by M. L. Briers
BELLS AND SPELLS
MIDLIFE STRIFE
BY
M L BRIERS
Copyright © 2020, M L Briers
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced whatsoever without written permission of the author, except for brief exerts in reviews. Any unauthorised reproduction or distribution of the material herein is illegal and may result in criminal proceedings. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to the internet or distributed via electronic or print without prior consent.
Note from the Author;
All names, places, and incidents contained herein are purely fictional and have no basis in actual events or linked to actual Humans, Witches, Vampires, Werewolves, Lycans, Werebears or persons living, dead or undead.
Copyright © 2020, Cover Design by; [email protected].
Table of Contents
BELLS AND SPELLS
MIDLIFE STRIFE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
CHAPTER ONE
~
“I want you back, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen,” Marsh Weathers said.
Marsh wasn’t down on one knee or anything because that would be weird, but he did have both palms pressed against the marble desk, and he was leaning in over the top of it.
Claudia hated that. How like a man to use his height and frame to try and intimidate a woman – men like that didn’t deserve anyone’s time of day let alone hers.
There was only one problem with his attitude; Claudia wasn’t the type of women to get intimidated. “How about you change your personality, and then we’ll talk,” she said, scrunching up her nose and offering him the kind of mocking smile that made the little nerve under his right eye twitch.
Bingo, she’d hit a hole in one.
Marsh Weathers – a stupid name for a stupid man – and his ego had taken a knock lately. It might have had something to do with the fact that since she’d left him – in a purely professional capacity – his golf swing had gone to hell and so had his world rankings.
Too bad, she was done with Mr Weathers and his giant ego and passable talent that was eighty per cent him down to him and twenty per cent due to her magic, and his problems, of which he had many, were no longer her problems to fix.
Of course, he hadn’t always been that way. When she’d found him and had become his ‘lucky charm’ he’d been a reasonably nice guy. Sure, there was a slight misogynistic quality about him, but she’d overlooked that to work with him and make him the world’s number two professional golfer – number one would have been a far more significant stretch of the imagination considering who he had as an opponent.
It was a win-win for her. She’d made money, taking a slice of Marsh’s winnings as management and betting on him on the side, and he’d made money. The take from a top tournament wasn’t to be sniffed at, neither were his endorsements, and he’d become a multi-millionaire.
Now, it was time to move on. The odds on Marsh winning weren’t as lucrative as they had been when he’d been fresh on the scene, and he’d become something of an egotistical pig – fame had gone to his oval-shaped head. Those blue eyes that had once been appreciative were now washed out from partying, much like his talent.
Claudia didn’t need that in her life. She was fifty-two years old, a multi-millionaire in her own right, and the thought of babysitting his ego, cleaning up his messes, or putting up with his moods and his drinking for a moment more felt like an eternity in hell.
As promised in the contract that he’d signed, she’d given him one full year of her life and made him a household name for anyone who followed sports. She’d taken Mr Mediocre and made him a megastar. He should be thanking her, not demanding more than she was willing to give.
Marsh, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have got the memo. “I don’t know what it is you do for me, but my swing has gone to hell since you left, my whole game is…”
“Well,” Claudia pushed up on her expensive shoes, placed her palms down on the desk, careful of her long, manicured nails, and leant in towards him, her brown eyes were locked and loaded on his washed-out blue ones. “You’ve made enough money to retire from the game. You still have endorsements for brands, and the fame that winning has brought you, and if you clean up your act, you can dine out on that for a while. Just say thank you, turn around, and don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”
Harsh? No, not when she’d had to put up with his BS for a whole year, not to mention the man had more hands than a centipede and was about as appealing.
He’d even had the audacity to fire her once before until his game went to hell and he’d started losing. Then he’d crawled back on his belly, and she’d accepted, because she hadn’t done making money from him and she had promised him a full year, and a promise was a promise.
But not this time. Both had got what they wanted, and the symbiotic relationship had to come to an end. It was how it needed to be, how it always was – Claudia didn’t stay anywhere for too long – and how it would always be because long term relationships never worked out for anyone.
Besides, she was due to meet up with an old friend, and she couldn’t do that and travel the world with Mr Misogynist, now could she?
Marsh pushed back from the desk, spread his broad shoulders to their full width, and took a couple of backward steps. There it was, his true nature twisted onto his face as he sneered at her. “Bitch,” he spat out.
“Well, it takes one to know one, now leave,” she said with a blank expression.
The thunder of her heart in her chest at the remark, at the way he’d turned on her so suddenly made Claudia nervous, and she felt the rush of magic to her fingertips – just in case thing escalated – she knew what to do, and she had no qualms about doing it.
A woman had to protect herself by whatever means necessary, because for all the talk, it was still a man’s world, and luckily for her, she had magic. Other women weren’t so blessed, and it hurt her heart when she
read or saw something on the news about violence against women.
If there were one spell that she could cast over the whole planet, it would be a protection spell for woman and children, but unfortunately, there just wasn’t enough magic for that.
Claudia accepted that not all men hit, but the one’s that did didn’t deserve to draw a breath, and the man before her was skating a thin line. If he crossed it, then she had a surprise for him.
Marsh hesitated for a long moment, rocking on his heels as he considered his options. She’d obviously hurt his male ego, but what was he prepared to do about it?
Don’t do it, Marsh – you’ll only regret it, she thought, more than ready and willing to drop him on his backside if he came close enough. But there was a part of her that sort of wished he would step over that invisible line, just so she could sock him one with her magic.
“I’m not done with you,” he informed her, poking a fat finger at the air and sneering some more. But he was smart enough to turn and walk out of her office, and slam the door behind him like a spoilt child who’d been told he wasn’t getting any more cookies.
Claudia collapsed in the soft leather chair with a sigh. “Goodbye and good riddance,” she muttered as she picked up a pen and put a big cross through his name in her score book. “Enjoy your fall from grace, Mr Weathers, may it make you a better person.”
Claudia might or might not have put a little magic behind her words, but she didn’t want to dwell on it. She had money in the bank, a nice car, and she could go wherever and do whatever she wanted.
The lease on her office and apartment were up, she only had a handful of things to pack away, and she was closing the book on her golfer management career. Onwards and upwards.
The day could only get better.
~
“Marilyn!”
Marilyn closed her eyes for a moment and tried to hold onto the peaceful feeling that she’d had just before that screeching wail.
At fifty-two, divorced, and with two grown children, she shouldn’t need to feel like a teen caught on prom night doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing every time her mother yelled her name, but alas, she still did.
Marilyn wasn’t sure when her mother had turned into a Banshee, but it had happened. She’d gone from a soft-spoken woman who could lure sailors to their deaths on the rocks into someone whose voice could crash ships against those same rocks just to get away from her.
“Oh, tell me again why I decided it was a good idea to have her come live in my summer house,” she muttered, opening her eyes, reaching for another egg and cracking it against the side of the glass bowl with flair. “In here,” she called back.
“Marilyn!” Came the reply, like an echo in her brain that wouldn’t be silenced.
Marilyn reached for another egg and hit it a little bit harder against the edge. “In the kitchen,” she called back trying to keep her tone even.
If her mother thought she was going to race out to find her, then she was mistaken. Marilyn wasn’t at her beck and call, because the woman was more than capable of walking through a house on her own. Maybe one day that would be different, but for now the formidable Mrs Porter still had a fire in her belly and could do her bidding.
Besides, Marilyn could hear the clip-clop of the matriarch’s heels on the wooden floor getting closer, and they both knew the game and the rules. That cagey old bird knew just where she was, and she was coming under her own steam.
“Marilyn!”
The third cry snapped out, and the fourth egg really got it – smack-o, and the result was that there was egg everywhere.
Marilyn snatched a handful of kitchen towel and scooped up the poor Humpty Dumpty. Then she turned and slammed the toes of her house shoes down on the pedal of the bin a little harder than she should have. The top flipped up like it was trying to escape, and she tossed the eggy paper towel into the bin with a vengeance while muttering curses under her breath.
“Third time’s a charm,” she huffed, and let the pedal go, and the lid thumped down just as Louann Porter came through the arch of the open doorway like a rocket on a mission.
“It’s rude not answering me when I call to you. I could have been dead on the floor,” her mother said, like logic just drove by on the bus, waving as it went.
“Well, if you were dead then you wouldn’t need me anymore,” Marilyn shot back as quick as a flash, and her mother stopped nosing around her baking things and snapped her attention to her daughter.
Louann Porter wasn’t a woman to be trifled with. She might have looked like a kindly older lady with her perfectly styled hair that belonged in the seventies, and a nice, expensive, claret suit that fitted her slightly rounded slender frame, but looks could be deceiving.
Firstly, she’d had two well-heeled husbands and had seen both of them to their graves. Some would say that it was a blessed release for both men – Louann would say that they did it to spite her because they knew she hated funerals. Secondly, Miss Louann was a witch, and a powerful one, and she didn’t have the best self-control when it came to her temper.
Louann straightened up, brushed down the tailored collar to her expensive suit, and eyed her daughter like she had a she-devil sitting on her shoulder, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it. “Is that supposed to be funny, or was it a Freudian slip?” she asked in a tone that could cut glass and a look that matched her mood.
“You tell me,” Marilyn said, reaching for another egg and remembering not to take it out on poor Humpty this time. She cracked it too perfection, which was a good thing because her mother would probably have criticized her technique if she hadn’t.
“I don’t like you much when you have this attitude,” Louann said and lifted her chin as if she had a bad smell under her nose.
“Well, I don’t like me either, so we’re a match on that,” Marilyn said, and that wasn’t a lie. Her mother could bring out the very worst in her, and why she’d thought they could share the same property, even if her mother did have to pass the pool and walk through the garden to get to her house, was another matter.
Maybe a different continent would have been the key to a less abrasive life between them, but she doubted it in the era of technology that could track you wherever you went.
“Then we’re agreed, you’ll work on your attitude,” Louann said and turned to leave.
Marilyn pressed her lips together and silently cursed. Today was not the day to have it out with her mother – again. She was far too busy for that. Although she had stocked up on alcohol for the weekend, so there was always the fallback position of getting drunk.
Marilyn seethed to herself and hoped her mother’s exit would be swift so she could curse out loud. But when Louann got to the doorway, she turned back, and Marilyn’s heart sank. “I came to tell you; I’m leaving,” she said.
“For good, or can I expect you back at some point?” Marilyn didn’t look up from the eggs she was whisking with a vengeance.
“If you want me to leave…” Louann said, and left it hanging in the air like a big black cloud – that for one long moment, parted and unicorns and fairies danced with joy at the thought of it.
That moment ended too soon for Marilyn. “If I didn’t want you here then I wouldn’t have asked you to come live with me,” she said, still not making eye contact with the frost lady for fear she might have been turned to ice.
“I don’t live with you; I live in your pool house,” Louann reminded her.
“Summer house, and we decided it was best…”
“To keep our distance as much as possible,” Louann said, making Marilyn sigh inwardly with a little smudge of guilt. Just a little, not too much, because Marilyn was canny to her mother’s ways of turning the screws and pushing her buttons.
“And yet,” Marilyn said and left it hanging. She could play that game too, she’d learned from the very best.
“Here I am telling you I’m off to lunch with Lottie,” Louann said, and Marilyn was sur
e she could hear a smirk in her mother’s voice, but she dared not look up, because if it was on her face, then she just might throw the bowl of eggs at her.
Oh, if only.
“Noted,” Marilyn said and held her breath as she heard her mother’s clip-clop heels moving away. “Have a nice time,” she called as the guilt slapped her around the back of the head. “Don’t snack on any babies or the waiter,” she muttered and almost collapsed in on herself when the front door slammed shut. “Ugh!”
Marilyn placed her palms on the cold countertop, took in a long deep breath and held onto it. “I need a drink,” she grumbled.
It was only a few hours until Claudia was due to arrive and she had all the cooking to do for dinner. She snapped straight, let out the breath she’d been holding, and got on with the job at hand.
This weekend, come what may – and that included her mother – she was going to enjoy herself.
Life was too short not to live it – occasionally and with moderation – after all, she wasn’t in her twenties anymore, and a good book in front of the fire was about as exciting as it got – and she’d had enough of the empty nest, the quiet nights, and the hermit lifestyle to last her a lifetime – or to last until Claudia left again, and she’d had enough of being caught up in the woman’s whirlwind personality.
Still, she had this weekend, and that was what counted.
CHAPTER TWO
~
Claudia pushed the sunglasses up on her head and swept the hair back from her face as she stood in front of the store and looked up at the sign – Bells and Spells – as if the window display didn’t give away what was inside. She was especially impressed by the window art; the name of the shop looked as if it had been spray-painted along the bottom of the glass and seemed to sparkle as it reached up the sides of the frame.
It reminded her of the eighties, back when street art was cool and done by local artists that brightened a downtrodden neighbourhood, and not a political statement done by multi-millionaires designed to depress the masses.
