Samhain

Samhain

Smashwords Edition Copyright 2014

by Shauna Granger

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.

Published by Shauna Granger

Copyright © 2014 by Shauna Granger

Cover art by Shauna Granger

For my mom, for me, for Cassie, and everyone else who still loves witches, vamps, Weres, and awkward romances.

***

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Chapter 1

The Esterwyn Hotel was a five-star, swanky joint in Beverly Hills—so it was definitely the kind of place where I never found myself. But three nights before Halloween I was sitting at the lobby bar with a glass of wine, which was marked up about two hundred percent, while I waited for the guy who had asked me to meet him. I had no idea who the guy was, but he’d told me he had a job for me and that he would pay double my normal rate.

Usually when people offered to pay me double without even asking my regular rate, it meant that they wanted something they were embarrassed to ask for or something illegal. I had no idea what the guy wanted, but for double my mysterious rate, I was willing to meet him and hear him out.

I stared at the vampire guarding a hidden door at the side of the bar. I only knew about the door because I’d been taken through it last month when I was looking for a kidnapped fae prince. If I had never walked through that door, I doubted that I would even realize it was there—it blended in with the wall seamlessly.

On the other side of that door were corridors filled with debauchery of every flavor. The Esterwyn was owned and operated by Theodora, the vampire Mistress of Los Angeles County, but it was in that den of iniquity, hidden by that door, where Theo made the bulk of her money. What I was most interested in was beyond those rooms of pain and sex. Somewhere, deep in the vampire warren, was Owen, my ex-boyfriend.

I swirled the wine in my glass, releasing the bouquet, and took a deep breath of the tart, sweet scent before I took a sip. I knew it wasn’t actually as expensive as they were selling it for, but those extra few dollars made me believe it was the best wine I’d ever tasted. It was also the longest I’d ever taken to drink a glass of wine, or at least what the bartender thought was a glass—for me it was more like half a glass.

Is this seat taken?

I turned toward the familiar voice and smiled when I saw Fletcher standing behind me. He was a very young vampire, having been turned only fifteen years ago, and still had the spark of life in his eyes. His brown hair was blown back from his face tonight, artfully styled, and all I wanted to do was run my fingers through it and mess it up. He’d applied black eyeliner, which made his brown eyes seem darker. I wanted to wipe it off. He was as tall as ever in his knee-high platform boots with too many silver buckles. He finished the look with his favorite black trench coat, which he had buttoned up all the way to his chin.

Fletcher, I said with a smile. I held out my arms for a hug that he returned without hesitation.

When he stepped back, I pushed out the chair next to me with my foot and motioned for him to sit. Fletcher nodded at the bar-tender as he sat, and in another moment, he had a tumbler in front of him half-full of scotch and ice.

What are you doing here? Fletcher’s tone was slightly accusatory.

I kept my back straight and my chin high, refusing the squirm under his stare. Meeting a potential client.

Are you now? He stared at me over the rim of his glass as he took a sip.

I am, I insisted, nudging his leg with mine. Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t pick the meeting place, all right?

Still though, you could have suggested someplace different, Fletcher said. "Someplace closer to home. Someplace where a master vampire who wants you dead doesn’t live. You know, someplace else."

Sure, I could, but like I said, I didn’t pick the place. I got the feeling this guy isn’t the kind of person who wanted to go into Brighthaven.

But he wants to contract a witch?

For the love of toads, Fletch, chill out. I shook my head and looked away from him. I grabbed my glass and took a bigger swallow of wine than I had been allowing myself to take.

In the process, I accidentally nudged my clutch with my elbow. Fletcher caught it just before it fell off the bar. His eyebrows shot up when he heard the clink of glass inside.

What have you got in there? he asked.

I took the bag and set it gently on the bar, making sure it was out of his reach. Noneya.

Fletcher didn’t need to know about the vials of precaution inside the tiny bag. He didn’t need to know that I took knockout powder with me wherever I went, and he certainly didn’t need to know about the boil-inducing hex, or the potion that would cause someone to lose all their pretty blond hair, or the potion that would steal someone’s voice and make them croak like a frog for a week. I had no plans to march through the vampire warren and find Theo, but I wanted all of those bottles with me just in case I ran into her.

Well, Fletcher said after a long, silent moment, just be careful with whatever you’ve got in there. I’m sure none of it is worth dying over.

Fletcher—I bit off the syllables of his name—I really am here for a business meeting, okay? So just stop.

I believe you, he said as he put up his hands in surrender. I’m just trying to watch out for you is all. I feel a little responsible for you, you know?

Well, you’re not. I don’t need a man to watch out for me.

Oh, don’t I know it. Fletcher chuckled. The sound was low and rumbling, and his smile was so open and inviting. He really wasn’t like any other vampire I had ever met.

I felt a pang of regret for not knowing him before he was turned. I pushed my glass away to turn to look at him. My knee caught his, pushing his legs open, and I found myself within the frame of his legs. Look, I know I dragged you into my life with all that. I made a vague gesture, as if I could point at the past month. I really appreciated everything you did for me.

I was happy to help, he said.

I still don’t understand why. I mean, I lied to get you to help me.

But you came clean about it, Fletcher said. Your life was in danger. You were doing what you had to do. I got it.

Yeah. I nodded, but I didn’t really agree with him. The guilt still ate at me.

Besides, he said, and something in his voice changed.

The sound made me look up into those brown eyes of his. He was leaning toward me, just a little, and his head tilted as he held my gaze. I saw a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. It was a very inviting mouth.

I got to meet you, he said.

Oh. I opened my mouth, searching for words and knowing I looked like a fish out of water. Fletcher, I, um, I mean…

I know it’s hard to let him go, but there are other guys out there who aren’t bonded to the most powerful vampire in the county who would love to take you out to dinner sometime.

I just blinked stupidly at him, not sure what to say. Was Fletcher hitting on me? Or was he just trying to cheer me up?

But no one is going to ask so long as you keep pining after the guy you can’t have.

That struck me. A pang of discomfort went through me, and I had to look away from him. I grabbed my glass and took another swallow of wine, wishing I hadn’t trapped myself between his legs. The air was too thick to breathe, and Fletcher was staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

Ms. Kavanagh?

I twisted to look over my shoulder and found the restaurant maître d’ waiting for me with an expectant look. My hero.

Yes? I said after clearing my throat.

Your party has arrived. I can take you to the table. He bent forward at the waist in a small bow.

Right, I said, glad for the chance to escape. I went to open my purse, but the man made a small noise to stop me.

The bill has been taken care of.

Oh. I suddenly wished I’d had a second glass.

Fletcher moved to let me slip out from between his legs.

Fletcher? I turned to look at him after jumping down from my seat.

Don’t worry about it. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime? His voice was so normal; nothing about it told me whether or not he had actually been hitting on me just moments earlier.

Yeah, of course, I answered quickly.

Fletcher leaned close to press a light kiss on my cheek, surprising me. I smiled at him, feeling strange and shaky as a flush of heat colored my cheeks. I grabbed my bag, trying to keep the glass vials inside quiet, and turned to follow the maître d’. He led me to the back of the restaurant and to a booth in the corner. None of the tables around it were filled, even though the rest of the restaurant was packed. Clearly this guy got what he wanted, when he wanted.

The maître d’ held out his hand toward the secluded booth, gesturing for me to sit. I nodded my thanks and turned toward the two men waiting inside the wide, U-shaped booth. I didn’t recognize the younger man, but I knew who the other guy was right away.

Mr. Mayor, I said, very nice to meet you.

Ms. Kavanagh. He stood and held out his hand for mine.

Dixon Fox had been mayor for almost four years and was campaigning for reelection in the summer. He was the perfect blend of Hollywood glam and New York charm, exactly what the people of L.A. liked in a mayor. He had curly brown hair and just enough of a tan to almost hide the light sprinkling of freckles on his nose. His blue eyes were icy and clear. He was tall without being too tall, standing at five foot ten, and had the wide shoulders and narrow waist of a swimmer. When he smiled, both men and women smiled back. If someone had asked me to brew a potion to make the perfect politician, Dixon Fox would be what came out of my cauldron.

I didn’t expect to be meeting you, I said as I slid into the booth. Dixon sat to my right, with the wall behind him, and the other man sat across from me.

Yes, well, we wanted to keep this discreet, Dixon said with his trademark smile. I believe you know my assistant, Edwin Higashi?

We spoke on the phone, Edwin said, holding out his hand.

His voice was soft, just as it had been on the phone, and I recognized it immediately. Edwin was much smaller in stature than Dixon, and unlike Dixon, Edwin didn’t make me feel like a little girl at the adults’ table. Edwin adjusted his black-rimmed glasses when he released my hand. When he dipped his head forward, his inky black hair swung forward into his eyes, and he had to slick it back with one hand.

Nice to meet you, I said, nodding back at him. So what can I help you with? I take it whatever it is that you want isn’t something you want other people to know about?

Well, it’s nothing illegal, Edwin said, holding up one small hand.

Of course not, Dixon said with a laugh. He clapped Edwin’s shoulder and gave it a light shake. That would be absurd.

So what is it exactly?

We need two items from you, Edwin said carefully. Mr. Fox has two ailments that he needs cures for. His dark eyes bored into mine from behind his glasses.

I could tell he was hoping I would just understand what they were looking for without them having to actually say it. I nodded, glancing at both of them. Yeah, I feel ya.

If all Dixon wanted was a couple of healing potions, then I could do that. There were laws in place prohibiting politicians from using a lot of spells and potions during elections and their time in office, but there was nothing against them using healing potions.

Edwin leaned closer to be better heard as he lowered his voice. Like I said, we are willing to pay double your fee.

Right, but I imagine you would need these potions quickly?

Yes. Edwin nodded.

So what exactly do you have that needs curing?

Edwin and Dixon shared a look that I couldn’t read. I really wished they would’ve figured out their story before I got there.

Well, one is an infection of sorts, Edwin said. Bright pink spots appeared on his cheeks.

Okay. I nodded for him to go on. What kind of infection?

An awkward one, Dixon finally chimed in.

I suddenly knew what he was getting at. Oh. I tried not to squirm away from him. "And the other ailment?"

That is more of a persistent growth that just won’t go away, Dixon said.

I didn’t like his smile so much anymore. A growth? Let me guess, the growth is quite large, maybe over five feet tall, possibly curvy with long blond hair?

Actually, it’s a redhead, Dixon said, and Edwin cringed.

I happened to know, just like everyone else in the city knew, that there was a Mrs. Fox, and she had brown hair. Come on, guy, I voted for you, damnit.

And your vote was appreciated. Don’t forget to come out for the reelection, Dixon said with a grin, and I almost expected him to give me finger guns.

Gross. I sighed, wishing again that I’d had more than one glass of wine. Fine. For two potions and a rush order, the fee is twenty-five hundred.

Dixon glared at me.

Edwin shifted in his seat before clearing his throat. We were under the impression your usual fee was one hundred.

Rates just went up, I said with a shrug. Not to mention the fee for a gag order, because trust me, I’m gagging over here.

Ms. Kavanagh, Dixon said as he reached out to touch my arm.

I scooted away, pulling my hand out of reach. Look, take it or leave it. I’m sure whatever awkward infection you have is just getting more and more uncomfortable and you’d like to take care of that one sooner rather than later. And let’s not forget you’ve already clued me in on the big redheaded secret, so I’m thinking maybe twenty-five hundred is being generous. I slid out of the booth and grabbed my purse. You have my number. Feel free to think it over and give me a call.

I walked away before either of them could say anything. Thanks to the money I’d made rescuing the fairy prince, I didn’t need his money. I was waiting for the valet to bring around my car when I heard footsteps coming up behind me. I turned just as Edwin came to a stop, slightly out of breath.

Ms. Kavanagh, he said, we will pay your price on the condition that you can have the items ready by Thursday.

Halloween was on Friday and Samhain on Saturday, and I had about a dozen anti-jinx and anti-hex orders that needed to be filled by Friday. It would be tight, but for twenty-five hundred, I could squeeze it in. Fine, you can send someone for it on Thursday. I took the hand that Edwin offered.

Thank you, and your discretion is appreciated, he said as he released my hand.

Whatever, man. I glanced over my shoulder as my car came around the corner. Just don’t expect my vote when he runs for reelection.

Edwin didn’t reply, but he nodded. Behind his glasses, I saw the same sentiment reflected back at me.

Please take my card. Edwin held out a card for me, tucking the metal case back into his coat pocket. If there are any problems or if you have any questions, please call or text.

Great, I said as I jammed the card into my tiny purse.

I fell into my car, slipping the valet a tip before he shut the door, and drove away from the hotel. I’d never made a potion for an awkward ailment before. I hoped I could make it without needing to know the details of his ailment, because I really didn’t want to know.

Chapter 2

Ronnie’s apartment was filled with the aroma of warm sugar, melting chocolate, and pumpkin as she baked cookies and I cleaned out our giant pumpkins. Soft music filtered through the apartment, the lyrical notes of Black Witch White Magic making me sway in my seat. Halloween was only four days away, and I couldn’t wait to pass out candy to costumed children. On Samhain, we would go to the park for the lighting of the Great Bonfire, and we would feast and dance in the cleansing smoke. But tonight, I was elbow-deep in orange gunk and slippery seeds.

Joey, a half-pixie girl who was Ronnie’s new assistant, was sitting on the floor in the living room, her elbows on the coffee table as she braided tiny amethyst crystals into silky ribbons. There would be a full moon on Samhain, and people were often terrified of how open they would be to psychic attack during full moons, but it would be doubly worse on Samhain. Ronnie always sold out of her pre-made protection charms around the holidays, but this year she had Joey to help her build up her stock.

I hefted out a double handful of orange goop, and it landed on the newspapers covering the kitchen table with a wet slap. My hands were starting to feel stiff with cold. I didn’t know why Ronnie and I always insisted on getting such huge pumpkins, but we did. These were the size of a troll’s head—I could almost crawl inside them.

What kind of face are you gonna do? Joey asked from across the apartment.

Ronnie’s apartment wasn’t much different than mine, with the living room open to the small dining area off the kitchen, but her apartment was bigger. She even had an extra bedroom. That bedroom now belonged to Joey, who had moved in after Ronnie and I had saved her from her werewolf ex-boyfriend. He’d had a bad reaction to a love spell I’d stirred up for Joey.

Just something scary, I said with a one-shoulder shrug.

We like traditional. Ronnie opened the oven to retrieve the third tray of cookies. A gust of chocolate-scented heat washed out of the oven, swirling around us and making my mouth water.

Are any of them cool enough yet? I looked over my shoulder at the cookies resting on wire racks on the counters.

I told you, these are for the trick-or-treaters, Ronnie said as she slid the cookies off the sheet and onto a wire rack. Not for grubby little witches.

Takes one to know one, I shot back, threatening her with a handful of orange slime.

Don’t throw away the seeds. Ronnie started dropping mounds of the chocolate chip cookie dough onto a new, cool pan.

I am not spending hours picking through this goop for bloody pumpkin seeds, I said, raking a spoon down the inside of the second pumpkin. I still didn’t understand how Ronnie had gotten me to clean out her pumpkin as well, but there I was, doing it.

I’ll do it! Joey said, and before either of us could blink, she was off the floor and by my side, her tiny, pointy fingers in the growing pile of gunk.

I thought you were making charms, I said.

I need a break. Besides, I’ve been dying to squish some of this stuff! She grinned maniacally, holding up her hands as she squished handfuls of stringy pumpkin guts.

Ronnie made a face, scrunching up her nose and shaking her head, but I laughed. Seeds worked their way between Joey’s fingers, falling on the wet newspapers silently.

Feel better? I asked, one eyebrow arched.

Oh yeah, Joey said, digging her hands into the mound of goop. That’s the stuff.

Weirdo. I flicked a seed at her.

By the time I was finished with both pumpkins and drawing a creepy face on mine, Ronnie had the last batch of cookies in the oven and Joey had a bowl half-full of seeds. Ronnie came over to join us, a Sharpie in hand. She wore a black apron with orange frills along the bottom and a smiling pumpkin face patch on the pocket. Her curly coppery hair was piled on top of her head, adding a good three extra inches to her five-foot-three height. She bit her lower lip as she sat in front of her hollowed-out pumpkin. Ronnie shifted it back and forth, deciding which side would provide the perfect canvas.

Not many supernaturals participated in Halloween like humans did, with jack-o-lanterns and passing out candy or dressing up in costume, but we did. These traditions were leftovers from the Dark Ages, and it felt good to revive them. Sure, we used pumpkins instead of gourds or turnips, but pumpkins were easier to carve. These giants would last all week, especially after I poured a little anti-aging elixir on them.

And maybe the goblins and ghouls who threatened our doors were really children dressed up as Superman or ballerinas, but damn it, they were cute, and it was fun. The funny thing was, even if a supernatural was against participating in the human holiday, once they had kids of their own, they sang a different tune. We didn’t have many kids in our building, but every year, more and more kids from the human neighborhoods ventured into Brighthaven, our little corner of West Hollywood. They came with their pillow cases and plastic pumpkins, knocking on doors and hoping to see a real witch brewing in her cauldron or the yellow lights in a werewolf’s eyes.

It was terrifying and fun for them, and I loved it.

But every year, I seemed to forget how hard it was to carve pumpkins of this size. Once they grew over fifteen pounds, the rinds became hard as rocks, and I found myself putting all of my weight behind my hand as I carved. That was the other reason we stuck with simple, creepy faces. It would be impossible to cut tiny, intricate shapes when we had to practically stab the thing just to get the knife through.

Ronnie plucked the second eye out of her pumpkin. How many bracelets did you get done, Joey?

Thirty, Joey said as she picked through the stringy orange guts, finding every last seed.

That gives me about fifty, Ronnie said, more to herself than to either of us.

Isn’t that enough? I started in on the gaping maw of a mouth I’d drawn on my pumpkin.

How many orders do you have for anti-hexes and banishment charms? Ronnie asked, looking at me with her eyebrows high on her freckled forehead.

Too many, I said.

Exactly. Last year I had sixty charms made. I sold out two days before Samhain, and there wasn’t a full moon. The gods only know how many I’ll need this year.

What’s the big deal about the full moon? Joey asked, letting her hands rest on the pile of goop. I heard the squishing as she flexed her fingers back and forth.

Psychic ability is higher at the full moon, so mental powers are stronger for everyone. People get nervous that someone might attack them, magically, during a full moon. Now add to that the thinning of the veil between the worlds, and people get a little anxious, I explained.

Wait, I didn’t think psychics could do magic? Joey turned her confused lavender eyes from Ronnie to me.

No, no, I said, shaking my head, we don’t mean psychics do magic. We mean people can perform stronger spells because their mental powers are stronger with a full moon.

Right, Ronnie said. A lot of people—witches, wizards, hedge witches, even humans—practice certain spells based on the phases of the moon and the days of the year. So when the moon is full, they have better results with spells that affect other people’s minds and psyches.

Do you follow? I