And Now
Keep reading for an Excerpt from She Shall Have Music, book 3 of the Psychic Seasons Series
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If you are enjoying the Psychic Seasons series, I’m excited to tell you about the Fate Weaver series. In Earthbound Wings, we met Lexi Balefire and her faerie godmothers who were such fun to write, we decided to give Lexi her own series.
Lexi Balefire is a matchmaking witch with a certain something extra. Her story is full of magic, romance, and intrigue.
The Fate Weaver series:
A Match Made in Spell
All Spell is Breaking Loose
To Spell and Back
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Other books by ReGina Welling
The Psychic Seasons Series
Rings on Her Fingers
Bells on Her Toes
She Shall Have Music
Wherever She goes
Earthbound Bones
Earthbound Wings
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Sign up for Erin Lynn’s Newsletter
You can find Erin on the web by clicking here, and also follow her on Facebook or Twitter.
Also by ReGina Welling and Erin Lynn
The Ponderosa Pines Mysteries
Cat Killed A Rat
Crafting Disorder
Caught in the Frame
Bait and Snitch
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From She Shall Have Music
Tender new grass spread out before her like a carpet as Amethyst curled bare toes into its lush, green fullness. A sun-warmed breeze wafted through her hair, lifting strands dyed a delicate shade of lavender to send them floating around her face. She inhaled deeply letting the earthy scent of summer refresh her as the soothing sound of a waterfall lulled her senses.
Wait a minute. Waterfall? How did that get there? She remembered choosing a guided meditation that had her walking through sunlit fields. The sound of rushing water was completely unexpected and out of place.
Frowning at the distraction, Amethyst opened her eyes, abruptly coming out of the meditation and into the present with an oath. The waterfall noise was real and coming from the laundry room.
A quick dash into the kitchen revealed a growing puddle of water spreading out from under the laundry room door; she pulled it open with a sense of dread to find an absolute gusher cascading out of the top of the machine. Lunging, the petite woman clad entirely in purple punched the button to kill the cycle and stop adding to the flood of sudsy water already swirling around her ankles.
Just what I need today—a disgusting mess, she thought, as a striped purple sock floated past. Amethyst watched the sock drift toward the floor drain under the laundry sink, then swirl around twice and sink below the layer of bubbles. And now she knew what had plugged up the drain. Next to the machine, a sodden pile of clothes, all in various shades of her signature color, humped above the water level looking like a purple mountain rising from the sea.
If the sea was made of dirty, soapy water, that is.
Blowing the hair out of her eyes in disgust she muttered to herself then waded across the room to pull the sock, its mate and two pairs of filmy—also purple—unmentionables out of the drain.
Immediately, the soapy deluge sluiced away leaving a slimy, slippery soap film on the floor.
In a state of total annoyance, Amethyst stomped into the kitchen, yanked open the broom closet door and grabbed the mop, a bucket, and a big sponge before stomping back to the laundry room.
She tried to ignore the baleful, green-eyed glare coming from the ball of ginger fur on the shelf behind the washer. Another thing she did not need today was recrimination from a fat cat. She shot him a narrow-eyed look in return.
“I’m cleaning it up, your majesty. No worries, you won’t have to get your hairy toes wet.” She wrinkled her nose at him. In response, he raised one hind leg and began to clean himself.
Most women would have called a repair service, but Amethyst was not most women. She prided herself on being resourceful—a real do-it-yourself type. It helped that she had a knack for understanding how mechanical things worked.
Simple logic told her whatever mechanism that triggered the machine to stop filling had failed—and that the first step was to empty the machine of water. Holding her breath, she manually selected the spin cycle to activate the pump.
It worked, the water level promptly lowered.
A quick calculation weighing the cost of a repair technician against the chance to see the inner workings of her washing machine was a no-brainer so she booted up her laptop for a quick Internet search and found a video that showed how to troubleshoot the water level workings.
It looked simple enough and all she needed was a screwdriver and a putty knife.
Undoing four screws to remove the control panel cover and check whether the clear vinyl pressure tube was firmly seated at the top was a breeze. Less than five minutes later, she had made visual confirmation—all good.
Back to the video and step two. Remove the front panel and check the other end of the tube.
Following instructions, she poked the putty knife into the seam and gave it a firm push to pop the first clip. With almost no resistance, that side of the front panel jolted loose. Humming to herself, she applied the tool to the second clip then lifted the entire panel right off the machine.
Just below the lip of the drum, the other end of the pressure tube appeared firmly and properly attached.
Step three—test the water level switch. That step required special tools she didn’t own so she settled for doing a visual inspection.
Frugal and conscious of the environmental need to save water, Amethyst rarely ran a load at less than full capacity, which meant the switch usually stayed at the highest setting. Maybe it was just stuck.
To test theory, she twisted the knob. Sure enough, it turned stiffly but after moving it through each setting several times, the motion smoothed out.
Hoping she’d found the problem, Amethyst put everything back together and turned the machine on after setting it to the lowest water level. At least if it overfilled this time, she would be able to tell before it could flood the room again.
What was that old saying about a watched pot never boiling? The same principle applied to watching a washing machine fill with water, it seemed to take forever.
When the water shut off at the proper level, she did a little happy dance and tested the next setting and finally the highest one. Each setting worked properly.
Sixty dollars saved by not calling a repair tech. Minimum. Not bad and all in time for today’s appointment.
Her parents, both frugal by nature, had passed on the trait. Concern for the ecology of her planet helped her hone frugality into a skill.
Living in an underground house reduced her carbon footprint considerably since it required very little energy to heat and none at all to cool.
She’d bought the place for not much more than the cost of a good, used car. Quite a deal, really. It was a cozy home shared with Tommy the cat; an excellent roommate who kept the place mouse-free. And even if he did occasionally lose his mind and chase a housefly up the curtains, he was a champion at cuddling.
What more could a woman want?
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Bells On Her Toes (The Psychic Seasons Series Book 2) Page 21