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Excerpts From:
Spellfire Collection,
Vol.2: Winter Tales
Rose’s Treasure
by Jane Carver
The magical
town of Spellfire, Texas realized Mitchell Green didn't want a hero's
hello, a hero's parade. He returned from war, mangled in spirit and
body. The town welcomed him with little notice and less fanfare.
* * * *
“Mitchell?”
He jerked hard at the unexpected sound of his
name. Hoped she wouldn’t notice him, standing among the last roses of
autumn.
His eyes drifted shut, as his heart sped toward
breathlessness.
“Mitchell?” Her voice came low, intense and as
delicate as the scent of roses that surrounded him.
Did he detect a note of pleasure along with a
faint tinge of uncertainty?
Looking over his shoulder, Mitchell Green saw Rose
standing at the front gate, her hands gripping the pointed wooden
pickets. His heart turned over at the sight. Deep brown hair fell in
waves around her shoulders. Her golden-brown jacket deepened the color
of her hair. The mint-green skirt that fluttered beneath flattered her
moss-green eyes. Her smiling lips looked more than kissable.
Once upon a time, Mitchell planned to ask Mr.
Halstead for Rose’s hand in marriage. The English Royal Air Force
bombers flew over Germany before he could. He joined the RAF. During his
tour of duty from 1939 to 1941, he saw death up close. Now, by autumn of
1942, there were only scraps and bits of him left, not enough for Rose.
She deserved more.
“Mitchell, I’m so very glad you’re home safe.” Her
words trembled with emotions that she couldn’t hide. Rose never hid
anything from him except one thing—her treasure.
When the Green’s aged collie ambled down the brick
sidewalk to put his front paws on the gate so Rose could pet him,
Mitchell heard her sigh. He refused to look at her. He kept trimming his
mother’s rose bushes.
“Won’t you, at least, say hello? Admiral here
welcomed me better than you. And I haven’t seen you in three years.”
“Hello, Rose.” Let her think him rude. Without a
backward glance, he snipped a thin dead branch off an American Beauty
rose. While puttering around a bush that was already perfect, he waited
for her to move on to her house, across the street. Would the chill wind
that blew down the street encourage her to go, he hoped?
“Please, Rose. Go home.” A whispered plea.
Did God still pay attention to him? Evidently He
did. But, only for a second. Rose rattled the gate as she pushed away. But,
then she stopped.
“Mitchell? I hate to ask, but…”
“What is it, Rose? You lost something again?”
“I… Yes, a set of science tests my students took
Tuesday. I thought I put them on my desk, but…”
“Bottom right-hand drawer. Under two other sets of
tests.” Mitchell saw the papers as easily as if he put them there. He
glanced over his shoulder without turning. “Lose anything else?”
“No.” Rose dropped her eyes, took a step back then
made her way across the street and up her own sidewalk. Out of the
corner of his eye, Mitchell saw her stop at the door and glance back.
Maybe now she’d get the message. The Mitchell
Green who returned home wasn’t the same man who left.
* * * *
As the faint tap, tap, tap of Rose’s pumps
approached, Mitchell came outside to see her again. Not that he planned
to say anything. In fact, he prayed she wouldn’t see him among the
dozens of rose bushes in the yard. Beneath the low brim of his slouch
felt hat, he watched her round the corner and come down the sidewalk.
One thing about him, he could find all kinds of objects, but he
knew the location of only one person, Rose Halstead.
He pulled his coat tighter against his thin chest.
Lingering illness let him feel the autumn chill more than normal. But he
couldn’t resist the opportunity to watch Rose.
She looks better than ever.
They had grown up together. As a child, she sided
with the underdog, and Mitchell, being three years older, became her
protector. That didn’t make the underdog stronger. That often meant he
stepped in and defended both Rose and the other guy.
Two years into college, working on a business
degree, Mitchell decided to go to England and fly bombers in the Royal
Air Force. The Germans were pounding England, and he wanted to make a
difference.
Rose didn’t understand why he wanted to go. The
war in Europe had nothing to do with the United States, she argued.
Mitchell couldn’t help thinking that if he didn’t go meet the war that
it would come to his country’s doorstep. As indeed, it finally did. His
decision devastated Rose.
Educating
Emily
by Karen Rose
Emily Jenkins shook her head sadly, looking at the
pathetic bouquet of carnations on her desk. Even the copious amounts of
baby’s breath the florist had put in couldn’t disguise the garish colors
of the cheap flowers her husband had chosen.
“Honestly,” she said aloud. “What was he thinking?
He knows the smell of them makes me sneeze.” Shoving the glass vase to
the far corner of her desk, she picked up a sheaf of papers waiting to
be graded. Her students at Spellfire High were currently working their
way through Wuthering Heights, and their latest efforts on
character analysis left much to be desired.
After a few minutes, she put the essays down, her
mind on a hot bubble bath and a cold glass of white wine. That was
always the way her favorite romance heroine, Ashlyn Armani, unwound
after a tough day, dealing with the vagaries of running her poor
deceased Papa’s castle in Italy. She shook her head over the gaudy
floral arrangement again. Ashlyn’s lover, the dashing Duc de Givenchy,
would never have insulted her with such an unworthy gift.
Why, in the book she was currently reading, he’d
surprised her with her very own rose garden, planted in a two-week span
in the dead of night by scores of laborers he’d hired from a nearby
village. Of course, they'd worked for free; everyone for miles around
would kill for the chance to show their devotion to the lady of the
castle. Emily sighed, causing her wispy blonde bangs to blow every which
way. She knew she wasn’t the object of every man’s desire the way Ashlyn
Armani was; she was what the elderly ladies in Spellfire referred to as
“handsome.”
Her figure was nice enough for a woman in her late
thirties, although her days of wearing a two-piece bathing suit were far
behind her. She had good, strong features and deep brown eyes that
looked like melting chocolate. Overall, she thought of herself as
average, and most days, that was enough. But days like today, when her
husband of twelve years sent her a spray of drugstore carnations that
would only aggravate her allergies, she wished she were more than that.
Gathering her things into a worn floral carryall, she turned off the
lights in her classroom, locking the door behind her. On her desk, she
left a note for the maintenance woman to dispose of the flowers.
The wintry chill outside grew worse since morning;
Emily wound her scarf tightly so that it covered her ears. She unlocked
her car and placed her things on the passenger seat. “Leaving so soon,
Emily?” asked a cadaverous woman in a long, ill-fitting dress. “Usually
you’re here far later than I.”
“It’s the weather,” she explained, although she
certainly didn’t need to justify herself to her colleague. Martha
Dimwoody had been teaching at Spellfire for longer than anyone could
remember, and the whispered rumor in the hallways was that she was a
powerful witch. Emily had always been a little bit frightened of her.
“I’ll get more work done at home, where the heat doesn’t cut off as soon
as the students leave the building.”
Martha chuckled. “Yes, it can be quite frosty,
especially in the second floor classrooms.” She showed no signs of being
affected by the cold, Emily noticed. Her wool dress looked as fresh as
it had at 6:30 that morning, and her cheeks were as pale as chalk.
“Well, onward into the fray, I suppose. I’ve several hours worth of
Calculus tests to mark.” She gave Emily a brief nod before heading back
into the building.
The front seat of her car was like a sheet of ice,
emitting a squeal from her as she sat down. Texas weather lay in a class
all its own, she thought, as she drove the short distance to the
two-story rambler on the quiet street she and Jerry had lived on since
their wedding day. She pulled into the drive and parked her car in the
usual spot. Jerry would still be at work, so there was plenty of time
for her to bathe in peace before he came home clamoring for his dinner.
Reflections
by HH Self
The windshield wipers moved in a slow steady
rhythm, momentarily blurring the world outside, the dark low-hanging
clouds encapsulating it. Cars speeding by tossed sheets of water up in
their wake. For a few seconds, the road ahead seemed distorted in the
torrent. Maybe, if she sat motionless–long enough–the falling water
would wash away the green and white specter, posing as a road sign. The
clicking of the four-way flashers fell in step with everything around
her; the sound of tumbling rain striking the car’s roof, the thumping of
her heart.
Like life, the route chosen is not always the one
given us. Winter storms to the north and closed roads forced her to
detour south through Texas. A shaking hand turned off the flashers and
put the car into gear. Some things were so far removed from the present
they should be forgotten, at the least, kept safely hidden most of the
time. All she needed to do was drive away; keep the past at a safe
distance, keep memories from picking at scars until they bled once more.
Tugging the blinker lever down, she inched the car forward. A flash of
black, in the form of an eighteen-wheeler, roared by. The water slung
into the air made everything disappear; the car trembled under the
cascading weight. For the space of a skipped heartbeat, Teri feared it
had been an illusion, now washed away. However, when the rubber blades
cleared the glass, the road sign still read, “Spellfire Next Right.” She
pushed the signal lever up and exited the highway. Some things could
never be forgotten; some people were a part of our every heartbeat, no
matter what separated us.
The backcountry road wound over rolling
grass-covered hills washed clean. Scattered rays of sunlight broke
through the clouds and danced on the glistening green pastures.
Understanding the fragility of life, she comprehended its beauty with a
clarity few perceived. Cresting a small hill, the town Jimmy called home
came into view. She jerked back in her seat. A cold caress moved over
her cheek. Memories from a lifetime ago she told herself.
* * * *
The main street appeared exactly like Jimmy
described, a Rockwell-esk lane. Every building set perfectly in place,
within the memory he gave her long ago. He so loved this town. Pulling
up in front of Sinful Sundaes stirred a moment of déjà vu. She fidgeted
with the seatbelt latch and then the door handle. Stepping half out of
the car, she stood frozen, one foot on the pavement, the other clinging
to her escape. This was real. A tribulation she should have endured
thirty-five years ago. No easier now. A single drop of rain fell from a
clearing sky, landing on her cheek, its touch surprisingly warm. Almost
as tepid as the tears she promised herself long ago never to shed again.
She closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. The scent of
rain-washed air, its cool caress to burning lungs, helped her take the
last step from the car.
Teri’s right foot connected with the pavement, her
eyes opened, and she could almost hear Jimmy saying, “You have to taste
the ice cream there. It’s so good you would swear it’s magical.” A nice
thought—magic. You twitched your nose, and the world was set right. The
love of your life never…Teri wiped the raindrop from her cheek. Too bad
life was never a fairytale with happy-ever-after endings. It just had
endings.
The bell over the door to Sinful Sundaes rang out
as she pushed the entrance open. A sound Teri expected, yet it gave her
a start when the ringing pressed through regrets swirling in her mind.
She stood in the doorway, looking around a place that could have been
from her life, if—
“Come on in and have a seat, I’ll be right with
you,” a friendly voice pulled Teri’s attention to the woman behind the
counter. A soft smile made her aware she was staring.
The
Moses Man
by CD Reese
Chapter One
“No, I need you to make sure those Douglas Firs
are delivered to the Dallas and Houston by Saturday morning. Everyone’s
going to bitch about being exhausted from gorging themselves on pumpkin
pie and turkey, so I’ll give everyone twenty-four hours to recover.”
She knew if anyone saw her at that moment, it
would appear she spoke to thin air. The latest and greatest in cell
phone technology gave her a tiny ear piece hidden discreetly by a
sweeping lock of thick, light amber hair caressing her temple and the
shell of her earlobe.
Long, shapely legs carried her as she paced in
complete frustration. Her slender, perfectly manicured hands worked a
Blackberry with the seasoned speed of a professional working woman.
Tranice Howard-Jones purposely exuded confidence
that made her the envy and the bane of the staff she employed. Newly
promoted to Vice President of Design and Décor for the Halifax chain of
hotels in North America, she attacked the job with a vengeance. Few
appreciated that, especially so close to the Thanksgiving and Christmas
holiday season.
One-half of the forty-five people in her employ
were busy meeting the demands leveled by her to make each and every Five
Star hotel sparkle with holiday delight. The rest continued to
feverishly implement the interior design ideas she and her four
immediate assistants developed for the newest gem in the Halifax crown
located on Michigan Avenue in Chicago.
“This should have been taken care of two months
ago. Perhaps that is why Nelson got fired?” Impatience peppered her
expression liberally. Her hazel brown eyes glittered with anger. The
woman on the other end of the telephone call didn’t deserve the snappish
tone. Tranice tried to hold back, but the incompetence she wanted to
weed out reared its ugly head once more.
“Thank you, Morgan. Once you get those trees,
you’re in charge of decorating. I’ve seen your work. I’m counting on you
to make Halifax Manhattan the envy of all.” Tranice sweetened her tone.
Pacification worked wonders in her job. Pay a few compliments here and
there, and things got done.
A smile crossed her face, hearing the positive
response. “I think the Italian Masquerade theme is brilliant. Rumor has
it the Four Seasons is going Victorian, and that is so entirely
overdone. Just stay in budget, and send me updates as you go?”
She nodded her head as Morgan babbled on,
answering with monosyllabic replies to the designer’s ideas. The bulk of
her focus lay elsewhere.
“Pardon me?” A question leveled over the line
stopped her cold. “Thanksgiving plans?” Whether it was her personality,
or just the fact she was the boss, no one had asked her before that
moment. “Actually, I do have plans.” Thanks to her grandmother’s dying
wish, Tranice planned to embark on a mission foisted upon her.
A fake smile colored her tone, a lie slipping from
her. “I’m spending it with an old friend of the family down near
Houston. According to my grandmother, I’ll be off to have some of the
best sweet potato pie and homemade stuffing outside of her own cooking.”
Good at constructing half-truths to move things
along in any given situation, she finished the phone call and moved onto
the next one. Thanksgiving Eve was still a workday, and hers wouldn’t
end until she got on the flight to Houston in a matter of hours.
Nastie Business
by Anna Fallon
“Electra,” Scott placed his hand on her shoulder,
he could feel Electra’s emotional vibration. “I will find the Soul of
Seers.”
“But you have only been in Spellfire for just over
a week, you have no obligation or required loyalty to me or Spellfire.”
Her voice cracked a little and Scott knew Electra Spellfire Ruveaux
verged on the brink of losing control. The last thing he wanted was for
such a proud and accomplished lady to be brought down by the evil of the
Gremlorr.
“Electra, ever since the first day I set foot in
this town, you and Alex have made me feel like Spellfire is my home. You
both have helped me adjust to my new life as a faery. Crikey, without
you I’d never have the guts to face me mates.”
Electra nodded and the others called for her
attention. “Be careful, Scott. Gremlorr is powerful and desperate. He
will not stop until either he controls every ounce of magic in this town
or he is dead. It’s me or him in the end.” Electra stood tall, her
shoulders back, and Scott could see Gremlorr had a fight on his hands.
“I’ll let you worry about him. I’m going to find
this Soul of Seers thing and get it back here before a quarter to
midnight. Failure is not in my dictionary, and I won’t stand by and let
the friends I’ve made so far get taken down by some overgrown evil bloke
with an overblown sense of self importance.” Scott clenched his fists in
determination.
“Dear Scott Robson, you are a Robson all right.
Just like your uncle, old Virgil. God rest his soul. Stubborn as a mule
and with just enough naivety to make him think anything was possible.
You just had to want it bad enough.” With that, Electra touched his hand
and went to speak to the others about gathering the Dagger of
Destruction and some wart thing.
“It’s beyond me how a wart can save anything, but
there you go,” Scott said to himself, placing his hands on his hips. He
felt arms encircle his waist.
“Not now, Nancy. Topaz will be back any minute!”
he joked. He heard the familiar giggle of Topaz Sinclair, the faery
who’d won his heart over the past week. Scott couldn’t be sure if he
would stay in Spellfire or if he and Topaz would have a relationship
beyond the here and now, but he sure as hell wanted Spellfire to be
around long enough for him to make up his mind.
“Scott! Who is Nancy?” Topaz asked.
“Oh, Topaz! It’s you. Oh, Nancy, no one, just a
friend I met,” he answered with a chuckle, “but now you are here she
probably won’t come back to talk to me.”
“She better not!” Topaz let him go and walked
around to stand before him, her golden wings glittering in the light.
Her elfin face held a soft glow, and Scott just wanted to reach out and
stroke her skin.
“I’m going to find the Soul of Seers,” he
announced.
“Not without me, you’re not. Do you know how
dangerous that necklace can be?” Topaz placed her hands on her hips now
and looked quite the school marm.
“Oh, how hard can it be? Do you know where it is?”
“Perhaps, but one wrong move with that thing and
you could be struck with many afflictions. Every evil curse ever
inflicted on anyone by demons and the like is contained in that pendant.
If you don’t treat it carefully you may just end up scarred for life.”
Topaz spoke seriously and her frown looked like the cutest thing he’d
seen in a while. Scott roared with laughter.
“What is so funny?” she asked him, sounding
slightly offended at his mirth.
“In the last week, I have met every weird and
wonderful paranormal creature in existence. I drank tomato juice with a
vegan vampire. I talked to the skeleton in my closet, who just happens
to be the local shrink. I have even discussed excess hair problems with
a werewolf. Now here I am, a six-foot-four Aussie bloke sporting a
thumping great pair of neon pink wings out my back.” He fluttered them
to make his point. “You can cut off both my legs and give me a hump, it
would be easier to deal with! Trust me, Topaz, nothing can be harder for
me than to have become a faery.” Scott chuckled a little.
Shifting
Passions
by Leanne Strange
Chapter One
“The party supplies are all put away,” Adam
Spellfire called from inside the huge walk-in pantry connected to the
Havoc House kitchen.
Tristine Havoc Spellfire looked up from the list
of things to do to find her husband emerge with a bag of Pluto Pretzels
and stuff three of the salty twists into his mouth. Everyone in
Spellfire loved Pluto Pretzels, and the stores always ran out long
before the next shipment arrived. Ever since Adam convinced the
distributor, an alien humanoid from the planet Pluto who came to town on
a regular basis, to allow him to place a monthly order to keep him in
stock, Adam had been much easier to live with.
Tris handed the list to Harpy Spellfire and
plucked the bag from Adam's big hands. She heard Harpy stifle a giggle.
“Wait!” Adam snatched back the bag. “I'm hungry.”
“You're always hungry,” Tris complained
good-naturedly and smiled at the man she loved.
“Just like a shifter,” Harpy said with a laugh.
Adam pulled a frown. “Hey, I resemble that
remark.”
The back door opened and the air sorcerer Derek
Spellfire, Harpy's husband as well as Adam's cousin, walked in. “I put
the van in the garage and out of the way.”
“Thanks, Derek,” Tris said.
“No problem.” Derek took the bag from Adam and
tossed a few pretzels into his mouth.
Adam emitted a low, menacing growl deep in his
throat. Even though Derek ignored him, Tris entwined her arm with her
husband's. Adam growled again, and Tris felt it vibrate throughout his
body. She traced her fingertips along his arm.
Adam swung his gaze from Derek to her. His eyes
changed from annoyance to ardor and glowed deep crimson.
Tris ran her tongue over her lips. The sound her
husband made when threatened and the reddening of his eyes turned her
on. She wished she had time to lead him to one of the empty rooms
upstairs and have her way with him. Maybe if Derek annoyed him enough,
Adam would shift. Then he could have his demon way with her. Her nipples
tingled and tightened at the thought.
But Harpy and Derek were here and the four of them
had much to do to prepare for Electra and Alex's first anniversary
party. She sighed and patted Adam's arm. “You two stop fighting over the
Pluto Pretzels. There'll be plenty to eat tonight at the party.”
“It takes a lot of calories and carbs to energize
a demvir,” Adam crammed a couple more pretzels into his mouth. “A
shifter needs more food than average to be able to transmogrify from one
state to another and back again.”
“Don't I know it,” Harpy muttered under her
breath.
Tris watched Harpy turn red in embarrassment when
she realized she'd spoken loud enough for Tris and Adam to hear. She and
Harpy had never been friends. Over the years, Harpy had acted almost
hostile toward Tris whenever they chanced to meet until Harpy and Derek
rekindled their romance and married the previous Valentine's Day. As far
as Tris knew, she'd never done anything to Harpy.
Now, having married Spellfire cousins who were
also friends, she and Harpy found themselves associating more and more.
Harpy seemed to go out of her way to be extra nice to Tris. Many times,
Tris thought of asking her why, but always decided to leave well enough
alone. No need to chance stirring up Harpy's earlier antagonism no
matter what had caused it.
Derek put his arm around his wife. “You might as
well tell them. They'll find out sooner or later anyway.”
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