WELCOME TO

SPELLFIRE, TEXAS

The Sixth of the Spellfire Collections

Spellfire – Harvest of Heroes
Erotic-aah Digest ISSN 1555-5496 Vol.06-26

Journey to yesteryear and today, with ghosts and other ghoulish creatures who once donned a uniform, and shared their lives and their Thanksgivings with those whom they still love. In this paranormal town, whose Veteran League is made up of many beings, who fought for valor and more; here are stories of the heart and soul of those special heroes.

For So Long by Bridghid Parkinson
Handsome WWII transport pilot, Jack, now eliminates nasty little gremlins while finding a way to celebrate his love for his wife, Rosie, even after death.

Yellow Ribbon by Jewel Adams
When an Black Ops mission backfires, injuring Noah, his empathic powers reach out to Stella Comfry, but can she help him get free before they both die?

Reflections by HH Self
A mirror; a broken heart Teri thought she had gotten over; a secret she holds; all come together when fate brings her to Spellfire, Texas.

Rose's Treasure by Jane Carver
Mitchell doesn't want to deal with Rose, but she won't go away. When he does nothing, she does. When he attacks her treasure, she runs.

Educating Emily by Karen Rose
Emily dreams of having a hero for a husband, not a mailman. It takes help from a witch for her to see that fantasy is seldom as satisfying as reality.

The Moses Man by CD Reese
On Thanksgiving, love and life lessons transcend earthly bounds when Tranice meets a ghost from the past that shows her sacrifice is worth the cost.

EXCERPTS

For So Long
 by
Bridghid Parkinson

The bells of the appliance repair shop tinkled magically. Since some of Jack’s clients were ghosts or other paranormal beings in Spellfire, the magical chime tinkled anytime someone came through the door, even if the door never moved.

Jack poked his head out of the top of the washing machine where he was laying the traps for the malicious spirits known as the Cordrah. Since he was a ghost, he didn’t bother opening the lid.

“Hey, Jack!” James said. “Yuck… More traps?”

“Yeah. Hang on, I’m leaving the traps, not collecting them, don’t worry.” Jack bent down into the engine of the washing machine and laid the spelled tangle of candy and wire near the motor fan. He exited the appliance and stood fully to greet his old friend.

James Dallingham didn’t seem to mind. He stood in the lobby of the store with his hands in the pockets of his ghostly Texas Ranger gear.

“I had another vision about Rosie last night,” Jack said sadly.

“She’s ninety-five years old, Jack. She’s had a long life,” James offered.

“It still could be months. I don’t want her to suffer.”

“Well, most of us had the misfortune of a sudden death. That scoundrel Dowling shot me. Then of all things, they hung him for his crime, and I hardly got any peace when he came searching for me, again. Your aircraft went down in the middle of WWII. Is there any ‘good’ way for death to come?” James patted Jack’s shoulder, narrowly missing the silver oak leaf rank insignia.

“I guess not.”

“Living has a one hundred percent fatality rate. What’s important is what you do with the living part and how you choose to carry on after it’s all over.”

Jack just nodded. His familiar cigarette manifested at the corner of his mouth, always at the point where a long drag would take the edge off his jangled nerves. He grabbed the end of the filterless cigarette and exhaled a puff of smoke that dissipated to ghostly nothingness.

In the tiny breath where the conversation hung in a silent limbo, the bells over the door tinkled again, and a man in an English Army uniform with enlisted insignias entered. His heels clicked together, and he brought his right hand up in a proper salute for the British Army. “Colonel Taylor! Good to see you, sir!”

“We don’t need protocol tonight, Richard!” Jack screamed.

James’ eyes widened in disbelief.

“Let me introduce you to Richard,” Jack offered.

“Richard Westland, this is Captain James Dallingham, Scout and Mission Officer for the Texas Rangers during the Texas Revolution. He runs patrol missions with me in Iraq,” Jack shouted again.

James extended his hand forward in greeting, “Howdy.”

Richard immediately saluted in the stiff English style that exposed the palm of his hand. He quickly relaxed and extended his own hand to the Ranger.

“Richard was a communications technician in the British Royal Army during World War II,” Jack explained in a normal tone of voice. “He died from wounds he received when a bomb went off near the evacuation tunnel where he was protecting civilians during an air raid. He was able to get his messages out, but the bomb put shrapnel into his chest and ruptured both eardrums. None of the healers can fix his hearing loss, even now.”

“How did you meet him?” James asked.

“He found me immediately after my C-47 went down in France. Here lately, we just email unless we are on a new mission. I dropped him a line, asking him to come down for the Veterans Day activities in Spellfire because he was only here twice in the 1970s.” Jack used exaggerated hand gestures to help include the Englishman in the conversation.

“I don’t need my hearing to read,” Richard smiled. “I can still understand some things if the person is loud enough. You said in your email there’s a meet-and-greet tonight down at Barnabas’ Bar?”

James nodded, and Jack led the way out of the store, magically locking the door behind them and flipping the sign to ‘Closed’.

Yellow Ribbon
by
Jewel Adams

Chapter One

Ahh, the pain! Can’t you hear me? Damn it all, this isn’t time for games, Malaci…

Stella tried to pull out of the dream that now felt like a nightmare. Again, she heard the numbers he rattled off as if she knew what to make of them. All the while, she sensed the acute agony her dream invader suffered.

Pressing the palms of her hands over her ears didn’t silence the voice. One that used her empathic abilities to speak to her. She groaned, wishing she could suppress the voice that kept her awake these last three nights. His abilities were stronger than her powers, and he refused to be silenced. Even to the point of yelling at her for trying. She groaned, knowing that he needed help. His anguish became a horrible burden that she wished she could fix.

No! You will listen to me…

Once again, she tried to speak to him, but she silenced this part of her powers so long ago…she couldn’t remember how to communicate back to him.

“Darn you! Why can’t you hear me?” She cried out in the darkened room.

* * * *

Oh lady, you have no idea how well I do hear you…Stella. I’ve tried hard not to, but I seem trapped in your mind. Beautiful though you may be, it isn’t the one I need right now.

Noah couldn’t hold his head up any longer and let it fall back into the dirt and stone. He tried to relax. His attempt to use his powers and reach his cousins took more energy than the last time. He refused to dwell on his present condition, the weight pressing down on him spoke volumes. Being pinned beneath the overturned truck wouldn’t be his choice of how he would leave this life. “No, damn it, stop thinking like this.”

Yelling at himself didn’t help much, but right now, anger was the only thing left to fight the despair. There would not be any rescue. He knew that for a fact. Black Ops didn’t get rescued when things went wrong, and this mission might have been a complete success, except for the mine blowing this truck over on top of him.

Only for a second did he think about calling out to the rebels that took away their injured comrades. Only for a second…

He dug his fingers into the muddy ground to fight off another wave of pain. He couldn’t move his legs, but they sure hurt like hell. Most of the weight rested on his thighs. All his attempts to dig out from under the truck failed miserably. His fingers were bloody from trying. “Damn rocks, I must be right over a ledge.”

What he needed was a miracle or better, his cousins, Damien, Derek or Malaci, to come and get him out of here. If only he could reach them. He lost track of how many times he tried to reach any of them. Failing wasn’t an option.

“Stella…you must be one powerful empath to keep me trapped in that pretty mind of yours.” He thought again of trying to make her understand, but Noah knew far too well how people feared his intrusion into their thoughts. Of course, his empathic skills were exactly why the government used his talents. “And got me into this mess.”

He even tried to call on his Demvir blood, but his injuries kept him from shifting. The animal inside of him instinctively knew to avoid the pain.

“Stella, dare I take the chance?” Up to now, he resisted the urge to truly invade her thoughts. He dream-walked with her, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to find out if she could handle his intrusion into her mind. He cursed the truth that she was his only hope of getting help. If she found either of his cousins or anyone in Spellfire, Texas that knew them, they could get to him almost instantly…as long as he remained conscious enough to lead them to his position.

Noah groaned over the possibility of failing with Stella. She could panic, call the police or worse.

His fist hit the ground in frustration. “I’m running out of time!”

* * * *

“Oh dear, she’s doing it again.” Molly stared into the mirror at the scene behind her. Combs, brushes, bottles of hair dye, scissors, they were all dancing in a circle of air around Stella. That her friend seemed oblivious to the comical scene she created didn’t surprise Molly. Stella just wasn’t herself of late, and this proved that she needed Molly’s help.

“Excuse me a second, I’ll be right back.” Her client giggled and waved Molly away. Everyone watched as she grabbed at the flying debris before she finally stood beside Stella.

Stella looked up just as Molly grabbed the hair brush over her head. She could feel the heat of embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I’m…”

“Don’t say it, Stella.” Molly moved in so she could whisper. “You need to get some help.”

It hurt to face her best friend. She couldn’t even argue. Molly was right.

The girl grabbed for another comb that started to rise out of the jar. Molly slammed the top down, preventing the combs from dancing in the air. “I’ll take over for you and meet you in the park, say three-thirty.”

Stella shut her mouth over the raised finger that Molly shook at her. She peeled off her plastic apron and dropped it into her friend’s outstretched hand. Stella wanted to groan when things started flying off the shelves as she passed and began to follow her.

She stopped at the door, with every ounce of power she possessed, she concentrated on putting everything back where they belonged. Knowing she couldn’t get them all to stop following her, she scooted out the door and slammed it shut, hearing them hit the door as she walked away. “Don’t think, just walk to the park, Stella.”

High School, yes, that was the last time she could remember her powers being this out of control. That teenage crush on Trevor James nearly exposed her powers; only Molly’s intervention prevented the disaster from happening. Thankfully, Spellfire now kept them safe from prying eyes, even when things went crazy.

Stella slumped down on the park bench and tried to focus on the flowering gardenia bush, but he wouldn’t let her avoid him. “At least, tell me your name so I can yell at you!”

Noah, my name is Noah.

She stood up, “You heard me!”

When he didn’t answer, she took a deep breath to regain her composure. “Noah, now isn’t the time to stop talking to me. Where are you? How can I help?”

Frightful Freda walked by and gave her a strange look. Stella almost stuck her tongue out at the nosey bitch, but refused to let anyone interfere with his voice.

“Noah? I’m sorry, I won’t yell, honest. Please talk to me…”

The silence fell around her like a giant weight, one that made even breathing hurt. She brought her hands up and cupped them over her mouth to help prevent a panic attack. She couldn’t remember having these attacks…not since she vanquished her empathic abilities.

Stella could feel the beads of sweat running down her face as she fought to control her breathing, but nothing she did seemed to work. Through quick intakes of air, she spoke. “It is him, not me. Oh gawd, Noah! Breathe, damn it!”

As if he finally heard her, the pressure against her chest began to ease. “Good, try to take in small breaths at first. I’m right here with you, Noah.” Just as she spoke those words, the force grabbed her and pulled her back, back into the long forgotten empathic realm of dream-walking. She could feel the fog sweep by her face and encircle her body. “Noah?”

He felt close, very close, as she tried to see beyond the mist. “Help me, Noah, it’s been too long since I’ve used my empathy.” Like a distance whisper, she heard him and turned in the direction she sensed. “Keep trying to talk to me, Noah, I’m in your dream this time.”

All the knowledge came rushing in as Stella fell deeper into the walking dream, Noah’s dream. Yes, she knew she was right; somehow, they reversed their role, and she became the intruder of his dream. Yet, his dream didn’t feel right. It was all gray and dangerous.

Stella spoke to him using her empathy. “Where are you, Noah?”

“I’m here, Stella.”

In the distance, she could make out the image of a man and started walking toward him.

“That’s close enough.”

Her steps hesitated only a moment before continuing, “I’m not afraid of you, Noah.”

“I can see that, but maybe you should be.”

He began to fade away. Stella started running, but when she reached the spot where he once stood, only swirling fog remained. “Noah, come back!”

No answer came, and yet, she felt herself being shook…

* * * *

“Stella! Darn it, you aren’t going to do this again. Wake up!” In fear and frustration, Molly slapped her friend across the face.

“Holy shit, Molly, why’d you do that?” Stella moaned as she rubbed her cheek.

“Maybe because my best friend was lost in a dream, and I was afraid she wouldn’t come out of it.”

Stella raised her gaze to see the fear she heard in her friend’s voice. “I’m okay, Molly, honest.”

“Yeah, right, you were in a frigg’n dream, don’t try to lie to me. I know the signs. I should have known something was up when everything started flying today…”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stop it. Noah has been calling to me for three days. He suddenly stopped or traded places with me. I don’t know which, but it’s all back again.” Their gazes locked over Stella’s trembling admission.

“You have to fight it, Stella. You can’t let this happen again.”

“I have been fighting it, but his power is strong, and now mine is working, and… Damn it, what am I going to do, Molly?”

“We need to find a way to keep him out, stop this from continuing.”

Stella could only nod at her friend, the old fears were rising fast and furious. Yes, she remembered only too well what this power was capable of doing to her. An hour in a walking-dream could easily turn into a day and then a week in real time. Stella shivered over the memories. She refused to think about the coma that nearly cost her life. Only Molly recognized that it wasn’t a coma, but a walking-dream holding her prisoner. “Who, Molly? Who can stop it? I must have broken the spell.”

Had she destroyed the protective spell that kept her empathy silent? Could they entrap it again? Stella’s head swirled with questions without answers. “I don’t feel too good…”

“Stella! Oh, no, no, it’s starting again!”

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.

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.

Emily pulled the thick paperback out of her carryall and went upstairs to start her bathwater. She very nearly dropped the jasmine-scented bath salts upon seeing the state of the tub. A disgusting warren of curling black hairs coated the drain, most of them poking through the tiny holes like little blades of rotting grass. It was beyond foul. “This would never happen to Ashlyn Armani,” she said angrily, pulling on a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves she always kept close at hand. The raven-haired temptress stared up at her in obvious disdain from the cover of the novel.

Once the tub was sparkling clean again, she filled it with scalding water and a generous heaping of her scented bath salts. Averting her gaze from the mirror, she stripped off her sensible outfit of gray trousers, a matching jacket and plain white sleeveless shell, folding them neatly on top of her low-heeled black pumps. Her white cotton underwear and bra were tucked discreetly underneath the pants. Emily stepped carefully into the steaming tub, easing down until she lay comfortably against her pink bath pillow. “Ahhhh,” she breathed, inhaling the sweet-smelling aroma. “Perfect.” She picked up her novel and opened to the page she’d book marked. The Duc had just taken Ashlyn to see her new rose garden....

* * * *

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.

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 deja 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.

“I’m sorry,” Teri tried to break her locked gaze. “You remind me of someone a friend once told me about, long ago…I’m sorry.” The woman looked remarkably like the owner Jimmy once described, not a day older, her daughter no doubt.

“Not to worry. I’m Electra.” A hand extended out over the counter.

“Teri Willis,” she shook the offered hand, but when Electra’s brow furrowed, she pulled back. Feeling like her touch told the woman too much. Silly.

“So what can I get you, Teri?” Electra’s smile returned.

“Maybe, something cold to drink…how about a root beer?”

“Go ahead and have a seat, and I’ll bring it to you.”

Teri sat at one of the small round tables. The forefinger and thumb of her left hand tugged at her upper lip as she fiddled with the keys to her car in her right hand. Her gaze moved from Electra to her gray rented Lexus, her escape, just on the other side of the large window.

Electra set the frost-covered mug in front of Teri along with a small bowl of ice cream. “You have to try our ice cream. It is so good you would swear it was—”

“Magical,” Teri interjected.

“Well yes, magical.” Electra sat across from her. “So who is this friend that described me so well?”

Teri grinned. “I was mistaken. If it had been you, I would definitely want to know what moisturizer you used.” She forced a soft laugh as she glanced at her own hands. Their skin wrinkled. “Jimmy Roads was his name. He grew up here in Spellfire.”

“You and Jimmy were close?”

Teri tugged at her lip and squeezed the car keys so hard she felt them trying to cut into her skin. “Once, a long time ago. Back in seventy-one.” She pulled her hand away from her mouth. “Do you know if…if he still has family around here?”

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