Cover Spell (Ivy Grace Spell Series Book 2)

by T. A. Foster

  The Jeep was headed east. Now that Sullen’s Grove was in his rearview mirror, Evan wasn’t sure where the road would take him. Eventually, he would run out of road—the ocean was just hours in front of him. He reached into the paper sack and seized the first peach. As he bit into the soft, fuzzy fruit, a trickle of juice ran down his chin. He wiped the nectar from his face with the back of his hand. Settling his athletic frame into his seat, he felt the resemblance of a smile creeping across his lips. Something about not having a destination felt better than having one.

  THE NIGHT’S darkness wrapped the air and sank into every open space. Other than a few blinking lots on the horizon, it was dark. Evan rolled his shoulders up and back. All the muscles in his arms were tight from twelve hours of driving. The ferry ride was advertised as fifty-five minutes long, so he stepped from the Jeep and strolled to the side of the vessel loaded with cars.

  He had made the last voyage of the night. The ferry service stopped at midnight. He intended to stay in the last coastal village he found at the southern tip of the Outer Banks, but when the road ran out, the waterway could take him one more leg. The extra distance was like the last drink he couldn’t turn down. He needed it.

  The salt air whipped past him as he leaned against the railing. How had his life come to this? He was running. Running from everyone, everything. He shoved his hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. There had to be a way to get back in control.

  It had never been this bad before. The hoop kept moving. He had convinced himself that eventually the novelty of Evan Carlson would wear off. Following the once college quarterback now movie star would become boring and mundane as soon as the next big star was discovered. But five years later, it still hadn’t happened. He glanced over his shoulder, a regular habit whenever he was in public. The couple in the adjacent car was trying to soothe a fussy baby. They hadn’t reached for their phones, yet.

  In the beginning, it was fun, even exciting when he made the cover of a magazine. It was the same kind of rush when he threw a winning touchdown. He didn’t want to admit to anyone now that at the time he got a kick out of being named the World’s Sexiest Bachelor. All of that seemed stupid, ridiculous, and shallow. He kicked the side of railing with his boot.

  The captain pulled the horn on the ferry as it approached the dock. The sound echoed over the water. Evan retraced his steps to his vehicle, and waited for the crew to motion him onto the shore. Maybe he had read too many scripts or played too many roles, but as the ramp lowered and he pressed his foot on the gas, he had the strange sensation that a new movie had begun.

  THERE WERE six miles between the ferry dock and the main village of Perry Island. Evan couldn’t see anything except sand dunes as he followed the cars in front of him.

  It was now one in the morning, and he had managed almost sixteen hours without talking to his agent, publicist, stylist, trainer, or assistant. That was a record first. The music on the radio had turned to static. He searched for a station that could spread its waves this far into the outer edges of North Carolina. His eyes burned, but the cool air from the open window felt soothing as he drove.

  Evan slowed the Jeep as he rolled into the village. Nothing was open, or at least from the street, he couldn’t see any lights. The car in front of him turned into the gravel parking lot of the Windsheer Inn. He pulled to the side and watched as the driver walked to the door, grabbed an envelope from a drop box, and retrieve a pair of keys. That was how that guy had a room. Dammit. He hadn’t thought to call ahead to make reservations. He snorted. He hadn’t thought ahead about any of this.

  Somewhere in the middle of the drive from the ferry dock, he remembered passing a campground. He pulled hard on the steering wheel until he had performed a U-turn, sending him back on the beach road.

  Along the ocean side of the island was a campground. Just like everywhere else, it was thrown into utter darkness. Evan pulled to an open spot and cut the engine on the Jeep. His lungs filled with a deep inhale of salty air as the waves pounded on the shore in front of him.

  He reached for the lever on his seat and reclined it as far as it would go. There was barely enough room, but he propped his feet on the dash before pulling his hat over his eyes.

  It wasn’t a penthouse, a yacht, or a decked out guesthouse, but Evan smiled as his tired eyes gave in to the sleep that had invaded his body. It might only last one night, but he slept satisfied knowing there was no way anyone in the world would find this movie star tonight.

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  Ever since her trip to New Orleans, Ivy Grace’s life just hasn’t been the same. Her magic is stronger, her stories more popular than ever, but something is missing.

  After she opens a forgotten inheritance from her grandmother, she learns the key to who she is and who should have her heart is in Charleston. She travels to the romantic city in search of answers, only this time everything she cherishes is at stake. Can Ivy’s Time Spell answer all her questions or will it bring her and her family closer to danger?

  In a race against time Ivy does all she can to rid the world of the darkest evil and save the men she loves.

  “YOU HAVE got to be kidding me. A western? They want me to write a western?” I wasn’t sure if my bottom lip was actually sticking out from pouting, but at this point, I didn’t care.

  “Ivy, it’s not that bad. You’ve already written two period pieces. You can do it again. Think of it as western expansion.” Jack smoothed out the papers on his desk and leaned back in his chair. His broad shoulders filled the frame. I couldn’t believe he looked so calm. Didn’t this go against every editorial principle he had? He should be upset.

  “But it’s a western they want? As in, cowboys, tumbleweeds, holsters, can-cans, that kind of thing?” I was out of my seat again.

  For over an hour, we had dissected the latest mandate from the Raven Publishing powers that be. The board had met last night, and this was the decision handed to me. Jack and I were making little headway. Up until now I had been able to pitch and write plot ideas without interference from the corporate decision makers. Things were changing.

  “Why are you so resistant to the idea? You’re a phenomenal writer. You can write anything. I’ve seen you in action.”

  I blushed, thinking how much action Jack had actually seen, but quickly turned my thoughts back to the discussion that was heating up on another level. He couldn’t possibly be serious about this.

  He tried to explain. “It’s more of a pioneer, frontier, country type of novel. Think ranchers and cowboys starting out in Tennessee. Romance. Intrigue. Mystery. The marketing team thinks this genre is on the upswing, and in a year or so, it will be the most popular script in Hollywood. It’s only a concept. It’s up to you what the story is. You are still in control of the creative process.” He read through a memo on his computer.

  I spun on my heels and thought I caught Jack eyeing my legs as I crossed the distance between us. I leaned on his desk and pressed my palms onto the smooth mahogany surface.

  “Well then, if I’m in control, I don’t want to write a western.” I arched my eyebrows.

  He pushed back from his desk in frustration. Ann piped in on the speakerphone. “Jack, there’s a call for you. It’s Logan from accounting. Do you want me to take a message, or can you and Ivy spare a minute?”

  Even with the door closed, I was certain she heard the on-going dispute between us. I had done little to hide my displeasure from my editor.

  He sighed before picking up the phone. “Put him through, Ann.” He held up a finger in my direction.

  I wasn’t leaving. This conversation was far from over. I sat in the chair with my arms folded while Jack spoke to accounting.

  This was unbelievable. I couldn’t produce a book like it was a Glamour Spell. It took time. I had to feel the right vibe, find the right story. I crossed my arms, hoping Jack knew how irritated I
was.

  Raven Publishing was a small publishing house in North Carolina, but the attention received from Vegas Star and Masquerade had put the unknown house on the national radar. Books that turn into blockbuster movies have a way of changing the landscape of even the purest intentions. Board members who used to sit and yawn their way through meetings suddenly seemed interested in the next titles the company churned out, more importantly, they were interested in my titles.

  I watched Jack as he ran his fingers through his hair. His white collared shirt strained over the tautness of his upper arms. It was mid-winter and the man still managed to show a hint of a tan. He muffled something into the receiver, and then spun the chair around so he was facing the wall. I strained to hear his gruff voice.

  “Yep, yep. I’ll tell her. Um-hmm. Thanks, Logan. That’s exactly what we needed.” He placed the receiver on the phone and smiled. “That was Logan in accounting.”

  “So I heard. What was that all about?” This entire exchange annoyed me. I don’t think I had ever wanted to Stun Spell Jack before this. He had no idea how complicated this directive would make things for me, in addition to how much I detested westerns.

  “We’re going on a trip.” He started shuffling papers in his top drawer.

  I leaned forward. “A trip? I thought I was supposed to be writing the next great western.” Maybe I had let a little too much sarcasm drip through my words.

  “Oh, you are.” He reached into the back of the drawer and pulled out a brochure.

  I eyed him. He was acting distracted and giddy at the same time. I hadn’t seen him this happy since a year ago when we were in Las Vegas.

  “Care to elaborate, Mr. Coleman?”

  He stopped mid-shuffle and laughed. “Sorry, I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Like I said, that was Logan in accounting. I put in a request for us to take a research trip. Usually, all of my requests are rejected because of financial constraints, but he just came back with the approved budget. We can go.”

  “What are you talking about? Research?” I tried to steady my voice, but there was panic under the surface. This couldn’t happen.

  “For your western.” He smiled widely. The lines around his eyes were warm.

  Ugh! Jack was less than forthcoming with any details about what was happening with the board, the new genre mandate, and now a mysterious research trip.

  “Seriously, stop shuffling papers and tell me what is going on. What trip are you talking about?”

  “We’re going to Nashville. It’s time you and me get away from Sullen’s Grove and get started on the next great Ivy Grace novel. You need a break from here. When can you be packed and ready to go?”

  Oh no. I shook my head and my chest tightened. “I can’t go with you—anywhere.” I didn’t mean for the last part to slip out.

  “Excuse me?” The smile dropped from his face.

  Clearly, I couldn’t go into how I had his memory erased to protect him and I had spent nearly a year keeping my distance from him. This wasn’t the time to tell him why I shut the door in his face in New Orleans after the Masquerade premier or why I almost never stopped by the office anymore. I wanted to. I wanted to tell him to stop pushing the trip and most definitely the western. You know, in case it killed him.

  “Didn’t I tell you I’m moving?”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Yes, but I didn’t think you had a place yet.”

  He had me there, but a few white lies wouldn’t hurt.

  “I’m meeting with my realtor this afternoon to finalize things. There is no way I can take a trip. Maybe in a month or so?”

  He huffed. “I know your stall tactics.”

  “It’s not stalling. I have to sign papers, get settled, make sure Cooper’s ok.”

  He shoved the folder back in his desk. “Two weeks. We’re setting aside time for this new book in two weeks.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. Two weeks was better than tomorrow. Maybe Holly could help me dissuade him.

  “Ok. Deal.” I stood to leave the office.

  “Hey, you need any help with the heavy stuff or hanging things?” Jack ran his palm along his jawline.

  I turned in the doorway. “No, I’ve got it covered, but thanks.” I fought the urge to tell him how sweet it was he offered, or how I’d like to see him doing handyman things in my house. I had to keep all those thoughts to myself.

  I said goodbye to Ann on my way to the elevator. Jack wasn’t making my commitment to keep him safe easy. Being with me would only lead to danger and, according to my Foresight, his death. No crush or love story was worth that. The doors closed behind me, and I slouched against the wall, wishing everything could be different.

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  Cover Spell by T.A. Foster

  Copyright © 2014 by T.A. Foster

  First edition published 2013. Second edition 2014.

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold 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. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Books by T.A. Foster

  Dedication

  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

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  *Handy Dandy Guide to All Things Witchy*

  Reader Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Finding Haven Preview

  Fire Spell Preview

  About the Book Designer

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