Possess Me Please (11 page)

“Eh, Jimmy.” The man’s Russian accent was thick. “You don’t think you get away with stealing money from big boss, do you? You always such a righteous son of bitch.”

Cyrus looked into the man’s mind. Hell, he was more fucked up than Jimmy had been. Rapes, murders, drug dealing—he had done a little of everything and had enjoyed every single minute of it. He savored anything violent, fed off it, lived for the adrenaline rush of hurting others, of playing God.

Fate was a bitch, but so was karma. Cyrus sank into Johnny’s back—Johnny, Jimmy, did all these guys have names that began with
J
and ended with
Y
?

Johnny’s soul was black, blacker than Jimmy’s had been, and it was ready for Cyrus’s arrival. He wanted to giggle like a schoolgirl because he relished a good fight.

Johnny Boy, your time is up, you filthy bastard. You fucked with the wrong entity this time.

Johnny’s black soul engulfed Cyrus, but he merely laughed and shook it off like a dog might shake off water after an unwanted bath. Cyrus drew energy from the atmosphere, expanding, then engulfed Johnny in a death grip of dark blue. Within seconds, Johnny weakened, his mouth gaping open as his soul fled in defeat and terror.

Cyrus took his first breath in his new body and watched Johnny’s soul float away instead of sink into the ground. That wasn’t good. Obviously, Johnny’s soul wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.

Cyrus retrieved his personal belongings from Jimmy’s body, then stood and looked in the mirror. Not too bad. It seemed the unsavory liked to keep in shape.

His nose crinkled. Too bad they didn’t like to stay clean.

He sighed and pushed his fingers through his now dark brown hair and cringed. What was the fucking deal with greasy hair? His eyes were green, and he had a chipped front tooth. That was okay. It gave him a little character. At least Johnny was close to the same build and size as Jimmy, which meant that Cyrus wouldn’t have to buy new clothes again.

Now to deal with the bigger problem…Izzy. She wouldn’t have a clue who the hell he was now.

Then again, maybe that would work to his advantage.

Chapter Nine

The eight-hour drive home the night before had been exhausting. Isabelle had barely had the energy to call Nina and shower before falling into bed—she’d even left her bag in the car, too tired to carry it in.

Unfortunately, the exhaustion wasn’t enough to keep the nightmares away. She shivered as she recalled Stephen’s menacing voice calling to her.

“
Issssabelllllle. I’m getting closer. Next time I’ll have you.”

The memory of the sound echoed and scraped her nerve endings, sending shivers down her spine.

“
Issssabelle. I will have your soul, and I will make you suffer. Don’t think that demon will keep me away forever.”

Now she stood under the stream of the shower, washing the sweat from her body, trying to scrub the memory from her brain and heat her chilled bones. She still didn’t understand how she could be cold and sweaty at the same time, but the dreams of Stephen always left her both.

Now that she had had time to think it over, she realized that when the dreams had first started up again, she had been too focused on the mystery man—Cyrus—and not focused enough on Stephen. His showing up had not been a mere visit of unwanted memories. It had been a warning, a warning she had mistakenly thought was a simple revisiting of a bad experience.

Stephen wanted her. But why? Was it really all about revenge?

She remembered what Cyrus told her about Havoc spirits. Surely Stephen could find someone other than her to burden? Isabelle supposed if she were dead, and as evil as Cyrus claimed Stephen to be, revenge would be an easy outlet for the inescapable anger that would, no doubt, plague her. It was obvious that he didn’t like to be beaten at his own game, and if he was set on getting her soul, she was in trouble. She had no idea how to fight off a Havoc spirit, had never even heard of one until she’d met Cyrus.

Now she was seriously starting to question her decision to turn her back on the one person who could help her most in this situation. Cyrus had protected her from Stephen, had given her information that could potentially be life-saving. However, without details, she had little to go on. Had she not allowed her emotions to get in the way…

She sighed. No sense in dwelling on something she could do nothing about. Maybe she could talk to Nina about it later. Maybe together, they’d be able to come up with some kind of protection potion or spell, or both.

After Isabelle flipped off the water and stepped out of the shower, she remembered something else from her dream. What had Stephen meant by
that demon
? Was Stephen giving Cyrus the title as a means of insult? Or had it been something more…?

Cyrus had claimed that he could
do things
.

Talk about an overactive imagination. Sheesh
. Cyrus had a gift—true, one she’d never seen firsthand—but so did she. That did not make him a demon.

Isabelle shook her head in disbelief. After everything she’d been through and seen, she had entertained the silly notion that Cyrus was a demon? Laughable.

The weird thing was that that hadn’t been the most disturbing part of the dream. Apart from Stephen, another man had visited her—actually two. First, Cyrus had been there, with his tall frame and piercing gray eyes. Within seconds, his face had appeared to melt and morph into the face of another man. And like Cyrus, she hadn’t been able to make out this man’s features clearly either. The only features she could remember were his build, similar to Cyrus’s, and his dark brown hair.

Who the hell am I dreaming about now?
And why had the image of the new man intermingled and melded with Cyrus’s? It was as if one became the other.

She thought about it until her brain hurt, then gave up for the sake of her sanity.

On her way to the kitchen, the phone started ringing. She got to it on the third ring. “Hello.”

“Hello?”

The man on the other line had a deep, soothing voice. He sounded calm and laid back.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Johnny Ralston.”

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

There was a long pause, and for a moment she thought her caller had hung up.  “No. I got your number from Scarlett Young. I was wondering if I could schedule a session with you?”

“Oh. Um, I was actually planning to take some time off.”

Which wasn’t a lie. With everything that had happened with Cyrus, Stephen, and the new mystery man, she was ready to take some time off and figure things out.

“Could you possibly make an exception?”

Isabelle sighed. “Why do you want a session with me?”

“I lost someone special. I thought maybe you could help me talk to her.”

She was such a sucker. She never could turn down someone in pain. “Are you located close to Landings?”

“Yes. Maybe I could come to your place?”

“It’s easier for me to make contact during a session if I’m surrounded by a setting occupied by the departed.”

“To tell you the truth, I only arrived in town yesterday, and I don’t have a permanent address yet.”

She sighed again. If the man had recently moved, he obviously wouldn’t be living in a place occupied by the spirit anyway. Her main hesitation, at the moment, was caused by the fact that she didn’t know him.

Maybe this would be a good thing. Maybe a session here would provide a much-needed distraction. She was adept at reading others. His voice was soothing and calm. He didn’t set off any warning bells. Besides, in the past when she’d held occasional sessions in her home, she’d call Nina to let her know. Once the session was over, she’d let her friend know all was well, but if Nina didn’t hear from Isabelle within a couple hours, she’d check up on her.

“Please. This is important.” His quiet voice was laced with sincerity.

She silently sighed and propped the phone in the crook between her ear and shoulder. “How about tomorrow night at six?”

“That works for me. What’s your address?”

She gave him her address and hung up the phone.
Now what have I gotten myself into?
She should have told him no. Technically, she had. She just hadn’t stuck with it. For the next few days, the phone could ring off the hook if it liked. The machine could get it, and if there was anyone on the other end whom she wanted to talk to—basically, only Nina—she’d pick up.

Isabelle’s stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Glancing at the clock, she groaned.  Noon already. Damn, she was going to have to get some groceries. She picked up the phone, dialed the local pizza place, and ordered some pasta with extra cheese and breadsticks.

She was going to lie on her butt and do nothing until her session tomorrow night. She deserved it and was too depressed to do anything else anyway.  After allowing herself to wallow in her self-pity, she’d pick herself up and get back into the game of life.

Chapter Ten

Cyrus couldn’t deny that he’d been disappointed when Izzy hadn’t recognized him on the phone yesterday, despite the fact it was a ridiculous notion. He did, after all, have a new voice. Still, a part of him had hoped she’d realize it was him. While he wished he hadn’t had to lie to her, he didn’t feel guilty, since he’d done it to protect her. Besides, he
had
lost someone special, and Izzy definitely could help him talk to her since she
was
that someone.

It was only five when he pulled up in front of Izzy’s. His appointment with her wasn’t for another hour, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see her. He made a U-turn and parked the car half a block down the street so she wouldn’t notice it. She might not recognize him, but the car was another story altogether.

He didn’t know exactly how this evening would play out, but he was certain that he would not leave Izzy alone again—not while the Havoc was around. To say that he’d been beside himself, thinking that the bastard might pay her another visit while he wasn’t there to protect her, was putting it mildly.

It took spirits some time to recuperate from an attempted possession, and he figured she was safe for a couple of days. But the Havoc—Stephen, she’d called him—had been fairly strong, and Cyrus didn’t know exactly how much time it would take Stephen to regain all his strength and come after Izzy again. And Cyrus had no doubt that he
would
go after her again.

The only way Cyrus could kill Stephen on his own was to trap him inside the body he was possessing and hold him in it until the body died. Since Izzy would also die in the process—and that was not an option—Cyrus had to come up with another plan. And he had an idea.

He’d learned of Izzy’s witch friend, Nina. It hadn’t been hard to get the information from the diner he’d eaten at—some throwback to the sixties, but with surprisingly delicious food. Apparently, Izzy was some kind of celebrity. Everyone knew her there, and everyone had an opinion about what she did…good or bad. The waitress seemed to be fond of Izzy, and when she’d brought up the topic of Izzy’s witch friend, he’d casually inquired.

While he wasn’t particularly fond of witches after what Lily had done to him, Cyrus was hoping Nina could help him out. After all, they held a common interest—keeping Izzy safe. If his plan worked, the risk to Izzy would be slight. However, when she found out what his plan was, she wouldn’t like it. But that didn’t matter. He refused to let Stephen get to her again. Fear and pain ripped through his chest at the thought. Cyrus would never allow that to happen, no matter what he had to do. He would get rid of Stephen forever.

All-in-all, his plan was a solid one, but he couldn’t carry it out without the witch. He hoped he could convince her to help him. If she cared about Izzy at all, surely she’d do anything to keep her safe. The problem was convincing Nina to trust him enough to believe that what he was asking her to do would be in Izzy’s best interests.

Cyrus looked at the green glow of the clock on the dashboard. Five-thirty.
Close enough
.

He opened the car door and stepped out into the brisk evening breeze. The sky was overcast and cloudy. No surprise there. He straightened his leather jacket and walked down the street toward Izzy’s green-sided house. He stood in front of the ebony door for a moment, contemplating.

He’d been in such a hurry to see her again, yet now he was apprehensive. Some tinge of foreboding told him things weren’t going to go as he had planned them. The problem with those fucking little warnings? They were only that…warnings with no useful information. Though, to be fair, those warnings had saved his ass on more than one occasion.

Cyrus let out a low, irritated growl and punched the doorbell with his finger.

* * * *

Isabelle dressed in a long black skirt and green top and brushed her hair up into a messy bun. She was finishing up when the doorbell rang. Her client was early.

She slipped on a pair of black boots and made her way down the hall to answer the door. Her breath hitched when her visitor was revealed. He reminded her of the man she had dreamed of last night, the one whom Cyrus had morphed into. What the hell was going on?

She extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Isabelle.”

The spark of electricity that ran through her arm when they touched made her jump.

“Hello Izz-Isabelle. I’m Johnny.”

Something was strange here. He seemed familiar, yet she couldn’t figure out why. It was as if she’d met him before. Was it simply one of those weird
déjà vu
moments?

She stepped aside to let him in, watching him swagger into her living room. Good-looking men always seemed to swagger, and,
damn
, Johnny was certainly good-looking.

As she checked out Johnny’s backside, her heart thumped. She rolled her eyes and closed the door.
So unprofessional. He’s not a piece of meat.

Isabelle calmed her hormones and followed Johnny into the living room. “Please sit,” she said, motioning to the leather couch.