The Spell of Three

by Casey Morgan

  “Taught myself. It isn’t hard.” I poured the eggs onto the skillet and started to shift them around with the spatula. “You like to cook?”

  “I prefer to bake, but yeah.”

  She grabbed one of Aunt Bridget’s four-leaf clover shaped slat shakers and looked at it.

  “What’s your specialty, Baker?”

  “Hmmm. Banana bread, I think. You have that here?”

  She looked up at me with curious blue eyes.

  “Not often, but once in a great while when there are some leftover bananas,” I said. “You put nuts in it or chocolate chips?”

  “Chocolate chips, of course!” she said, as if the other choice were blasphemy. “Banana bread is essentially cake. It’s not health food!”

  I nodded.

  “Exactly! What horse’s arse thinks that nuts are gonna save ye, if you put it in banana bread?”

  She giggled and smiled up at me.

  “Right? So, what about you, chef? What’s your specialty?”

  Her blue eyes were so stunning. They seemed to sparkle.

  “Yer lookin’ at it,” I said, grinning back at her. “Anything breakfast, really. Not much on the French toast. Rather have a nice pancake.”

  She laughed. I really liked her laugh. It was light and airy. The kind of laugh that was like a summer rain.

  She crinkled her nose at me.

  “I love French toast. I could live on it,” Shanna admitted.

  She looked slightly embarrassed to have a different opinion than I did. But I didn’t mind at all.

  I leaned close to her.

  “I’d learn how to make it just for you,” I whispered.

  She jumped a little at my closeness and accidently fired off a spell. The salt shaker in her hand floated off down the table.

  “Oh!” she squeaked again.

  Accidental magic was the witch equivalent to a voice crack. Shanna blushed and grabbed at the floating salt shaker.

  I reached over and plucked it out of the air easily. She lowered her lashes when I handed it to her. The air seemed to get thicker. I just wanted to stare at her face and her pouty mouth.

  The egg timer dinged, and I turned back to what I was cooking.

  “So, you’re American,” I noted, trying to think of a way to get my mind off her lips. “I don’t know how you keep track of or keep up with it all. It seems so fast paced. Is it like that?”

  “I mean, I guess.” She shrugged. “It depends on where you live. I’m from Love’s Hollow, New York. It’s a small town that has grown a lot in the last year, with tech businesses. You’ve never been? To America?”

  “No,” I admitted. “I’ve wanted to go to see New York City, maybe. Although, I’m afraid I might get shot or captured.”

  She laughed. “Love’s Hollow is safe. You come to America. I’ll watch your back.”

  “I’ll bet you would,” I smiled, plating some eggs and bacon. “Here’s your breakfast. I hope you enjoy it.”

  Shanna ate like a woman with a real appetite, which I liked. These fainting flowers with their vegan diets were not for me.

  I liked a woman who knew how to put away a good breakfast. It made her seem strong and robust. These vegan girls — sometimes I thought were so thin that they were going to blow away with the first strong wind.

  I couldn’t help admiring her busty chest and wide hips. It was all I could do to not get a boner right then and there. That would be really obvious, because my cock was just as big as the rest of my elf body.

  How I wished I could take her over my knee and take her juicy ass cheeks in my hands. I’d squeeze them, slap them a bit just for good measure, then let my fingers do some exploring, right into her tight little pussy hole that I was sure had to be dripping wet for me…

  “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed, breaking my delicious train of thought. “This is so good! You’re right. Your specialty is breakfast.”

  I continued to cook as we talked. I finished a huge tray of scrambled eggs. It was easy to make and even easier to keep warm for the guests. You mix up the eggs on the skillet, throw them into the tray and put the lid on. I also had the sausage cooking on a less hot section of the skillet.

  “By the way, do you know where I can find the McDonnells?” Shanna asked between bites.

  I dropped my spatula on the floor and had to get a clean one. Hopefully, she didn’t see the worried expression on my face.

  “You going to visit the McDonnells today, are ya? You sure you want to?” I asked, fishing for a reason for her to stay. The McDonnells were bad news, bad witches. “We have some activities here. Board games and whatnot. Some of the regulars at the pub are a real hoot.”

  “It’s stopped raining, so I wanted to get some air,” she said. “Is it close? Can I walk to where they live?”

  “Aye,” I said, not wanting to tell her all that I knew. “The McDonnells are about half a mile outside the village. Turn left out the front door and keep walking until you see the crooked chimney. You’ll find the McDonnells’ home and hearth there.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I can’t wait to meet my relatives.”

  She looked at me with curious eyes.

  “You said last night that you’ve never met them?”

  I didn’t meet her gaze.

  “They are known,” I said, diplomatically. “How much do you know about your kin, then?”

  She shrugged.

  “Only that my family is from the area and that we are related,” she said, with a frown. “Why? Is there something else I should know?”

  “Maybe it’s not my place to say,” I said grimly. “But you should be careful. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”

  “Wait, what?”

  She stood and came around the table to stand next to me.

  “You mean like walking through the village? Is it a bad neighborhood or something?” she prodded me, clearly trying to understand.

  I turned away from her, feeling awkward.

  I put my eyes on my work and flipped a sausage.

  “Again, it’s not my place to say, but—” I stopped myself.

  It was wrong of me to speak ill of others, but the McDonnells had been trouble for generations. I was wary to say anything. What if she was just the like the rest of the clan? She could turn on me too!

  She was beautiful, but she was a McDonnell and McDonnells were powerful, bad witches. I didn’t know her well enough yet to know what could happen. It was best to keep my mouth shut and protect myself and the bed and breakfast.

  “Just — Just be careful around your kin,” I said carefully. I couldn’t believe I was saying anything after I had told myself not to. It seemed that the words were just falling out of my mouth. Perhaps I felt I had a duty to warn her. “The McDonnells can be…a problem.”

  She gave me an odd expression and sighed; she clearly didn’t know what I meant or she would have taken me more seriously.

  “They can’t be a bigger problem than my parents,” she said. “My sister steals my fiancé and they side with her. Can they be worse than that?”

  I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. Her face was serious. What an awful thing to have happen; no wonder she was heartbroken. I wanted to take her in my arms, but I held back.

  “That is pretty bad, but — It’s not my place to say,” I said, going back to cooking.

  “You keep saying that and I keep imagining something really, really bad,” she said. “It’s not like they were Nazis. Wait, were they?”

  It pained me to see the confused expression on her pretty face. She was thinking the worst because she had no idea what to expect. I just didn’t want to be the one to break it to her.

  “Look, you’ve been through a lot,” I said. “Just — as an American in a foreign land, you have to be wary. That’s all I’m saying. There are pickpockets and thieves and scammers.”

  What I didn’t add was that the McDonnells were all those things and then some!

  I hated this feeling. It
was why I had bottled everything up last night when she had first asked about them. I felt so conflicted.

  I didn’t know what would be better – to shut up or to start telling her all the stories I knew about, to get her to see what I meant. But it wasn’t my place to judge. They were her family, after all, and she had come all the way here to meet them.

  I finally decided to compromise, with a slight warning but nothing too straightforward. She would figure out what I meant soon enough.

  “When you go to them, don’t get your hopes up. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she agreed, clearly still not really understanding, and starting to get annoyed. “I’d better get going. Thanks for breakfast. See you later?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be here,” I smiled.

  I watched her head out. I hated to see her go, but loved to watch her leave, as the old expression went. Her ass was perfectly round, bouncy and pinchable.

  Maybe I was worrying too much. Surely a witch of her age in America had seen her fair share of wankers and troublemakers. Shanna was smart. I was sure she’d peg the McDonnells of Ireland for who they were, the moment she laid eyes on them.

  “She’s a sight now, isn’t she?” said Brody, walking into the kitchen and watching her through a window. “She off to the McDonnells?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Tried to warn her as best I could.”

  “Ah, if she’s daft enough to go there,” said Brody, “then she’ll learn a hard lesson. She’ll be back, I’m sure. Glad for your warning.”

  “Poor thing. She’s been through hell,” I said. “Her own ma and pa sided with her sister, who stole her man.”

  “No!” said Brody, in obvious disbelief. “That’s a kick in the shin. What kind of parents do that?”

  “American ones, I guess,” I said with a shrug.

  “Well, they are related to the McDonnells,” Brody said. “So maybe it’s actually an Irish thing.”

  He shrugged too while he helped me get breakfast ready. He finished filling the tray full of scrambled eggs. Then he grabbed another tray and filled it with the sausage I had cooked.

  Finally, he got plates and filled them up with the soda bread. He put these all on a table in the dining room.

  The guests would be eating buffet style. The Davies couple came downstairs just as we got everything ready. They said good morning and started serving themselves.

  I went back into the kitchen to clean up. Brody came in to help. I couldn’t help it; I was worried about Shanna, and I started looking out the window.

  Brody nudged me with his elbow.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said. “She’ll be fine.”

  “What if she’s not?” I asked.

  “The McDonnells are a lot of things,” said Brody. “But they’re not murderers. Worst case scenario, they con her out of a few hundred dollars. She has to learn how they are on her own. If you keep pushing it on her, it could back fire. Worse, they could hear that you badmouthed them and come after you.”

  I made an exasperated sound. The last thing I wanted to have happen was to make an enemy of the McDonnells so openly. They had a history of hexing people and performing other unsavory spells.

  If they heard that I had warned Shanna, they’d be over here every night trying to sneak in, putting spells on the furniture, stealing things, telling our guests awful stories —it would not go well. The McDonnells could be mean, vindictive twats.

  “Remember when Julia got into an argument with Sandra McDonnell?” asked Brody, sensing my thoughts. “You had that same look on your face back then that you do now.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t know what to do. Julia wanted me to march over there and start a fight with them. That would be a sure way of getting myself beaten to a pulp or hexed or worse!”

  “Aye,” agreed Brody. “But I would’ve stood by you, brother. Quinn would have too. Although I think Quinn would’ve been smart enough to drag our sorry carcasses out of there or talk us out of the fight. He’s the only one of the three of us with any sense in his brain.”

  “It’s a good thing Julia cooled off,” I said. “Back then, she had me wrapped around her finger.”

  “That’s always been the problem with you and women,” said Brody. “You let them walk all over ye.”

  “Hold on now,” I said, backing the truck up. “I seem to recall a lot of the foolish things you did for your would-be girlfriends. Not the least of which was borrowing that truck from Uncle Albert.”

  “That was different,” said Brody. “I didn’t have a good place to take that lass. What was her name? Chloe, I think.”

  “Yeah, really special!” I laughed. “You can’t even remember her name!”

  “I remember her legs well enough,” said Brody. “A fine, fit body on that one, brother. Oh, aye. Almost as nice as on Shanna. But not quite. I just needed something to drive her around in. Uncle Albert said I could use the truck anyway.”

  “For work, he meant!” I laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “Not for snoggin’ with one of your chippies. You left the brake off and the truck rolled into the surf. You’re lucky Quinn and I were able to help you pull it out of the mud.”

  “I still got my snoggin’ in,” countered Brody. “She was a handful, that Chloe. She didn’t have me wrapped around her finger, but I would’ve done things for her.”

  “That’s exactly what the expression means,” I laughed. “She was the puppet master and you were the puppet!”

  “Not the same thing,” Brody assured me. “I wanted to do the things I did for her — I didn’t have to. Big difference.”

  “Please,” I dismissed him. “The lies you told to get some girls.”

  I looked at him seriously. “You better not do that to Shanna.”

  “Are you her keeper now?” said Brody with a frown. “Besides, I have no reason to lie to her. She’s clearly attracted to me. Did you see the way she looked at me?”

  “You’re crazy,” I said. “She looked at me very intently. And I made her breakfast, so if anything, I have the edge.”

  “Experience beats age, my young laddie,” said Brody. “But don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll still be nice to ya when she’s my girl.”

  “Ha! The overconfidence,” I laughed. “That will be your undoin’, Brody.”

  “Are you two still talking about that girl?” asked Aunt Bridget, entering the kitchen. “You’d think she was a first young woman to stay here. You two are a couple o’ horny goats!”

  “Aunt Bridget, tell the honest truth,” said Brody, standing up to his full height. “Who has a better shot with Shanna? Me or my young foolish friend, here?”

  “You both are equally foolish,” said Aunt Bridget. “Leave the poor girl be. She just got left at the altar! That’s a traumatic experience for anyone.”

  Giving us each a swat on the head, Aunt Bridget went out of the kitchen and into the dining room. After saying good morning to the guests, she came back with a few plates to wash.

  “They’re just about out of eggs, Ryan. Ya might have to make more,” she said. “Go get the tray, Brody.”

  Brody went in and got the tray. I heard him say good morning to the guests. He asked them if they wanted more eggs.

  “They’re all about finished,” he said, returning with the empty tray. “No more eggs. And this one already made Shanna breakfast.”

  “Ah, ha!” said Aunt Bridget. “That puts him ahead of you. It’s an intimate act to make someone a meal. Especially when a man cooks for a woman.”

  Brody made a face. I smiled broadly.

  “I’ll just have to make her dinner then,” said Brody. “That tops breakfast.”

  “A competition then,” I said. “Glad I’m in the lead.”

  “You won’t be for long,” assured Brody with a wink. “But good luck, lad. You’re going to need it.”

  “I’ll make sure you get an invite to our wedding,” I said boldly.

  Wedding? How the heck had that word come out of my mouth, ev
en in a joking manner? That was sure putting the cart before the horse, now wasn’t it? But this girl seemed to make me say and do things I normally didn’t.

  I could only imagine what more moments with her would be making me say and do. Hopefully it would involve getting my hands on those perfect ass cheeks of hers.

  Chapter 6

  Shanna

  The entire village of Love’s Hollow was as quaint and charming as Hennessey House. There were thatched roofs, cobblestone streets, little shops and pubs. People wore thick wool sweaters and hats and knitted clothes like I had seen in postcards.

  Sheep (except for the stubborn ones, like Gerard, with owner sprites who neglected them, I supposed), were being herded in the hills which were lush and green. It looked like a place the Hobbits would live, if they weren’t fictional.

  But as I walked further and further from town, the road got rougher and the idyllic view started to change. The houses became more rundown and trash lined the streets. Fields that should be lush with barley were fallow or looked burnt.

  By the time I got to the crooked chimney, I was appalled by what I saw. There were filthy farm animals running free in the front yard, which was mostly mud. The rough rock walls were toppling over.

  Dirty, half-naked children played in the trash and in the street without parental supervision. As I wandered closer, I could hear shouting inside the rough stone house that I thought might be my destination but had been hoping wasn’t.

  Sure enough, though, the mailbox had the name “McDonnell” scrawled onto it by hand. The place looked like a complete dump.

  But I try not to judge people until I get to know them. My father was a passionate — some would say overly passionate — guy whose style and mannerisms bordered on aggressive, but he never hurt a fly. You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, and all of that.

  I shrugged my shoulders and gathered my courage as I moved down the rough gravel path toward the front door. The dirty children stopped playing and looked in my direction.

  “Hi,” I said.

  I gave them my warmest smile. They just stared back at me dumbly.

  None of them approached me or said anything. I wondered why they weren’t in school.