Kiss and Spell (11 Valentine's Day Paranormal Short Stories)

by Liz Schulte

  Delaney grinned and laughed softly. The approval of a romance writer was high praise indeed. Roxy was basically an expert on hot guys. Delaney turned her attention back to the stage as the emcee, a local news anchor, made her way to the podium.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, our judges have returned and we’re about to announce our winners. At the end, we’ll have all the winners come up on stage for trophies and pictures, but feel free to applaud for them as they’re announced.”

  The crowd cheered and Delaney felt a knot form in her belly. This time it was undoubtedly nerves. She put her hand over her stomach anyway, marveling at the idea of life growing there. Her and Hugh’s child. Warmth and happiness filled her. Whatever the outcome of today’s bake-off, she had already won.

  The head judge handed over a sheet of paper and the anchorwoman scanned it, then looked up at the waiting crowd. “First up is the Cookie category. In the adult division, our third-place winner is Nina O’Malley for her chocolate and peanut butter pinwheels. In second is Delaney Ellingham for her iced rosewater sugar cookies, and in first is Anna Louisa White for her pink peppercorn shortbread.”

  As the junior division winners were read off, Delaney glanced over at Hugh and shrugged as he smiled back and applauded with the rest of the crowd. Second place wasn’t bad. But the pink peppercorn shortbread sounded genius. She totally should have thought of that. In fact, why hadn’t she? Maybe pregnancy brain had already kicked in. She’d heard that was a thing.

  “Next up is our Cake category. The competition was especially tough this year and the judges reported that it was very close. In fact, we have a tie for third in the adult division. That honor goes to Frances Grantham and Sissy Laughlin with their strawberry Bundt cake and cherry almond vanilla cake, respectively.”

  “In second place,” the anchorwoman said. “We have Leigh Freeman with her butterscotch carrot cake. And in first, Delaney Ellingham’s white chocolate raspberry mascarpone layer cake.”

  Delaney put her hand to her heart. Wow. First was amazing. She grinned at Hugh, who positively beamed.

  “Now for our junior division.” The anchorwoman announced third and second, but Delaney didn’t know either contestant. The woman glanced down at her notes before reading off first. “And the first-place cake was Mary Keller’s orange chocolate pound cake.”

  Delaney let out a whoop. “Mary!” She looked around and found the girl in the crowd, then rushed over to hug her. “You did it!”

  Mary’s grin was as bright as her pretty face. “I can’t believe it! I couldn’t have done it without you giving me those eggs. Thank you so much.”

  “You bet.”

  “And hey,” Mary said. “You won twice!”

  Delaney shook her head as the crowd continued to applaud. “I can’t believe it. I barely remember making parts of that cake.”

  The anchorwoman went on. “Finally, we have the Chocolates category. In third is Barry Ward and his key lime buttercreams. In second are Petra Singh’s cardamom bonbons.” She waited a moment for the applause to die down. “And in first, Delaney Ellingham’s Bee Mine honey and champagne truffles.”

  She’d won! Delaney was so stunned she barely heard the woman announce the junior division winners and end with, “Well done to everyone who entered and we’ll see you next year! Winners, come on up for your trophies and pictures.”

  Stunned, Delaney made her way up to the stage. She stood there, holding her armful of trophies and getting her picture taken, her eyes on Hugh the whole time.

  There were so many emotions in his gaze but she understood every one of them.

  He was proud of her for winning.

  But he was blown away that he was going to be a father.

  She smiled at him and nodded, hoping he knew she got what he was feeling, because she was feeling it too. The win, which had been everything that morning, suddenly felt inconsequential.

  Who needed a mail-order chocolate business when you could be a mother?

  When the last photo was taken, she stepped off the stage and into Hugh’s waiting arms.

  “I am so proud of you,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Thanks.” She couldn’t stop smiling as he let her go.

  He took her trophies. “What do you want to do next? We could swing by the shop and put these in the front window.”

  “I’d love that—”

  “You won everything!” Roxy came up to her with a huge smile. “You did amazing, Delaney! Outstanding.”

  “Thanks.” Delaney put her arm around Hugh. “Roxy, this is my husband, Hugh. Hugh, this is my friend Roxy, who I’ve been telling you so much about.”

  Hugh tipped his head in greeting. “Nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but…” He shrugged, his arms full of Delaney’s trophies.

  “I understand. Nice to meet you too,” Roxy said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. All good. Better than good, really. You must be pretty proud of your wife, huh?”

  “I’m not sure I could put it into words,” he answered, his grin broad and gleaming, fangs safely tucked away.

  Roxy looked at both of them, a sly expression coming over her face. “Is something else going on? It’s amazing how well you did today, Delaney, and I don’t want to take anything away from that, but you both seem kind of abundantly happy.”

  Delaney leaned in toward her friend. “Don’t say anything to anyone, but I just found out I’m pregnant.”

  Roxy whooped, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “That’s awesome. Congrats! Who am I going to tell? My lips are sealed. But talk about the hard sell to get me to move here. Fine, you win.” She held her hands up in surrender. “I’ll be the godmother.”

  They all laughed, then Roxy gave Delaney a little hug. “It’s been so good to see you, but you guys clearly have other things to do and I’m on a deadline. I’m taking the three thousand pounds of chocolate I bought back to the bed and breakfast and spending some quality time with my laptop. Hugh, it was a pleasure to meet you. Delaney, I’ll let you know what my next move is. Literally. And keep me posted on the kidlet.”

  “Will do,” Delaney said. “Talk to you soon.”

  As Roxy disappeared into the crowd, Delaney turned to Hugh and looped her arm through his. “I love the idea of dropping the trophies off at the shop. Then we should probably go tell your grandmother. She’ll lose it if she doesn’t hear the good news straight from us as soon as possible.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Then we can tell my brothers.”

  They started walking toward the exit.

  “Deal,” Delaney said. “Although the thought of Julian as an uncle is a little frightening.” She stopped as they got outside the tent and away from the throng of people. “How do you feel about Sugar?”

  “Like it’s going to be a long, long time before I want anything sweet.”

  “No, I mean what do you think about the name Sugar if it’s a girl?”

  Hugh cocked one brow. “You’re not serious.”

  She smiled and pulled him along again. “I don’t know. Sugar Ellingham has a nice ring to it.”

  He groaned. “No.”

  “Ginger?”

  He gave her the side eye.

  “Clementine?”

  He sighed. “How about a name that isn’t also a food? You know, our child might be a boy.”

  She laughed and put her hand on her belly. “It won’t be. I can feel it. Sugar’s definitely a girl. Do we have an account at Santa’s Workshop, that toy store in town?”

  “No, but I get the feeling we will soon.”

  “We need to decide which room is going to be the nursery, too. And we’ll need clothes. Lots and lots of cute dresses. And hair bows. Oh! Booties! Wait until I tell Captain. He’s going to be so excited.”

  “I’m not sure the cat’s going to care.” Hugh shook his head. “This is going to be a long nine months, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  He grinned and winked at her. “I wouldn’t have it any o
ther way.”

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  About the Author

  Kristen Painter likes to balance her obsessions with shoes and cats by making the lives of her characters miserable and surprising her readers with interesting twists. She currently writes paranormal romance and award-winning urban fantasy. The former college English teacher can often be found all over social media where she loves to interact with readers:

  Website * Twitter * Facebook * Instagram

  Other books by Kristen Painter

  PARANORMAL ROMANCE:

  Nocturne Falls series:

  The Vampire’s Mail Order Bride

  The Werewolf Meets His Match

  The Gargoyle Gets His Girl

  The Professor Woos The Witch

  The Vampire’s Fake Fiancée

  Sin City Collectors series:

  Queen of Hearts

  Dead Man’s Hand

  Double or Nothing

  Stand-alone books:

  Dark Kiss of the Reaper

  Heart of Fire

  All Fired Up

  URBAN FANTASY:

  The House of Comarré series:

  Forbidden Blood

  Blood Rights

  Flesh and Blood

  Bad Blood

  Out For Blood

  Last Blood

  The Crescent City series:

  House of the Rising Sun

  City of Eternal Night

  Garden of Dreams and Desires

  DEADLY DIAMONDS

  (A Stacy Justice Mystery)

  Barbra Annino

  Deadly Diamonds

  by Barbra Annino

  Copyright © 2016 Barbra Annino

  All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Summary

  It’s Valentine’s Day in Amethyst, Illinois and things heat up when the Geraghty Girls cast a love spell that goes horribly wrong.

  (This story takes place sometime between OPAL FIRE and BLOODSTONE.)

  Chapter One

  It was Valentine’s Day and I had big plans. I was going to pour myself a glass of Pinot Noir, draw a hot bubble bath, pop in a Nicholas Sparks movie and order a heart shaped pizza to share with my man.

  I grabbed the menu off the fridge and examined it. “What do you think, Thor? Should we be good and get the veggie lover’s or go all out with the Soprano?” (Double dough, double cheese, double sausage, Thor’s favorite.)

  The dog barked and sat down on the couch, tossing me a look that said, “Do you really need to ask?”

  “Soprano it is, Big Man.”

  I set the menu down and reached for the wine bottle. It was still early, five o’clock, but the sky was darkening by the second and a cool chill rushed through my tiny cottage as the wind gusted outside like it was trying to blow out the world’s biggest candle. I shivered and went to get a sweater, wishing I had insulated the windows like Chance had advised. But I liked to be able to see out of my windows because you never knew when someone was going to try to murder you with a butcher’s knife and besides, I doubted it would have done much good. The cottage was old, the windows were old, and February in northern Illinois was colder than a witch’s boob in a brass bra. I should know because I once dressed as princess Leia for Halloween on a dare. The Jaba’s-slave version. And I am a witch. Sort of. At least, I had been once, before I stopped believing (Journey was so pissed), and now I was again and it’s still a work in progress to accept the whole thing, but that’s what all the evidence pointed to and that’s what my grandmother Birdie has been training me to believe for the past twenty-eight years.

  Plus there’s a really cool sword and a thick-ass book with my name on it. So, you know. Witch. Sort of.

  The doorbell rang just as I was pouring the soap into the bath.

  I poked my head out as Thor lumbered off the sofa. “That better not be who I think it is.”

  Through the peephole, I could see it was exactly who I thought it was. I swung the door open as Thor sidled up next to me. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Chip Peters used to sweep floors and clean tables at my cousin Cinnamon’s pub before she fired him for being a nutfugget. He looked like a young Howard Stern with more pimples and less personality.

  “Look, I’m not happy about this either.” Chip licked his lips and his eye twitched as he glanced at Thor. Thor taught Chip a lesson in manners not too long ago so Chip had a healthy respect for my Great Dane. “Jesus, that dog gets bigger every time I see him.”

  Chip stared at Thor. Thor curled his upper lip just for fun.

  “You were here an hour ago,” I pointed out.

  Chip couldn’t pull his eyes away from Thor’s giant black and tan head. “He’s like a freaking lion. Except taller.”

  I snapped my fingers. “Chip, are you sure they’re for me this time?”

  He checked the card. “Yep. It says, for Stacy Justice. The most beautiful woman in the world. Love, Leo.” Chip ran his gaze over me, his forehead wrinkling. “This dude must really dig you.” He cocked one bushy eyebrow.

  Okay, so my red hair was in a knotted ponytail, my face was free of makeup which meant the freckles were out in full force, and there was a lot of luggage under my green eyes because I hadn’t slept much lately, but I didn’t need this wiffletwit to tell me that. Even if my bunny slippers were stained with coffee and bacon grease.

  “You know, Chip, you should be a radio show host,” I said.

  Chip smiled, “You think?”

  “Absolutely. You have the face for it.”

  “Thanks,” he said. Then, “Wait—what?”

  I sighed and took the red roses from him. “No tip this time. And if you get another order for me, deliver it directly to the funeral parlor. This place is beginning to look like a wedding reception for a schizophrenic couple.” I glanced around at the other flowers that had taken over my living room. There was a stout green vase filled with daisies, a slim lone orchid plant, a bouquet of pink and purple wildflowers, a fat vase of lilies (the one flower I actually liked) and now roses.

  A sharp wind scurried up my robe right before I shut the door.

  Thor looked at me, questioning. “Yep, they’re from Leo. One arrangement for every month we dated apparently.” I ruffled his ear. “You know if the men who proclaim to care for me really knew me, they’d send pizza and tequila.”

  Thor harrumphed.

  “You get me, though, don’t you, buddy?”

  Thor trotted over to the counter where I had left the menu. He picked it up and brought it to me.

  “Exactly.” I took the menu from him and walked over to my desk where my cell phone was charging.

  I have never been much of a flower person, mostly because I can barely keep myself alive and I hate anything that needs tending. Thor, my familiar, pretty much takes care of both of us, so that’s a different story. Plus, what use are flowers really? They aren’t like herbs, who can not only spice up a dish but your love life given the proper spell. They’re the gift that keeps on giving as long as you plant them. Flowers just sit there and look pretty until they die. Kind of like fine china. Or novelty soap.

  But for some reason, Hallmark or the floral industry, or a maniacal queen, put it into men’s heads that all women wanted flowers, chocolate or jewelry on Valentine’s Day. Not true. Especially a woman no longer interested
in pursuing a relationship of any kind.

  You see, I’d had a rough couple of weeks coming to terms with the whole witch thing, not to mention a few dead bodies that had crossed my path, and a fire that not only destroyed my cousin’s bar but nearly killed both of us and my dog in the process.

  Then there’s the whole ghost thing, which I’m still trying to reacquaint myself with, having abandoned the ability years ago.

  Ever since I was a child, I’d gotten messages from spirits. Sometimes I could see them. Sometimes they sent me visions. Sometimes they infiltrated my dreams. In my family, all of the women were granted a gift of one sort or another and mine happened to be communicating with the dead. Whether I wanted to or not.

  I glanced at the lilies on the side table, walked over and plucked out the card.

  I know these work best when planted, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to have them around. How about coffee at Muddy Waters on Sunday?

  ~Chance

  Chance was my friend, but he was also my high school sweetheart and ever since I had ended things with Leo, the chief of police of Amethyst, I got the feeling Chance wanted to rekindle the old flame.

  But you can get burned by a flame. And I’d played with enough fire lately.

  I couldn’t help but smile at the note, though. Long ago, beneath a starry summer sky, I told Chance that the only flowers I really cared for were lilies because when planted in the garden, lilies kept ghosts at bay and prevented unwanted visitors from entering your home. They also have the power to break a love spell, but that was a non-issue for me.

  It was amazing he remembered that conversation. We were fourteen years old, my father had just died, my mother had abandoned me, and I wanted nothing more to do with magic or my gift.