by Liz Schulte
Blood poured from Chip’s skull, but he just smiled. I was stunned. Couldn’t believe it didn’t knock him out, but it slowed him just enough so that I could scramble out from beneath his weight and crawl forward.
But the snow was too deep. My jeans were soaked, my legs were freezing, and I wasn’t moving fast enough.
He clamped onto my ankle and yanked me back. I flipped over and round-house kicked him in the jaw.
“Bitch!” he yelled and pounced on top of me again. There was something in his hand. A shard of glass.
I gripped his arm with both hands before he could slice me with it and we struggled back and forth for several seconds. Chip was strong. And I hadn’t been training long enough. Hadn’t built up enough muscles yet to best a kid on the wrestling team. I held on with all my might as his hand inched closer to my face. I kicked him in the leg, but it wasn’t enough to faze him. That’s when I realized that there was something about the spell. Or something about the spirit—that was feeding strength and anger to its victims.
The shard came closer to my cheek, my eye, my throat. I cried out as I managed to push back, if only a little.
That’s when I heard, “Hey!” And the sound of glass breaking.
Chip loosened his grip and I turned my head to see Chance running up my driveway, a tire iron in his hand. He must have used it to smash Chip’s headlight because it was scattered all over the ground.
“I’ll give you one second to get the hell off of her before I bash your skull in.” Chance ran toward us.
Chip gave me a sinister grin, but he released me. Stood up.
I looked around at the crushed lilies and my heart sunk. How would I break the curse now?
Chance shoved Chip. “What the hell is wrong with you, Man? You’re lucky I don’t kick your ass right now.”
To me, he said, “You okay? Jesus, Stacy, did he hurt you?”
He helped me to my feet.
“I’m okay.”
“Good, because I’m going to kill him.”
Chip looked dazed, but he didn’t move.
I grabbed Chance’s arm. “No. Don’t. Let him go.”
He looked at me like I had grown another head. “Are you nuts? No way. He’s going to jail.”
I had to think fast. This wasn’t Chip’s fault, I knew. Although a spell couldn’t make you do things against your nature, it could make you do things out of character. Chip probably had a bit of a temper and he didn’t like me, sure, but he wouldn’t intentionally hurt me. Especially not like that. He was a trouble maker but he wasn’t a monster.
I had to convince Chance to leave it alone. “Leo is inside. A neighbor called. The guests got a bit noisy.” It wasn’t a lie. “I’ll tell him what happened and he’ll take care of Chip.”
Chance looked doubtful. I squeezed his arm. “Please. Trust me.”
His eyes met mine and there were no swirlies. Just concern. And caring.
“Are you sure, Stacy? I mean, the guy just attacked you.” He glanced at Chip who still had a dazed look on his face and possibly a concussion. The kid was examining the busted headlight. Was the spell wearing off?
Chance knew I wasn’t stupid or weak and that I had a strong belief in Justice. It was literally my last name for crying out loud. So I had to tell him something.
I whispered, “The kid’s not in his right mind. Drugs maybe.”
Chance looked back at Chip. “Really?”
Good grief, now I had to find a story that would reveal a drug problem in Amethyst. A town of less than a thousand where the median age is AARP. Pretty sure the only drugs used here were blood pressure medication and Viagra.
“Besides, he really needs to go to the hospital. I hit him pretty hard,” I said.
“He’s lucky I don’t put him in the hospital,” Chance said.
Chip got in his car and started the engine.
“See, he’s leaving.” I actually hoped he did go to a clinic. I’d make a point to mention it to Leo to check on him.
We watched the teenager back out of the driveway.
“Look, I have to go.” I glanced down at the crushed flowers. “Sorry about the lilies.” He had no idea. “They were beautiful.”
Chance gave me a small smile. “No problem. Just wanted to brighten your day. Come on, I’ll walk you back.”
“No, that’s okay.”
Chance sighed and stared at me a moment. “Okay. I was just changing a flat. So if he comes back, I’ll bust more than his headlight.”
“Sounds fair,” I said.
“I’ll stay here until you get inside.”
“Also fair.”
I planted a quick kiss on his cheek and thanked him, hurrying back to the house with no plan in mind.
When I arrived, it seemed someone else had one.
Chapter Eight
When I walked into the kitchen, Fiona was back at the stove. Except her hand was hovering over a dangerously high flame and there was a cleaver floating above her head.
Before I could utter a word, Birdie walked in saying, “They are digging into the Wellington and potatoes and many of them are sipping Lolly’s cocktails. She’s performing a puppet show now.”
She stopped short when she saw the look on my face. She trailed her gaze to Fiona and her breath caught in her throat.
“This is not a spell gone awry,” she seethed. “This is a malevolent spirit.”
The wheels were turning in my mind. Chip’s violence. The guests fighting like they were on a reality show, the odd wife-swap scenario, the aspect of physical touch. Obviously, none of that was Fiona’s intention when she and Lolly cast their love enhancement spell. So either someone intervened on purpose or the energy of a ghost who hated happy couples mucked everything up.
I said, “It could be both.”
Birdie clucked her tongue. “Anastasia, you need to focus and stop dwelling on the spell. Find your instincts, child.”
I stared at Fiona. Sweat was pooling around her brow and her hand was reddening. “I am, Birdie. Listen to me. The spell Fiona cast, the ghost seems to be haunting her specifically. Somehow the two are connected. I’m telling you. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Birdie straightened. “And I am telling you, granddaughter, this is the work of a spirit alone.”
Fiona said, “Can you please argue about this some other time? It’s getting hot over here.”
I called, “Fiona, you said, you altered the traditional spell. What did you do differently this time?”
Fiona furrowed her brow.
“Think, sister!” Birdie shouted.
The cleaver teetered lower.
“Don’t yell at her, Birdie. That won’t help.” I looked at my great aunt. “Fiona, what was different this time? This spirit is connected to you and you alone. Has to be. So tell me what the alteration was.”
Fiona licked her lips.
Then her face sparked. “Yes, that’s right. I used one of my diamonds. Birdie wasn’t here, so I used one of my own. Normally, I don’t do that because of my gift. It’s too strong. It would cast too wide a net.”
Birdie said, “Okay so what diamond? Who gave it to you?”
I was trying to tap into my mind, my heart, my gift. I still couldn’t see who was holding the middle Geraghty Girl’s hand over the hot flame. A blister appeared on her palm. She winced, as did I.
Fiona said. “I don’t know. My first husband perhaps. Or maybe my fiancé after my third husband. It could have been my first love, but I don’t think he gave me a diamond. I think that was a ruby.”
“You know you really need to map that tree someday, Fiona,” I said.
Birdie said, “Not helping.”
“Sorry.”
Fiona explained that she had the settings stripped after a husband died or an engagement didn’t pan out. She said energy is stored in the metal, but the stones can be cleansed. She seemed to be growing weaker by the moment. Her hand inched closer to the flame and she cried out.
&nb
sp; “Think, child!” Birdie said to me.
“Okay, okay. Um.” My mind was blank. “I don’t know.” I raised my hands. “I guess we’re looking for a guy with an affinity for red meat and wicked mad knife skills.”
“Well that was no help at all,” mumbled my grandmother.
Fiona brightened and her hand lifted a bit. “No, wait. She’s right!” She looked at Birdie. “Pierre.”
Birdie’s face took on such a look of surprise that Fiona may as well have said she was pregnant with George Clooney’s baby.
“Oh no,” Birdie said. “The one you killed?”
I snapped my head toward Birdie and then Fiona. “You killed a man? This is way above my pay grade, ladies.”
Fiona shot Birdie a death stare, cleaver still dancing above her skull. “I did no such thing, Birdie, honestly. Why would you say it like that?”
Thank the goddess.
Birdie shrugged. “Well, he must think so.”
“Will someone please let me buy a vowel?” I asked.
Fiona said, “Pierre was a French chef with anger issues, an eye for the ladies, and a love of red wine. When I broke off our engagement he rushed out of the restaurant so fast, I didn’t even have time to return his ring.” Fiona closed her eyes. “Minutes later, he was hit by a train. Killed instantly.”
I sucked in a breath. “He committed suicide?”
A look of regret washed over her face. “I honestly had no idea he would take it so hard. We were only together a few months. We were just kids, really.”
The cleaver clanked to the floor, the burner turned off on the stove, and Pierre fizzed into view before my eyes.
He was incredibly handsome, smoking a cigarette, and looked really, really pissed.
“He’s here,” I said. “I can see him.”
Pierre turned his glare toward me. I held up my hands. “Just the messenger, buddy. Just the messenger.”
Fiona gasped in relief and rushed to the sink. Birdie was at her side in a flash, preparing an ice bath. The healing salve would come later, I knew.
Pierre glided to the island. His form blinked in and out of view like a television set struggling to find a signal. I was still getting reacquainted with my ability, so I wasn’t certain if that was normal, if there was something wrong with him (other than being dead), or if my own gift simply wasn’t strong enough.
I watched as his finger traced the heart he had etched into the island earlier. He turned to me and I was surprised to see not anger, but grief all around him—in the slump of his shoulder, the way he held his head, in his watery blue eyes.
I asked softly, “What is it you want? Why are you trying to hurt Fiona?”
He tried to mouth something but I heard nothing.
“What is he saying?” Fiona asked, her burned hand soaking.
“I don’t know. I can’t hear him.”
He looked skyward and blinked. Then he pointed to Fiona, pointed to the broken heart, then himself.
I gulped. How do you deliver the news to your aunt that not only had she broken a man’s heart, but that he couldn’t rest because of it?
“He’s saying that you broke his heart.”
Fiona slapped her good hand to her chest. “Me? Are you kidding? Me?”
Her shock surprised me, frankly. My aunt Fiona, so I’d been told, had left a trail of broken hearts from here to Ireland and back. So why not this guy?
Birdie shook her head.
“What am I missing?” I asked.
“You tell that man that he broke my heart,” Fiona said.
Birdie said, “Oh he did not. It’s not like you were in love with him.”
“Doesn’t matter. What he did was unforgivable,” Fiona said.
Pierre looked up, startled by Fiona’s accusation, it seemed. He raised his shoulders and arms as if to say, “Excuse me?”
Fiona said, “Do you hear me, Pierre? You were the one who made a pass at the waitress.”
Pierre rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“He’s saying no.”
Then he waved his arms at me.
“Wait, he’s saying no to me.”
He again pointed. First to himself, then to Fiona, then the heart. Then he made a gesture as if he was tossing something out the window.
“She stole your heart? Is that it?”
He shook his head, furiously. Then he thought a moment. Finally, he pointed to his ring finger and made a movement as if ripping off a ring and tossing it out the window.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
Suddenly another apparition appeared and took Pierre’s hand. She spoke to him, words I could not hear, and he faded out of sight.
“Maybe I can explain,” she said.
Chapter Nine
The waitress, only recently deceased, told me the story of an odd love triangle that involved herself, Pierre, and Fiona.
It seemed that Pierre had been in love with the waitress for a long time, except she had no interest in dating a chef. Her father had been a great chef, but a lousy husband and father, and so she wanted nothing to do with the young, handsome Pierre. After months of getting nowhere with his true love, Pierre eventually turned to Fiona for help, based on her reputation around town for matchmaking.
Which is when things got sticky.
Fiona’s pull was so strong, her gift so untamed, that he began to have feelings for her instead.
Which was easy to believe. We had no less than 27 newspaper delivery boys when I was growing up. All males fell a little bit in love with my great aunt. It was her gift, but it was also her curse.
“That’s why he was angry so frequently. His emotions were misdirected. He must have been so confused. It would drive anyone mad,” Fiona said.
“It also explains what’s been happening around here. The switching of partners, the temper flares,” I said.
So after Fiona broke the engagement, Pierre realized she wasn’t the one he wanted. He ran straight for his true love’s house. He didn’t see the train.
Birdie said, “You didn’t have a handle on your gift back then, Fiona. None of us did.”
Fiona sighed. “I feel just awful. But I still don’t understand what he wants.”
“He wants the diamond back,” I said. “So he can give his heart to the woman it belongs to.”
The phantom waitress smiled.
Fiona retrieved the sachet she and Lolly had used for the spell. She opened it, dumped the contents on the counter.
The waitress looked at the stone and smiled. She tried to touch it, and as she did, both she and Pierre burst into full view. He put his left hand onto hers and she smiled up at him. Then they faded into the ether together.
Fiona said. “I’ll take it to his grave and bury it. That should help them both pass over into the Summerland.” She looked at me and smiled. “Thank you, Stacy.”
Birdie squeezed my shoulders and whispered, “You’ve done well.”
Chapter Ten
Back in the dining room, the guests were happily chatting. Lolly’s tea wasn’t as strong when diluted with wine, so she was able to swap out the tainted stuff for the real goods seamlessly. Everyone had fallen back in love with the people they came with and Leo was sitting there looking like he had no idea what he was doing at the Geraghty Girls’ dining room table. I walked over to him and told him he may want to check on Chip. Before he could ask why, his radio buzzed.
He picked it up, said a few words into the receiver, and looked at me. “Please thank your grandmother for dinner. I have to go.”
“Okay. Nothing serious, I hope,” I said.
Leo shrugged into his jacket and said, “Some idiot gave the Shelby goats Viagra. Poor things are stuck in a heart-shaped formation because they’re standing there like tripods.”
Yep. That’s Amethyst for you. You never knew what was going to happen.
END
About the Author
Barbra Annino is the author of the enchanting and popular Stacy Ju
stice mystery series with six titles so far and more to come. Sin City Goddess is the first title in her exciting Secret Goddess series and The Bitches of Everafter is the first novel in the new spellbinding trilogy based on the Grimm fairy tales. Originally from Chicago, she shares her home with her husband and their Great Danes, all of whom contribute to her books in unique ways.
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KIDNAPPING CUPID
Christiana Miller
Kidnapping Cupid
by Christiana Miller
Copyright © 2016 Christiana Miller
All Rights Reserved
HekaRose Publishing Electronic Edition
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
Mara comes home to find Gus has trapped Eros, the Greek God of Love & Lust, in a cage and refuses to let him go.
This story takes place after Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We’re in Trouble and before A Tale of Three Witches.
Chapter One
It’s not easy bein’ witchy. Some days are harder than others. And Gus, my best friend and fellow witch, delighted in making it harder than it needed to be. Like today. I had just come home from another failed job hunt and a prenatal check-up to find a breathtakingly beautiful young guy locked inside a cage. On the floor under the cage was a giant double circle, drawn in salt, with various sigils in-between the two circles.