by Kiki Howell
Malina raised her eyebrows at the statement; a complaint grew in her mouth. Remy smirked. A sour expression seeped across Malina’s face as she realized the competition would not be skewed in her favor.
“Therefore, we have devised a test of faith.” Gesturing to his left, Grandfather indicated two women, both bound and shrouded, seated next to the altar.
“Cassie,” Remy exclaimed in shock as the burlap sack covering her sister’s head was removed.
Next to Remy, Malina shifted uncomfortably. “Mother,” she exhaled; tightness strained Malina’s voice.
“Before you are the most important woman in your lives. Your decision tonight will determine whether that person lives.”
Grandfather’s unsettling words drifted over the covens. A murmur reverberated through the audience. Grandfather held up his hand; silence ensued. His piercing blue eyes locked on Remy’s newly green eyes.
“You are under no obligation to complete this trial. If you choose to withdrawal, you and your loved one may leave the circle, unharmed. However, you will face banishment. If you choose to participate, your decision is irreversible and if you decide incorrectly, the woman in front of you will die. You may have a few moments to converse.” Folding his hands, Grandfather pursed his lips and waited patiently.
“Malina,” her mother’s voice determined and forceful, broke the silence, “this is what you were groomed for since birth. You are a queen; you will choose correctly.”
“Yes, Mother,” responded Malina, without question. She placed her right hand on the altar, staring at her mother. “I accept.”
“I cannot risk your life,” Remy admitted to Cassie, a lump stuck in her throat. “I would rather spend the rest of my life in exile, knowing you were safe.”
Cassie clear grey eyes sparkled; a light breeze ruffled the ends of her blond hair. “Listen to the wind, Remy. Can you hear it?”
Remy squeezed her eyes closed, straining; a faint whisper tickled her ears. “I can,” she murmured. Her eyes flew open. “I hear Father.”
A small smile tugged at Cassie’s lips. “I trust you.”
The three whispered words drew tears to Remy’s eyes. They spilled freely, dripping onto the stone. Each drop sizzled and evaporated. Remy nodded and glanced up at their grandfather, who watched the interaction with interest. He tilted his head expectantly, but did not speak.
Remy took a deep breath and placed her right hand on the glowing stone. “I accept.”
Eight pewter goblets materialized in the center of the stone table; four in front of Malina and an identical four in front of Remy. Each goblet, filled with a different colored liquid, glistened ominously.
“You may use any abilities you have to decide. Choose wisely,” instructed Grandfather.
Remy’s gaze skirted over each of the four cups of wine; current, blackberry, raspberry, and strawberry. She inspected each identical goblet, lifting one at a time and carefully sniffing the liquid. She glanced hesitantly at Malina.
Foreign words tumbled from Malina’s mouth. She waved her hand over the goblets, muttering. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of her sculptured face as dim light glowed around her fingers; nothing happened.
“How is that possible?” she murmured to herself; her fearful eyes whipped to her mother. “It didn’t work,” she mouthed.
“Try again,” commanded her mother. Malina nodded and the strange murmuring tumbled from her lips again.
“Focus, Remina,” Remy spoke sternly to herself. She glanced at Cassie, patiently waiting; her eyes still closed. Cassie swayed to an inaudible melody, her long hair swaying.
Copying Cassie, Remy shut her eyes again. The light breeze brushed across her face, bringing whispers. “Remy,” it called.
“Father?” asked Remy, tentatively.
“I am here,” the breeze answered.
“What do I do?” Remy asked; her eyes screwed tightly shut.
“Follow your heart,” the wind replied, whipping around Remy; a tiny whirlwind of sound, with Remy trapped in the center. “Your heart,” the voiced repeated, echoing in Remy’s mind.
Remy’s eyes flew open. She examined the first goblet again, tipping it slightly. Current wine sloshed over the side, revealing a tiny carving in the rim of the cup; a spade. She gasped. Re-examining each cup, Remy found a small symbol carved on every rim; spade, club, diamond, and heart.
Sucking in a deep breath, Remy lifted the goblet furthest to her right; a tiny heart gleamed in the liquid. She placed the cup in front of Cassie, who opened her eyes apprehensively and glanced down at the goblet.
“Pink?” she whispered, an unreadable expression on her face.
Remy nodded. “Your favorite color,” she smiled tightly.
“That is an interesting basis for choice, Remy,” Cassie noted with a grimace.
“Father told me,” answered Remy.
Watching the exchange carefully, Malina studied her goblets again. She selected the goblet furthest to her left; black current. Malina shot a sneer at Remy and Cassie as she placed the cup in front of her mother with flourish.
“Mother’s favorite color,” she announced.
“One of you has chosen correctly,” declared Grandfather, his booming voice revealed no indication of the outcome. “Ladies,” he gestured with open hands.
Without hesitation, Cassie plucked the cup from the altar. “I love you, Remy,” she asserted, draining the cup completely, replacing it carefully on the altar. Malina’s mother mirrored Cassie’s actions, noticeably skipping the affirmation of love for her daughter.
Thick clouds rolled across the sky, darkening until only blackness coated the sky. A bolt of lightning shot down, striking the altar and smashing directly into Malina’s mother. Tossed backwards like a ragdoll, she crashed into an invisible wall, landing in a heap just inside the quartz circle. She twitched, a grim expression twisted her beautiful features.
“Malina has chosen incorrectly,” Grandfather’s impassive voice echoed around the clearing.
“Mother!” Malina screeched, dashing toward the rapidly deteriorating woman. “Mother,” she screamed again, collapsing.
“How could you?” her mother accused through the violent tremors ravaging her body; skin dripped from her bones. “After everything I did for you.”
“What did you do, Mother? You didn’t even help me; you just sat there and let her win,” hissed Malina. “This is your fault.”
“I killed for you.” The whispered words rolled across the clearing.
“Whom did you kill, Paulina?” Grandfather asked quietly.
Paulina twitched uncontrollably on the ground, steam rose from her peeling skin. “All of them,” she revealed, her chest heaving. “Anyone who stood in your way,” she murmured, reaching out a skeletal claw toward Malina. “It was the only way to ensure you would be queen. But you failed me.”
“I will still be queen, Mother,” Malina declared forcefully. She rose, ripping the silver knife from her bodice and lunged at Remy.
“No,” yelled Sebastian, rushing toward the circle.
Remy raised her arms to block the attack. A second bolt of lightning shot down, ricocheting off the altar and speeding toward Malina. She jumped as it stuck her chest. An explosion of black feathers blanketed the clearing. Standing in the center of a scorched patch of earth, a crow hopped angrily.
“Malina?” asked Grandfather, curiously.
“Caw,” responded the bird, pecking furiously at the ground.
“Did you do that?” he questioned Remy, turning his grey eyes on her.
“No,” Remy shook her head. Grandfather raised a questioning eyebrow at Cassie.
“I wish,” she muttered.
“I did,” announced Freda, regally stepping into the circle. “Remina is my apprentice; she subsists under my care and tutelage.” Her mystical voice echoed through the clearing. “I banish Malina Hargrove for crimes against the coven. As per our bylaws, any attack against another member is strictly forbidden an
d results in immediate banishment.”
Grandfather bowed respectfully. “As you wish, Madame Tobain.” He turned to the coven members. “Are there any further objections to the nomination?”
Silence met his question.
“I declare Remina Bonnay as the successor queen to the Tobain line.” A proud smile flashed across his face. “I am certain my grand-daughter will fulfil her duties with dignity and fairness.”
A collection of cheers rose in the clearing. The crow flapped indignantly, rising into the storm and circling the clearing once, before disappearing into the dark sky. Its cries echoed hauntingly.
Chapter Nine
“I HOPE YOU are teaching Remy more than just how to make perfect anadama bread, Grandmother,” teased Sebastian.
“Do you really like it?” asked Remy, her eyes shining.
“It’s delicious,” he replied, taking a large bite. The bread dusted his mouth in a light coating of crumbs.
Remy laughed, wiping the edge of his lips with her thumb. He grinned and nipped at her finger. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he hauled her onto his lap. Remy wriggled against him.
“Have I ever told you how much I love redheads?” he murmured, bumping his nose against hers.
“I may have heard that rumor once or twice before,” teased Remy, resting her head on his chest. It rose and fell slowly, in rhythm with his heartbeat. “Were you concerned?” she asked, quietly.
He tilted Remy’s head up; his eyes danced with blue flames. “I never doubted you.”
“Ever?”
“Nope.”
“How could you be so sure?”
“I asked cards,” he answered simply.
Remy raised a dubious eyebrow. “When?”
“After I wore you out.”
Flushing, Remy glanced at Freda, who rolled dough, pretending to ignore the conversation.
“May I show you?” asked Sebastian. Remy nodded.
Retrieving his grandmother’s deck of cartomancy cards from the room beyond the velvet curtain, Sebastian shuffled them five times and set the stack carefully on the counter. Lifting the top card, he flipped it over; King of Hearts.
“That’s me,” he whispered, sending a cascade of shivers down Remy’s back. He plucked the next card from the top of the stack of laid it across the King; Queen of Hearts. “And that is you. I get the same result, every time. Would you like to try?”
Remy nodded, eyes wide. Collecting the cards from the table, she shuffled five times. Placing the stack down, she tentatively pulled the first card; Queen of Hearts.
“Me,” she stated, swallowing nervously. She flipped the next card; Queen of Diamonds.
Sebastian’s mouth puckered in confusion. “Grandmother, what does this mean?”
Freda glanced up, a flour dusted ball of dough in her hands. Her eyes flicked over the cards. “Remina, turn the next two cards,” she instructed firmly.
The Queen of Clubs appeared next, followed by the Queen of Spades. Remy’s head oscillated apprehensively between Sebastian and Freda. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, child,” smiled Freda, returning to her dough. “That is a good sign. It means the queens are returning home.”
Anadama Bread
A TRADITIONAL YEAST bread of New England made with wheat, flour, cornmeal, molasses, and sometimes rye flour.
1 Serving: 272 calories
Servings Per Recipe: 8
Ingredients:
½ cup water
¼ cup cornmeal
2 tablespoons butter
½ cup molasses
1 (¼ ounce) package active dry yeast
½ cup warm water (110 degrees F)
3 cups all-purpose flour, divided
1 teaspoon salt
Prep 30 minutes : Cook 30 minutes : Ready in 2 hours 40 minutes
Place ½ cup water and cornmeal in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Cook until mixture thickens; about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the butter or margarine and molasses. Let cool to lukewarm.
In a small mixing bowl, dissolve yeast in ½ cup warm water. Let sit until creamy; about 10 minutes.
In a large mixing bowl, combine the cooled cornmeal mixture with the yeast mixture; stir until well blended. Add 2 cups of the flour and the salt; mix well. Add the remaining flour, ½ cup at a time, stirring well after each addition. When the dough has pulled together, turn it out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic, about 8 minutes.
Lightly oil a large mixing bowl, place the dough in the bowl and turn to coat with oil. Cover with a damp cloth and put in a warm place to rise until doubled in volume, about 1 hour.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C).
Deflate the dough and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface and form into a loaf. Place the loaf in a lightly greased 9x5 inch loaf pan. Cover with a damp cloth and let rise until doubled in volume, about 40 minutes.
Bake in preheated oven for about 30 minutes, or until the top is golden brown and the bottom of the loaf sounds hollow when tapped.
Best when served hot out of the oven or toasted.
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About the Author:
AWARD WINNING AUTHOR Alyssa Drake has been creating stories since she could read, preferring to construct her own bedtime tales instead of reading the titles in her bookshelves. She thoroughly enjoys strong heroines and often laughs aloud when imagining conversations between her characters.
Alyssa graduated from the University of the Pacific, with a B.S. in business and a concentration in French literature. Currently she resides in Northern California with her blended family, where she works full-time at a chocolate factory.
She believes everyone is motivated by love of someone or something. One of her favorite diversions is fabricating stories about strangers surrounding her on public transportation. Alyssa can often be found madly scribbling notes on a train or daydreaming out the window as the scenery whips past.
Where to find more of Alyssa Drake:
Official website: https://www.alyssadrakenovels.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/alyssadrakenovels
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/alyssadrakemuse
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/alyssa-drake
Newsletter signup: http://eepurl.com/cAwxVn
Other works by Alyssa Drake:
A Perfect Plan (Wiltshire Chronicles, book 1)
An Imperfect Engagement (Wiltshire Chronicles, book 2)
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Dragon’s Curvy Concierge
By
Mychal Daniels
Copyright © 2017 by Michelle Spiva for Wise Mind Media
Edited by: Dr. Cindy Cork
Cover Design: Michelle Spiva
Dragon’s Curvy Concierge
By Mychal Daniels
“I don’t know what you heard about me, but I’m not in that sort of business. I’m a concierge, not a concubine!”
To her retreating back, he lobbed, “And, I want neither of those. I want you.”
When Bronwyn Scott finds herself way over her head as the first-time business owner of a personal concierge service, she’s not about to fall for a rich mystery man trying to test her professionalism at every turn.
Determined to make her business a great success to find and show the mother who left her at birth that she made something of herself, Bronwyn has no time for games or entitled, gorgeous rich dudes.
MacMillan “Mac” Kelnar is at that time in his life where his business can run itself, he’s successful, powerful, and a mature Dragon who’s paid his dues.
When he sees his mate across the parking lot of a Home Improvement Center parking lot as she suffers a hit and run, he’ll stop at nothing to have her, even if that means pretending to hire her as his personal concierge.
Determined to have his mate, this Dragon won’t stop at nothing until his mate realizes that the only services he’s interested in are having all
of her.
Chapter One
BRONWYN SCOTT
“Eek! You son of a bitch!”
Bronwyn Scott’s heart flipped as her chest crashed into the steering wheel. Scraping sounds of metal against metal reverberated through the interior of her only means of transportation and livelihood. A fast-moving vehicle attacked her old and rusty but precious work van. A quick look and her hunch was right. She couldn’t make out anything from her side mirrors. Neither of the back doors had windows. Again, that handicap of not having back windows was biting her in the butt.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Her body shook from the impact of the hit. That bastard had hit her hard enough to rock the entire vehicle. Rushing to get out of her seatbelt to stop this idiot from utterly annihilating the back of her work van, Bronwyn jumped out in time to see the tail end of the culprit’s rapid retreat. She spit out the huge gulp of toxic fumes she’d taken in trying to catch him before he left. Looking after an everyday usual white work truck that had just side-swiped her already dented ride, she couldn’t make out the license plate or any special markings.
Figured. Another thing to put on the list of stuff she had to find a way to afford to fix. Bronwyn Scott was a survivor though. Orphaned as a baby, working since she aged out of the foster-care system, and now as the sole owner of Bron & Beauty Personal Concierge Services, she wasn’t about to get side-tracked by a parking lot side swipe.
Anger was buzzing within with no place to go; she kicked a huge granite rock that must have fallen from the bed of another truck. Being here in the parking lot of a contractor’s warehouse and supply store, there was no telling what might be out here on the ground—nails, rocks, tacks—or whoever might ram into her without a backward glance.
No use crying, staying upset or expecting anyone to come and rescue her from her crappy day. That wasn’t her life, and this wasn’t some fairy tale. She still had a job to do and a client was waiting. Sucking up the anger that would do her no use to indulge in, she reminded herself why she did this. To finance her quest to find her birth mother, see if she had any siblings, and make something of herself her mother would be proud of in a daughter.
