Chapter 3
Bannon pointed down the main street in town. “The parade will come this way, past Mystic Tides, Beachcombers, and then around the corner. There will be fireworks and magical displays all along the route.”
She turned to point in the direction of the park. “Eventually, the parade will make it to the square where a live band will be playing. There will be food, games, and competitions for best broom riding, bobbing for apples in green beer, and dunking the dragon.”
“Dunking the dragon?” Deaglan asked, enjoying the childlike sparkle in Bannon’s eyes as she talked about the festival.
“We have several dragon shifters in town and they allow themselves to be dunked in the water on St. Patrick’s Day to raise money for the Children’s Cultural Center. When they go under, you should see the cloud of steam that covers the whole park.”
Deaglan laughed at her enthusiasm. “Sounds like fun.”
“That’s just the family-oriented activities. Wait till you experience the late-night festivities.”
Deaglan felt a twist in his belly. Something deep inside him was slowly awakening as he spent time with this beautiful, vibrant woman. He wouldn’t miss his opportunity to see more of her on a personal level. “Are you volunteering to be my guide?”
She hesitated, her round hazel eyes sizing him up, obviously wondering if he would be a problem after too many green beers and magical potions. He concentrated on sending her mental images of his sobriety.
“Sure,” she said at last, and Deaglan felt himself relax.
She’d been correct earlier when she teasingly called him a purveyor of blarney. He had that particular skill perfected to a science. He excelled in the art of physical pleasure with no strings attached, of knowing what to say, and when to say it, to get the results that would profit him the most.
Lately, he’d begun to realize how empty his life had become, and suddenly, it seemed important to show this woman he was more than just idle words and good times with no depth.
“Is something wrong?” Bannon asked, intuitively picking up on his introspection.
“No, I was just thinking of the evening.”
“Well, as you know, Blansett starts the fun early. There’s something planned every night this week, and the festival will be in full swing at the park throughout the weekend. The parade will be the official finale on St. Patrick’s Day. Except, of course, for the celebrations that go through the night and the weekend. Blansett loves to party.” She looked up with a hopeful expression. “So, are you coming to the park tonight?”
“Are you asking me to the festival tonight, Bannon Murphy?”
She laughed then cast her eyes downward. “Only if you want to see a broom race.”
“Are you a contestant?”
“Well, as a matter of fact…”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Deaglan said. Placing his finger under her chin, he tilted her head up looking into her eyes. “And you should know, I’m willing to go anywhere with you. All you have to do is ask.”
Bannon shot him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but I have to get back to work. Molly will only hold the fort for so long.”
Deaglan nodded. “Go. I’m going to explore a bit more on my own. What time do you want me to pick you up tonight?”
* * * *
Bannon fought the tangle of nerves that had settled in her stomach. She wanted to make a good impression on Deaglan, but something told her it wouldn’t be tonight. For the past two years, she’d won the broom racing competition and was a favorite to win this year too. For the benefit of the terrene tourists, all participants were encouraged to wear something “witchy.”
Looking around, Bannon noticed the costumes ranged from classic authentic dress to steampunk witch garb. She was wearing tight-fitting black jeans, black knee-high boots, a long-sleeved black T-shirt with glowing Celtic designs, and a perky black witch’s hat with green and black netting, complete with a sparkling green shamrock on the front.
“You look adorable,” Deaglan whispered in her ear as they walked toward the broom racing area.
“Thanks,” Bannon said. “I’m nervous about this. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Relax. You’ll do fine. You’re lucky 13, I see.”
Bannon saw her broom corralled in the number 13 slot. It hovered slightly off the ground, occasionally throwing colorful sparks that drew appreciative gasps from the terrene population. The sparkles were nothing but eye candy. Some witches would have colorful streamers appear when they took to the air; others preferred the classic no-frills ride.
On the podium, an aged warlock took center stage. He made a theatrical sweep of his hands, and the sound of trumpets filled the air. When the last note died away he shouted, “Witches, mount your brooms.”
Deaglan caught Bannon’s hand as she moved away from him. Tugging her back a step, he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on her lips. At the touch of his mouth, she wanted to forget the broom racing and wrap her arms around his neck, but he’d already stepped back from her.
“For good luck,” he explained.
She felt a nervous ribbon of anticipation unwind through her stomach as she marched over to the broom corral amidst cheering and excited chatter from the crowd. Settling into the small space, she stepped across her broom handle and grasped the neck.
Overhead, a neon number projected magically in the air counting downward 3 – 2 – 1. They were off, at least off the ground. A few feet into the air and Bannon lost her seating. She felt her hands slide down the length of the handle, and the powerful broom roared off into the night on its own path. Oh shit, that’s not good.
Around her, she saw the chaos of falling bodies and out-of-control brooms skittering through the air like frightened mice. Worse, some of the brooms had turned back toward the dumbstruck crowd. Now the audience was screaming and running in circles with hands up, trying to protect their heads.
A large hickory broom centered itself in the middle of a man’s back, shoving him face down into the water reserved for the children’s apple bobbing, where a panicked crowd stampeded past him, nearly drowning him in the vibration waves.
Another broom was being held by the bristles as it swirled and spun in circles, throwing its owner around and around like a spinning top until she fell in a dizzy heap on the ground. Loosened from its restraint, the broom raced away into the night, trailing bright purple streamers like victory flags.
Shouts of anger, and screams of fear, mixed with gales of laughter throughout the crowd. Frightened children clung to their parents crying loudly, and everyone seemed to be talking at once.
“Who greased the broom handles?” the warlock bellowed into the crowd. “Step forward now and save yourself a lot of trouble. You know we will find out who you are, and you’ll be punished accordingly.”
From the corner of her eye, Bannon saw Chief Burke calming the crowd and gathering up brooms that had dropped to the ground when their energy dissipated. She was happy to see that no one seemed physically harmed despite the chaos of uncontrolled brooms shooting through the crowd.
All around her, witches were gathering themselves up from the ground and dusting their dark clothing off. A few were already inspecting their brooms for damage and casting spells of revenge on whoever had greased the broomsticks with magical lubricant. A couple of the younger witches sobbed with embarrassment as a few terrenes made uncomplimentary remarks about women drivers—whether they were on brooms or in cars.
Feeling a bit witchy herself, Bannon passed two of the loudmouths, taking time to meet their eyes as she passed. “Better be careful what you say,” she warned. “Or else some very important body parts may fall off, or become useless. We are witches you know.”
The men’s laughter immediately died, and one clutched at the family jewels to see if they were still intact. He swallowed hard as Bannon passed, never taking his eyes from her. She could feel his stare boring into her back long after she walked away from them. It
took all her willpower not to turn and shoot a pretend spell his way. Just the thought of his reaction made her giggle.
Chapter 4
Saturday, March 11
With her parents volunteering to watch the inn, Bannon felt free to enjoy Deaglan’s company for the evening. They strolled around the green, taking in the various entertainment and food vendors. Bannon watched as a line formed for the Dunk the Dragon booth.
Several shifters had volunteered this year, including Felicia Dennison. Bannon wanted to see how her friend faired in the tank. Dragons notoriously hated water, and the fact they would put themselves in the position to be dunked was a testament to just how much they wanted to help the kids of Blansett.
When Firenze Goldenmere climbed onto the platform, seating himself in a chair, the locals began shouting and whistling excitedly. His presence was a surprise. Firenze was the oldest dragon shifter in the community. His age was rumored to be in the hundreds, but no one knew for certain.
What the town did know was that the old dragon could be the most ill-tempered soul in the community. Bannon thought it was no wonder everyone was lining up to dunk the dragon. Most of the town would like to drown Firenze, given half the chance.
Giving Deaglan a quick rundown of the background, Bannon waited with anticipation to see if anyone could drop the old grumble-butt into the water. She snuggled under the protection of Deaglan’s arm as challenger after challenger tossed balls at the target while he hurled insults at the crowd.
“I think he has it rigged,” Deaglan whispered. “He’s not going to go down.”
At that moment, a tall, pale man stepped to the front of the crowd. He moved with such flowing grace that Bannon guessed he was a vampire. She’d never seen him before tonight and assumed he was in town for the festivities. With dramatic nonchalance, he tossed his silver hair back from his aristocratic features, picking up one of the wooden balls. When he looked at Firenze, he smiled coldly, his fangs flashing red in the carnival lights.
The crowd around him backed up, becoming quiet. Even the terrenes sensed tension in the air and kept their comments and observations to a minimum.
“C’mon, bloodsucker,” Firenze taunted him after a few moments of staring challengingly at one another. “Do your best.”
The vampire moved in a preternatural flash. One moment he was standing there, and the next moment he wasn’t. Firenze was on the ground, in his dragon form, roaring in fury and steaming like a gigantic bowl of rice. The swimming-pool-sized dunk tank had split apart when Firenze fell into it. A wall of cold water rolled through the crowd, knocking people down and flooding nearby booths.
The first wave of water hit Deaglan and Bannon unexpectedly, knocking their feet out from under them with its force. Bannon ended up on the ground under Deaglan shivering in the freezing wetness. She could hear Firenze’s angry bellowing, and then a second wave hit them in the form of impenetrable fog from the dragon’s heated scales.
Leaping up, Deaglan pulled Bannon to her feet, putting both of his arms around her and holding her tightly. She could feel the brush of magic skitter across her skin, and her clothing immediately felt warm and dry. All around her, in the blinding fog, she could hear the terrenes’ remarks coming from throughout the crowd.
“I’m freezing in these wet clothes.”
“Can you see the kids?”
“This is the second night in a row we almost got killed.”
“I’ve had enough. It’s time to go home.”
“I told you it’s not magic. It’s special effects, and they can’t even get those right.”
All different voices, but not different sentiments. The crowd was unhappy.
“We should see if Firenze is okay,” Bannon said, choking back tears as Deaglan gave her a supportive hug.
“It will all work out,” he whispered, guiding her through the mist to the old dragon, who had changed back into human form, although his eyes still burned with dragon fire. He snarled at them, and Bannon cringed, but Deaglan ignored him, thumping the old man gently on the shoulder. “You okay? Can you tell me what happened?”
Firenze looked as if he might be ready to take Deaglan’s head off, and then he seemed to deflate, looking like nothing more than a tired old man. “The vampire hit me. I don’t mean with the ball. He mentally and physically slammed into me, and I think he deliberately deconstructed the pool so the crowd would be involved.”
Deaglan nodded as if he had thought as much. “Do you know who this vampire is? Have you ever seen him before?”
Firenze shook his head. “No, but if I ever see him again…”
Deaglan nodded in respect. “Go in peace, Firenze Caven Goldenmere. The vampire will be dealt with. I will personally donate to the children’s center for your efforts here tonight, and I will see that Blansett has enough funding to build a fire pit for the young dragonborns.”
The flames flickered and went out in Firenze’s eyes. He muttered a guttural phrase in what Bannon assumed was his native language.
Deaglan responded to him in the same tongue then took Bannon’s hand and led her away. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for the evening. Do you want to go back to my room?”
“Let’s go to my apartment,” Bannon offered. “I need a glass of wine, and we need to figure out what’s going on. Maybe I should call Helena-Marie?”
* * * *
Settled into her apartment with a glass of merlot in her hand, Bannon asked a question that had been on her mind since the park. “How did you know Firenze’s full name? Caven? Really?”
Deaglan smiled, pulling her across the sofa so that she was leaning tightly against him. “He’s an ancient and honorable dragon. I know you see a grumpy old man, but Firenze was a great warrior that kept the earth safe for many centuries. His lineage were cave dwellers before they learned to interact with humans. Thus, all his kin have the middle name Caven.”
“Why couldn’t he stop the vampire’s attack?”
Deaglan looked a little sad. “Firenze is at the end of his existence. He has very little time left. His strength is gone. He’s vulnerable.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Bannon felt guilty for all the times she’d wished Firenze would just disappear.
Deaglan took the glass of wine from her hand and set it aside. “He’s happy to move on. Don’t feel sorry for him.”
“Should I call Helena-Marie?” Bannon asked.
Deaglan shrugged. “And tell her what? And old man is at the end of his time? She’s well aware of that. Some kids greased broom handles at the race? I’m sure she’s already heard all about it. Or that a mischief-making vampire caused a bit of trouble at the dunking booth? Neither of those pranks was meant to cause any real harm. It’s nuisance stuff. Let Chief Burke handle it.”
“But…” Bannon started to protest before Deaglan’s lips came down to silence her.
When he drew back, he smiled at her. “Do you really want to keep talking about this?”
Bannon clutched a fistful of his shirt in her hand, drawing him back to her mouth. “About what?” she whispered against his lips.
Chapter 5
Tuesday, March 14
The whole town of Blansett seemed to be under a spell. Love, mischief, and prophecies had the citizens of Magicville in a whirl. Bannon had never seen Helena-Marie distracted from the duties of her position of mayor, but she had blown off the shenanigans at the festival without even giving them a cursory thought.
Bannon couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was behind the disruptions. Already the crowds were down compared to what they had been from the year before. She needed to put some effort into finding the true cause of the mischief, but there was the little issue of her heart to consider and an inn full of high-maintenance guests to deal with.
Admittedly, Bannon was well and truly on her way to being head over heels in love with Deaglan O’Brian. Her logical brain insisted it was much too fast to be in love, but her heart knew she had found her soulmate. Th
e weekend spent together had forged a bond between them that seemed almost otherworldly, causing Bannon to wonder if some belated Valentine’s Day spell was still lingering around.
The problem was that he would be leaving at the end of the month, going back to Ireland with all the other magical guests. She couldn’t imagine not seeing him every day, not feeling his touch or hearing his voice. What would she do without him? She would go on, she knew, but life wouldn’t be the same.
Pushing her jumbled thoughts to the back of her mind, she concentrated on her duties. One of the pixies stood in front of her asking about the firefly run scheduled for the next evening.
“Running with the fireflies. It’s one of my favorite festivities,” Bannon told her. “Instead of running with the bulls like they do in Spain, we release thousands of fireflies. They flitter through the streets sparkling like little jewels. The children chase them, trying to capture their favorite. In the past few years everyone has joined in the fun. It’s become quite a favorite with the tourists. Anyone lucky enough to catch a magical firefly gets a surprise.”
The pixie’s pointed ears quivered with anticipation. “What is the surprise?”
Bannon leaned closer and whispered, “Now, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. You have to catch one for yourself and see.”
The pixie fluttered back, and her catlike eyes narrowed. Uh-oh, that was not the answer she wanted, Bannon thought, she’s going to spell me. A softly cleared throat stopped the buzzing pixie in midair. She whirled around to face Deaglan and smiled widely, showing her tiny pointed teeth. With a wave of her wand, she left pink pixie dust settling over the reception desk and lobby floor, sprinkling all the way to the elevator.
I’ll have to call housekeeping, Bannon thought, then noticed the way Deaglan was staring at her.
“Am I spotted? Or green? Or something?” Bannon asked, brushing the sparkling pink mixture out of her hair and off her clothes.
Mystic Luck (Mystic Tides Book 2) Page 2