An emerald green spark darted out of the glove box, zipped around the interior of the car, and settled on the steering wheel.
Buzz, buzz, buzzzz, buzz buzz.
“I’m happy you noticed, Fae.” Her Parking Fairy had been a dream to live with lately. No tantrums, no vendettas. In fact, everything about her life seemed to be coming together. “Yes, this is a fresh manicure. I love purple too. This shade is called Eye of Newt. I’m glad you like it.”
Fae flew toward Val’s cheek and affectionately rubbed against it, purring. Buzz, buzz, buzzzz.
“You’re being a little flirt.” Estele laughed and opened the window another inch. “Fae, find us a parking space as close to the Master Mage Magic Academy as you can get.” She almost said thank you, but bit her lip to keep from making such an embarrassing faux pas.
Buzz. Fae flew out the window and raced ahead.
Estele reached over to squeeze Val’s hand. “Fae will be back in a minute with recon and she can guide us in.”
Val was dressed casually but elegantly in a pair of black jeans and an eggplant-purple silk shirt. Looking at him now, with his dark hair swept away from his rugged face and sparkling eyes, it was hard to believe there was a time in her life when she hadn’t loved and trusted a brujo.
Straightening his sleeves, he buttoned his cuffs. “You never told me, why are we going to the Master Mage Magic Academy in the first place? Is it a Christmas party?”
Why were they going? Miss Dahlia had insisted she show up at a certain time and it had never occurred to her to question it. “I’m not sure what it is. It’s a celebration of some sort. We just have to show up. We don’t need to stay.”
Fae returned and zipped back and forth in front of the windshield, pointing the way to a prime parking space situated near the entrance of the school.
“Ah. Parking Fairy found us a great spot. Considering how much traffic there is downtown, I don’t believe it.” She pulled the car over and parked. “Hey! Look at that, the Brujo Tacos truck is here. What’s Tio Bruno doing in San Buena? I thought he was down south this weekend working the San Diego Convention Center?”
Val smiled and glanced away. “We’re both here for something exceptional.”
“What?” A thrill of excitement shot through her. All her intuition told her something good was happening, but the skeptic in her had to ask anyway. “We’re not in trouble, are we? Please tell me we haven’t been named in a group lawsuit from the international djinn community?”
“No.” Val unfastened his seat belt. “It’s nothing like that.”
“I know! Fredi and Gus eloped and this is their secret reception party?”
He climbed out of the car and shut the door. “Nope. The wedding is still on.”
“Good, because I already bought my bridesmaid dress and I actually love it. You’re still coming to the wedding, right?”
“Yes.” Val strode to Estele’s side and took her hand. “You know I wouldn’t miss it.”
They climbed the front steps together. “I take nothing for granted. You and Tio Bruno are so busy. The truck’s booked solid every day.”
Estele pushed the glass doors open and entered a long hallway leading to the inconspicuous staircase at the end.
Val walked at her side, looking nervous. “I want to run something by you. Soon, I’m going to be even busier. My dad’s setting me up in business with my own Brujo Tacos truck.”
She stopped to throw her arms around Val’s neck and hug him. “That’s so wonderful! Congratulations.” The thought occurred that he’d be way too busy to commute the three-to-five-hour drive from down south as often as he did now. “This is good news. We’ll find a way to see each other, won’t we? I won’t be in school forever. It’s maybe another year or two until I graduate. I’m not screwing up nearly as badly as I used to.”
He kissed her lips and brushed a lock of hair from her brow. “You haven’t been screwing up at all. Give yourself credit, sweetheart. Your magic has been pristine. Your father, grandmother, and all your ancestors would be so proud of you.”
When she looked into his eyes as she did now, she saw a beautiful future. Without doubt Val was the one, she just didn’t know how to bring it up. “You say the nicest things to me.”
“I didn’t say it to be nice. It’s true.” Leaning close, he kissed her again. This time the kiss lingered, soft and sweet on her lips. “I want to relocate to San Buena to be closer to you. What do you think of that idea?”
“You mean work your own truck apart from Bruno? Are you kidding me?” She returned his kiss and tangled her fingers in his thick hair. “I think it’s a great idea. You can do it!”
“Tio and I would work big events together, like the Coachella festival. You could come with me.”
“I would love that.” A breathless sensation washed over her. It was as if all her wildest dreams were coming true at the same time. “Maybe you could move in with me?” The large apartment was so lonely during the week now that Captain Manx had moved on. “At least think about it.”
Val wrapped his arms around Estele and drew her against his chest. “Only if you allow me to pay the rent.”
“Is that a macho brujo condition?” She laughed.
“Yes.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Esy. I want to take care of you. I’m offering my heart, good food, rent, and more if you want.”
She sensed he was going to offer marriage, but was she ready for that? Hopefully, someday soon she would be. If a psychic had told her six months ago that she would be living a balanced life and standing beside a good man who loved her, she would have thought them a complete charlatan.
A puff of steam materialized beside them. Witch Griselda appeared in the hallway, looking disheveled and confused. She turned in a slow circle, thumping her staff on the floor and making the Heart of Hecate glow crimson. “I heard talking. Where am I? There you are! Miss Esposito, why aren’t you inside already? Everyone’s waiting for you to arrive.”
Estele hooked her arm through Griselda’s and led the elderly lady down the stairs. “Grissy, as usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but let’s walk into the Master Mage Magic Academy together. I would be honored to escort you.”
Griselda patted Estele’s arm. “You’re such a sweet little seraphim. I have no children, but if I did, I’d like to think they would have turned out just like you, dear.”
How lovely to be praised! It was as if the day just got better and better. Estele felt as if she might cry tears of joy.
“You’re just as crazy,” Griselda muttered, “and dangerously unpredictable as I would expect a child of mine to behave. Estele, you are the category-five hurricane that may or may not reach shore. You are the shake-up the enchantment community has needed for a very long time.”
Wow, that compliment took a hard left, but it was still a compliment. Somehow, someway, she’d arrived. People treated her with affection and respect instead of dread. The incident at the fairgrounds had triggered a change, but Val’s love had taken everything over the top. His belief in her proved to be an act of healing alchemy for her soul. “Thank you.”
Val walked ahead and opened the door to the academy. “Come inside, ladies.”
Estele took slow, careful steps so Griselda could keep up. Once she reached the deliberately nondescript threshold of the Master Mage Magic Academy, she peered into a darkened room. “Why are the lights out? Someone could get hurt.” She reached for the switch.
“Surprise!” a chorus of voices rang out.
The lights flicked on and everyone in the enchantment community that Estele knew, from Sidhe the Fae to Fredi and Gus, and even her usually sour mother, who’d been remarkably civil lately, was looking at her with rapt attention. “What’s going on? It’s not my birthday.”
Griselda smiled and her left eye wandered up and down. “It’s your graduation day, Estele. You’ve worked hard and surpassed all expectations to become one of the most powerful and creative witches
the San Buena enchantment community has ever produced. We want you to start the coming year with the proper title attached to your name.”
Miss Dahlia and Madame Shamansky, who now worked at the school full time teaching Psychic Predictions 101, stepped forward. Together they presented Estele with a rolled papyrus.
Estele studied the document in her hand. “What is this?”
Miss Dahlia pushed her glasses up her nose. “Unfurl it and take a look.”
With Val reading over her shoulder, she unrolled the papyrus and scanned the handwritten page. Her chest tightened as she read the words aloud. “The Master Mage Magic Academy by the Sea wishes to recognize excellence in magical craft and character in Estele Ernestina Esposito, by bestowing on her the well-earned title of Mistress of Enchantment.” She glanced around the room, scanning faces for signs it was a hoax or a mistake of some kind. “Are you kidding? Is this real?”
“It’s real.” Miss Dahlia smiled. “Your improvement has been astounding, a glowing example of what’s possible when a talented person applies focus.”
She read it again just to make sure she was reading things right. The school was recognizing her for doing something right, and it felt so good. A lump of emotion rose in her throat and she’d didn’t trust herself to say another word. She glanced around the room, and so many happy faces looked back. Emily the closeted psychic and Hector the weird Goth boy both looked overcome with emotion. Some kind soul had even brought the shrunken heads from the Voodoo Hoodoo cocktail lounge especially for this occasion, and for once they were silent and smiling through stitched lips.
Numbed, she reread the papyrus. “Is this a mistake? Mistress of Enchantment is the equivalent of a magical master’s degree. Does this mean I passed the Master Mage vocational program?”
Miss Dahlia placed her hand on Estele’s shoulder. “It means you have so much to teach the rest of us. Estele, we would be honored to have you as an instructor.”
Witch Griselda pounded her staff on the floor. “If I die, which I don’t plan on anytime soon, you might eventually replace me as the headmistress.” She tossed the staff into Estele’s hands. “Catch!” she cackled.
Estele caught the staff in one hand and held it aloft. This was almost too much to take in. “Master Mage Magic Academy! Freaking yeah!”
Fredi clapped loudly. “To Estele Esposito, my best friend! Everybody give the newest Mistress of Enchantment a round of applause!”
“To Ernesto, the bravest brujo!” she added. By some strange but wonderful transmutation, she’d become dependable. All around the room, the cheers continued, but all she could focus on was the love in Val’s eyes as he gazed back at her.
* * *
The End.
About the Author
Katalina Leon is an artist and author who can't commit to a single romance subgenre. Her favorite playgrounds are historical, sci-fi, contemporary, and most of all paranormal realms. Lately, she has paranormal romance and vampires on the brain. Katalina brings a sense of adventure and a touch of the mystical to romance. She believes there's a daring heroine inside every woman who wants to take a wild ride with a strong, worthy hero.
Read More from Katalina Leon:
www.katalinaleon.com
To Catch Her Death
Boone Brux
To Catch Her Death © 2014
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To Catch Her Death
I reap stupid people. Like I don’t get enough of that every day.
What do you get when you cross a hockey mom with the grim reaper?
Me, Lisa Carron. If being a depressed, frumpy, widowed mother of three wasn't bad enough, I just found out I'm a grim reaper. I know what you're thinking. Wow, that's kind of sexy and full of awesomeness. Hardly. Oh, and my clients? Stupid people. Like I don't get enough of that from the living.
Since Alaska is big and angels of death are few, I've been partnered with reaper extraordinaire, Nate Cramer. He's strong, silent, and way too good looking for my recently widowed state.Oh, and he reaps violent criminals, so that should be interesting.
Forget the danger and the hours of self-analysis it will take for me to find my reaper mojo. My biggest problem? Hiding it all from my overly attentive family and nosy neighbors. Now that's going to take a miracle.
Chapter 1
Being a widow wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded. Unless a person had the money to grieve properly—say in a tropical country, drowning in endless Mai Tais—it really kind of sucked.
I should know. I’ve been a widow for a year now. Twelve long months of clawing my way through each day. My name is Lisa Carron. I’m a thirty-five-year-old, single mother of three, and today is the one-year anniversary of my husband Jeff’s death.
It was also a year ago, today I started letting my appearance slide. Grief will do that to you. Lay you low and drag you into dark places you never thought you’d go. In my case, it was carbs and elastic waistbands.
For the last year, my kids had come first, my depression last. Tasks like dressing and combing my hair took a back seat to more important activities, such as lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling, or scouring the cabinets for spilled chocolate chips. None of my pre-widow clothes fit anymore. Still, I hadn’t been motivated to clear off my treadmill and fire that baby up.
One aspect of widowhood I had enjoyed was wearing black. I know that wasn’t a thing anymore, unless you’re an elderly lady from the old country, but I embraced it nonetheless—maybe a little too enthusiastically. Everything I owned was black.
I’d fallen into a rut and until a few days ago, when my daughter casually suggested I run a comb through my hair as to not scare the neighbor kids, I hadn’t realized how far I’d sunk. That was my Aha moment. It was then I’d realized my kids had weathered the crisis of their father’s death and emerged on the other side in far better shape than I had.
The revelation was bittersweet. I mean, kudos to me for being an awesome mom, but damn. My frizzy ponytail belonged on the backend of a horse, and my nails looked like I’d been buried alive and clawed my way out of the grave. In a word—I was a hot mess. What I needed was a long dip in Lake Lisa.
Determined to get my act together, I dropped off the spawn of my loins at my parents’ house for the weekend. Once back home, I popped a cork on a bottle of Riesling, sat at the table, and planned two kid-free days. The excitement made me a little giddy—or maybe it was the wine—anyway, for the first time in a year, I sketched out a Saturday that was all about me.
That night I slept like a baby and when morning dawned, I rolled out of bed ready to face the day. A slight ache beat against the inside of my skull, but it was nothing a few aspirins hadn’t cured. Plus, the Riesling had totally been worth it.
I showered and headed to the Holiday gas station near my friend Vella’s hair salon. Getting my hair done was number two on my list. Buying my bucket of soda number one. The sugary nectar was the only legal substance I knew that gave me the sustained energy I needed to get through my day of errands—and sadly, the main reason I’d become a little fluffy.
Before I could shut off Omar, my ancient minivan, The Hokie Pokie, my mom’s special ringtone, erupte
d in my purse. A million terrible scenarios sped through my mind. Fine, maybe I wasn’t completely comfortable being away from my kids.
I flipped off the ignition and scrambled to find my phone. “Are the kids okay?”
“They’re fine, sweetheart.” Mom’s placating voice soothed my panic back to a normal level. A small plane from the nearby airport buzzed over the car. “Where are you? I hear traffic. Are you running errands?”
Translation, did you get your big butt out of bed?
“Yes, I’m at the Holiday station near Merrill Field. I’m getting gas,” I lied, not needing the lecture on the hundred ways soda could kill me. “Did you need something?”
“It’s sixteen degrees out.” Temperature update brought to you by my mother, the neighborhood weather monitor. “Are you wearing your winter coat?”
“No, it’s not that cold.” Refusing to wear my parka until it hit zero had been something I’d done since I was a teenager—a personal affirmation that I was an Alaskan woman. Plus, it irritated the hell out of Mom, so I’d kept up the tradition. Childish, I know, but some days I just needed that win.
“You and that stupid habit. One day you’re going to catch your death.” Her heavy sigh hissed through the receiver. “Anyway, what do you have planned for today?”
“I’m on my way to Vella’s to get my hair cut.” Vella was my best friend and supreme ruler of all hairstylists in the universe. “Possibly my nails.”
“Oh good, you were starting to look like a mangy Cocker Spaniel. Have her hit those roots with a little color too. You’ll feel better.”
Translation, she’d feel better.
Having grown up with Mom’s backhanded comments; I now ignored them—for the most part. I was secure in my frumpiness, and looked passably acceptable to be seen in public, though Bronte, my daughter, would argue that point.
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