Mandy M. Roth - Magic Under Fire (Over a Dozen Tales of Urban Fantasy)

by Unknown

  “Fang.” A curt snort ejected from my mom. “What kind of name is that?”

  “Hmong, she’s from Vietnam.” My daughter’s best friend was a tiny Asian girl, who had embraced the American culture after moving here from Vietnam. With Fang’s overbearing mother and sixteen siblings, I felt confident this year Bronte wouldn’t get into much trouble. If she did, I’d know about it within ten minutes. “I’m going to say goodbye to the boys.” I leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call tomorrow morning before I pick them up.”

  “Okay, honey.” The look on her face made me pause, like she knew something I didn’t. “Don’t work too hard.”

  “I won’t.” I stopped. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  “Go.” She pointed toward the door. “We’ll be fine.”

  After a few more seconds of scrutinizing her, I pushed away my suspicion that something was up, and looked at the brown floral couch where my dad still laid. The corner of his lip quivered as he exhaled, and I was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep. Yeah, he was a true professional. “Tell dad to break a leg when he wakes up.”

  “He’s acting, not asleep,” my mom called after me.

  “Well then, tell him to break a leg after he stops acting like he’s asleep.” I stopped in the foyer. “Boys, come give me a hug.”

  Thunder, made by four little feet, pounded up the stairs from the basement game room. The twins rounded the corner, slid across the wooden floor in their socks, and barreled into my open arms. I loved my boys. They’d kept me sane after my husband died, and they made me laugh with their shenanigans. But were they ever a handful at times.

  “Why can’t you take us trick-or-treating, Mom.” Breck squeezed my waist, blocking off most of my oxygen intake.

  “I’m sorry, honey, I have to work.” I pried his arms from around my waist and knelt. “But grandma and grandpa are going to make sure you have a great time.”

  Bryce wrinkled his nose and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Grandma smells like bologna and she’s always hugging us.”

  “She hugs you because she loves you.” I leaned toward them and matched his whisper. “And she smells like bologna because of the preservatives. That’s what holds her together and stops her from turning into a mummy.”

  Their eyes widened. “Really?” they asked in unison.

  “Oh, yeah.” I nodded and stood. “Otherwise…” Extending my arms in front of me, I moaned, doing my best mummy impersonation. “Brains. I want brains.”

  “Mummies don’t eat brains,” Bryce scowled.

  “Yeah, Mom.” Breck shook his head. “That’s a zombie.”

  I knew my impression wasn’t good, but I wasn’t about to admit it. Lowering my arms, I glared at them with my best, you’re dumb look. “I know that. Grandma is a zombie mummy. Duh, shows how much you guys know.”

  “She is not.” Bryce crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a skeptical glower. “There’s no such thing as zombie mummies.”

  “Whatever you say.” I grabbed my purse off the hook, but turned back and stared at them for several exaggerated seconds. “But…you might want to make sure grandma eats a bologna sandwich before bed. You know, so you don’t wake up to her trying to snack on your brains.” Both of their mouths sagged open, which was highly satisfying for me. I smiled and then chirped, “Bye.”

  With that, I opened the door and headed into the crisp October afternoon, the boys’ conspiratorial plans whispering after me. I knew it was a little cruel to tease the them, and even crueler for my mom, but all of them gave as good as they got, and usually gave a lot more than they got. A chuckle rumbled from me. I hoped my mom liked bologna sandwiches. I was fairly certain that’s what the boys would be requesting for dinner—and a before-bed snack—and would be on her nightstand in the morning.

  It was one o’clock when I pulled into the GRS parking lot. I parked my new, black Ford Explorer next to Nate’s Suburban. I’d like to say that I missed my old van, Omar, but I didn’t. Not even a little. My sleek black SUV totally mirrored the badass grim reaper I strove to become. Maybe I wasn’t badass yet, but at least I wasn’t a bumbling idiot anymore. Plus, I now possessed the mega cool ability to reap supernatural creatures because I was the granddaughter of Death. Sure, it was something like eleventy-million times removed, but it still counted, therefore I got the choicest reaper swag. Thanks, Hal. He’d kill me if I ever called him grandpa.

  I headed into the building and took the elevator directly to the seventh-floor Command Center. When the metal doors slid open, chaos bombarded me. They called it the Halloween crazy because it was Grim Reaper Services busiest night of the year. Every ghost, ghoul, and idiot came out of the woodwork on Halloween.

  Many people went out of their way to be reaped by yours truly, performing epic feats of stupidity no sane person would attempt. Not all of them were idiots. For instance, I once reaped a woman who was killed by a runaway-shopping cart. When it hit her, the cart pushed her into oncoming traffic. Completely not her fault.

  Then there were the other kind of people, the ones who did stupid things and paid with their lives. Like snowmobiling across thin ice with pumpkins on their heads. Dumb and dead. It was as if Fate had created Halloween especially for me. Thanks, Fate.

  I joined my rock solid, and fiercely gorgeous boss, Constantine, on the riser in the center of the room. Radars lined the platform, and currently dozens of green blips bopped around the screens. Each blip represented a person, and for whatever reason, they were slated to die. Reapers rarely got a close-up view of the screens. It was GRS’s policy to keep us in the dark until their client’s scheduled time of death arrived. That way we wouldn’t be able to prevent it. Knowing myself all too well, that was a prudent procedure to have in place.

  “Hey there.” I smiled and shoved my hands in the back pockets of my jeans—again—because I couldn’t trust myself around him. Whenever I got near Constantine the urge to lean into him nearly swallowed me. The only thing that kept me from acting on the impulse was my doubt about him being human. I now knew that a variety of paranormal creatures existed, I just didn’t know where he fit into the picture—and I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out. “What’s the special assignment?” Instead of looking at him, I kept my eyes fixed on the green dots. “I don’t have to reap a troll or something like that, do I?”

  “Not tonight, Carron.” Unable to stop myself, I looked at him. He had grayish-silver eyes that I could fall into, and creamy brown skin that reminded me of a perfect cup of coffee. “Let’s go into my office. Nate will meet us there in a minute.”

  A tremor skittered down my spine when he wrapped his fingers around my upper arm. My gaze traveled from his face to his hand. His grip was gentle but firm, and when he maneuvered me toward his office, our bodies touched. Heat raced along my hip and thigh. Yowza, it had been way too long since I’d received any serious male attention, and I suspected I projected that onto Constantine.

  At six feet, something, he dwarfed me, making me feel feminine. That in itself was quite an achievement, and probably made him all the more attractive. I knew it was pathetic, but it was all I had.

  He released me as we neared his office door, and then led the way inside. With a businesslike wave toward the chairs, he indicated I should sit—so I did, because that’s what a smart person did when Constantine told them to do something—followed orders.

  The door closing sounded behind me, and a few seconds later my partner Nate dropped into the black leather chair next to me. “Hey, Carron.”

  “Hey, Cramer.” My relationship with Nate had grown into something comfortable, like an old pair of shoes. Though, I secretly wished it was a lot sexier than that—it wasn’t. He’d kissed me once, but that was because I’d exorcised a pretty nasty demon from him. So, more a kiss of gratitude than lust. Though we kept things platonic, there was no denying he was nice to look at. I lifted my eyebrows in question. “Do you know what this special assignment is?”

&nb
sp; “No.” He shook his head. “But with our luck it will be unpleasant.”

  “No doubt.”

  “It won’t be so bad.” Constantine shoved a file toward us. “All you have to do is capture the ghost of Samuel Parker.”

  “Who’s Samuel Parker?” Nate asked.

  Constantine motioned toward the file. I opened it to reveal an old colored eight-by-ten photo of a handsome thirty-something man. His features were dark and alluring, black hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones, straight nose, and if I hadn’t already known who Samuel Parker was, I might have been excited about wrangling this particular spirit. “Samuel Parker used to own the City Center Theater,” I said, glancing at Constantine. “Built it, as a matter of fact, right?”

  “Yeah.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his flat stomach. “What else do you know about him?”

  “He was charming, wealthy, and one of the elite in Anchorage society during the fifties.”

  Nate shrugged. “Doesn’t sound too bad. So, what’s the catch?”

  “The catch is,” I continued, “that Samuel Parker was thought to be a serial killer. Three women, I think, right?”

  “Four,” Constantine corrected. “You’ll find all the history and police reports in that file, so brush up on it before you head to the theater.”

  “Wait. We have to go into the theater?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He arched a black brow. “Is there a problem?”

  Cringing, I scooted back in my chair and away from the file. “No problem beyond it being the creepiest, most haunted place in town.”

  “You’re a grim reaper, Carron.”

  “Why do you always say that when I voice concern about an assignment? Just because I’m a reaper doesn’t mean I can’t get hurt, or in this case, die. Remember—serial killer?”

  “You’ll be fine.” He waved away my argument. “Nate will keep you safe.”

  My lips pinched into a constricted smile and I glanced at my partner. There was no doubt he was a skilled reaper, but over the months, I’d proven I was every bit as good—maybe even better because of my ability to reap the paranormal. There were things I could do that no other reaper could. He stared at me, as if waiting for my objection. I forced my smile to widen, but kept silent. No need to stir up trouble, after all, I actually did want him to protect me if I needed it.

  At one time, the City Center Theater had been the social hotspot for plays and performances. Though many people had moved to Alaska for adventure, or because they were running from something, i.e. the law, they’d insisted on maintaining the social standards they had in the lower forty-eight. But after a string of murders, a few of which took place right in the theater, the City Center Theater had closed and never reopened.

  “The current owner, Lizzy Git, will meet you at the back entrance at five o’clock. That will give you time to look around and set up.” Constantine tapped the file. “Familiarize yourself with this stuff. It might come in handy.”

  I shuffled through the pictures. The next four after Parker’s photo were young women. It looked as if all the pictures had been taken sometime in the fifties. The last photo was of an older woman, maybe pushing forty, dressed in bell-bottom pants, a peasant blouse, and a brown leather headband. She reminded me of Janice Joplin, and looked like she was straight out of the sixties. I angled the photo in order to read the name written on the bottom.

  “Evelyn Git?” My gaze cut to Constantine. “Any relationship to the current owner?”

  “Aunt,” He replied. “She used to be quite the socialite and party thrower. It was never a problem until her 1963 Halloween bash.” Leaning against the chair again, he resumed his folded hand pose. “It’s a cold case, but her niece suspects she met her demise at the hands of Samuel Parker.”

  During my time as a grim reaper, more than my fair share of ghosts had beaten me around. It didn’t surprise me to hear that Parker had continued his killing spree beyond the grave. Surprised? No. Scared? Yes. A little sick to my stomach at the thought of spending the night in the theater? Definitely.

  “We got this.” Nate closed the folder and stood, tucking the file under his arm. “We’ll keep you posted on our progress.”

  “Yeah.” I stood and gave Constantine a smile I didn’t feel. He was never quite as good looking when he sent me into one of these dangerous, and possibly fatal situations. “Unless…you know…we’re dead.”

  He returned a grin. “Report back anyway—even if you’re dead.”

  “So heartless.”

  I trailed Nate out of the office and stomped across the command center to the elevator. This really wasn’t fair. I’d followed procedure and blocked vacation time off on the calendar. My friend, Vella, and I had made plans. We were going to dress up in fuzzy pajamas, and then to ensure a stellar candy haul, we’d take the boys trick-or-treating through the rich neighborhoods. Then, while the boys gorged themselves on sweets and watched Halloween cartoons, we were going to drink wine and hand out candy and heckle the teenagers who didn’t bother dressing up.

  My night had been planned. Staking out a haunted theater, and the very real threat of death was so not what I wanted to do on Halloween.

  2

  G ravel crunched under my tires as I turned off the alley and into the parking lot behind the theater. Other than being painted a salmon-color, the back of the building had no definable character. Most of the glitz and glam had been saved for the front façade, but even that showed major signs of decline.

  Thin rectangular windows ran in four rows along the flat concrete wall, all of them dark, and all of them extra creepy. My gaze darted away from the upper row in case there were any shadowy specters watching my arrival. It’s one thing to take a spirit by surprise and reap it. It’s another to see them watching and waiting for you.

  A shiver raced along my spine, and I reached across the seat to grip the black cylinder nestled against my bag. Some people had their blankets for comfort. I had my scythe. It had been a gift from my porter Hal, who was also my great, great, great whatever grandfather. His real name was Thanatos, the original Death, and he’d once enjoyed a stint as the first ferryman on the River Styx. Now Charon, son of Nyx and Erebus, as well as being Hal’s brother, did the ferrying. Long story—lots of family drama.

  My fingers caressed the intricate carvings around the upper edge of the cylinder. Knowing this bad boy could reap the darkest demon from Hell gave me comfort and bolstered my determination to take down Samuel Parker. Sure, he was a serial killer, but I’d dealt with worse—a lot worse. No doubt there would be other ghosts lurking about the theater. I wasn’t foolish enough to think this would be a one-and-done assignment.

  Thankfully, Nate had already arrived. He waited in his vehicle, so I pulled in beside him, and then got out. A gravelly squawk broadcasted above me, drawing my attention back to the building’s roof. Perched on the ledge sat a fat, black raven.

  Anchorage has some of the biggest ravens known to man, and my familiar, Fletcher, led the pack in heftiness. I was partly to blame for him being the size of a Welsh Corgi. After connecting as reaper and familiar, I felt compelled to leave him a daily treat. To be honest, I suspected Fletcher was using some kind of raven mind control on me, because every day around the same time the idea to give him a treat popped into my head. If I didn’t instantly set out the kibble, the image of him would continue to appear in my mind until I did. So really, it would be his fault if one day he couldn’t heft his body off his perch. I could just see him catching a ride with me to my reaps. Yeah, nothing weird about a raven in a booster seat, being driven around by a hockey mom. I made a mental note to toss out his bird treats.

  Whether he’d come in hopes of getting a snack, or to help me, I was glad he was here. I fingered the raven pendant at my neck and the sensation of wings brushing against me fluttered along my entire body. I smiled and closed my driver door.

  Though the extent of our communication wasn’t much more than his squawks, letting me
know he’d arrived or something was amiss, there did always seem to be a mental flow between us. I called it the knowing. I always knew what he was trying to tell me, no matter how vague. Fletcher had given me the pendant before I’d ever agreed to be a reaper. Guess he’d known more than I had. The necklace gave me an extra supernatural zap when I needed it, and boy had I needed it.

  I walked around to Nate’s side and he rolled down his window. Not one for small talk or pleasantries, he got straight to business. “Ms. Git isn’t here yet.”

  “No hurry as far as I’m concerned,” I said, rubbing my arms against the October bite. It hadn’t snowed yet, but the crisp nip in the air smelled as if it could any day. I tapped on my step-tracker, lighting up the time. “We still have five minutes.”

  “Climb in.” He cocked his head toward the passenger side of his SUV and smiled. “No need to freeze while we wait.”

  Nate had dimples, and when he smiled, they deepened, making him hella attractive. I guess I should consider myself lucky to be working with him. I won’t lie, he was bikini-waxing worthy, but we kept our relationship strictly professional—at least I thought that’s what we were doing. There had been times when he’d looked at me a certain way, or said something that could have easily been misconstrued as interest, but it never went any farther.

  He’d been my dead husband’s partner before he’d become mine, and I’m sure that had something to do with it. What’s that saying, bros before hos? Except his bro was dead, so I didn’t see how it applied. Still, we were reapers, and we never knew when somebody from the past, who had passed, might come knocking on our door.

  I climbed into the Suburban and sighed when the blasting heat hit me and melted away my shivers. “Did you get a chance to look at the file?” I asked.