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Synopsis
If love transcends all boundaries, paranormal romance is its natural conclusion. Over twenty tales from some of the hottest names in romantic fiction to transport you to fantastical worlds in which mythical beasts, magical creatures of all shapes and sizes, heart-stoppingly handsome ghosts, angels and mortals with extra-sensory powers live out extraordinary desires. Includes stories from Lara Adrian, Ava Gray, Sharon Shinn, Robin D. Owens, Karen Chance and many more. Praise for MBO Paranormal Romance : 'Paranormal romance readers are in for a treat with this amazing collection!' Kresley Cole, New York Times bestselling author
Release date: October 28, 2010
Publisher: Robinson
Print pages: 546
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
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The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2
Trisha Telep
The Mammoth Book of
Also available in the Mammoth series
The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance 2
The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 20
The Mammoth Book of Wolf Men
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The Mammoth Book of Best New Manga 4
The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance
The Mammoth Book of Filthy Limericks
The Mammoth Book of Chess
The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 9
The Mammoth Book of Alternate Histories
The Mammoth Book of Bizarre Crimes
The Mammoth Book of Special Ops Romance
The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 7
The Mammoth Book of Sex, Drugs & Rock ‘n’ Roll
The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places
The Mammoth Book of Apocalyptic SF
The Mammoth Book of Casino Games
The Mammoth Book of Sudoku
The Mammoth Book of Extreme Fantasy
The Mammoth Book of Zombie Comics
The Mammoth Book of Men O’War
The Mammoth Book of Mindblowing SF
The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures
The Mammoth Book of The Beatles
The Mammoth Book of the Best Short SF Novels
The Mammoth Book of New IQ Puzzles
The Mammoth Book of Alternate Histories
The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance
The Mammoth Book of the World’s Greatest Chess Games
The Mammoth Book of Tasteless Jokes
The Mammoth Book of New Erotic Photography
The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 23
The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance
The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes
The Mammoth Book of Drug Barons
Constable & Robinson Ltd
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London W6 9ER
www.constablerobinson.com
First published in the UK by Robinson,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson, 2010
Copyright © Trisha Telep, 2010 (unless otherwise indicated)
The right of Trisha Telep to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any
form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
UK ISBN 978-1-84901-370-3
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First published in the United States in 2010 by Running Press Book Publishers All rights reserved under the Pan-American and International Copyright Conventions
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher.
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Digit on the right indicates the number of this printing
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Acknowledgments
Introduction
TO HELL WITH LOVE
Jackie Kessler
PRINCES OF DOMINION
Ava Gray
SPIRIT OF THE PRAIRIE
Shirley Damsgaard
THE DEMON’S SECRET
Nathalie Gray
MARINE BIOLOGY
Gail Carriger
ZOLA’S PRIDE
Moira Rogers
IN DREAMS
Elissa Wilds
THE GAUNTLET
Karen Chance
THE GETAWAY
Sonya Bateman
MR SANDMAN
Sherri Browning Erwin
THE SIN-EATER’S PROMISE
Michele Hauf
FRAGILE MAGIC
Sharon Ashwood
NIGHTDRAKE
Lara Adrian
THE SONS OF RA
Helen Scott Taylor
EVE OF WARFARE
S.J. Day
THE MAJESTIC
Seressia Glass
ANSWER THE WICKED
Kim Lenox
Author Biographies
“To Hell With Love” © Jacqueline H. Kessler. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Princes of Dominion” © Ann Aguirre. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Spirit of the Prairie” © Shirley Damsgaard. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Demon’s Secret” © Nathalie Gray. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Marine Biology” © by Gail Carriger. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Zola’s Pride” © Moira Rogers. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“In Dreams” © by Elissa Wilds. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Gauntlet” © Karen Chance. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Getaway” © Sonya Bateman. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Mr Sandman” © Sherri Browning Erwin. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Sin-Eater’s Promise” © Michele Hauf. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Fragile Magic” © Naomi Lester. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“NightDrake” © Lara Adrian, LLC. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Sons of Ra” © Helen Scott Taylor. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Eve of Warfare” © Sylvia Day. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Majestic” © Seressia Glass. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Answer the Wicked” © Kim Lenox. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
Welcome to the most mammoth Mammoth ever!
Well, it was.
OK, OK, I got a little carried away. You see I am a huge fan of contracting great writers and letting them do whatever they want, write the story that their heart desires, that they
haven’t had the chance to write yet, that’s always been in the back of their mind, looking for a home, a chance to be written. I feel that’s when you often get the greatest
stories. I think that if you burden writers with too many rules and guidelines, you can end up with a story that is just a little . . . flat. OK, so those are my ideas. This freedom-loving,
write-what-you-want, to-hell-with-rules attitude also extends to word count and sometimes (now, for instance) I forget to keep an eye on just how mammoth my Mammoth is getting. And, oh, they can
really grow, and very quickly. And, suddenly, instead of having a brick-like doorstop of a book (like any other garden-variety Mammoth), you have a book that needs to be published in three (or
four) separate volumes. And that’s what happened to me with this book.
It was 100,000 words over. Yes, you read that right. How did I allow that to happen? What kind of editor am I? Well, I think I just got a little excited and overwhelmed: so many wonderful
writers, so many neat stories. You’d have trouble too (you really would). There were originally 25 stories in this collection, see, and to hit the word count I had to cut (wait, not
cut, but move in a cunning fashion) eight fantastic stories by phenomenal writers. Here is a list of authors, along with their story titles, who were originally supposed to be
in this book:
Sharon Shinn Can You Hear Me Now?
Robin D. Owens Heart Story
Laura Ann Gilman The Rat King
Dru Pagliassotti Ghost in the Machine
Maria Lima The Song Remains the Same
Catherine Asaro The Pyre of New Day
Toni Andrews Nativitas
Elle Jasper Curse Me Wicked
See my dilemma?
Now, obviously, these stories are not disappearing. I just had to do a little creative shuffling (talking to authors, begging for their consent, trying to find new books to put
them in) and they will all be appearing in upcoming Mammoths (so watch for them!). The Shinn and Pagliassotti stories will be in the upcoming The Mammoth Book of Ghost Romance because they
are fabulous and romantic ghost stories and are just the perfect fit. The Andrews story is set in a future world so it is just right for the new anthology of futuristic romance (can’t wait to
do this one!) that I’m putting together soon. The Lima story is a wonderful paranormal romance set in a hospital emergency room – lots of those bleeping cardio-respiratory machines,
creepy life support systems, kick-ass nurses from hell and gorgeous paranormal males in those hospital gowns that just don’t tie up properly at the back . . . Anyhow, all the stories have a
home, you will be pleased to know. Whew!
So, I thought it might be fun in this introduction to confess my sins and reveal to you how much trouble you can actually get into when putting together a Mammoth if you don’t keep your
eye on the ball. In my exuberance, I took my eye off it for a moment, and look what happened. Chaos! Mayhem! I must admit that I am susceptible, as are most chronic readers, to getting carried away
by a good story and losing hours, days, weeks in a great tale. That’s just the way it goes. It’s a book-lover’s curse, I’m afraid.
But the seventeen stories that are in this book are going to knock your socks off. As well as a novella prequel from the amazing Karen Chance (with a word count that almost killed me
– but how in tarnation could I say no? Oh, I am weak . . . so weak . . .), you’ll get to grips with some great, gritty, sexy urban fantasy, some fast-and-furious paranormals, some
hilariously fun magic and, of course, endless other-worldly beautiful men stretching as far as the eye can see!
Trisha Telep
Jackie Kessler
People have the oddest ideas about witches. They should be green-skinned. They should fly on broomsticks. They should have black cats as constant companions. Caitlin Harris
blamed Hollywood for all the misconceptions. When it came to Caitlin, the truth was that her skin was pale, she flew only in airplanes and she was allergic to cats.
She could also throw magic like snowballs, reshape specific portions of universal memory, and brew a potion to transform demons into humans. But just because she could nudge probability
on its backside and magic up her favourite movie on television whenever she wanted didn’t mean she should. Magic had a price. And DVDs had been invented for a reason. Caitlin used to
hear that all the time from a man who had once meant everything to her: magic was too important to be used for frivolous things.
Of course, without the remote control, the DVD was just a big dust collector. She used to tell that to the man in return – even as he’d pluck the remote out of whatever crevice it
had fallen into. But his lesson still stuck, even two years after she’d told the man goodbye. So there Caitlin was, in the middle of tossing her sofa cushions around for the umpteenth time to
find the wayward remote, when her phone rang.
Growling, she stomped into the kitchen to pick up the receiver. After the call, she’d give into the inevitable and use magic to locate the clicker. What she really needed, she thought as
she answered the phone, was a GPS for her remote control. Maybe she could magic one up . . .
“Caitlin? It’s Paul Hamilton.”
Her eyebrow arched. Paul was her twin sister’s boyfriend. Nice enough guy, from what Caitlin knew, although he was a little too Captain America for her taste. Still, he was good for her
sister – and Goddess knew that Jesse Harris needed good influences in her life.
“Hey, Paul,” Caitlin said, trying not to sound too weird. She and Paul had never actually spoken before. Everything she knew about him had come from Jesse . . . and from
Caitlin’s under-the-radar scrying. It wasn’t being nosy. Really. She just had to keep tabs on her sister. “How are you?”
“I need your help.”
Caitlin rather admired that Paul didn’t waste time with social niceties. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Jesse. She’s in trouble.”
Of course she was. Caitlin’s twin had a penchant for trouble. “Could you be a little more specific?”
“She’s unconscious and glowing.”
Yes, that would be trouble. “Tell me everything.”
He did so, calmly and coherently, even though tension laced his words. He’d come home at six-thirty, right after work. He’d been surprised to see Jesse’s bag on the kitchen
table; she should have been at her job since four. He’d called out hello, but there’d been no answer. At first, he hadn’t seen her sprawled on the living room floor because the
coffee table had partially blocked his view. When he found her lying prone, he’d rushed over to her. She was breathing; that much he could see. But she was also glowing with a pale blue
light, so as much as he’d wanted to touch her, he’d held back.
“That was the right decision,” Caitlin murmured. When mundanes fooled around with magic, the results were unpredictable at best.
“I can’t tell if she’s hurt,” Paul said, the anger all too clear in his voice.
“Touching her might have triggered something even worse. Tell me what else you see. Any marks? Anything out of place?”
“There’s a small box in her right hand. Looks like a jewellery box, made of wood. It’s open.”
“Don’t touch that, either,” Caitlin said, frowning. “Just in case it has something to do with her condition.”
“Figured that part out all by myself.” He paused, but Caitlin heard the wordless snarl of him blowing out an exasperated breath. “Sorry. I’m just . . .”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Anything else you see?”
He cleared his throat. “There’s a padded envelope. Torn. It’s on the floor near the sofa. Jesse’s name is on the envelope, written in black marker. But there’s no
address, no postage. And no return address.”
“Don’t—”
“Touch it. Yeah. I didn’t.” He took another breath. “I don’t know what to do, Caitlin. I can’t call 911. I can’t touch her. She’s not waking up,
no matter how loud I yell her name. Tell me,” he said, a plaintive note creeping into his voice. “Tell me what to do to wake her up.”
Well, she wouldn’t be magicking up the remote control after all.
“Sit tight,” Caitlin said. “I’ll be right there.”
A pause, and then Paul stammered, “You’re in Boston. We’re in New York City.”
Actually, she was in Salem, but she didn’t bother correcting him. “For family, I break out the big guns. I just have to lock up. Be there in a few minutes.”
“Um. Okay. You have the address?”
“Don’t need it.”
“Right. Of course not. Um. See you soon.”
Caitlin hung up, thinking that all things considered, Paul had sounded all right. That was something. Usually, mundanes didn’t take too well to anything extraordinary that interrupted
their lives.
But then, her sister wasn’t a mundane human, so Paul had some experience under his belt.
Caitlin pulled together her travel bag, complete with basic spell ingredients, a small version of her Book of Shadows with its various magic recipes, and a portable ritual box. Then she slipped
on her shoes and a jacket, grabbed her purse and locked the door. With a whispered word of power, her magical security system clicked on – enough to scare away the casual burglar as well as
discourage any other practitioners or supernatural critters from entering her territory without permission. One experience of coming home to a houseful of fairies was enough for her, thank you very
much.
Purse strap on her shoulder and travel bag in hand, she raised one arm and closed her eyes. She thought of her twin, and she felt the bond between them, the one that linked their souls together.
Grasping that bond, she cast a silent prayer to the Goddess, asking Her to deliver her to Jesse’s side.
The Hecate responded: power danced through Caitlin, pulling her skin taut until she was crackling with magical energy. She inhaled deeply, and then she stepped.
Caitlin always equated stepping through reality to swimming under water – space thickened around her, slowing her down. She could see when she stepped, but everything was
distorted, and looking too long stung her eyes. She couldn’t breathe when in Between places, and even with a lungful of air before stepping, she always felt like she was smothering.
After, Caitlin would desperately want to shower, to wash away the remnants of Between from her skin. It didn’t itch, exactly, but it felt wrong, and reminded her of just how precarious
existence really was. Caitlin would be the first one to say that it was far more enjoyable to take a plane first class – and that the plane ride would be significantly cheaper than the cost
of stepping.
But as she had said to Paul, when it came to family, Caitlin pulled out all stops. And Jesse, for whatever else she was, was family.
Well. Sort of.
She stepped; she arrived. The world rippled around her for one dizzying moment. Then air became less oppressive, and she released the breath she had been holding. Caitlin blinked until
the world settled back into its normal pattern of existence. Shapes sharpened. Colours brightened and sank within their lines. She found herself staring at an entertainment centre overstuffed with
DVDs and CDs. A television roughly the size of an elephant took up most of the unit. A few framed Nagels decorated the walls. A battered coffee table stood in front of Caitlin, littered with
magazines. To her right sat a plush sofa that promised to be comfortable.
It was easy to see that this was a room that enjoyed being used. She could easily picture Paul and Jesse spending many an evening cuddling on the sofa, watching a movie, their fingers brushing
as they both reached for the popcorn.
But then, knowing her sister, Caitlin thought the sofa was probably used for other, less passive, activities.
“Wow,” a man’s voice said behind her. “I believed you. But still. Wow.”
Caitlin turned – slowly, because she was still a little dizzy – to face Paul Hamilton, the man her sister had sacrificed so much to be with. Light brown hair that was a little too
long; small hazel eyes that had seen too much. Broken nose. Good smile. Had Caitlin been into big and brawny, she probably would have thought Paul had a great body.
“Hey, Paul,” she said, dropping her travel bag and handbag to the floor. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Same here.” He flicked her a polite smile. “She’s over there.”
He walked past Caitlin to the other end of the coffee table. She followed him, and there her sister was, sprawled prone on the floor. Most of her face was hidden by the unruly black curls of her
hair, but Caitlin still knew that face intimately. Jesse’s eyes were closed, but Caitlin knew they were bright green and sparkled with mischief; Jesse’s mouth was slack, but Caitlin was
well aware that when Jesse grinned, she had a slight overbite. Caitlin knew everything about how Jesse looked, down to her birthmarks.
She had been there two months ago when Jesse had first stolen Caitlin’s looks. And her credit cards.
Caitlin stared at her sister in flesh: Jesse Harris, the former demon Jezebel.
For a long moment, Caitlin fought the urge to kick Jesse. Hard. But no matter how she felt about her twin, she had to protect her. All witches did, by the decree of the Hecate. That was why
Caitlin had given the one-time succubus her name after turning her into a mortal two months ago: names had power, especially when offered freely.
She hadn’t told Jesse why the Hecate was so invested in her. Caitlin wanted to give her sister more time as a normal human first – a couple of years, maybe, for her to be together
with Paul, to learn how to truly love. Then she would tell Jesse about her destiny.
But first, Caitlin had to figure out why Jesse was unconscious and glowing.
She squatted next to Jesse and created a magical probe, one that would tell Caitlin more about the magic in play. It shimmered, lit up like a miniature nova, and incinerated. She murmured,
“The spell that did this is still active.”
“The glowing sort of tipped me off,” said Paul.
She ignored the sarcasm. “Between the faintness of the glow and the colour, it looks like this has to do with dreams.”
Paul hunkered down next to her. “You’re saying she’s sleeping?” He squinted at Jesse’s face as if he could will her awake.
“No.” Caitlin peered at the small open box in Jesse’s hand. The patterns in the wood were intricate and beautiful, etched by someone with skill. Staring at those symbols,
Caitlin remembered the last time she had seen anything like them before.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
Stop, she told herself. Don’t jump to conclusions.
The torn envelope was on the floor next to Jesse. As Paul had said before on the phone, the package was padded and white, with only MS HARRIS on the front. No address. No information about the
sender.
Ms Harris. Not Jesse Harris. Ms Harris. Written in black marker – by a hand that Caitlin recognized.
“Caitlin? What is it?”
Grimacing, Caitlin said, “This package wasn’t intended for her.” She turned to face Paul. “It was supposed to go to me.”
He stiffened.
“That’s a memory box she’s holding,” Caitlin said, pointing at the open box in Jesse’s hand. “When the proper recipient opens a memory box, that person gets
to experience a particular memory like it was happening now. It shouldn’t open for the wrong person. Technically, it can’t. It’s made specifically for a particular
recipient.”
“But Jesse opened it,” Paul said slowly.
“Maybe it’s because she’s my twin.” More likely, it was because Jesse had been made Caitlin’s twin by magic. “The spell wasn’t meant for her, so what
should have been passive instead became aggressive.”
Paul’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “Once more, this time in words I can understand.”
“She’s trapped in a memory.” Caitlin gritted her teeth. “The spell within the box became corrupted when she opened it. If you’d touched her, you would have been
sucked into the memory too.”
“Can you help her?”
“Not without also getting pulled into the spell.”
Something dangerous flashed in Paul’s eyes. “We have to do something. We can’t just leave her like this.”
“We won’t,” Caitlin said, dreading her next words. “There’s someone I can call. He’s proficient in memory magic.” Goddess knew, he’d said that
very thing too many times to count. “If anyone can free Jesse, it’s him.”
“Who is he?”
Caitlin sighed and closed her eyes. “My ex-husband.”
Aaron Lighter had intended to spend a quiet night at home – just him, a couple slices of pepperoni pizza, a few beers, and both volumes of Kill Bill. Nothing like
artful slaughter to cheer him up. He’d been in a funk ever since that afternoon, when he’d finally made the decision to send Caitlin the memory box. He’d crafted it months ago,
from selecting the proper solid cedar board and making the initial cuts to bend the corners all the way to etching the outer designs with complex wards.
Every cut he’d made, Aaron had thought of Caitlin Harris.
Adding the memory had been the easy part; he was no master woodworker, but his subtle magicks were his strong suit. And memory was extremely subtle. Malleable.
Maddening.
He laughed bitterly as he popped open the beer bottle. Sending the memory box was supposed to be cathartic for him. Cleansing. Instead, it had left him feeling oddly hollow, and painfully
lonely.
Which, when he thought about it, was no different from how he’d felt when he’d been married to Caitlin.
No, that was unfair. She’d been the one to leave him, after all. One too many fights, and both of them too proud to admit their egos had smothered their affection. She’d left him,
and he’d thought at the time it was good riddance. Two years later, she had still infected his heart.
When you compared love to a disease, it was time to take drastic measures. And so, he’d crafted the memory box.
He was on his second bottle and his second slice when his cellphone rang. He checked the number and took a healthy swig of beer before he answered. Of course she’d be calling. Probably to
thank him, and then make some small talk, ask how his rituals were going, that sort of thing. That’s all she was to him now: small talk. If he told himself that enough, he might actually
believe it.
Swallowing his beer, he took the call. “Caitlin,” he said by way of hello.
“Aaron.” She said his name like she was spitting nails. “I know you sent the memory box.”
He wasn’t the sort of man to think Well, duh. But in this case, it was damn close. “Given the memory that was inside, I’d certainly hope so.” He’d chosen it
specially, out of all the time they’d had together. Goddess knew that after twelve years, there had been quite a few choice memories.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Aaron . . .”
“Listen, you caught me right in the middle of something, so enjoy the present.” He really wanted to watch some righteous murder right about now. Uma Thurman in a tracksuit was a
bonus. Not that he was into tall, blond women with a thing for swords; he was much more about small brunettes with untamable curly hair.
He wondered if Caitlin still kept her hair pulled back in a ponytail, or if she let it go loose around her shoulders.
“Don’t hang up,” Caitlin snapped. “You messed up, Aaron. The box didn’t go to me.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. He didn’t mess up, not when it came to memory boxes. While he enjoyed working various subtle craftings, the one area he truly excelled in was memory. Current
actions defined a person only for the moment; memories defined them forever. “Of course it went to you,” he said. “I was very specific when I crafted the package. I infused it
with the essence of your dazzling smile and sharp tongue, dearest.”
She sighed, clearly exasperated. “Aaron—”
“It couldn’t not go to you. Besides,” he added with a smile, “I felt it when you opened it.”
Oh, he’d felt it, all right: the initial surprise, then a flood of lust so powerful it had given him a raging hard-on. He hadn’t known Caitlin could feel any emotion that
strongly. Maybe he wasn’t the only one doing without sex.
“That wasn’t me,” Caitlin growled. “Jesse got the envelope. Jesse opened the box.”
Her words hit him like ice water in the face. His mouth worked silently for a moment, until he finally spluttered, “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were. But I’m looking at Jesse right now.” Caitlin paused, and Aaron could hear her grind her teeth. “She’s trapped. Something went wrong, and she opened
the box, and now she’s trapped.”
Aaron ran his fingers through his hair. Of all the possible ramifications he’d thought of when he had first crafted Caitlin’s memory box – and he’d thought of just about
everything, from Caitlin despising him to Caitlin throwing herself at his feet and begging for another chance – this scenario hadn’t come up. Hell, this scenario should be impossible.
But then, he admitted to himself, when it came to Caitlin’s pseudo-sister Jesse, “impossible” didn’t really exist.
He said, “Tell me everything.”
She did.
By the time she finished, Aaron was sweating and his heartbeat was erratic. Caitlin had been wrong – he hadn’t merely messed up. He’d fucked up, hugely. What was supposed to be
a gift for his former wife had turned into a potentially lethal weapon against the one person the Hecate’s followers had sworn to protect. The old saying was true: no good deed went
unpunished.
“I need your help,” Caitlin said.
Well, that had to kill her to admit. The thought made him smile. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said.
“It doesn’t take that long to step.”
“No, dearest. But it does take that long to get a cab.” He paused. “I’m right here in New York, Caitlin. I left Salem after you walked out on me.”
“Don’t,” she said, her voice sharp.
Caitlin never had liked hearing the ugly truth when it came to their relationship. Some things would never change. “Fine,” Aaron said. “I’ll get there shortly. Just
don’t touch her.”
She snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“The address would be nice.”
After Caitlin gave him the address, she said, “You could just step here and be done with it.”
“Unlike some,” Aaron said pointedly, “I don’t like throwing around power when something more mundane does just as nicely.”
“Aaron—”
“And taking a cab,” he added quietly, “doesn’t cost me a year of my life.”
There was a long pause before Caitlin said, “Just get over here, Aaron.” With that, she hung up.
Aaron dumped the leftover pizza and beer and turned off his television and DVR. He wasn’t surprised that she had stepped all the way from Salem, even with such a high price to pay.
Of course she’d come running to her sister’s side. It’s what Caitlin had been handpicked to do. Jesse was part of her life now – and Aaron was not.
The thought was distressingly bitter.
Steeling himself to work with his ex-wife, Aaron went to flag down a cab.
“I was starting to think that witches didn’t trav
Also available in the Mammoth series
The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance 2
The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 20
The Mammoth Book of Wolf Men
The Mammoth Book of Merlin
The Mammoth Book of Best New Manga 4
The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance
The Mammoth Book of Filthy Limericks
The Mammoth Book of Chess
The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 9
The Mammoth Book of Alternate Histories
The Mammoth Book of Bizarre Crimes
The Mammoth Book of Special Ops Romance
The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 7
The Mammoth Book of Sex, Drugs & Rock ‘n’ Roll
The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places
The Mammoth Book of Apocalyptic SF
The Mammoth Book of Casino Games
The Mammoth Book of Sudoku
The Mammoth Book of Extreme Fantasy
The Mammoth Book of Zombie Comics
The Mammoth Book of Men O’War
The Mammoth Book of Mindblowing SF
The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures
The Mammoth Book of The Beatles
The Mammoth Book of the Best Short SF Novels
The Mammoth Book of New IQ Puzzles
The Mammoth Book of Alternate Histories
The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance
The Mammoth Book of the World’s Greatest Chess Games
The Mammoth Book of Tasteless Jokes
The Mammoth Book of New Erotic Photography
The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 23
The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance
The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes
The Mammoth Book of Drug Barons
Constable & Robinson Ltd
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First published in the UK by Robinson,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson, 2010
Copyright © Trisha Telep, 2010 (unless otherwise indicated)
The right of Trisha Telep to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
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Acknowledgments
Introduction
TO HELL WITH LOVE
Jackie Kessler
PRINCES OF DOMINION
Ava Gray
SPIRIT OF THE PRAIRIE
Shirley Damsgaard
THE DEMON’S SECRET
Nathalie Gray
MARINE BIOLOGY
Gail Carriger
ZOLA’S PRIDE
Moira Rogers
IN DREAMS
Elissa Wilds
THE GAUNTLET
Karen Chance
THE GETAWAY
Sonya Bateman
MR SANDMAN
Sherri Browning Erwin
THE SIN-EATER’S PROMISE
Michele Hauf
FRAGILE MAGIC
Sharon Ashwood
NIGHTDRAKE
Lara Adrian
THE SONS OF RA
Helen Scott Taylor
EVE OF WARFARE
S.J. Day
THE MAJESTIC
Seressia Glass
ANSWER THE WICKED
Kim Lenox
Author Biographies
“To Hell With Love” © Jacqueline H. Kessler. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Princes of Dominion” © Ann Aguirre. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Spirit of the Prairie” © Shirley Damsgaard. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Demon’s Secret” © Nathalie Gray. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Marine Biology” © by Gail Carriger. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Zola’s Pride” © Moira Rogers. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“In Dreams” © by Elissa Wilds. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Gauntlet” © Karen Chance. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Getaway” © Sonya Bateman. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Mr Sandman” © Sherri Browning Erwin. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Sin-Eater’s Promise” © Michele Hauf. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Fragile Magic” © Naomi Lester. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“NightDrake” © Lara Adrian, LLC. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Sons of Ra” © Helen Scott Taylor. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Eve of Warfare” © Sylvia Day. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Majestic” © Seressia Glass. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Answer the Wicked” © Kim Lenox. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
Welcome to the most mammoth Mammoth ever!
Well, it was.
OK, OK, I got a little carried away. You see I am a huge fan of contracting great writers and letting them do whatever they want, write the story that their heart desires, that they
haven’t had the chance to write yet, that’s always been in the back of their mind, looking for a home, a chance to be written. I feel that’s when you often get the greatest
stories. I think that if you burden writers with too many rules and guidelines, you can end up with a story that is just a little . . . flat. OK, so those are my ideas. This freedom-loving,
write-what-you-want, to-hell-with-rules attitude also extends to word count and sometimes (now, for instance) I forget to keep an eye on just how mammoth my Mammoth is getting. And, oh, they can
really grow, and very quickly. And, suddenly, instead of having a brick-like doorstop of a book (like any other garden-variety Mammoth), you have a book that needs to be published in three (or
four) separate volumes. And that’s what happened to me with this book.
It was 100,000 words over. Yes, you read that right. How did I allow that to happen? What kind of editor am I? Well, I think I just got a little excited and overwhelmed: so many wonderful
writers, so many neat stories. You’d have trouble too (you really would). There were originally 25 stories in this collection, see, and to hit the word count I had to cut (wait, not
cut, but move in a cunning fashion) eight fantastic stories by phenomenal writers. Here is a list of authors, along with their story titles, who were originally supposed to be
in this book:
Sharon Shinn Can You Hear Me Now?
Robin D. Owens Heart Story
Laura Ann Gilman The Rat King
Dru Pagliassotti Ghost in the Machine
Maria Lima The Song Remains the Same
Catherine Asaro The Pyre of New Day
Toni Andrews Nativitas
Elle Jasper Curse Me Wicked
See my dilemma?
Now, obviously, these stories are not disappearing. I just had to do a little creative shuffling (talking to authors, begging for their consent, trying to find new books to put
them in) and they will all be appearing in upcoming Mammoths (so watch for them!). The Shinn and Pagliassotti stories will be in the upcoming The Mammoth Book of Ghost Romance because they
are fabulous and romantic ghost stories and are just the perfect fit. The Andrews story is set in a future world so it is just right for the new anthology of futuristic romance (can’t wait to
do this one!) that I’m putting together soon. The Lima story is a wonderful paranormal romance set in a hospital emergency room – lots of those bleeping cardio-respiratory machines,
creepy life support systems, kick-ass nurses from hell and gorgeous paranormal males in those hospital gowns that just don’t tie up properly at the back . . . Anyhow, all the stories have a
home, you will be pleased to know. Whew!
So, I thought it might be fun in this introduction to confess my sins and reveal to you how much trouble you can actually get into when putting together a Mammoth if you don’t keep your
eye on the ball. In my exuberance, I took my eye off it for a moment, and look what happened. Chaos! Mayhem! I must admit that I am susceptible, as are most chronic readers, to getting carried away
by a good story and losing hours, days, weeks in a great tale. That’s just the way it goes. It’s a book-lover’s curse, I’m afraid.
But the seventeen stories that are in this book are going to knock your socks off. As well as a novella prequel from the amazing Karen Chance (with a word count that almost killed me
– but how in tarnation could I say no? Oh, I am weak . . . so weak . . .), you’ll get to grips with some great, gritty, sexy urban fantasy, some fast-and-furious paranormals, some
hilariously fun magic and, of course, endless other-worldly beautiful men stretching as far as the eye can see!
Trisha Telep
Jackie Kessler
People have the oddest ideas about witches. They should be green-skinned. They should fly on broomsticks. They should have black cats as constant companions. Caitlin Harris
blamed Hollywood for all the misconceptions. When it came to Caitlin, the truth was that her skin was pale, she flew only in airplanes and she was allergic to cats.
She could also throw magic like snowballs, reshape specific portions of universal memory, and brew a potion to transform demons into humans. But just because she could nudge probability
on its backside and magic up her favourite movie on television whenever she wanted didn’t mean she should. Magic had a price. And DVDs had been invented for a reason. Caitlin used to
hear that all the time from a man who had once meant everything to her: magic was too important to be used for frivolous things.
Of course, without the remote control, the DVD was just a big dust collector. She used to tell that to the man in return – even as he’d pluck the remote out of whatever crevice it
had fallen into. But his lesson still stuck, even two years after she’d told the man goodbye. So there Caitlin was, in the middle of tossing her sofa cushions around for the umpteenth time to
find the wayward remote, when her phone rang.
Growling, she stomped into the kitchen to pick up the receiver. After the call, she’d give into the inevitable and use magic to locate the clicker. What she really needed, she thought as
she answered the phone, was a GPS for her remote control. Maybe she could magic one up . . .
“Caitlin? It’s Paul Hamilton.”
Her eyebrow arched. Paul was her twin sister’s boyfriend. Nice enough guy, from what Caitlin knew, although he was a little too Captain America for her taste. Still, he was good for her
sister – and Goddess knew that Jesse Harris needed good influences in her life.
“Hey, Paul,” Caitlin said, trying not to sound too weird. She and Paul had never actually spoken before. Everything she knew about him had come from Jesse . . . and from
Caitlin’s under-the-radar scrying. It wasn’t being nosy. Really. She just had to keep tabs on her sister. “How are you?”
“I need your help.”
Caitlin rather admired that Paul didn’t waste time with social niceties. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Jesse. She’s in trouble.”
Of course she was. Caitlin’s twin had a penchant for trouble. “Could you be a little more specific?”
“She’s unconscious and glowing.”
Yes, that would be trouble. “Tell me everything.”
He did so, calmly and coherently, even though tension laced his words. He’d come home at six-thirty, right after work. He’d been surprised to see Jesse’s bag on the kitchen
table; she should have been at her job since four. He’d called out hello, but there’d been no answer. At first, he hadn’t seen her sprawled on the living room floor because the
coffee table had partially blocked his view. When he found her lying prone, he’d rushed over to her. She was breathing; that much he could see. But she was also glowing with a pale blue
light, so as much as he’d wanted to touch her, he’d held back.
“That was the right decision,” Caitlin murmured. When mundanes fooled around with magic, the results were unpredictable at best.
“I can’t tell if she’s hurt,” Paul said, the anger all too clear in his voice.
“Touching her might have triggered something even worse. Tell me what else you see. Any marks? Anything out of place?”
“There’s a small box in her right hand. Looks like a jewellery box, made of wood. It’s open.”
“Don’t touch that, either,” Caitlin said, frowning. “Just in case it has something to do with her condition.”
“Figured that part out all by myself.” He paused, but Caitlin heard the wordless snarl of him blowing out an exasperated breath. “Sorry. I’m just . . .”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Anything else you see?”
He cleared his throat. “There’s a padded envelope. Torn. It’s on the floor near the sofa. Jesse’s name is on the envelope, written in black marker. But there’s no
address, no postage. And no return address.”
“Don’t—”
“Touch it. Yeah. I didn’t.” He took another breath. “I don’t know what to do, Caitlin. I can’t call 911. I can’t touch her. She’s not waking up,
no matter how loud I yell her name. Tell me,” he said, a plaintive note creeping into his voice. “Tell me what to do to wake her up.”
Well, she wouldn’t be magicking up the remote control after all.
“Sit tight,” Caitlin said. “I’ll be right there.”
A pause, and then Paul stammered, “You’re in Boston. We’re in New York City.”
Actually, she was in Salem, but she didn’t bother correcting him. “For family, I break out the big guns. I just have to lock up. Be there in a few minutes.”
“Um. Okay. You have the address?”
“Don’t need it.”
“Right. Of course not. Um. See you soon.”
Caitlin hung up, thinking that all things considered, Paul had sounded all right. That was something. Usually, mundanes didn’t take too well to anything extraordinary that interrupted
their lives.
But then, her sister wasn’t a mundane human, so Paul had some experience under his belt.
Caitlin pulled together her travel bag, complete with basic spell ingredients, a small version of her Book of Shadows with its various magic recipes, and a portable ritual box. Then she slipped
on her shoes and a jacket, grabbed her purse and locked the door. With a whispered word of power, her magical security system clicked on – enough to scare away the casual burglar as well as
discourage any other practitioners or supernatural critters from entering her territory without permission. One experience of coming home to a houseful of fairies was enough for her, thank you very
much.
Purse strap on her shoulder and travel bag in hand, she raised one arm and closed her eyes. She thought of her twin, and she felt the bond between them, the one that linked their souls together.
Grasping that bond, she cast a silent prayer to the Goddess, asking Her to deliver her to Jesse’s side.
The Hecate responded: power danced through Caitlin, pulling her skin taut until she was crackling with magical energy. She inhaled deeply, and then she stepped.
Caitlin always equated stepping through reality to swimming under water – space thickened around her, slowing her down. She could see when she stepped, but everything was
distorted, and looking too long stung her eyes. She couldn’t breathe when in Between places, and even with a lungful of air before stepping, she always felt like she was smothering.
After, Caitlin would desperately want to shower, to wash away the remnants of Between from her skin. It didn’t itch, exactly, but it felt wrong, and reminded her of just how precarious
existence really was. Caitlin would be the first one to say that it was far more enjoyable to take a plane first class – and that the plane ride would be significantly cheaper than the cost
of stepping.
But as she had said to Paul, when it came to family, Caitlin pulled out all stops. And Jesse, for whatever else she was, was family.
Well. Sort of.
She stepped; she arrived. The world rippled around her for one dizzying moment. Then air became less oppressive, and she released the breath she had been holding. Caitlin blinked until
the world settled back into its normal pattern of existence. Shapes sharpened. Colours brightened and sank within their lines. She found herself staring at an entertainment centre overstuffed with
DVDs and CDs. A television roughly the size of an elephant took up most of the unit. A few framed Nagels decorated the walls. A battered coffee table stood in front of Caitlin, littered with
magazines. To her right sat a plush sofa that promised to be comfortable.
It was easy to see that this was a room that enjoyed being used. She could easily picture Paul and Jesse spending many an evening cuddling on the sofa, watching a movie, their fingers brushing
as they both reached for the popcorn.
But then, knowing her sister, Caitlin thought the sofa was probably used for other, less passive, activities.
“Wow,” a man’s voice said behind her. “I believed you. But still. Wow.”
Caitlin turned – slowly, because she was still a little dizzy – to face Paul Hamilton, the man her sister had sacrificed so much to be with. Light brown hair that was a little too
long; small hazel eyes that had seen too much. Broken nose. Good smile. Had Caitlin been into big and brawny, she probably would have thought Paul had a great body.
“Hey, Paul,” she said, dropping her travel bag and handbag to the floor. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Same here.” He flicked her a polite smile. “She’s over there.”
He walked past Caitlin to the other end of the coffee table. She followed him, and there her sister was, sprawled prone on the floor. Most of her face was hidden by the unruly black curls of her
hair, but Caitlin still knew that face intimately. Jesse’s eyes were closed, but Caitlin knew they were bright green and sparkled with mischief; Jesse’s mouth was slack, but Caitlin was
well aware that when Jesse grinned, she had a slight overbite. Caitlin knew everything about how Jesse looked, down to her birthmarks.
She had been there two months ago when Jesse had first stolen Caitlin’s looks. And her credit cards.
Caitlin stared at her sister in flesh: Jesse Harris, the former demon Jezebel.
For a long moment, Caitlin fought the urge to kick Jesse. Hard. But no matter how she felt about her twin, she had to protect her. All witches did, by the decree of the Hecate. That was why
Caitlin had given the one-time succubus her name after turning her into a mortal two months ago: names had power, especially when offered freely.
She hadn’t told Jesse why the Hecate was so invested in her. Caitlin wanted to give her sister more time as a normal human first – a couple of years, maybe, for her to be together
with Paul, to learn how to truly love. Then she would tell Jesse about her destiny.
But first, Caitlin had to figure out why Jesse was unconscious and glowing.
She squatted next to Jesse and created a magical probe, one that would tell Caitlin more about the magic in play. It shimmered, lit up like a miniature nova, and incinerated. She murmured,
“The spell that did this is still active.”
“The glowing sort of tipped me off,” said Paul.
She ignored the sarcasm. “Between the faintness of the glow and the colour, it looks like this has to do with dreams.”
Paul hunkered down next to her. “You’re saying she’s sleeping?” He squinted at Jesse’s face as if he could will her awake.
“No.” Caitlin peered at the small open box in Jesse’s hand. The patterns in the wood were intricate and beautiful, etched by someone with skill. Staring at those symbols,
Caitlin remembered the last time she had seen anything like them before.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
Stop, she told herself. Don’t jump to conclusions.
The torn envelope was on the floor next to Jesse. As Paul had said before on the phone, the package was padded and white, with only MS HARRIS on the front. No address. No information about the
sender.
Ms Harris. Not Jesse Harris. Ms Harris. Written in black marker – by a hand that Caitlin recognized.
“Caitlin? What is it?”
Grimacing, Caitlin said, “This package wasn’t intended for her.” She turned to face Paul. “It was supposed to go to me.”
He stiffened.
“That’s a memory box she’s holding,” Caitlin said, pointing at the open box in Jesse’s hand. “When the proper recipient opens a memory box, that person gets
to experience a particular memory like it was happening now. It shouldn’t open for the wrong person. Technically, it can’t. It’s made specifically for a particular
recipient.”
“But Jesse opened it,” Paul said slowly.
“Maybe it’s because she’s my twin.” More likely, it was because Jesse had been made Caitlin’s twin by magic. “The spell wasn’t meant for her, so what
should have been passive instead became aggressive.”
Paul’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “Once more, this time in words I can understand.”
“She’s trapped in a memory.” Caitlin gritted her teeth. “The spell within the box became corrupted when she opened it. If you’d touched her, you would have been
sucked into the memory too.”
“Can you help her?”
“Not without also getting pulled into the spell.”
Something dangerous flashed in Paul’s eyes. “We have to do something. We can’t just leave her like this.”
“We won’t,” Caitlin said, dreading her next words. “There’s someone I can call. He’s proficient in memory magic.” Goddess knew, he’d said that
very thing too many times to count. “If anyone can free Jesse, it’s him.”
“Who is he?”
Caitlin sighed and closed her eyes. “My ex-husband.”
Aaron Lighter had intended to spend a quiet night at home – just him, a couple slices of pepperoni pizza, a few beers, and both volumes of Kill Bill. Nothing like
artful slaughter to cheer him up. He’d been in a funk ever since that afternoon, when he’d finally made the decision to send Caitlin the memory box. He’d crafted it months ago,
from selecting the proper solid cedar board and making the initial cuts to bend the corners all the way to etching the outer designs with complex wards.
Every cut he’d made, Aaron had thought of Caitlin Harris.
Adding the memory had been the easy part; he was no master woodworker, but his subtle magicks were his strong suit. And memory was extremely subtle. Malleable.
Maddening.
He laughed bitterly as he popped open the beer bottle. Sending the memory box was supposed to be cathartic for him. Cleansing. Instead, it had left him feeling oddly hollow, and painfully
lonely.
Which, when he thought about it, was no different from how he’d felt when he’d been married to Caitlin.
No, that was unfair. She’d been the one to leave him, after all. One too many fights, and both of them too proud to admit their egos had smothered their affection. She’d left him,
and he’d thought at the time it was good riddance. Two years later, she had still infected his heart.
When you compared love to a disease, it was time to take drastic measures. And so, he’d crafted the memory box.
He was on his second bottle and his second slice when his cellphone rang. He checked the number and took a healthy swig of beer before he answered. Of course she’d be calling. Probably to
thank him, and then make some small talk, ask how his rituals were going, that sort of thing. That’s all she was to him now: small talk. If he told himself that enough, he might actually
believe it.
Swallowing his beer, he took the call. “Caitlin,” he said by way of hello.
“Aaron.” She said his name like she was spitting nails. “I know you sent the memory box.”
He wasn’t the sort of man to think Well, duh. But in this case, it was damn close. “Given the memory that was inside, I’d certainly hope so.” He’d chosen it
specially, out of all the time they’d had together. Goddess knew that after twelve years, there had been quite a few choice memories.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Aaron . . .”
“Listen, you caught me right in the middle of something, so enjoy the present.” He really wanted to watch some righteous murder right about now. Uma Thurman in a tracksuit was a
bonus. Not that he was into tall, blond women with a thing for swords; he was much more about small brunettes with untamable curly hair.
He wondered if Caitlin still kept her hair pulled back in a ponytail, or if she let it go loose around her shoulders.
“Don’t hang up,” Caitlin snapped. “You messed up, Aaron. The box didn’t go to me.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. He didn’t mess up, not when it came to memory boxes. While he enjoyed working various subtle craftings, the one area he truly excelled in was memory. Current
actions defined a person only for the moment; memories defined them forever. “Of course it went to you,” he said. “I was very specific when I crafted the package. I infused it
with the essence of your dazzling smile and sharp tongue, dearest.”
She sighed, clearly exasperated. “Aaron—”
“It couldn’t not go to you. Besides,” he added with a smile, “I felt it when you opened it.”
Oh, he’d felt it, all right: the initial surprise, then a flood of lust so powerful it had given him a raging hard-on. He hadn’t known Caitlin could feel any emotion that
strongly. Maybe he wasn’t the only one doing without sex.
“That wasn’t me,” Caitlin growled. “Jesse got the envelope. Jesse opened the box.”
Her words hit him like ice water in the face. His mouth worked silently for a moment, until he finally spluttered, “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were. But I’m looking at Jesse right now.” Caitlin paused, and Aaron could hear her grind her teeth. “She’s trapped. Something went wrong, and she opened
the box, and now she’s trapped.”
Aaron ran his fingers through his hair. Of all the possible ramifications he’d thought of when he had first crafted Caitlin’s memory box – and he’d thought of just about
everything, from Caitlin despising him to Caitlin throwing herself at his feet and begging for another chance – this scenario hadn’t come up. Hell, this scenario should be impossible.
But then, he admitted to himself, when it came to Caitlin’s pseudo-sister Jesse, “impossible” didn’t really exist.
He said, “Tell me everything.”
She did.
By the time she finished, Aaron was sweating and his heartbeat was erratic. Caitlin had been wrong – he hadn’t merely messed up. He’d fucked up, hugely. What was supposed to be
a gift for his former wife had turned into a potentially lethal weapon against the one person the Hecate’s followers had sworn to protect. The old saying was true: no good deed went
unpunished.
“I need your help,” Caitlin said.
Well, that had to kill her to admit. The thought made him smile. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said.
“It doesn’t take that long to step.”
“No, dearest. But it does take that long to get a cab.” He paused. “I’m right here in New York, Caitlin. I left Salem after you walked out on me.”
“Don’t,” she said, her voice sharp.
Caitlin never had liked hearing the ugly truth when it came to their relationship. Some things would never change. “Fine,” Aaron said. “I’ll get there shortly. Just
don’t touch her.”
She snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“The address would be nice.”
After Caitlin gave him the address, she said, “You could just step here and be done with it.”
“Unlike some,” Aaron said pointedly, “I don’t like throwing around power when something more mundane does just as nicely.”
“Aaron—”
“And taking a cab,” he added quietly, “doesn’t cost me a year of my life.”
There was a long pause before Caitlin said, “Just get over here, Aaron.” With that, she hung up.
Aaron dumped the leftover pizza and beer and turned off his television and DVR. He wasn’t surprised that she had stepped all the way from Salem, even with such a high price to pay.
Of course she’d come running to her sister’s side. It’s what Caitlin had been handpicked to do. Jesse was part of her life now – and Aaron was not.
The thought was distressingly bitter.
Steeling himself to work with his ex-wife, Aaron went to flag down a cab.
“I was starting to think that witches didn’t trav
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