No Shoes, No Shirt, No Spells

by Rose Pressey

  NO SHOES, NO SHIRT, NO SPELLS

  by Rose Pressey

  Copyright © 2011 by Rose Pressey

  More books by Rose Pressey:

  How to Date a Werewolf (Rylie Cruz Series, Book 1)

  How to Date a Vampire (Rylie Cruz Series, Book 2)

  How to Date a Demon (Rylie Cruz Series, Book 3)

  Me and My Ghoulfriends (Larue Donavan Series, Book 1)

  Ghouls Night Out (Larue Donavan Series, Book 2)

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, places, and brands are the product of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Dedication

  This is to you and you know who you are.

  Acknowledgements

  Once again, to my son, who brings me joy every single day. To my mother, who introduced me to the love of books. To my husband, who came up with the great title. A huge thank you to my editor, Em with Proof of Romance. A special thanks to Frannie for the hilarious girdle story.

  Chapter One“This town would fall apart without magic.” Grandma Imelda plopped the big leather-bound book onto the café’s kitchen counter. “The people of Mystic Hollow needed me…and now they need you.”

  “You want me to add magic to the food? Me? You do remember that incident with the grilled cheese and the fire department, right?” Sure, I’d been fourteen at the time. Fourteen years later, and my clumsiness hadn’t changed much. I took in a deep breath, catching a whiff of fresh-from-the-oven biscuits and wild blueberry muffins. In spite of the aroma, my insides churned and bubbled, forming a big ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.

  Grandma Imelda nodded. Her expression remained impervious at the reminder of the house fire episode. The mass of white hair whirled high on top of her head like a giant ice cream cone didn’t budge an inch as she pushed the massive aged book toward me—the thing took up half the counter space. Across the front of the book, the words Mystic Magic stared back at me, revealing the gravity of the situation. I traced the gold embossed letters with my index finger.

  “Don’t gawk at it, honey, open it up,” she nudged with a tap of her crimson-red painted fingernail against the counter.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this before now?” I looked at her, then back at the mysterious tome.

  Out of nowhere, she had hit me with this magic business. I didn’t know if she’d lost her mind, or if I had, and I was only imagining this whole peculiar state of affairs.

  “It wasn’t the right time to hand over the controls. You weren’t ready to handle the steering wheel.”

  “What makes you think I’m ready now? I got a speeding ticket just last week.”

  She chuckled. “You’ll be fine.”

  Wafts of cinnamon, vanilla and nutmeg tickled my nostrils when I flipped open the cover. The pages were made of thick, cream-colored paper with romantic black font. Each one had its own unique symbol placed in the center at the top. A book of magic spells; I expected sparkles to pop out with each turned page.

  Grandma Imelda had announced her retirement two days before and insisted that her little café was now mine. Imagine. Me running a café. Of all the career options out there, this was the last one I’d have selected for myself. I wasn’t sure my experience as an administrative assistant qualified me for restaurant management. But she didn’t seem concerned. Now I had to figure out how to run the whole operation, magic and all. Pronto.

  “Running this place is one thing, but magic? How is that possible?” I fingered the pages of the book.

  “Follow my recipes and it’ll be as if I’m still here.” She reached across the counter and squeezed my hand.

  Magic was make-believe, part of fairy tales and their promises of happily ever after. But regardless of how hard this was for me to accept, by taking the book I’d promised to follow her recipes exactly as she’d specified, and I never liked to break a promise.

  “How will I know what kind of spells to use?” I asked. “People can’t ask for specific help if they don’t know they’re receiving it.”

  “You’ll know what spells are needed. You’ll feel it.” She pointed toward my heart. “Right there.”

  So far, I felt nothing other than the burning desire to run away from this situation as fast as my legs would carry me. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be nearly as quick as needed. Days ago, I’d been in my tiny Brooklyn apartment, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. After a long day working too many hours for too little pay for a boss who thought it was her world and everyone else was living in it, I wanted nothing more than to relax and watch Paula Deen prepare some down-home cookin’. I loved Paula, even if her idea of low fat was three sticks of butter per recipe instead of six. My cooking might not be the best, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t fantasize about giving Paula a run for her money.

  That night, as if Grandma Imelda sensed my misery, she called. The next thing I knew, I was on a plane headed back to Kentucky for a ‘family emergency’, which turned out to be nothing more than Grandma Imelda wanting to retire, effective immediately. When she got an idea in her head, she didn’t stop until she’d accomplished her goal. Her goal this time: walk along the sandy Atlantic shore and read a good book. Grandma Imelda had insisted I arrive at the butt-crack of dawn to pick up the keys, churn out biscuits, prepare batter for pancakes, and have a crash course in magic spell preparation before she took off for oranges and Disney World.

  Mystic Café served good ol’ southern food for breakfast and lunch, plus mouthwatering desserts. Grandma’s pies and cakes ranked at the top of my favorite indulgences list—even above white chocolate. I know it’s not real chocolate, but it’s oh-so-creamy. My mouth watered just thinking of the intense flavor of grandma’s juicy blueberry pie. For the love of all things deep-fried, how was I going to live up to her talent? How would I fill her apron strings?

  “Grandma, you know I can’t cook like you.” Like I said, I’d never been the best cook, even though I’d always loved to bake. But baking was a far cry from serving breakfast and lunch every day.

  “You’ll be fine, Elly. You know how many years I worked to make the café a success. If I had any doubts, I wouldn’t hand this place over to you.”

  No pressure. No pressure, at all. I’d worked in the café every day after high school, but that was years ago. Back then, grandma had allowed me more and more opportunities to handle the cooking, but baking was always my favorite—my specialty: red velvet cake. When she’d hovered over my shoulder, telling me which ingredients to add, I’d thought she was only checking my work, now I knew she had been adding her magic.

  “At least I finally got you back here. It was hard to get the magic to you when you lived so far away. Why do you think I sent you those cookies all the time?”

  “I thought you were being grandmotherly.”

  “From the looks of your skinny self, I can tell you didn’t eat any.” She squeezed my arm.

  “Pshaw. Look at my hips. I’m well within the healthy range for my height, thank you very much.”

  Grandma pinched off a piece of warm biscuit. When I parted my lips to speak again, she popped the morsel into my mouth. I coughed, then chewed in order to prevent choking.

  She winked and broke of
f another piece and dropped it into her mouth. When grandma finished chewing, she said, “When I make customers’ individual meals, I add the spell meant for them, but some of the desserts have general spells attached to them. The general spells are a piece of cake.”

  Easy for her to say.

  Chapter Two

  “General spells?” I rubbed my temples, feeling a throbbing pain begin its steady pounding in my head.

  “Yes, for things like health, love... Everyone can use those things.” She smiled.

  “I suppose that’s true.” When I finished the rest of her biscuit, I asked, “Am I a witch?” Next thing I knew, I’d grow warts and cackle.

  “I can’t answer that question, dear, only you can know that,” she said with a wink and a twinkle in her eyes. The same twinkle she had when, at the age of six, I asked her if Santa Claus was real.

  “You’re not telling me everything,” I pressed.

  “This is a lot to understand, Elly, I know that, but everything will fall into place. You’ll see. I have faith in you.” Just because she had faith in me didn’t mean I had faith in myself. “Everything you need to know is in the book. And remember, focus is the most important part. You can’t be thinking ‘bout your grocery list.”

  How would I focus on something I didn’t understand? I wasn’t convinced I believed in her magic. Grandma wouldn’t lie to me, but still…magic?

  She glanced at the delicate gold watch on her wrist. “It’s time to open, why don’t you go flip the sign.”

  We’d prepped the café for the breakfast crowd, but I wasn’t sure I was prepped. I did as I was told though, and flipped the sign in the window to Open and unlocked the door. The first customer didn’t waste any time marching in once we’d opened for business.

  “Did Mom know about this? Is that why she didn’t want to run the café?” I watched as a man slipped into a booth by the front window. He pulled out his newspaper and began reading.

  “No, she doesn’t know. She’d rather clean toilets than cook a meal. You should know that by now.” She patted me on the back. “Go tend to the customer, dear. Why don’t you give the magic a try?”

  My mouth felt as if I’d devoured a package of saltines. “How will I know what magic to use on whom?”

  “It’s part of the magic. Intuitive. You’ll know and feel it. Use the book and follow the spells.”

  This was getting weirder by the minute.

  “I don’t know what to do.” My hands tingled and my heart thumped. “I can’t do this.” I shook my head.

  She held my arm. “You can do this. Just give it a try. Now concentrate. Go over and tell me what you feel from him. Does he send off any vibes to you?”

  I took in a deep breath and studied the customer. A middle-aged man who wore jeans a little too short for him, or maybe they were pulled up a little too far. He wore a yellow polo shirt tucked in with a tight belt around his middle. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed over to the left side.

  After taking another deep breath and releasing it, I said, “Okay, I’ll just go over with a glass of water and see if the vibe comes off him when I’m closer. But remember, I’m only doing this because I love you so much.”

  Water splashed over the counter as I tried to steady my shaking hand. I poured the glass of water and moved toward him, focusing on feeling a vibe the entire time. Feel the vibe. Feel the vibe. This was crazy. There was no way I’d sense anything.

  When I was a few steps away, the electric-like charge hit me. The energy surrounded him and glided toward me, circling me like an invisible dust storm. It seemed so real, I expected sparks to fly. With heavy legs and forced steps, I moved closer until I’d reached the edge of the table. A dab of water splashed over the side of the glass as I placed it in front of him.

  “Welcome to Mystic Café.” My voice wavered.

  When he peered up at me, his energy slapped me in the face. The shock from this feeling made me suck in a sharp breath. The stress came off him in waves. He needed to relax in the worst way.

  I handed him the menu. “I’ll be back in a second to get your order.”

  He waved a hand. “No need. I already know what I’d like.”

  “Oh, okay. What can I get you?” I tried to sound more confident.

  He handed back the menu. “I’ll have the biscuits and gravy, and a cup of coffee.”

  “Coming right up.” I spun around and hurried back toward the kitchen, almost giddy from the adrenaline of feeling his emotions.

  Grandma watched from the kitchen window with a smile plastered on her face.

  “Well?” she asked when I pushed through the swinging door.

  “I felt something. I actually felt something.” I attempted to catch my breath. “I can’t believe it. You may be right about this magic stuff.”

  “May be? Honey, I know I’m right. So tell me what you felt.”

  “Stress. I felt lots of stress, as if he needs a breather…and a vacation.”

  She slid the book in front of me. “Okay, so look in the book for a little somethin’ to reduce stress.”

  I flipped through the pages until I found a spell that might fit. Large calligraphy print covered the space with a scrolled symbol at the top. I studied the yellow-tinged page.

  “This doesn’t add up. The book looks old, but the wording is modern.” I looked at grandma.

  “They update it periodically.”

  “Of course they do.” I clicked my tongue. “But who are they?”

  “The overseers of magic…but we won’t get into that just now. That’s a conversation for another day.”

  It seemed as if that was kind of an important detail to leave for a later discussion, but I didn’t press the issue.

  “This whole thing makes my head swim.”

  “It confused me at first, too, but you have to do this for me. I need a break from cooking. You don’t want your dear grandma to work herself to death, do you?”

  She knew my weakness. The guilt of saying no would cause me a slow, agonizing death. “Okay, Grandma, I’ll do it. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  I knew she had doubts in spite of her upbeat attitude to the contrary. I had doubts too, but my protestations would be fruitless. I might as well start flippin’ pancakes and fryin’ chicken legs.

  “Okay, this one says Vacation in a Jiffy. That’s a real spell? It sure beats the heck out of a Carnival Cruise, if it is,” I deadpanned.

  She winked. “It’s in the book, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I can’t believe my eyes, but yes, it sure is.” I nodded. “So what do I do now?”

  She pointed at the book. “What does it say to do?”

  “It lists magic spices.”

  Grandma’s many bracelets jingled as she moved to the other side of the kitchen. “I have all the spices in the cabinet over here. I take out what I need and apply them to the food the customer orders. What did he order?” She placed her hands on her hips.

  “Biscuits and gravy,” I murmured.

  Her eyes lit up. “Makes my mouth water. You know, the biscuits recipe came from my great-grandmother.”

  “Did she perform magic?”

  “Yes, she did, and from what I’ve heard, she was darn good at it. Okay…” She clapped her hands together. “Put the biscuits on the plate and cover ’em with a healthy dose of gravy, then sprinkle the appropriate spices on top.”

  “Just like that? That’s all I do?” I placed biscuits around the plate and covered them until it looked like nothing but a plate of thick white gravy.

  “Just like that,” she said.

  My mouth watered, too. Grandma’s gravy had always been one of my favorites—with little bits of sausage and pepper, seasoned to perfection. Yum. Okay, so I had a ton of food favorites, but that’s what they made treadmills and gym memberships for, right?

  “Okay.” She clapped her hands. “Do you have the right spices? Always make sure you double check. You wouldn’t want the wrong person to get the wrong magic.�
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  “Would it hurt? I mean, everyone can use less stress in their life, right?”

  “You’d be surprised. Sure, everyone can use less stress, but it may not always have the best outcome. What if the person is all worked up because of financial problems and you give them magic for stress for love reasons, that would make the person still stressed, but in love with money. Does that make sense?”

  “I think so…” Not really, but I didn’t want to worry her further.

  “It’s always best to leave the magic for the intended receiver, unless it’s just one of the general spells.”

  I nodded. “Okay, general spell, but for the person it’s meant for.” Would that still make it a general spell? Never mind, I didn’t ask. It would only make my head hurt worse.

  “So put spices on top,” she nudged with a touch of her hand.

  My hands shook as I stretched my arm forward. The bottle slipped from my grasp, bouncing off the stovetop and tumbling to the floor. It landed with a thud. Spices littered the ground. I let out a breathy little gasp.

  “Grandma,” I said as I picked the bottle from the floor.

  “Yes, sweetheart.” She reached for the broom and began sweeping without saying a word about my clumsiness.

  I inhaled a sharp breath and nearly dropped the bottle again.

  “I was going to ask what happens when the spices run out…but I think I got my answer.” Almost the entire bottle’s contents had spattered onto the floor, but as I held the little glass container, they reappeared before my eyes.

  “They don’t run out. They’re magic.”

  “Right. Of course. Magic.”

  “When they get low, they just replenish.” She clicked her tongue.

  “I see that.”

  Tightening my grip, I reached forward and sprinkled the spices across the food. The gravy popped, crackled, and sparked. It sounded like the pop rock candy I ate as a child, except the sizzling sound wasn’t just in my head. Blue and red lights flashed in a spectacular mini light show. Grandma grabbed my arm and stuck my hand over the top of the food. Tiny zaps of electricity poked at my palm.