Bloodstone (A Stacy Justice Mystery)
Page 20
“Don’t answer it,” Chance said.
I smiled. “Two minutes.”
The voice on the other end of the line was gruff. “Stacy Justice?”
“Speaking.”
“Stacy Justice the second, right?”
“Yes.”
Chance tickled me and I laughed.
“I just thought you should know that I have the tapes.”
“What tapes?” I asked slapping Chance’s hands away.
The man on the phone swore softly. “You haven’t gone through his files yet have you?”
“Whose files? What you are talking about?”
Chance looked at me, concerned. He raised his hand, questioningly. I shrugged.
“It wasn’t an accident,” the man said.
I sat down in my chair, that creepy-crawly feeling climbing up my spine. “Who is this?”
A pause. Then he repeated it. "It wasn't an accident. Your father was murdered.”
Click.
Author’s Note
While writers often take great liberties in fiction, much of what you read comes from hours of research. I thought fans of my work might be interested to know that there is indeed a Ballymote book and it resides within the halls of the Royal Irish Academy.
The first page is still missing.
You may be surprised to learn that Ogham was a written language and that in Northern Europe today, there are approximately 500 known stone carvings engraved with this script.
This is what it looks like:
Translation:
Money is honored, without money nobody is loved
Now what about the zombie powder, you ask? Well, that too is an actual poison derived from the puffer fish and has been used as Fiona described.
Sadly, the antidote is not bat poop.
This book takes place sometime between Imbolc and Ostara, the spring equinox. Ostara occurs around March 21 when the balance of light and dark is equal. It’s a day when the world has one foot in the dead of winter and one aimed toward the birth of spring. Rituals vary on this day and may include chasing winter away via a banishing spell or spring ‘cleaning’ with a sage smudge stick. Egg decorating is also popular this time of year. Eggs symbolize fertility and life—much like Mother Earth is awakening, preparing to accept new seeds into her belly.
Below are some recipes to wake up your body and soul from a long, harsh winter.
Salmon en Croute
In Celtic mythology, salmon are a magical fish that grants the eater knowledge of all things.
Notes:
Non-stick spray may be substituted for melted butter.
Keep the phyllo covered with plastic wrap and a damp towel until ready to assemble, otherwise it will dry out.
2 cloves garlic
1 7 oz jar sun-dried tomatoes in olive oil
3 cups torn basil leaves
salt and pepper to taste
1 package 9x14 phyllo dough, thawed
1 cup melted butter
10 4oz salmon filets, skin removed
2 eggs, beaten, mixed with ¼ cup water
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. In a food processor, blend garlic, tomatoes with oil, basil, salt and pepper. Set aside. Grease 2 large cookie sheets. Carefully lay five sheets of phyllo across each cookie sheet, overlapping, and brushing each sheet with melted butter. Repeat. Divide salmon evenly among each cookie sheet vertically and place on top of phyllo, leaving a space between each filet. Divide and spread basil mixture on top of each individual salmon filet. Cover salmon with five sheets of phyllo, brushing each sheet with butter. Repeat. With a pizza cutter or knife, slice in between each filet. Using egg wash, fold sides of phyllo together to form individual “packets”. Bake for 15-20 minutes.
Lemon Zucchini Bake
Use lemon thyme to add a sweet, citrus flavor to everything from poultry to vegetables. If you can’t find it in your area, try chopped lemon balm, lemon verbena or lemon basil.
2 large zucchinis, thinly sliced
1 large Vidalia onion, thinly sliced
4 tablespoons of butter, melted
¼ cup seasoned breadcrumbs
¼ cup Parmesan cheese
2 teaspoons of lemon thyme leaves
Mix breadcrumbs, cheese and thyme. In a round casserole dish, layer ½ of the zucchini and ½ of the onion slices. Baste with butter. Add half the breadcrumb mixture. Repeat layers and bake, covered, in a 350-degree oven for 20 minutes. Servings: Serves 4-6.
Body Scrub
Sugar scrubs are a great way to slough off stress and dead skin. For unique scents, try layering dried herbs like lavender (revitalizing) or peppermint (energizing) with a cup of white sugar and let stand for two weeks before use, shaking periodically. Then blend with a tablespoon of light oil such as sunflower seed. Slough away dead skin in the shower or tub.
Other Titles by Barbra Annino
Opal Fire - Stacy Justice Book One
Sexual Healing - short stories
Gnome Wars - short story
Doppelganger - a novella
Every Witch Way But Wicked - anthology (includes a Stacy Justice story)
Pink Snowbunnies in Hell - anthology
Thank you for reading my work! Feel free to lend this book to friends and family and please leave a review sharing your thoughts about the story. If you do write a review for either Opal Fire or Bloodstone, send me an email for a free copy of Every Witch Way but Wicked, a magical anthology of 11 witchy tales that includes a Stacy Justice short story and a forward by Amanda Hocking.
Don’t forget to check the website for contest information and for Tiger’s Eye—book three of Stacy’s story. You could win a free copy of a book, a “Thor Loves You” tote bag or even the chance to name a character!
Connect with me online
mailto:authorbarbraannino@gmail.com
Website - for contests, upcoming titles and more
Facebook
Twitter
Excerpt From Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She’s Dead, by Christiana Miller
At the beginning of this whole, surreal journey, I had no idea you could be evicted from your body as easily as you could be booted out of your apartment. Easier, actually, since there’s none of those pesky laws in place to protect you. But it all started out so innocently. . . With a streak of bad luck.
One of the problems with being a witch is when you ask the universe a question, it generally gives you an answer. Or just enough of one to ruin a perfectly good week.
But since it was my birthday. . .
And since I was an eternal optimist. . .
And mostly ‘cause I was stuck at the longest red light in the history of traffic, with nothing else to do. . .
I dug my tarot deck out of my purse and pulled three cards for the coming year.
Death.
Three of Swords.
The Tower.
Transformation. Sorrow. Change through destruction. Happy birthday to me.
Damn it. I shouldn’t have looked. You’d think I’d know better by now. Damn tarot cards always suckered me into peeking into my future and I just about always regretted it. Because the hell of it was. . .
They were usually right.
After a quick stop at Trader Joe’s, I was finally home. I propped the grocery bag on my hip, wrestled open the wrought iron gate and placed my hand on my mailbox. Mara Stephens, Apt 1-C.
I stood for a second, hoping my unemployment check was in there and tried to read the vibes. This was a game I always played with myself—a small psychic exercise to keep my ‘sight’ sharp. But I didn’t feel any sense of urgency or hope. Just a whopping dose of dread.
Great. So my guess was no check, but at least one major bill I’d have to pay. I unlocked the box and quickly sorted through the mail. Sure enough—a sale flyer from the Crooked Pantry, a birthday card from a temp agency and a pink notice from the Dept. of Water and Power.
Good thing I had plenty of candles to fall back on. And a swimming pool. Maybe I coul
d shower over the drain in the courtyard, with the garden hose. People washed their dogs there all the time. And my shampoo was considerably less toxic than flea dip.
Tucked into the back of the mailbox was a reminder about the rent. At least that was one thing I didn’t need to worry about. Lenny knew I was good for it. How much longer I’d be able to pay the rent though. . . That thought made me queasy.
Suddenly, a wave of panic hit my stomach and clenched it hard. Forget crawling, gooseflesh positively raced across my arms. I struggled to breathe. Whatever was wrong, it all seemed to be coming from the direction of my apartment.
I dropped my mail into the grocery bag and peeked around the corner of the mail stand. Behind the screen door, my front door was wide open.
Shit! I ducked back behind the mailboxes and fumbled through my purse for my cell phone.
I flipped open the phone and hit 9-1-1.
Busy.
I hung up and tried again.
Still busy.
Bloody hell. No wonder the crime rate was so high in Los Angeles. I didn’t know what the non-emergency number was, so I decided to call my home phone and warn the intruder to clear out.
If I was lucky, it would just be a break-in. A simple case of anonymous robbery. I’d warn them that I was on my way home and they’d hit the road with their haul.
But as I punched in the first three digits, the phone beeped, the battery icon blinked and the screen went black.
Damn it. I shoved the phone back into my purse and took another look at my apartment. The living room lights had been turned on against the gathering dusk. But why would robbers turn on the lights? Didn’t that negate the whole idea of stealth?
I crept closer. That’s when I saw Mrs. Lasio, the new building manager, planted like a bull in my living room.
Great. Just freaking great. Why did it have to be her? Why couldn’t it have been some whacked-out crack-head carting off my TV?
If you enjoyed this excerpt, you can get the full story at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Diesel, or Smashwords.
Copyright 2011, Barbra Annino, license Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities between the characters, places or events that take place in this book are strictly coincidental.