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

by Erin Hayes

  After a few miles, Martina put on her blinker and pulled onto the shoulder. The ravine yawned up at her. This was the spot. Maybe she should just drive over the edge. End it now! Sink into death’s welcoming depths and let darkness swallow her.

  She couldn’t risk botching it. Better to jump and be sure. She turned off the engine, opened the car door, and slammed it shut in the buffeting wind. A comb over of wild grasses swept to the left along the edge of the ravine. The wind would take her over. She wouldn’t even have to jump; she could simply lean into the breeze and follow its lead. Let the voices take her away.

  She shuffled sideways onto a ledge that jutted out over the ravine. Taggert’s face came briefly to mind. Cold, hard and filled with anger. Worthless! Worthless! Worthless! Martina looked over the embankment and raised her arms into the wind.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A jagged vein of lightning pierced the sky as Kyra climbed into Ellie’s red Mini Cooper in Buffington’s employee parking lot. “Bad omen,” she muttered, eyeing the telephone wires straining like giant dock lines. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

  “Just chill,” Ellie soothed. “Not everything has a hidden meaning.”

  “I used to think that too.” Kyra sighed. “Sure your pastor has time to see me?”

  Part of her wished he’d cancel. It was a foul evening, and her mental state was precarious at best. A bubble bath and a glass of wine sounded more appealing tonight than a spiritual intervention.

  She slid her briefcase to the floorboard and rubbed her throbbing forehead. Seeing Martina again at Brenner’s office earlier hadn’t helped her nerves any. That apparition hovering over her kid made Kyra more convinced than ever that there was a dark reason they kept crossing paths. Maybe Martina was somehow tied up with the Soul Stalkers too. Just how did these spirits get around in the physical world anyway? Piggybacking on human hosts?

  “Of course he has time. He said to come straight over after work,” said Ellie, starting the engine.

  Kyra leaned back on the headrest and closed her eyes. If Ellie’s pastor were under any illusions about converting her, he’d be disappointed. All she was after was information, the low-down on spirits to be precise. She’d always written off evil as a spiritual metaphor for mental illness, all things sick and crazy. Apparently, it wasn’t that straightforward.

  Twenty minutes later, Ellie and Kyra pulled into a spot at the back of the church parking lot. “That’s his car.” Ellie gestured with her thumb through the window to the vehicle beside them.

  Kyra climbed out and slammed the car door shut. A crash of thunder let loose, eerily reminiscent of a gravely howl. A chill ran down her back. Her nerves were wearing thin.

  She took a deep breath and peeked curiously through the window of the green Honda Accord in the next stall. An assortment of plastic pens and receipts sprouted from the console, and an empty water bottle and a travel mug stood side by side in the cup holder. A few reusable grocery bags lay folded neatly on the passenger seat beneath a spiral notebook.

  Ellie locked her car and walked around. “What are you looking at?”

  Kyra shrugged. “I guess I was expecting some kind of Popemobile. A crucifix on the dashboard, or a Got Jesus? sticker.”

  She slung her purse over her shoulder and trailed Ellie up the steps at the side entrance to a warehouse-style building. Inside, the reception area boasted a row of stackable, padded chairs, a table with various pamphlets in acrylic stands, and a cheery bulletin board.

  “Evening ladies.”

  Kyra turned as a balding, middle-aged man with black glasses breezed into the foyer. Ellie introduced him before slipping into the sanctuary to wait.

  After a warm handshake and a few pleasantries, Pastor Rick led the way down a corridor.

  “Come in, take a seat, please.”

  “Thank you.” Kyra stole a glance around his office as she sat down on a frayed, checkered armchair. The room contrasted sharply with the clean, clinical lines of Dr. Brenner’s practice. Books stepped precariously high in every direction. The light on the answering machine in the corner blinked and more than one discarded coffee mug sat atop stacked piles of mail and magazines.

  “Thank you for taking the time to see me, Pastor.” She scooted her chair forward, thankful to see he had left the door ajar. She had developed the instincts of the hunted. The last thing she needed was for him to attempt an exorcism behind closed doors. Hypnosis had soured her appetite for alternative therapies.

  “Not at all, that’s what I’m here for. And please, call me Rick.” He leaned back and smiled. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself and then we’ll get to what’s on your mind.”

  “Well, I moved here from Lansing twenty years ago with my dad and younger sister. I was nine at the time. Dad wanted to start over after Janis, my mother, left. We went to church now and then when she was still around, but Dad never took us back after the divorce.”

  “Do you think he blamed God for your mother leaving?”

  Kyra shrugged. “He probably felt God hadn’t been much help to him.”

  Rick wedged his dark-rimmed glasses tighter to his face and smiled. “Is that your understanding of God too? Someone who needs to prove his usefulness to you?”

  She laughed self-consciously. “Sounds arrogant when you put it like that.”

  Rick raised his eyebrows as if waiting for her to continue. She shifted a little in her seat under his gaze and he moved on. “Why don’t you tell me what brings you here today?”

  She rubbed her arms and contemplated where to begin. “I feel as if I’m going crazy,” she said. “Either that, or something supernatural—demonic—is bumping up against my reality. My family, my boyfriend and my doctor all think I’m suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress syndrome. My doctor’s even given me a prescription for stress, and sleeping pills. You’re the final frontier. If you acquiesce, I’ll keep taking the pills.”

  Rick smiled and leaned back. He tented his fingers, as if waiting for her to elaborate. Satisfied that she’d grabbed his attention, she launched into an abbreviated account of the past several weeks. When she was finished, she searched his face for some kind of reaction. “Seems crazy to think there are angels—demons even—running rampant in the twenty-first century.”

  Rick shook his head. “It’s not crazy at all. Spirits are eternal, including the legions of demonic Soul Stalkers, as you call them.”

  She stared at him, grappling to connect the dots. He believes me! Relief slowly seeped through her veins. He didn’t think she was imagining things. But he’d opened up a Pandora’s Box of disturbing possibilities. Just how powerful were these Soul Stalkers?

  “Are you saying these Soul Stalkers are demons?”

  “I believe so. Angels have varying ranks and serve different purposes. Demons likely follow a similar division of labor; these Soul Stalkers sound like demons who seek to hasten death.”

  Kyra frowned. “To be honest with you, I wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it weren’t for the nightmare I had about Dr. Brenner. As unbelievable as it sounds, I felt the presence of evil.” She shifted forward in the armchair, and tried to control the quiver in her voice. “Do you think the dream was a warning about him?”

  Rick’s genial expression faded. “It’s entirely possible your psychiatrist is dabbling in powers beyond his own. Demons operate illegally, terrorists in the spiritual realm so to speak. They can, and do, attach themselves to people who seek power and knowledge. Intellect can be seduced and controlled by supernatural power.”

  He paused and looked pensive for a moment. “You’re right to leave no stone unturned. Only the truth will set you free.”

  “But everyone has a different interpretation of what’s happening,” she said.

  Rick nodded thoughtfully. “That’s because self-deception is easier to tolerate. If you want to know the truth about the spirit world, you must seek to see things as they really are, not as you
want them to be.”

  Kyra glanced at her watch and gasped. An hour had gone by already and she had more questions now than she had arrived with. “I should go,” she said reluctantly. “Ellie’s waiting on me.”

  Rick checked his watch and dipped his head in assent. “I have to get going too.”

  Kyra reached for her purse. “Thank you. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “It’s a lot to digest, and the implications are enormous. You know, now, that there are convergence points between this world and the next, and that the spirit has awareness without the body. The question is, what will you do with that knowledge?”

  Kyra raised her brows. “I can’t honestly answer that. You’ve obviously studied this at great length and believe in the existence of angels and demons, but I’m still a skeptic—examining all the possibilities.” She smoothed out her skirt and stood.

  Rick’s phone rang just as another crash of thunder shook the building.

  “Uh-huh.” His voice sounded strained. “Okay, I’ll be right there. Did you say Martina Boyle or Doyle?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blinding daggers of light stabbed at Martina’s eyes as she leaned against the squad car. The thick arm of an overweight police woman clamped down on her shoulders. She raised her hand to shield her face from the unrelenting LED strobes and looked out over the eroded edge of the embankment.

  Moments ago, she’d teetered there in the wind, shifting masses of darkness closing in like a thick, damp fog, sucking the color from even the wildflowers that clung to the pockets of soil along the ravine. She had been poised to die.

  She squeezed her brows together and tried again to picture the face of the stranger who had lifted her to safety. But she wasn’t able to remember anything about his appearance. Other than his extraordinary strength, she couldn’t give the police much to go on.

  “His voice had a weird rippling vibration to it,” she told a young, crew cut officer. “It didn’t sound like a man talking, but no woman could have lifted me with that kind of force.”

  “What about hair color? Skin color?”

  She shook her head. “I never saw him. He grabbed me from behind. Next thing I know, I’m fenced in between the squad car and your partner here.” She tilted her head toward the wooden-faced policewoman, who tightened her hold on her.

  “So, you’re sure this man was trying to help you? Is there anything more you want to tell us?”

  There was more, but there was no way to say it without sounding deluded. They were already skeptical—asking in a roundabout way if she’d argued with a boyfriend, or a spouse, or if anyone had threatened her.

  The stranger’s words, you will shine like the stars forever, didn’t make any sense. But that powerful voice had spread out over her, and she’d felt a warmth replace the hopelessness. As if a blackout curtain had lifted. For the first time in a very long time, she didn’t feel worthless.

  She looked down at the ground and pushed at some gravel with the toe of her shoe. She still couldn’t piece it all together. Why had she felt compelled to pull over here in the first place? To act on a will that hankered for death, a will that wasn’t her own. She’d heard the voices again. A slew of them this time. Do it Martina. Do it, do it, do it. A shiver crossed her shoulders.

  “Cold?” The policewoman looked at her quizzically.

  “I’m tired, that’s all.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead. The section of guardrail directly in front of her was badly crushed, right in the spot where she’d pulled over, almost as if—

  Her breath caught in her throat. She’d seen this stretch of freeway with the mangled guardrail before. On the evening news a few weeks back. This was the spot where Kyra Williams had gone off the road and survived a two hundred feet plunge. “Freefall miracle” the anchorwoman had called it.

  Her pulse quickened. It couldn’t be just a coincidence. This place was cursed. The ravine was like a huge, evil eye that drew you in. She shuddered. That feeling of not wanting to go on, those mesmerizing voices. She hadn’t been in her right mind. Had Kyra heard the voices too? Maybe that was the fear she’d seen in Kyra’s face the first time they met.

  Martina sucked in a long breath. Her life had been spared, for now. But evil never quit. Living with Hal had taught her that.

  She blinked at the sound of more emergency vehicles approaching. The crew-cut officer strutted over, eyes bulging.

  “Okay ma’am, let’s get you out of here.”

  She looked at him, her stomach knotting up.

  “You’re taking me home, right? My son’s at home by himself—he doesn’t know where I am.”

  “We’ll have someone check on him for you, ma’am. Right now we’re taking you to talk to a counselor, just as a precaution. We want to make sure you’re well enough to go home.”

  “No!” Martina turned to the female officer. “My son needs me.” The officer gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “Sorry, ma’am, but it’s not an option,” the crew-cut officer replied. “We have to detain you until we have a psychiatric release.” He squared his shoulders and gave the female police officer a barely perceptible nod.

  Martina stared at him, her pulse racing. Taggert might take off. She had to get back to him before he did something stupid. “But I haven’t done anything wrong. You can’t arrest me.”

  The police woman loosened her hold and rested her pudgy hands on Martina’s shoulders. “You’re not in trouble. We just want to make sure you’re well enough to go back home and take care of your baby.”

  The officer’s chocolate-brown eyes held steady. Martina took another deep breath. She had no choice but to trust her. She gave a limp nod, and grabbed her bottom lip between her teeth to keep it from quivering. The officer gently gathered Martina against her generous frame, guided her to the squad car and shielded the top of her head with a hand, as she climbed in.

  Martina woke with a start when the squad car pulled up outside an unassuming, brick building surrounded by giant maples and a vast wave of immaculate lawn. A light, afternoon breeze chased a few stray leaves across the manicured grass.

  The female officer got out and opened the door for her. “Welcome to Pine Haven.” She patted Martina gently on the shoulder and cocked her head in the direction of the building. “They have a counselor ready to meet with you inside, before you see the doctor. Everything’s going to be all right now.”

  Martina blinked groggily as the officer took her arm and ushered her up the front steps. The automatic glass doors retracted, and a short, balding man with alert, smiling eyes behind thick glasses sprang up from a couch and moved toward them.

  “Martina, this is Pastor Rick.” The police officer released her arm and gave the man a brief nod of acknowledgement.

  “Please, call me Rick,” he said, extending a hand from a worn, faded-green sweater sleeve. “I’m here to help you in whatever way I can.”

  She stared at him, her mind flashing back to Dr. Brenner’s sleek, designer jacket cuff that had skimmed her wrist when he shook her hand a few hours earlier. She sniffed and slid her fists into her jacket pockets. A tear slid down her cheek and splattered on the tile in front of her shoe.

  “I can see you’re in pain, Martina,” said Rick. “I’m here to listen.”

  His soothing tone connected like balm with the hurt that curdled inside her chest. Her shoulders trembled as she struggled to hold back tears.

  “You don’t know what it’s like to hear voices in your head telling you you’re a no good waste of time,” she whispered.

  “I’ve heard them,” said Rick, handing her a tissue. “A long time ago they harassed me too. Why don’t we sit down and talk about it.”

  Martina shrugged and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I can’t stay long.” She glanced dubiously over at the policewoman in conversation with the receptionist. I have to get back to Taggert.

  She followed Rick into a peach-toned room with delicate floral print cur
tains and sat down on a tufted chair with coordinating cushions. Outside the window, a ground squirrel darted back and forth between two maple trees, oblivious to the world inside the glass. Martina pulled a Kleenex from the box on a side table, and wiped her nose.

  “You must be in some very difficult circumstances,” Rick said.

  She gave a curt nod and dabbed at her eyes. “You can say it like it is. We both know I tried to kill myself.”

  Rick scooted his chair a little closer. “Would you like to talk about why you feel so hopeless?”

  The compassion in his eyes broke her. She yanked out a clump of tissues, buried her face in them, and sobbed until her tears finally dissolved into gentle hiccups. She wiped her eyes and looked up at him. “I wouldn’t wish my life on anyone.”

  “I understand you have a son. Why don’t you tell me about him?”

  She straightened up a little in her seat at the mention of Taggert. “He’s the only reason I didn’t do myself in a long time ago.”

  Rick smiled at her, setting the gentle crinkles around his eyes in motion. “So why now? What’s become so unbearable?”

  Martina trained her eyes on the tissue box. “When I was a kid, my mom and I were on the streets for about ten months, until she met my step-dad. It was great, at first. We had a house to live in again and all that. But he drank all the time. Then he started knocking us around.” She paused and rocked gently back and forth on the chair. “When I met Hal, I thought he was my ticket out of hell.” She choked back another sob. “I guess there are just different levels.”

  She twisted the sodden pile of tissues in her lap. “I’m so tired of fighting life, and getting kicked in the teeth for trying. And the voices keep telling me to end it.”

  Rick leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “You don’t have to fight your demons alone, Martina. There’s always hope when we reach the end of ourselves.”