Magic and Mayhem: Luck of the Devil (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Lucky Magic Book 2)

by Cate Lawley

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  About Cate Lawley

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Robyn Peterman. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Magic and Mayhem remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Robyn Peterman, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Luck of the Devil

  A Lucky Magic Story

  By Cate Lawley

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  About Cate Lawley

  PROLOGUE

  The happy couple spun around the dance floor. That’s what his mom called them, the happy couple. And watching his sister Livy and her new fiancé Jackson spin around the dance floor for the tenth time, Michael had to agree. All things considered, the engagement party was looking to be a success.

  His gaze fell on his sis’s best friend, Annabeth, a leggy blonde who had gained an entourage of men as the evening had progressed. But then, men flocked to Annabeth. She was gorgeous, funny, fun, and just plain easy to be around.

  His father clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Ah, sure. I’m happy for Livy.”

  Dad grumbled and muttered while he filled a cup at the punchbowl half full. Something along the lines of disgraceful and ungrateful.

  Michael looked away from Annabeth—who wasn’t exactly disgraceful, more lively or flirtatious, mostly vibrant—to his sister. His sweet, finally happy, sister.

  “An absolute disgrace, that’s what she is. And a disappointment to her dear old dad.”

  “Sure, Pops. It’s a disgrace that your daughter picked a man to be her husband who stood up to you because he thought you weren’t being kind to the woman he loves. Shame on him. Shame on her.”

  Patrick Kelly loved his children, but he could be an opinionated ass. And, unfortunately for Jackson and Livy, an ass that held a pretty good grudge. He’d come around…eventually. In a decade or two.

  Without breaking stride, his father kept right on going. “And a warlock. When did a respectable leprechaun ever keep company with a warlock?”

  Michael had to swallow a laugh at the appalled look on his father’s face. Six months, and the man still couldn’t wrap his brain around the idea of his daughter dating a warlock. And while his sister was certainly respectable, the rest of them didn’t come close. Well, except his mother, of course. She was a saint.

  Michael knew it was pointless to argue further on his sister’s behalf, so, with an agreeable expression, he said, “Right, she’s a terrible daughter,” then took a sip of the bland, alcohol-free punch.

  “I didn’t say that, now did I?” Patrick grimaced at the cup of punch in his hand, then pulled out a flask and topped it off with whiskey. “And no alcohol, at a Kelly family event. What’s the world come to?”

  “You know as well as I do that if you put Thomas, James, and Stephen in one room, add liquor, and let more than five minutes go by, mischief will follow. It’s Livy’s party, and she wanted it to be low-key.”

  Her exact words had been, “My engagement party will not have explosions, interdimensional slips, or time travel. There will be no disasters, nearly averted or otherwise.”

  She’d even stomped her foot. His sister did not foot-stomp. Or throw tantrums. She rarely asserted herself at all when it came to family matters. She’d always been the one quiet, sweet girl in the sea of misbehaving Kelly boys.

  He couldn’t have been prouder of her, foot-stamping and all. Although the punch did suck.

  He scanned the dance floor and did a double-take as he caught Annabeth shimmying to some retro ’80s rock. She’d better watch it, or she was going to shimmy herself right out of that dress.

  Man, he was starting to feel old. There was a time when he’d have shimmied, too. But the older he got, the more he was starting to see the appeal of a quieter, shimmy-free life. His sis might be on to something.

  Patrick studied him carefully. “You’ve not been yourself of late. We barely see you anymore except for the occasional Sunday dinner.” A sly look crossed his face. “You can tell your dad—have you found yourself a good leprechaun woman?”

  Michael arched an eyebrow. “And if I found myself a good witch instead? Would you give me as much grief as you’ve given Livy?” Michael already knew the answer to that question, because standards in his family had always been different for Livy, as the one and only Kelly daughter.

  “Well, now, that’s not the same at all, is it? And it’s not like you’d marry a witch…” Patrick stopped speaking when he saw his wife approach, then quietly said, “Not a word of this to your mother. She’ll have me on the couch for a week.”

  “You look gorgeous, Ma.” Michael bent to kiss her offered cheek. And she did. Leprechauns were long-lived and slow to age, but she’d seemed to stop aging altogether in her late thirties. He wouldn’t dare ask her how she’d managed that trick.

  His mother was a beautiful woman whatever age she appeared to be. She’d swept her thick auburn hair up into a fancy bunch of curls, something she did for special occasions. Brigid Kelly couldn’t be happier that her daughter was getting married—warlock or no—and this was a very special occasion in her eyes.

  “And you were late,” she replied without censure. Turning to his dad, she said, “And what do you think will have you on the sofa all week?” She blinked brilliant green eyes at his poor father. He’d been found out.

  Brigid Kelly was no one’s fool.

  Michael wouldn’t lie to his mom, but he also felt badly for his dad—the couch was about three inches too short for him.

  “Let me guess, some silliness to do with your daughter’s choice of husband?” She turned a falsely sweet smile on her husband of several centuries. Then her gaze darted to the main entrance. “Oh, what wonderful timing. Just in time for cake. It’s my dear friend Carol.”

  Dad’s face went pale, quite a trick since he’d been flushed from nipping at his spiked punch. “That woman.”

  Michael hadn’t a clue what woman he meant, so he turned to get a look. The only newcomer was a sparklingly attractive blonde woman in a hot pink gown. A terrible, ruffled, monstrosity of a gown. So, so many ruffles.

  It took his eyes a moment to recover, but when they had, he spotted a dark-headed man built like a linebacker joining her. Her date, apparently.

  “Who are your friends?” Michael asked.

  His mother hooked her a
rm in his and led him forward as his dad murmured dire warnings and predictions of a grim future. “Ignore your father. He’s just got a bee in his bonnet about some accident he blames Carol for. It happened ages ago, but you know your father: that man holds a grudge forever. I don’t know her companion, but Carol is a darling woman.” Brigid patted his arm. “But do use your Sunday manners.”

  Powerful or influential, or his mother wouldn’t have warned him, and yet she was dressed like she’d just stepped out of a 1980s prom mockumentary. Was that a lace bow in her hair? He squinted. Surely not.

  There was something about this Carol woman. He felt he should know who she was, but he couldn’t quite place her.

  Carol and his mom air kissed in greeting, but not before they shared a smile that made his neck hairs stand on end. Mischief was afoot.

  “I’m so glad you could make it, Carol.” His mom looked tickled her friend had come. And since when did his elegant mother run in the same social circles as time-traveling, prom-dress-wearing beauty queens?

  Carol smiled at his mother and gave him an assessing look. “I’d hate to miss a good party. And who is this?”

  “My son, Michael. I believe I mentioned that he and my three younger boys would be here.” Brigid gave Carol another one of those mischief-filled, hair-raising smiles. “Michael, say hello to my dear friend, Baba Yaga.”

  Baba Yaga? All the air in his lungs disappeared. His Sunday manners…he was going to kill his mother.

  He kept his eyes trained on her face, and well away from what was indeed a huge lace bow stuck to the top of her head. He’d hate to annoy the Baba Yaga. Livy’s fiancé had upset her and lost his magic for ten years.

  He willed himself to inhale, then with his best Sunday manners said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Is it? This is Don.” She turned to where the linebacker had been but a moment before. Finding him absent, she said with a patently false nonchalance, “Oh, I wonder where he’s gone?”

  Alarm bells rang like mad in Michael’s head. As a former purveyor of high quality mischief, he could feel the trouble brewing.

  He scanned the ballroom and saw immediately where—and on whom—that trouble hand landed. Don was moving quickly and efficiently through the crowd of partygoers toward the exit. For a big guy, he was light on his feet.

  Unfortunately, Don wasn’t making a hasty exit alone. There was the flailing woman slung over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

  Annabeth. He’d recognize her long legs, ridiculous strappy sandals, and pert rear anywhere. Michael’s blood boiled.

  The guests parted for Don as if he were politely escorting his date, not committing an assault and kidnapping her.

  Michael didn’t ask Carol—Babba Yaga—why she’d brought a pervert to his sister’s engagement party. He didn’t ask her why a Neanderthal in a suit was toting her around like so much furniture.

  He didn’t say anything. He ran like the hounds of hell were on his heels.

  No way was he going to let some goon kidnap his little sister’s incredibly hot, amazingly fun, crazy smart best friend.

  Not that he was into her or anything. He shoved a waiter with appetizers out of the way. It was just that kidnapping someone at an engagement party was uncouth.

  He flung the exit door open to find the linebacker making tracks toward the parking lot. He was going to dump her in a car like so much luggage and drive away. What the hell?

  With a dash of magic pushing him forward, he sprinted to close the distance between them.

  Then he tackled the thug.

  CHAPTER ONE

  This couldn’t be happening. I could not be in a pile of arms and legs. A pile that included me, my supposed fiancé, and the man I’d had my longest lust-crush on.

  But then I tried to move my arm and realized it was pinned beneath a very muscular thigh belonging to a very hot man who was right now staring at me with a murderous expression.

  “I didn’t ask to be kidnapped.” That’s what I tried to say. Who knows what actually came out, because Michael Kelly had twisted me up in knots from the moment I’d met and fallen head over heels in lust with him.

  He shook his head, looking confused.

  Oh, no. Livy was going to kill me. If I broke her hot brother’s head at her engagement party, she would never let me live it down.

  He propped himself up on his elbows and flashed me a gorgeous grin. “You think I’m hot.”

  I did not said that out loud. No, I did not. But he was staring at me with that cocky grin and those gorgeous blue eyes, and—

  “I will remove your head for your insolence.” And there goes the fiancé, spoiling all the fun.

  Don, who was no Juan, might actually take Michael’s head off if he was angry enough. Rumors abounded about that guy that one time who slept with Don’s, uh, sort of girlfriend? Actually, I wasn’t really sure on the details, but Don was not a dude to be messed with.

  Naturally, Michael looked not even a little bit worried. Idiot.

  It seemed like it was time for action, not lustful panting. I wriggled free of the pile, slapped a temporary binding on big and burly so he couldn’t chop off Michael’s head before he could say “magically delicious,” then grabbed Michael’s arm and gave a good tug.

  When it looked like he was on his feet, I said, “Run.”

  Then I took off like the scared little rabbit that I really was.

  Small problem. I’d forgotten that Michael was an athlete, whereas the most exercise I got was the sex I had in my dreams.

  He caught up with me about half a second after I took off.

  While I sprinted like mad, he loped along beside me. “Why are we running?”

  I tried not to sound like I was about to die from a heart attack—not technically possible, but it sure did feel like it. “Bad man.” I huffed and puffed. “Wants to kill—” One more breath. Maybe two. “You.”

  And then I stopped, because—who was I kidding?—I was not a runner. Even in a life or death situation, I only had about twenty or thirty good yards in me. Maybe fifty if a sharp implement was in play. I would have looked over my shoulder to see if Don was close behind wielding a magically conjured ax, but I couldn’t do it. As in, physically unable. I planted my hands on my knees and bent over.

  “Wow, you’re in terrible shape.” Amusement glinted in Michael’s eyes as he watched me come close to hyperventilating.

  He needed a good telling off. I held up a finger. As soon as I could stop gasping like a fish out of water, I would do exactly that. With any luck, I wouldn’t puke in the interim, but if I did I was aiming for his shoes.

  “Whenever you’ve caught your breath.” He shrugged, then pulled out his car keys from his pocket. “But if you really are in a hurry, I’m parked over there.” He pointed one row away.

  I nodded. Definitely he was getting an earful, just as soon as I could speak. I started to walk toward his car but my side started to cramp, so I clutched the stitch in my side and hobbled to his car without dwelling on the burning humiliation of it all.

  Up side? We were both still alive, and I hadn’t been carted down to the fires of hell on the back of a demon.

  Yay.

  Michael’s car chirped as he unlocked it remotely. As I let myself inside, he stopped to retrieve something from his trunk. No hurry here, not being chased by a kidnapping maniac or anything. Please, stop and retrieve your—

  He opened the door and handed me a water.

  “Oh, thanks.” I unscrewed the cap, hoping this wouldn’t make my slowly fading stitch stick around. “We should maybe hurry. If you like your head attached.”

  He chuckled, but he did put the car in reverse.

  “I’m not kidding.”

  “Okay.” He gave me a strange look, but it was pretty clear he thought I was delusional. “I think I can take care of myself.” He exited the parking lot onto a one way street.

  “You think wrong.” I took a swig of water.

  A few
seconds passed in silence. At least he didn’t make a macho pitch about how he could kick anyone’s butt, or how he’d saved me. I didn’t think I could take that right now. Especially, because I could have saved myself. Probably. Certainly it would have required some extreme emotional discomfort. Talking to people about feelings was hard.

  “Where are we going, darlin’,” he said in a sexy low voice, “your place or mine?” Then he ruined the illusion by tapping me on the leg and saying, “Seriously, where do you want me to take you?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and told my lady parts to be quiet. Oh, how I wished those words had come out of his mouth in a non-ironic, I want to jump your bones, kind of a way. “I can’t go home. If he found me at your sister’s party, then he probably already knows where I live.”

  He shifted in his seat, clearly giving some thought to what I’d said. Finally, he said, “You’re serious.”

  “As hell.” Literally, but I really didn’t want to get into that while Michael merged onto the freeway.

  “I’m taking you to my place.” He held up a hand silencing my objections. “Not in town. I’ve got a little place in the country, about two hours out. My family doesn’t even know about it.”

  Which made me stop and look at him. A little place in the country? Where there were no crowded bars and no hot women. More importantly, where there was no chaos waiting to erupt. Oh, and that was also a secret from his family. His super tight, very up-in-each-other’s-business family.

  “Who are you, and where’s the Michael I know?”

  After he merged onto the highway, he held out his hand, “Michael Kelly, eldest son of Patrick and Brigid Kelly, retired mischief-maker. But don’t tell my dad. He’d be crushed. And you?”

  I shook his hand, reading between the lines in a way he could never guess I might.

  “Annabeth Smith, the devil’s youngest daughter, and unwilling fiancé to the Prince of Darkness and Destruction, otherwise known as Abaddon. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  One near-miss accident and hasty recovery later and I was a tiny bit sorry that I’d told Michael my Big Secret while he was driving.