Chance. My one and only.
A pair of fuzzy slippers invited me to warm my feet. My nose led me out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where he was just scooping fresh grounds into the coffee pot.
“Hey handsome.” I shuffled over to him, curled my arms around his waist, my cheek propped against his back. The fisherman’s sweater he wore scratched my chin.
“Hey baby.” He finished pouring the water into the coffee pot and turned around to kiss me. He brushed a stray hair from my eye, tucked it behind my ear. “You slept late. Long night?”
I looked at the clock. It was eleven-thirty on Sunday.
“You could say that. Sorry about breakfast,” I said.
He placed his hands around my waist and hoisted me up onto the counter. “That’s okay. You can make it up to me.” He leaned in between my knees, smiling up at me and I bent my head down to dig my fingers through his sandy blond hair and nibble on his ear.
My stomach growled like there was an angry cat trapped in my belly and it was about to claw its way out.
Chance backed up and said, “After lunch, maybe?” He grinned, his smile bright as freshly fallen snow.
“Lunch sounds great. Let me jump into the shower first.”
“Okay. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee when it’s ready.”
I kissed him and slid off the counter, gathered some clothes, and hopped into the shower. I heard the door open and shut a few moments later and I knew when I stepped out there would be a hot cup of coffee dusted with nutmeg sitting on the counter. There would likely be warm towels too, fluffed in the dryer, just because he was thoughtful that way.
As I washed and rinsed and scrubbed my sore muscles with a loofah, I went over the prior evening’s events in my mind ending with Leo’s visit. It used to drive me nuts how protective he was of me when we were together, but last night he’d just been doing his job, and I was grateful that he was good at it. If there had been someone in my house, there was no doubt that Leo would have had my back.
They were similar in a lot of ways, Chance and Leo. Both strong, virile men with an unwavering sense of right and wrong. Both honorable, hardworking, considerate. Although Chance took a more relaxed approach to life, where Leo grabbed it by the horns. Chance had the sunny disposition of a cowboy on a dude ranch, and Leo was more the stormy pirate type, always waiting for the cannon to explode. I guess that came with being a cop, and helped explain why our relationship was doomed from the start. My love for Chance was like a ride on a Ferris wheel, always moving along at the same pace, but still looking beyond the horizon. With Leo, it was a roller coaster through a dark tunnel with an unexpected twist around every corner.
But I’d had enough of those in my life.
I turned the knobs and the water trickled to a stop. The towel I reached for was warm, and as I shoved the curtain aside, I saw the coffee on the counter, steaming up from my favorite over-sized mug with the words Don’t Make Me call Thor stamped on it in red blocky letters. A gift from Fiona for Samhain. She said she got the idea from a poster on Main Street that hung in the window of one of the quirky boutiques. Only the caption read Don’t Make Me Call the Flying Monkeys. I thought it was adorable.
There was a note scrawled in the steamy mirror above the sink as I crawled from the shower. Chance loves Stacy. Packaged inside a heart with an arrow punched through it.
I smiled, squeezing the excess water from my hair into the basin and wrapped a second towel around my head.
Sipping my coffee, I couldn’t help but think that while some woman craved dramatic relationships with brooding, rogue men who had smoldering auras, that wasn’t for me.
Chance may have been predictable, but he was passionate. He may have been the type of man to eat the same thing every Tuesday for lunch—Pearl’s turkey sandwich on rye with mustard and pickles—but he could field every curve ball I ever tossed at him. He was trustworthy, kind, and accepting. Chance was home.
He made me feel like the luckiest girl alive.
I finished dressing and turned off the light, wondering how long I had left to love him.
Chapter 22
Chance was reading the newspaper, sipping coffee at the counter when I came out of the bathroom.
“Just have to check a few things first and then we can go,” I said.
“No rush.” He didn’t look up from his paper and I finished getting dressed in my bedroom. I slipped some dagger earrings through my lobes, stuffed my feet into stiletto shoes that had finger holes on the bottom so they could be used to crack a skull open, strapped the athame to my thigh, and tucked a taser into the back of my skirt. Then I entered the Seeker’s Den to check my messages.
Nothing from the Council. Maybe Birdie hadn’t called them yet to alert them of the shifter. I slipped back through the door, into the closet and was again in my bedroom. I debated whether I wanted to try to cast a spell that would somehow shrink my sword. Thanks to Tisiphone’s visit, I was convinced that I needed it at all times. I figured I was well armed enough for lunch.
As I passed my jewelry box on the dresser, I decided a couple more pieces of defense couldn’t hurt. I chose an amethyst necklace and a silver cuff bracelet that shot a dose of hemlock out through the red eye of the dragon painted on it. In the last few months, I had become a regular at the spy store the next town over.
I walked out of the room and said, “Okay, let’s eat. I’m starving.”
Chance spun around on the bar stool, his leather boots planted on the floor, a smile on his face. When he saw me, his jaw dropped.
“Huh.”
“What?” I looked down at my ensemble, thinking maybe I should bring the sword after all. Tisiphone had taught me how to use it, and she might be pissed if I called on her and hadn’t been proactive. I spun the raven ring around my finger. It was hot and cold at the same time. Fire and ice. Fury and darkness.
Chance stood, scratched his head. “Won’t you be a bit...cold?”
Once again, I assessed my wardrobe and realized what he was talking about. My legs were covered in fishnet stockings I didn’t remember purchasing. The skirt was hiked well above my knees, black and tight, and my blouse was unbuttoned practically to the Underworld, revealing a sexy, red lace push-up bra.
Dammit, Fiona.
“I’ll change,” I said.
Chance shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t. I like it. It may be a bit saucy for Pearl’s Palace, but hey, let’s give them something to talk about, witchy woman.” He grinned.
I rolled my eyes, grabbed my father’s old oversized gray coat from the hall closet and shrugged it on. I sighed, looked at Chance. “I’ll explain over lunch.”
Chance walked over to the door and grabbed his own jacket— a navy quilted waterproof number you might see on a ski slope. I loved how it rested at the waist of his jeans, showing off his backside. “I can’t wait to hear it.”
He opened the door for me. I teetered out, not at all comfortable navigating in the heels, and stepped onto the porch.
Behind me, Chance closed the door and I heard him punch the code into the lock. “I gotta say, Stacy, I love a woman who keeps me on my toes.”
There was an awkward moment where he had to lift me into his truck to avoid flashing my who-hah to the world, but other than that, we made it to lunch with little fanfare.
I ordered a shot of Jameson and a raspberry chicken salad, and Chance ordered beef stew. Pearl, a robust, sweet woman in her sixties, gave me a curious look, but she shuffled off to place the order without comment.
The whiskey came, along with a soft drink for Chance, and I shot it down like a pro.
Chance sat back and said, “Yes, I’m really going to need some information here.”
I darted my eyes around the room, looking for suspicious characters, but seeing as how Amethyst was the homeland for circus folk and gypsies, it was a moot effort.
The entire story poured from my mouth as I explained to Chance not only about the shifter, the spell, and t
he theft of my talisman, but about how I somehow had traded traits with Birdie and the aunts as well. I left out the part about Tisiphone and my impending death, because, baby steps.
Chance buttered a slice of crusty white bread and said, “So you’re telling me that this...” He pointed his knife from my cleavage to my toes. “Is because of Fiona and that...” Eyed my second shot of whiskey. “Is because of Lolly.”
I took a stab at my chicken. “Afraid so.”
Chance tore off a hunk of the bread and dipped it into his stew. He popped it in his mouth and chewed. “Huh.”
I chewed my own meal for a while, wondering how this poor guy had the patience for my crazy life.
Chance sat back and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Never a dull moment with you, Kitten.” He called me that every so often because he said I had nine lives. If only.
“You going to be okay with this? I mean, I’ll figure out a way to reverse it, but I don’t know how long that will take.” Or even if I could. I lowered my eyes, looking at my freezing legs. Seriously, when would I ever have purchased fishnet hose? I didn’t even dress like this for Halloween parties.
Chance leaned forward and clamped his large hand over mine. “Are you kidding? Every day with you is an adventure. It’s like dating an actress who stars in a different movie every week. I wouldn’t miss a single flick.”
Chance’s remark itched at the back of my brain. I wondered for a moment if it was worth getting into, but things like this would always come up one way or another, so what good would it do to tiptoe around my feelings? “Except I’m not an actress. This is my life.”
Chance sipped his soda and thought for a moment. “Maybe that came out wrong. I guess what I mean is, some women try on a different hairstyle, some get a makeover, maybe try a new fad, you just happen to be wearing a few different quirks at the moment. It’s still you, Stace. So yes, I can handle it.” He scooped up some stew.
Pearl came by to see how the meal was, her pink fluffy sweater poking out from beneath her apron, and to ask if I wanted another shot. I declined.
I thought about what Chance said. Was it still me? I wasn’t sure, but if he was willing to think so, then maybe so should I. After all, spell or no spell, this was my family, my heritage, so maybe what I had garnered from the aunts and Birdie had always been a part of me in some small way.
Chance and I talked for a bit longer, me telling him about Cinnamon and hiring Monique (to which his eyes widened and his head shook involuntarily), me asking what jobs he had lined up next week (a rock wall rebuild for his mother’s friend) and we finished our meal in relative solitude.
Then Derek rushed into the diner and made a bee-line for our table. A yellow and white striped knit cap with one of those fuzzy balls on top covered his head. There was a matching scarf knotted around his neck, and of course the set wouldn’t be complete without the matching mittens. His puffy sky blue snow jacket was too tight, and featured a pink zipper running down the front. He looked like he was on his way to go tobogganing in the sixth grade.
He tossed his hands up. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you, woman. Why isn’t your phone on?” Every gesture was accompanied by a squeak from the polyester coat.
I stood and patted down my own coat pockets. “Shoot. I must have left it at home.”
Derek’s cheeks were flushed and his face twisted into exasperation. “Now how are we supposed to run a newspaper if you’re gonna leave your phone behind?”
“Easy, partner. You found me. What have you got?”
He was about to tell me before he registered my outfit. Derek and I had been working together for about a year, and we had been co-owners of the Amethyst Globe for an even time. He had mostly seen me in jeans, tee shirts, and the occasional knit blouse covered in mustard stains, dog hair, and barbecue sauce. This new look stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Girl, what the hell are you wearing?”
I rolled my eyes. “Never mind that. What’s the skinny?”
Geez, now I was talking like Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday. I bent over to get my jacket that had fallen to the floor.
“Apparently you are. How do you walk around with that narrow ass and those chicken legs?”
Chance stifled a laugh.
“Really?” I said to Chance.
He bit his lip.
Derek said, “And what the hell are those things on your feet?”
I blew out an irritated sigh. “Do you really want to compare wardrobe notes? You look like Urkel, for crying out loud.” All he needed was the glasses.
“My mother’s in town,” He grumbled. “My grandma bought the jacket and knitted the rest, and yes,” he looked himself up and down. “Apparently she thinks I’m a twelve year old white girl, and...wait. Have you been drinking?” Derek waved his mittened hand in front of his face like Tisiphone had.
“It’s date night!” I snapped.
“It’s not night at all. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, not ho-thirty.” He held a napkin up to my cleavage. “For crying out loud, woman, it’s the Lord’s day. Show some respect. People are eating.”
I considered firing the dragon bracelet in his face, but he was the only one who knew how to work the fax machine. I opted to just reach up and crush his cheeks together. “Stop. Talking. Now.”
Derek said, his lips twisted like a blowfish, “I think my eyes are bleeding. Please tell me this look of yours is just a kinky thing you two are into on the weekends and not something I have to look forward to at the office.”
“I’m leaving.” I grabbed my coat and walked out of the diner, frustration mounting. How was I going to survive this? It was humiliating. Then I remembered what Lolly had said in the magic chamber. Maybe I shouldn’t dress without drinking.
Derek was on my heels. “Okay look, they found something in one of those old abandoned mines that run beneath the city.”
“What?”
“I think it’s one of those ‘you have to see it to believe it’ deals. You know, like that French maid’s costume you’re wearing.”
“Derek—”
Chance stepped outside then. “Do you need to go? I could give you a ride.”
Derek said, “Actually, boss, this concerns you. It’s your crew that found it.”
Chapter 23
A few minutes later we were standing in front of a gaping hole beneath the front yard of Evelyn Leary, Chance’s mother’s friend who owned the nut shop—the one who had hired Chance’s team to rebuild her crumbling rock wall. She hovered near her front porch, a fiftyish woman with chin-length salt and pepper hair and huge doll eyes, who looked as if she had just been told there was no Santa Claus. As Leo and his deputy, Gus, spoke with her, a gust of wind swept through the yard, and she wrapped a red cardigan tighter around her body like armor. Her eyes darted around as if any moment someone might jump out and say ‘boo!’.
Chance had wandered over to his crew to collect details on the situation, and Derek and I were left near the hole, staring at its contents in disbelief.
To better grasp what we were viewing, it’s best to first understand the topography and history of the town.
Amethyst was incredibly hilly. San Francisco steep. To give an idea, a staircase numbering two hundred and fifty-three steps led from Main Street to the top of the hill in the neighborhood where the Geraghty Girls house was situated.
The beauty of the landscape and the centuries old buildings were just a few of the reasons the area was such a popular hotspot for tourists. There’s a ski lodge, hiking and biking trails, entertainment, shopping, luscious waterfalls and rivers, even wineries all around the county. It’s also steeped in history with ties to Native American tribes, civil war generals and a few United States presidents.
But there’s a dark side to this gothic town. A shadowy history you won’t find in any of the brochures. Of course a place as old as Amethyst is bound to harbor her share of secrets. A few are the stuff of horror films.
> This was one of them.
In the early 1800s, Amethyst was a booming lead-mining town. Like the folks following the California Gold Rush, many a poor family flocked here seeking opportunity and prosperity, but it was a brutal existence. The men lived and worked under horrendous conditions for slave wages and many died by tragic accident, disease, and even murder. It was whispered in shameful hushes that there was no telling how many remains of those who worked the mine had never been never recovered. And when the lead dried up, so did the town. The population deflated as wealthier residents abandoned the area in search of the next boom. Those left behind didn’t have the money or the means to take care of what was once a thriving city. Because much of the maze of derelict shafts had never been filled in, Amethyst was left sitting atop what equated to a carved up jack-o-lantern. Some mines were simply left open like festering wounds. Others were plugged up by lazy landowners with whatever discarded materials they could find in order to dump the properties cheap and fast. Which meant they weren’t always filled properly or safely. It wasn’t until a group of teenagers were crushed to death while joyriding through an unsealed mine over thirty years ago that the townspeople united and actually did something about the problem. Of course that didn’t mean the holes that had been boarded up or covered over decades before didn’t get overlooked in the restructuring. Holes like this one.
Evelyn Leary’s house was newer than a lot of the homes on this side of town. It was a rambling Queen Anne, probably built in the 1900s, where many of the homes were federal brick style, circa mid-1800s. Over time, deeds exchanged hands, and land owners divided and sold off parcels, bit by bit, with some owners never realizing their houses were sitting on hollow ground. Like Evelyn.
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