clicked. Beep, Beep of the dial tone replaced her voice. He slammed the receiver down.

  Witchy manners were obviously a rarity in this town.

  Chapter Five

  MYSTIC WAS EXACTLY where Samantha expected to find her. Spellunking. Not to be confused with the human definition of Spelunking-which was exploring caves. The only similarities were that Spellunking was exploring spells and combining them to create new spells, often to disastrous results.

  Mystic’s ability to create new and useful spells in the magical community was legendary. There was only one other witch in the United States that could create combo spells like Samantha’s cousin, all without blowing herself up. Last Samantha heard, she lived on the East Coast.

  Watching Mystic over the years, her only conclusion to her cousin’s success with spellunking was her magic let her know before even attempting a spell if it would work or not. Samantha had seen her turn down ungodly amounts of money when a customer had told her what they were looking for. She’d then turn around and do a different spell for someone else for like two-hundred bucks.

  Any spells she created for customers she kept the copyright for that spell and that gave her the right to sell duplicates in her witchy shop A Mystic Spell. She made a decent living at it. When there were only two witches who could do combination spells, people were willing to pay to have that kind of magic for themselves.

  Samantha wasn’t sure what spell her cousin was working on but the magic always felt funny to her if she stood too close. Samantha stayed back near the doorway and waited for her cousin to finish up. Her long black hair was piled at the top of her head in a messy bun. Purple eyes focused intently on the ball of magic in her hand and a small drop of sweat rolled down her nose. She brought the magic up to her face and whispered an incantation that Samantha couldn’t hear before a new scroll appeared in her hand.

  "There you are. Phew." Mystic put the scroll on the countertop before she turned to face Samantha with a big welcoming smile. "Hey, cousin." Her voice trailed off and she stared at Samantha’s head for a full minute.

  "What?" Samantha patted her head self-consciously. "You are starting to freak me out. Why are you staring at me like I've grown three dragon heads?" It wasn't a weird assumption as there was a case one time where someone had done exactly that. Samantha was a bit fuzzy on the details since she learned that in her ninth grade A Witch's History class. But, at this point Samantha wasn't assuming anything. If Mystic told her there were three heads she'd ask what they were and how do we get rid of them.

  "Sorry, Samantha." Her lavender eyes met Samantha’s and stay focused there. "It's just your hair is white with dark grey streaks through it. I've seen your hair the color of rainbows before with your emotions, but I've never seen it that color."

  White with grey? Her comment gave Samantha pause and she tried to remember a time throughout her life if she had ever seen it that color. Not one time that she could recall. Samantha’s magical hair was something no one in her family had ever seen before.

  It had taken Samantha’s parents a few years to even realize her hair was tied to her emotions. But, they soon realized if she was happy her hair was a blend of different yellows. If Samantha was sad it was several different shades of blue. If she was angry? Fiery shades of red.

  They'd made a chart sheet of all the colors her hair had turned and their educated guesses on what Samantha’s mood was based on the color so any family members or magical nannies would have an easier time trying to figure out what she wanted.

  "What are you feeling right now? Or have been feeling the last hour or so?" Her tone was curious and a bit concerned. She bit her bottom lip in worry.

  Only Samantha’s family knew what her changing hair colors meant. Humans just saw a brunette color no matter what color her hair happened to be at the time. People in the magical community could see that Samantha’s hair changed colors but most assumed because she was a witch she was changing her hair color with magic like it was an accessory.

  "Honestly? Fucking terrified like I'm going to pee my pants kind of scared." Samantha started to pace in the backroom of Mystic’s shop. Thinking back, she was lucky she had been able to escape. If the timing had been any different Britney would love to see Samantha being obliterated by Mr. Musclepants. Samantha thought it might be the highlight of Britney’s life. You refuse a mean girl clique once and they want nothing more than to see you knocked back a notch or two. Fucking mean girl cliques. She just wanted to scream at them that this wasn't Witchy High School and you didn't need to be a bitch to succeed in life.

  "Erm, now your hair is turning red. Who pissed you off?" Mystic laughed. "At least, I recognize that color."

  "Sorry. I was just thinking about Britney the office bitch from hell." Samantha put a finger on her nose and pushed it up in the air, mimicking her royal highness as she started to prance around the room.

  Mystic let out a giggle. "I can totall
y give you a spell to turn her into a snake. Frogs are so last century."

  "Haha, are you kidding me? That bitch would bite me at every opportunity. At least, now her bite doesn't draw real blood. Besides, the paranormal government frowns upon casting transformation spells and you don't need them on your ass, too."

  Mystic snorted, "We could totally come up with an airtight alibi. I'd make it happen." She gave Samantha a little fist bump. "Now, tell me why in all of Hecate was your hair white when you came in my shop?"

  "Shhh. Are you trying to summon grandma here? My goodness, it's like you are trying to get me killed. My hair probably turned white from the kitten killer I ran into at work." Samantha gave a delicate shudder. She didn't know who that guy was and she was not curious enough to find out. Curiosity killed the cat and all that? No, thank you. Samantha would happily stay in what her family called her "oblivious" bubble. She liked it here and there were cookies and rainbows and Unicorns.

  Mystic raised one finely arched eyebrow. " Kitten killer? Now that is something I've never heard before. Just what is this kitten killer you speak of?"

  "Biggest giant I have ever seen. Bald. Ropes and ropes of muscle. I think his gym consists of cars and pickup trucks. He looks like a serial killer who eats small helpless kittens in his spare time or drinks the blood from human babies." Samantha threw up her hands frustrated at her own definition. How else could she explain to her cousin the fear she had felt when looking at this mammoth beast?

  A brilliant idea had a smile stretching across Samantha’s face. She held out her hands and playfully waggled her eyebrows, "Want to try a connector spell to see for yourself?"

  Most witches didn't like connecting to another witch. Because they were highly magical, they also shared the same feelings of the witch's memories they were currently connected to. Fear. Anger. Hopelessness. Anything that witch felt during the memory, they felt it, too.

  There had been cases of some witches dying because they couldn't handle the fear coming from the memory of the witch they were connected to. It didn't happen. Often. Okay, it was like one in every three witches, but who kept track of those kinds of statistics?

  Mystic swallowed audibly and walked over to the glass case that housed her own personal collection of weapons, spells, and glass figurines that weren't for sale. Her fingertips trailed side to side on the case and her expression stared blankly into the case.

  "Mystic?" She was such an outgoing person that her silence surprised Samantha. She had just been teasing her cousin. Samantha wouldn't expect Mystic to risk her life for her, cousins or not. "I was just teasing, hon. You don't need to do a connector spell with me."

  Mystic glanced up at Samantha then. "I've never seen your hair that shade before. Not in all the many years we've known each other. I do kind of feel like I need to do a connector spell with you. If I didn't and later something happened to you, I'd kick myself for not having taken the chance to find out who you are running from." Her stare focused on Samantha finally and she smiled, "Besides, you'll totally owe me coffee and muffins from The Grateful Bread for the next six months."

  Samantha gasped, "That's highway robbery woman. Considering I'll probably die from the kitten killer before I have a chance to fulfill that promise, I'll agree to your outrageous terms."

  Mystic took a deep gasping breath and started breathing in and out with controlled bursts.

  "You do realize you sound like a woman going into labor, right?"

  "Oh, shut up, Sam. Connector spells freak me out." She shook out her hands as she strolled back over to her. "Okay, I'm ready."

  The human quote “anticipation of death was worse than death itself” was oddly accurate in this situation. Samantha wasted no time slapping her hands on top of her cousin’s outstretched ones and they gripped each other’s wrists.

  Thankfully Samantha didn't have to relive that memory in living color. All she had to do was think on the memory she wanted to share and her magic would supply the rest. Samantha could see Mystic's eyes moving back and forth behind her closed eyeballs as she got a first-class seat to her morning. A few times she gasped and her hands tightened on Samantha’s but no sign of her croaking on her. Thank goodness. Their family would never let her live it down if she killed her favorite cousin.

  Samantha could tell when she was getting to the end of her memories when a giggle snort came out her nose and she could just make out her mumble, "Serves the bitch right." Yes, it did. Britney got on everyone's nerve, if they had a brain anyways.

  Her eyes snapped open and she looked at Samantha like she was already dead. "Do you know who that guy is?"

  "No. His demeanor didn't exactly inspire curiosity. I was more concerned with escaping with my life and asking questions later."

  "He's a Trapper." She whispered the words so quiet if Samantha hadn't leaned in to hear she would have missed it.

  "A Trapper?" Samantha spoke in her regular tone and Mystic shushed her, looking around the shop like the giant could be hiding in this little room with them. Samantha glanced around and shrugged. "Okay, whatever. What is that?"

  "You basically have the equivalent of a supernatural bullseye painted on your back. They are like the name implies. They trap folks in the supernatural community. Didn't your parents ever read you stories about them? They are like the boogeyman that hides under the bed for bad supernatural boys and girls who don't listen to their mommies or who break the rules." She waited for Samantha to respond and when she didn't get the response she was hoping for she slammed her hand down on the glass countertop.

  "The Big Bad Trapper? Trapper's Web? The Legend of the Trapper?"

  Samantha thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head. Samantha was sure that her parents had probably tried to read her the classic witchy fairy tales, but she had never been much of a reader. Who needed books when she had her magic and she could create and play with her imaginary, and now, real friends. Samantha had created a fairy named Tonks when she had been three. They'd had many adventures until Samantha turned six and thought she was too cool to have her as a friend.

  "Sorry no. You know I don't like books. I never have. What's the big deal?"

  "Unbelievable. Okay, in the stories Trappers go after the naughty boys and girls in the supernatural community. Witches. Shifters. Vampires. It doesn't matter your species. If you step one toe out of line the paranormal government send the Trappers after you." Her hands started to flop all over the place as she started to once again pace the room.

  Curious now Samantha asked, "And what do they do if they catch you?"

  If heartbreak had a look it would have been the pitying expression Mystic cast her. "They send you to the Underworld or Hell. They have both down south and you'll be rotting in the human equivalent of a Paranormal jail. They are called Trappers because they "trap" by laying carefully set traps. They know everything about you before they even come looking for you. Routines. What you look like. Where you go. How long you stay. That's what makes them so fucked up. Magical boobie traps to the galore. You never know where they are going to strike." Her expression was pitying, "They don't understand mercy. You are just a job to them."

  Her words struck a chord of fear in Samantha’s gut. In fact, she felt a bit nauseous. Maybe that large breakfast this morning hadn’t been such a good idea. Samantha took a slow breath, trying to calm down her stomach. Didn’t want to add vomit all over herself to her already quite full day, thanks.

  “Okay, first off how do we even know this guy is a Trapper or whatever? I mean sure his physique inspires the image of paranormal boogeyman, but for all we know he’s coming to tell me I’ve won an all-expense paid trip to Bora Bora.” Samantha’s words had taken on a desperate tinge and she knew that when her cousin handed her a brown paper bag and mimed putting it to her face. Where had that come from?

  Samantha put the bag over her face and inhaled in and out fast enough she was afraid she might break the bag but it held steady. Mystic calmly waited until the bag had taken a
more normal appearance before she spoke.

  “Didn’t you see the tattoo on the inside of his forearm? The big T with symbols all around it?”

  Samantha shook her head. “Not ringing a bell. I was a bit preoccupied with his biceps. They were as big around as my body...literally my body. Not to mention his serial killer voice and face. So, no Mystic, I might have missed any tattoos. I bluffed my way out of even knowing anyone named Samantha.”

  “I thought he was kind of cute, personally. A little rough around the edges, but those turquoise eyes. Rawr.” She slashed at the air a few times with a quick purr.

  She had to be joking. Cute? By whose definition? Samantha didn’t even want to know. She wasn’t even going to ask. Okay, she had to ask her cousin or she’d go crazy. “You thought the baby kitten killer was cute? You’re joking, right?”

  She made a pfft sound and waved her hands, “You don’t know that he kills kittens. I bet he loves fluffy little kittens and is a softie at heart.”

  “Yes, I’m sure the Trapper is a love bug. Let’s forget all those stories you told me you heard growing up about them being the boogeyman, basically for anyone who’s naughty. Yeah, he could totally be in disguise by being a Trapper.” The sarcasm rolled off Samantha’s tongue. No filter. Damn, she really needed to work on that. But seriously that guy? She shuddered in revulsion at the thought. That wasn’t someone Samantha would want to cuddle with at night but to each his own she guessed.

  “Trappers are normally a family business, Samantha.” Oh, she was using her first name. Guess Samantha had pissed her off. Oops. “He might have been forced into the business by his family. You know how families can be when they want you to follow a certain path in your life. If you chose something new you become the black sheep of the family. You’d think you’d have a bit more sympathy for someone like that.” Mystic glared at Samantha pointedly.

  Samantha had recently become somewhat of the black sheep in her family. She didn’t like being stuck in someone’s else's predefined box of what her life should look like. Sue her if she wanted to get into a field that would make her happy. Samantha’s parents didn’t agree. They thought she should be working in one of the families many shops. New Age shops. Spell shops. Tarot reading shops. Anything but working at T.A.P.