Love Potion: A Valentine's Day Charity Anthology Read online

  Love Potion

  A Valentine's Day Charity Anthology

  Graceley Knox

  D.D. Miers

  Amelia Hutchins

  Pippa DaCosta

  Tate James

  C.M. Stunich

  G. Bailey

  CoraLee June

  Annette Marie

  Clara Hartley

  Chaotic Press, LLC

  Contents

  Description

  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

  About the Authors

  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

  About Amelia Hutchins

  Chapter 1 - End

  About Pippa DaCosta

  Author’s Note:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About Tate James

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter4

  Chapter 5

  About C.M. Stunich

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About G. Bailey & CoraLee June

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Andromeda’s Incantation

  About Annette Marie

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About Clara Hartley

  This charity antho is to all the women and girls out there who are trying their hardest to learn and to thrive in a world that’s not always accepting of change.

  Keep pushing. Keep trying. Don’t ever give up.

  The Authors

  Description

  Darcy isn’t looking for love. In fact, all she wants is for her ex to leave her alone to run her bar and hang out with the regulars who are almost like family. But when a sexy stranger comes to her defense, she can’t help but feel drawn to him. Ranger’s a dealer demon, bored with tricking humanity out of their souls, and desperate for excitement.

  In Darcy’s ex they find a common enemy. Ranger usually avoids the Marshalls, but for Darcy, he keeps finding himself in the line of fire with her ex-boyfriend, a violent and obsessive Marshall whose hatred for Ranger is almost eclipsed by his fixation on Darcy and making her miserable.

  But luck is on their side, and a wise woman of far-away New Orleans has unwittingly given them the key to freedom for both of them, if they can figure it out before the war between hunters and demons consumed them both.

  Chapter 1

  Darcy

  Paris wound her way through the congestion as she dragged her roller-luggage, her mouth moving in muttered curses I could almost hear even from the baggage claim. I caught her eye and stuck my tongue out, and she flipped me off as a huge grin split her face.

  “Deedee!” she squealed, throwing her arms around me in a bear hug. “Let’s get the hell out of here and get some food. I’m starving, but I overslept and didn’t have time to grab food before I left.”

  I checked my watch. Three-thirty. “How long was the flight?”

  She groaned and shook her head. “Darcy, I can’t even. Non-stop it’s four hours. I had a twenty-minute layover, so four and a half. And no, twenty minutes wasn’t enough for me to eat, because the food was all at the far end of the concourse and I was terrified they’d leave without me.”

  “No, you just decided it was prudent to wait for good sushi, a decision I applaud. Come on.” I tried to take her suitcase, but she laughed at me. “I’ve got three inches and twenty pounds on you, chicka. I can handle my own bag.”

  I snorted. “I was just trying to take some of the load off you. That duffle bag you call a purse looks full to bursting.”

  She cackled at my familiar griping and followed me to the car, demanding I let her pay for the parking. “I brought you a present, do you want to see it now, or later?”

  “I want it now, but let’s get to the bistro first, I want a proper sake before I go into work.”

  Paris huffed at me, her face screwed into a pout. “Did you just declare me the designated driver?”

  “The price you pay for having me come get you, is one ride to work. You’re planning on coming in later, right?”

  Paris stuffed her suitcase in the trunk and slammed it shut with a grunt. “Yeah, of course. Sushi is technically my breakfast, and I’m not cooking for myself tonight, so Orson gets to.” She tossed her thick blond hair over one shoulder. “And if I play my cards right, he’ll pay for it too.”

  “I wish you two would stop dancing around it and just get a room, for real.” I pulled out of the parking lot and down the spiraling ramp to the ticket booths. “Just don’t take him on the kitchen floor, okay? We’re trying to run a business.”

  Truly I thought Orson was a catch for any woman, any woman except me. He’s my cousin and feels more like my brother. But at six foot four inches and built like a wrestler, his heart is still bigger, and as soft as any teddy bear’s. He wasn’t shy, just oblivious to subtle flirtation and too focused on making O’Shay’s more than just a beer hall to put any effort into dating.

  Paris was still giggling when I pulled into our favorite Asian fusion bistro, the Red #8. It was between Paris’ apartment and the bar. Not efficient to get her home, but it was the best sushi in town. Worth the extra drive time.

  We sat at in our usual booth without waiting to be seated by Nana, the head server and daughter of Mr. Yeo, the owner. She saw us and waved, and after a flurry of Mandarin, her younger brother brought over glasses of water and delicate sake cups.

  I looked around, surveying the differences between the upscale eatery versus O’Shay’s. Not that I minded the roughhewn tables and sawdust covered floor. We were located just off the industrial park. Our patrons were mostly the men and women who stopped in for a few beers after work. Some of them stayed until I chased them out after last call, taking keys when necessary, escorting swaying men to their Ubers. Others nursed a single beer as
they bitched a little about their families, only to rush out after one beer to get home before the missus worried.

  Not the crowd you’d see at the bistro. Here were men and women in business casual or just plain business dress, eyeing the food like they were all critics. Orson would hate these guys, but when I looked at them, I just saw money.

  We had a deal with Nana that we would pay only the base price for sushi and she’d serve us rolls that weren’t on the menu. So I wasn’t surprised when she plunked a bottle of hot sake down in front of us and said out food would be out in a few minutes.

  “So, show me what you brought me, Mom,” I teased as we sipped our warmed rice wine and waited on our (bound to be delicious) sushi surprise.

  She rolled her gleaming eyes and removed a box from her bag. I hadn’t been exaggerating by much when I called her purse a duffle bag. The beribboned box was almost ten inches long, and five deep, nearly spanning the width of the narrow table between us.

  “Holy crud. Not exactly what I was expecting. How many NoLa shot glasses did you bring me?”

  Paris stabbed a finger at the box. “Open. I can’t tell you the story until you do.”

  I untied the crimson bow and lifted the top off the box. Nestled in layers of foam and then tissue was a blown glass bottle. It was fluted and corked, and the glass looked like an oil slick, purples and blues swirling into either black or green as I tipped the bottle first one way, then the other.

  Cautiously, I lifted the cork a little and sniffed, but there was no smell to the murky liquid inside and I closed it tightly again. “Okay, I give. What is it?”

  “Well, I was all over Louisiana, right? At one stop, I found this cute shop, which I thought was, like, a patisserie.” She paused for effect, “oh no, not a bakery, but an occult shop, with a white and pink sign on the front that just says, ‘Love Boutique’, in a peppermint scrawl.”

  “And what, exactly is a love boutique?” I asked, playing along.

  Paris’ hands were everywhere as she described the interior of the kitschy boutique, that mixed magic with handmade candy shaped in Mardi Gras themes. “This hot lady comes out, Dark hair, almond eyes, petite. I hated her, and wished I was into women at the same time.”

  “Oh geez, Paris,” I groaned and hid my face in my hand.”

  “As I was saying,” she continued. “She was quiet, and so calm, but just…vibrating with some kind of, of otherworldly energy, and points to this bottle. Not the super expensive jewelry, not the garish colored glass beads that have a thousand percent markup…This.”

  “Let me guess, one of a kind?”

  “You got it. I suspect she does this all day with tourists, has a whole stash of ‘em in the back.”

  I scoffed. “But you bought it, because why the hell not, right?” I turned the bottle in my hands, watching the dark liquid inside roll up the sides. “I wonder if the glass is what makes it look dark, or if the fluid itself is black?”

  “I think it’s clear. She said she was told it was a love potion, her husband had picked it up in Morocco.”

  I sipped my now cool rice wine and cupped the bottle in one hand. It felt warm to the touch, not from being handled, but from whatever was inside. “Damn. She must be one hell of a sales woman.”

  “She is. She also told me to jump on the broad-shouldered chef back home, because he was, uh, ripe for the picking.”

  I coughed on sake and set down both the empty cup and the glass bottle. “That’s pretty damn specific, Paris.”

  She nodded her head, a grin splitting her face. “I know, right? So I’m happy to come back with your car tonight, because come hell or highwater, I’m going home with the cuz.”

  “Gross.” I gasped as a platter full of nigiri and sushi rolls appeared at my elbow and Nana set it down between us. “This is amazing. We can’t eat all this.”

  Nana nodded and set two go-boxes at the edge of the table. “Orson called in, says to bring him your leftovers, he spent all morning testing burgers and needs something to eat that isn’t beef.”

  Paris reverently touched the bottle and raised her hands in mock prayer. “What did I tell you? Tonight, is my night with the gentle giant, and you, my dear friend, are next. Don’t waste that potion on just anyone.”

  “Right, because it’s one of a kind.”

  “And if she’s that good at what she does in a five-minute interaction, imagine the power of persuasion she’s got packed into that pretty little knickknack of yours.”

  Chapter 2

  Darcy

  Two hours later I was bussing tables and cursing Kurt, who was late for the thousandth time. When he arrived, I already knew I’d threaten to fire him, and he’d go running to Orson, who would remind me that Kurt’s mom was in hospice and Kurt was trying to hang on to her home.

  In other words, Darcy, don’t even bother. I’d hardly managed to think the words before the offending busboy burst through the front door, his apron in his hands.

  “I know, I know, I don’t deserve my job. The bus was late again, Ms. Darcy. I’m really sorry.”

  I shrugged and sighed. “Let’s skip the ass-chewing today, okay? Just head on back to Orson and tell him you need a raise so you can buy a reliable car instead of being caught between me and the Portland bus system forever.”

  His eyes lit up and I ducked my head as they glassed over with tears. It’s not my job to be the nice guy, Orson likes to hoard the good opinions of our employees and customers alike. But I couldn’t stand to be the bad guy again, when it just meant I’d probably be pulling double duty even longer.

  I scrubbed the table I’d just cleared and carried the bin of beers and glasses into the kitchen, avoiding Orson’s look of amusement as I emptied glass bottles into the glass recycling bin.

  “Love you, cuz,” he called after me as I slipped out the door. He laughed as I flipped him off and grabbed the cut limes waiting for me. The day shift at the complex was over, patrons were already beginning to filter in, and the kitchen smelled like a five-star restaurant, not the dive bar we really were.

  Guys in coveralls and Dickies trickled in, calling out their hellos to each other and to me. Dave, a newly wed father-to-be, sat at the bar to show me the latest pictures of his quickly swelling wife and the last of the ultrasound pictures on his phone.

  “They said by next appointment, there’ll be no point in pictures, because he’ll be too big,” he reported, his chest puffed out in pride.

  “Oh, man, don’t be showing her those baby pictures, man,” a familiar voice scoffed from behind him. “She hates kids.”

  I rolled my eyes, then winked at Dave. “No, Shawn, I just hated the idea of giving birth to yours.”

  Dave laughed aloud and grabbed the beers I set on the counter for him. “You go girl. I never did understand what you saw in that guy.”

  I shrugged and looked straight at Shawn and the big-breasted bottle-redhead on his arm. “It was a weird year for me, Dave. I got better, though.”

  Still chortling, Dave took the beers to his table and left me and my ex-boyfriend in a staring match. Usually, I fought him until he looked away. But for some reason my mind turned to the bottle sitting on my desk, and I turned my back on him, counting the bottles and making a list for Kurt to bring up from the cold storage downstairs.

  “Can’t stand the pressure, Darce?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “I can’t imagine why you want to stare at me, when you’re with someone else. I have no reason to participate in your disrespect. However, I’ll make sure someone gets to you quickly to take your order.”

  He scoffed and whispered something to his companion as I faced them again, handing the list to Kurt and signaling Abby to their table. She snickered, her thin lips disappearing in a sneer that left burgundy lipstick on her front teeth.

  Abby cruised past the bar, depositing empties and giving me an eye-roll. Shawn and I had broken up months before, yet he still came in, usually with a new woman on his arm, and sniped at me until hi
s angry date made him leave. I could see the beginning of that stirring in her eyes, her glances toward me more hateful by the minute.

  “Abby, get them their food, and get them out of here. Shawn pisses off the regulars, and I don’t want them not coming back.”

  Across the room, our only other server, Gloria, raised two middle fingers to their backs and got a round of laughter from her tables. I managed a scowl in her direction, but as long as the patrons loved her antics, I knew nothing I could say would stick.

  Abby hadn’t caught Gloria’s gesture of solidarity, but she nodded at my directions and sashayed over to the table, leaning forward so he got an eyeful as she took their orders. Even the greybeards who preferred skulking in the corners were beginning to enjoy the show, as Shawn’s date wriggled in her seat, lavishing him with attention as she tried to regain his.