Magic and Mayhem: Reapercussions (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Poppy Carlyle Chronicles Book 1)

by Boone Brux

  “I knew I could count on you, sweetie. Just promise me you’ll be careful.” She sipped and swallowed into the receiver. “Honey badgers can be nasty pieces of work, but poltergeists are the worst. Mixed together, you got yourself one badass ghost, and there’s three of them.”

  “I’ll be careful. I’ll text you when I finish the job.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. And who knows, maybe you’ll wrap this up early and still have time for your date.” Not waiting for me to reply, she sent a loud, sucking kiss through the phone and hung up.

  I slung my arm over my eyes, letting the phone drop onto the bed. “Ahhhhhh. Why now?”

  This was my life. I’d signed up for it. Knew what I was getting into when I’d agreed to work for Grim Reaper Services. Until this moment, being a grim reaper had been kind of awesome. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be an angel of death? By the way, there are a lot of us, but only a few like me. Since my mom was a Shifter and had shown no sign of possessing any reaping abilities, I’d cleverly deducted it must have been my dad who had been the grim reaper. I suspected my mother knew this, but in case she didn’t, I kept that fact a secret.

  Nobody knew I was a reaper. It was for the best, otherwise, people would hound me to relay messages to their loved ones. Plus, dead people liked to gossip. I knew stuff about Asshat’s fair citizens that would make their heads explode—or get them sent to jail—or divorced—or a myriad of other unpleasant possibilities. Yeah, keeping my mouth shut was better for everybody concerned. Or had been, until now.

  I sat up. “What am I going to tell Jax?”

  The relationship between our families was tenuous at best. Skulking around their property could land me in hot water. Even if I caught the poltergeists, which I wasn’t entirely confident I could do, they were invisible to everybody but me. I’d have nothing to back up my story. I groaned again. The danger didn’t matter. I had a job to do and a date to cancel.

  Since I didn’t have Jax’s phone number, I’d have to break the date in person. My body fought me as I struggled to my feet and scuffed out the door.

  So not fair.

  When I stepped onto the street, my eyes zeroed in on Jax standing in the office. He was bent over a table, examining what looked like plans. I stopped, drinking in the sight of him. The man was hot with a capital H.

  Releasing my thousandth heavy sigh of the day, I forced myself forward. He turned when I opened the door, his face lighting up. His reaction sent conflicting waves of happiness and regret washing over me. Okay, so I probably wouldn’t see him tonight, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t have our date tomorrow.

  “Heeeeey,” I said, closing the door behind me. My smile felt too wide and awkward. “How’s it going?”

  “Good, now.” He checked his watch. “Am I late?”

  “No, no.” I walked to the table and folded my hands on top of the blueprints of his office. “But there’s been a hiccup in tonight’s plans.”

  “Oh?” Bending at the waist, he rested his forearms on the table and leveled his gorgeous gaze on me. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  It didn’t get much more serious than honey badger poltergeists, but I didn’t want him to worry—or know that I was a reaper. For some reason admitting that to anybody felt a lot like confessing I believed in the Tooth Fairy, which, as far as I knew, wasn’t real. The last thing I wanted was for Jax to pity me, or worse, think I was looney-toons. “No, just a personal matter I need to take care of tonight. Trust me, if I could put it off, I would.”

  “Maybe I can help. We can have our date afterward.”

  “No, it’s kind of a one-person thing.” I slid to the corner and bent, also resting my forearms on the table. Only inches away from him, I inhaled. “God, you smell good. What is that? Cologne? Shower gel?”

  He ran his finger across my hand. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Oh, is it a mountain lion thing?” I knew Shifters had heightened senses. “Like, to attract the ladies?”

  “Something like that.” Pivoting to face me, he braced his body on one arm. “Is it working?”

  “If it worked any better you’d be flat on your back on this table.” Unable to resist, I twined my fingers with his. “Which makes breaking our date hella difficult.” I gave him my cutest pout. “I even made peach pie.”

  “I love pie.” For a few seconds, his gaze caressed my face. Then he leaned in, his nose nuzzling my ear. A whisper quiet moan emanated from him. “Maybe I can come over later, after you get home.”

  For real, my knees literally buckled. My body was shouting, “Hell yeah, come over later!”, but my brain kept pelting me with rational arguments and common sense. Sometimes I hated my brain. “That would be awesome, but I have no idea when I’ll be back.”

  “I go to bed late.” He said in a velvety voice, pressing his forehead to mine. “I don’t mind waiting up for you.”

  “I would love to say yes—you have no idea how much I want to say yes—but I really don’t know when I’ll finish.” I traced the black line of the mountain lion tattooed on the inside of his arm. “But it would be better if we could do it tomorrow night…with no interruptions.”

  When I’d taken the job with Grim Reaper Services, I’d been told reaping came first, everything else second. The faster you could snatch the ghosts and get them crossed-over, the better. Usually, this wasn’t a problem. I had a lot of sympathy for wandering spirits who had no idea what had just happened to them. But to be honest, I pitied these honey badger poltergeists. They might be badass, but they’d ruined my date with the hottest guy around. Any mercy I might have shown them evaporated with Chopin’s Funeral March.

  “You sure?” Jax asked. “I don’t mind waiting for you.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” Not telling Jax the whole truth got more difficult by the second. If I didn’t hightail it out of his office, I’d end up spilling the beans about being a reaper, my childhood crush, and every other secret I’d kept buried. “How about I pop over in the morning with coffee and fresh sweet bread?”

  “Are you trying to bribe me with food?” he asked.

  I rounded my eyes, giving him my most innocent stare. “Is it working?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Good.” I straightened, intent on making my exit before I did something stupid, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me against him.

  “Coffee and sweet rolls are fine, but I think I need something to hold me over until tomorrow.”

  My hands slid up his chest, winding their way around his neck. I sure hoped he meant a kiss because I’d already lifted onto my tiptoes. “I can do that.”

  When his lips touched mine, I swore a jolt of electricity shot through me and settled in the area just below my bellybutton. It was nice—very nice. I pulled him closer, and his arms snaked around my waist. Chest to chest and mouth to mouth, a kiss had never been hotter.

  His tongue ran across my lower lip, and when I opened my mouth, he dipped inside. Smooth, forceful, and completely in control. Slanting my head, I glided my tongue along his, and threaded my fingers through his glorious hair. A low growl hummed against my mouth as he palmed the back of my head and assaulted my mouth with his. I think I actually whimpered.

  Our connection was undeniable. The longer I touched him, the more I needed to touch him. My lust grew frenzied and desperate, wanting to get closer to him, which was impossible unless I crawled inside of him. While his one hand held my head in place, the other drifted down my back and over my rear end. He gripped my ass and pulled me against him, letting me feel just how much he wanted me, which was a lot if his erection was any indication.

  Things were heating up fast—too fast. Sweet Jesus, if we kept this up we’d be the talk of the town for years to come. Despite the fact that it would have been so worth it, I mustered the strength to break our kiss. But that was all. I wasn’t a superhero, for crying out loud. With our foreheads pressed together and our arms still wound around each other, we stood, panting.

/>   “We should stop,” I said.

  “Should we?”

  I pulled back and looked at him. Inside, a great war between my brain and libido raged. At the moment, it was neck and neck. “Shouldn’t we?”

  He shrugged. “You’re the one who has a thing to do. Not me. I say we keep making out.”

  “My thing?” Crap. I’d almost forgotten about it. “Right.” I detached myself from him and stepped back. “Yes, I have to go do that—right now—before I do something I won’t regret.”

  His chin tipped downward, and his eyes never wavered from me as I backed toward the door. From the way he looked at me, I totally got the whole mountain lion thing. He stared as if I was prey. Weirdly, I kind of liked it. For the last six years my love life had been as dry as a popcorn fart, and having a man make his interest known without trying to guess at his intentions was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  “I’m leaving now,” I said, fumbling for the doorknob. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning bright and early.”

  He didn’t say a word, simply continued to give me a stare bent on melting my panties clean off me. I yanked open the door, sidestepped out, and pulled it closed. Our eyes locked for a few exaggerated seconds before I spun and jogged down the steps. His gaze pressed against the middle of my back like a physical pressure, and I didn’t need to glance back to know he still watched me.

  Once inside my building, I sprinted up the stairs and slammed my apartment door behind me. For good measure, I threw the deadbolt and slid the chain lock across the door. Not because I didn’t trust him, but because I didn’t trust myself. The slightest provocation would send me back across the street. This fact I knew. Whatever was happening between Jax Jackson and me was powerful and a little scary. Even if I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t fight it. I just prayed he felt the same because if he dumped me now, I’d probably have to reap his ass.

  Chapter Four

  When I turned thirteen, two things happened. I got my first period, and I started to see ghosts. I’m not sure one had anything to do with the other, but the fact that I could see dead people was undeniable.

  Anyway, there I was, sitting in the bathroom, reading the instructions from the tampon box when Ester, our recently deceased neighbor, floated through the wall. I won’t lie, seeing a real live ghost had the same effect on me as the Tower of Death at the county fair had. One minute I was fine, and the next I was pinned against the toilet seat screaming bloody murder.

  At first, I told everybody, thinking it was a natural part of being a Shifter, but when the other kids started to avoid me, my mom explained that I was special. She said special, but her intonation drifted more toward odd. Soon after that, we discovered I wasn’t a Shifter. In hindsight, this turned out to be a blessing. Armadillo Shifters are, for lack of a better term, at the bottom of the food chain. Each Shifter has their strengths and weaknesses, but I’ve been hard-pressed to figure out what my families are.

  Maybe their strength was their weakness. For instance, my cousin Zeek had a partiality for getting hit by cars. Four times at my last count. But he’s never been killed, which is amazing considering a Winnebago doing sixty plowed into him last time. Seemed to me it shouldn’t matter if a person had armadillo Shifter blood coursing through them. They should still be able to avoid a large fast-moving vehicle when in human form. Just sayin’.

  As unfair as it seemed, because I’m the most normal on in our family, seeing ghosts and not being a Shifter made me an outcast among outcasts. Jobs were hard to come by out here in no-man’s land, and friends even more so. My future looked rather bleak and lonely.

  It wasn’t until two years ago that I finally found my life’s purpose. Or I should say, my purpose found me. At first, I thought Sharon had pranked called me, but the more she reassured me, the more she convinced me. There wasn’t any way a person would know the details of what I experienced when I saw a ghost unless they had the ability too. It took another three calls and personal visit for me to fully accept my reaperness.

  So, I became the GRS area representative for our Shifter community. Of course, that meant I’d never leave Bumfrickin’nowhere, probably never have a family of my own, and die a lonely, shriveled, and slightly bitter woman, but it would all be worth it because I had a higher purpose. I hoped.

  I’m damn good at my job and loved everything about reaping souls. Even keeping my reaper status a secret hadn’t been a problem. Joining GRS gave me colleagues, friends, and a reason to get up in the morning. I’d been content—until tonight.

  A tree root caught my toe, and I tripped, dropping to one knee. Damn it! Now my favorite jeans would be grass stained. A sharp stick bit into my palm when I pushed off the ground to stand. I tried to rub away the dirt and pain on my pants, but only succeeded in smearing damp soil along the thigh seam. Oh, I pitied these honey badgers. Especially if they gave me a tough time. I was in no mood for shenanigans and hijinks. Get it done. That was my motto for tonight.

  The sun had set, and full-on darkness was quickly expanding. Maneuvering through the woods took skill and no small amount of grace. I’d grown up in these woods, and when I was younger, I’d known them inside and out. A few years had passed since I’d been on Jackson land. Though they hadn’t cleared much of the area, Mother Nature had put her own decorating flair on the place. New trees had sprouted, and thicker underbrush blanketed areas I’d run freely across as a kid. Despite these changes, I still knew exactly where I stood.

  About a hundred yards south sat the Jackson compound, namely the big house. The out buildings they fitted as tiny homes surrounded the back of the main house for most of Jax’s family. This area I wanted to avoid at all costs, and I prayed the poltergeists were nowhere near the compound.

  I pulled out my phone and tapped the GRS app. After logging in with my fingerprint identification, the screen glowed to life. Instantly, my phone zeroed in on my location. I blew out a relieved breath. Sometimes cell reception out here wasn’t great. This would make finding the honey badgers a lot easier.

  Crouching next to a fallen tree, I held out my phone and stared at the lighted screen. Three blips pinged several yards ahead of me. I bit back a curse. They were close to the main house, too close. The slightest noise would bring Jax’s family running. Heightened hearing was just one of the many issues I had with Shifters.

  After shoving my phone in my back pocket, I stood and slipped to the tree to my right. From there, I zigzagged my way toward the compound, trying to stay out of sight. At about fifty yards, I stopped. Grunts and gibberish chattered up ahead, but I couldn’t see anything. I slipped around the side of the tree and tiptoed to the one directly in front of me. Though not very wide, it should have hidden me from view. The chattering grew louder, and my footsteps slowed. Leaning as close as I dared toward the three, I swallowed hard, willing my racing heart to slow. I needed to stay calm and focused, but as hard as I tried, the three ghosts messed with my Zen. The energy they gave off zinged around the woods, making the hair on the back of my neck prickle.

  I shifted, getting ready to skulk to the next tree, when I heard one of the badgers rasp, “I gotta take a leak. Hold on.”

  My brow furrowed. First off, they were ghosts. None of them needed to take a leak ever again. Second, he headed in my direction. I pressed my back against the tree. The sound of shuffling leaves and snapping twigs drew closer, and tingles of energy skittered across my skin. I didn’t know who or what to expect; man, animal, or poltergeist.

  I held my breath, praying he didn’t notice me. When he passed, I gave a mental jump for joy. Badgers were plain mean, and I hadn’t had to deal with poltergeists. I’d heard stories about them that were funny at the time, but they didn’t seem so funny now. Ghosts in human form were easier. It’s what I knew I could handle.

  Maybe it was a person starts to look like their pet thing, but this guy definitely resembled a honey badger, actually, more like a weasel. Pointed nose, skinny rubbery body, and beady black eyes. Meanness radiated from him.<
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  The story of how Zelda, our local Shifter healer/witch, popped a mass of honey badgers, and met her mate had been the talk of the territory. Though I had unique skills to reap the paranormal, I didn’t have anywhere near the power she did. The element of surprise would be my best option.

  Slipping from behind the tree, I checked that the other guys were busy. What the hell were they doing? I brought my night vision scope to my eye. The breath slammed to a stop in my throat, which was the only thing that stopped me shouting the F-bomb.

  On a hood of an old truck rested a stick of dynamite. Each ghost took turns transforming from their ghostly form to their poltergeist form, which looked something like a sparking dust devil. Up and over the hood of the truck they would spin. They’d hang directly above the fuse for a couple of seconds, before reforming to a ghost.

  These idiots were trying to light the dynamite with the energy from their poltergeisting. If they succeeded pieces of that old truck might end up on Martin Jackson’s front porch, or worse, through his roof. Of course, my family would be blamed. With the Dolbinrods being the only ones with a grudge against them, the assumption would be logical. The urgency to reap these troublemakers ratcheted, as did my irritation. I’d gone from annoyed to fuming within seconds.

  Following the sound of the loan badger, I crept after him, making sure to stay out of his direct view. I peeked out, and had to bite back a snort of disgust. He’d stopped next to a rock, and was writing Honey Badgers Rule. Impressive flow. Too bad he didn’t know how to spell. His claim came out Honey Badgers Role. Maybe Zelda had done these guys a favor. At some point, natural selection would have claimed them.

  The scrape of his zipper mingled with his off-tune humming, signaling he’d finished. I crept closer and lifted my hands, ready to latch onto him. A reapers hands are their most valuable weapon. When it comes to ghosts their sticky like Velcro. Once we attach ourselves to a spirit, it takes a lot to pry them loose. Most of the time this is a good thing, but other times it can get downright painful. I’ve been dragged through swamps, brambles, over rocks, and ended up with more bruises and cuts than I can remember. The memory of these injuries made me hesitate now. Unfortunately, that was a big mistake.