Midlife Strife: A Paranormal Women's fiction Novel (Bells and Spells - Book 1)

by M. L. Briers

  “Define monster,” Louann shot back.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Marilyn tossed back as if they were in the middle of a volley in tennis, and both were playing for their lives.

  “Well, if I’m such a monster, then why would you share dinner with me?” Louann said, her feathers ruffled by Marilyn’s new attitude. Yes, they always fenced words, but tonight felt a little different, she just didn’t know how.

  “Because you’re my monster–mother,” Marilyn said, correcting herself with a small shake of her head, but it was already out there, and there was gentle laughter around the table.

  “If that’s how you feel,” Louann said, and pushed up.

  “Oh, Lou, sit down,” Lottie scolded her.

  Louann was already heading for the door. “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted,” she tossed back over her shoulder.

  Marilyn grunted to herself as the guilt demon jumped up and down on her back, reminding her of one thing – the importance of family. “Mother,” Marilyn said, turning in her chair to watch her mother go.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Marilyn, and hopefully your attitude will have improved,” Louann called back just before the backdoor slammed shut behind her.

  “Was I wrong?” Marilyn asked, looking around the table.

  Scott held up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t ask me, I missed most of it,” he said.

  “No,” Lottie said. “As much as I love your mother, we all know she can be a cantankerous old busy body at times…”

  “Only at times?” Marilyn asked, and guilt slapped her around the back of the head, and she chuckled her remark away.

  “Just like all meddling mothers are,” Lottie said, reminding Marilyn of the missteps she’d made with her children and how she was still making them, and sending her little guilt demon into overdrive. “But, she means well.”

  “Even if she is a giant pain in the rear,” Marilyn said, and tried to drown her guilt in the second half of the glass of wine, but there didn’t seem to be enough alcohol to do that. Then she caved. “Fine, I’ll go and…”

  “Let her stew on it,” Lottie said as Marilyn prepared to push up.

  Now Marilyn was confused. “But, you just said…”

  “She could do with a wakeup call, and she’s old enough to take a knock or two,” Lottie said with a sympathetic smile for Marilyn.

  “So,” Amber said and turned her full attention on her brother. “How do you know the vampire?”

  All eyes turned back on Scott, and his mother settled back into her chair like she was expecting the main event. Scott wished he was five again so he could slip off his chair and under the table where he could just ignore the world above. “Long story,” he said.

  “We’ve got time,” they all said together, and he grimaced.

  Scott knew he wasn’t getting out of that room before he’d given them the juicy details, and four pairs of expectant eyes stared at him.

  It was hard being the only male in the family, and he had nobody to back him up.

  ~

  Marilyn didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Apparently, the eighties was a popular theme for a night out in town; sadly, most of the people that attended the bar and grill theme night had already lived through those years once.

  There was something oddly depressing about seeing her youth aged all around her with middle-aged men dressed like their heroes from yesteryear, and women whose best years were far behind them squeezed into clothes from their attic.

  Marilyn brushed over the little swell of her stomach that was experiencing a midlife-spread crisis of its own since dinner. She battered the urge to run for the hills every time an aged Top Gun lookalike walked by her to get to the bar with a cheesy grin. It was less ‘Take my breath away’ and more ‘get the hell out of my way’.

  Of course, Claudia still looked good dressed in her Madonna get up, and yet, even she seemed strangely aged. “Here,” Claudia thrust a drink into her hand and she wasn’t about to say no. “Quite a crowd.”

  “It’s like we walked into our parent's dress-up party,” Marilyn shouted above the music that was beating a bass out of the speakers that seemed to echo inside Marilyn’s bones. “If I don’t look in a mirror I won’t have to realise that I’m as old as they are.”

  “Not all of them,” Claudia said and nodded to Scott and Amber heading through the crowd in their direction.

  Scott looked dashingly cool dressed up in aviation glasses and a flight jacket; he was certainly the best from a bad bunch. Amber looked like a ‘kid’ from Fame, the series, not the movie. “Oh, dear Lord, would you look at our youth,” Marilyn muttered as her children eyed her up and down.

  “Two Madonna’s,” Amber said with a big beaming grin.

  “Please don’t say, like a virgin,” Scott shouted back with a small grimace.

  Marilyn snorted her contempt. “I’m not a Madonna, I’m Cindy,” she informed her clueless offspring.

  They looked a little confused, so Claudia helped them out. “Because girls just wanna have fun,” she said and saw the instant recognition on their faces. “And your mother did like to live by those words.” Marilyn elbowed her friend in the ribs and got a hard glare in return. “Truth hurts.”

  “And elbows hurt more,” Marilyn informed her before diving into her rum and coke and hoping her children would ignore her best friend’s comment. She changed the subject, pointing to the leg warmers that Amber was wearing over high heels. “Where did you get those?”

  “Your closet?” Claudia tossed back and got a curious look in return.

  “The vintage shop,” Amber said, all bright and breezy and pleased with herself.

  Marilyn groaned inwardly and rolled her eyes. “We’re vintage,” she said to Claudia as though they had just announced the end of the world over the speakers.

  “Speak for yourself,” Claudia shot back and froze the moment the song started.

  Instant recognition hit the group, and Marilyn turned a wicked grin on Claudia as the beat made everything in the room come to life. “I just can’t help myself, Willard,” Marilyn said, quoting the movie Footloose, and Claudia snatched her glass from her hand, and thrust both drinks at Scott.

  “We’re gonna dance our asses off,” Claudia informed her, grabbing her hand and yanking her towards the dance floor.

  “Wait for me!” Amber called following on, and just as she reached the dance floor she spotted him; the shifter from her store that morning was standing by himself at the end of the bar, and her heart hit her ribs as something fluttered within her.

  The shifter’s arms were folded, his muscles were on display, poking out from the black tee, and he had the kind of look that said he was low on patience. When she caught his eye, his chin lifted as if he was proudly defiant, but of what she couldn’t tell.

  Amber lost sight of him as the dance floor crowd closed around her, but strangely, it felt as if he could still see her because she had the distinct impression she was being watched. Maybe it was her witchy senses playing tricks on her; with a shifter and a vampire in the bar, it wasn’t as if they didn’t have cause to go a little crazy.

  Scott looked down at the glasses in his hand and sniffed. Then he lifted the rum and coke and sipped. He didn’t know what it was, but he liked it, and he was more than happy to stand on the sidelines and watch his mother relive her youth with the anthem of her time, and like a damn teenager, drink her booze while she was distracted.

  “This could catch on,” he said and went in for another drink.

  “It already did,” Neal informed him, a little too close to his ear for his liking as he turned to find the vampire standing right there, his black-on-black ensemble that didn’t fit in with the brightness of the fluorescent colours all around them.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” Scott asked.

  “Me,” Neal informed him and looked over his shoulder at the three witches on the dance floor with a bored expression.

  “Why are you here?”


  “I have a thing for the eighties,” Neal said, bringing his attention back to Scott and eyeing him up and down. He grunted and turned to the bar, and Scott let out the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

  All he needed was for the other shoe to drop.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ~

  Sandy had been staring at the outfit Amber left out for her in case she changed her mind about going to the eighties night at the bar for so long that she could probably detail every stitch. She’d been hiding in the shadows for a few weeks now and going to a bar seemed like an alien thing to do, but going to bar in disguise wasn’t such a bad idea – and she had made the decision that she needed to start her life over and the small town seemed like the perfect place to do that.

  So, what was holding her back? She’d decided that it was only herself stopping her from having a good time – although, how much of a good time she would have at an eighties night was a different matter.

  But as she walked into the bar and let her ears adjust to the loud, pumping music, and her eyes to the flashing disco lights, she knew she was about to find out. Now all she needed to do was find Amber in the crowd.

  With sweaty palms and a heartbeat that fell into the beat of the music, she put one foot in front of the other and gasped in surprise when someone blocked her way.

  “Hello again,” Neal said, loud enough to top the music but not too loud that if the DJ decided to pull the track, he’d look like a damn idiot.

  Sandy blinked twice as her heart skipped a couple of beats and then kicked her in the ribs. She fisted her hands at her sides and felt the red hot flash that tore through her body before she had the strangest feeling – as if her body was trying to warn her that this was not a good guy.

  Oh, how she wished she’d had that feeling about her ex.

  Sandy tried to sidestep him, but he moved with her. “I have to…”

  “What’s the rush?” Neal asked, and like a poor defenceless rabbit, she got caught in the dazzling lights of his eyes.

  ~

  Marilyn had to admit that she was having fun. Sure, tomorrow she’d regret dancing like she was in her teens again, but for tonight; she was right back in that zone, in that era, and if it wasn’t for the fact that her grown-up daughter was dancing opposite her, then she could have believed the fantasy and ignored the truth.

  Still, fantasy or not, she was having a great time – right up to the point where she spotted the damn vampire in the bar and watched him as he stalked over to a woman dressed as Cher and blocked her from view.

  If the vampire thought he could come to an all you could eat buffet and walk out with a tasty human snack he was mistaken – this was her town, and she wasn’t allowing that on her watch.

  Marilyn grabbed Amber and Claudia by the wrist and yanked them into a dancing huddle. “Anyone know who came as Cher?” she asked, and Amber raised her other hand.

  “Ooo, me,” Amber said and got a curious rise of her mother’s eyebrows in return. “Right, it was Sandy,” she added. “Where is she?” she asked, looking around the dance floor but coming up empty. By the time she turned her attention back to her mother – she was gone. “What the…?”

  “I’ve got this,” Claudia said following on her friend’s heels as she spotted what Marilyn had seen, and was now heading across the crowded floor to confront.

  The damn vampire was determined to cause problems, and she wished he’d be on his way again, but she hadn’t put any magic behind that wish – maybe tonight was a good time to do just that.

  Claudia knew she couldn’t go full-on witchy-woo at the bar and grill, but they wouldn’t be there forever, and when she got back to Marilyn’s – all bets were off in the magic department.

  But for right now, she needed to have Marilyn’s back, and no matter what – she’d always have that.

  ~

  Marilyn felt her temperature rising, and her heart was still pumping hard from her time on the dance floor, but now she could add gnawing anger inside of her that was aimed at one man and one man only – and he wasn’t about to have his bloodsucking ways with a friend of her daughter’s.

  There was the nice way to handle this, and there was the not so nice way. Usually, she would have chosen the nice way, but she didn’t know if the whole eighties thing had turned back the clock on her psyche, or if she was just too mad to care, but she drew her magic to her, called it to her fingertips, and zapped the vampire.

  She saw his shoulders and back stiffen, his hands clench into fists at his sides, just before she reached for Sandy’s wrist and yanked her out from under the Vampire’s gaze and to the relative safety behind her. “Amber’s on the dance floor, go find her,” Marilyn said over her shoulder and felt the space free up behind her as the woman did as she was told.

  Neal made a deliberately slow turn towards Marilyn. His eyes didn’t have that spark of light that was so enticing that you couldn’t help but stare. Marilyn knew that look; it was like a spiderweb, once in, you were stuck. But she didn’t need to worry because his eyes had darkened under the pain of her magic.

  While Neal was grateful not to be on the floor in agony from her magic – he had felt the jolt of electricity through his body, and he’d know the dark kiss of that magic anywhere. It was how he’d know who Scott was from the moment the warlock had used his magic, and from that moment he’d stayed close to Scott’s boss, Roland, with something more on his mind than collaborating on a job.

  “Well, you’re no fun,” Neal said, playing up to her worst fears about him, and meeting the dark glare of the dragon lady full force.

  “Not in my town,” Marilyn bit out in a tone that accused him of his darkest desires.

  “Your town?” Neal was intrigued.

  Marilyn stood her ground and was glad to do it. She didn’t wither under his curious gaze; she didn’t turn and run for the hills, she was her mother’s daughter and was determined that this man knew what was coming if he messed with her family or their friends. “You don’t belong here…”

  “Listen … weird luminous pineapple hair lady,” Neal looked her up and down, and decided that a smirk was in order. “I think we can agree you’re ‘like a virgin days’ are long since in the past.”

  Marilyn’s lower jaw made a slow move downwards, and she snapped her mouth closed just as she zapped him again. She felt a witch on either side of her as she relished the twitch of pain that registered on his face, and didn’t feel one ounce of guilt for that one. “Not Madonna,” she muttered.

  “She’s touchy about that,” Claudia said. “That had to hurt, right? Even if it was only your male pride,” she crowed with glee.

  “Oh look, it’s the Hocus-Pocus witches,” Neal bit out, allowing the pain to roll through his body as his blood healed him. No permanent harm, no foul – for now.

  “My turn,” Claudia said, raising her hands to zap him a good one but Marilyn batted them down.

  “Not here,” Marilyn said.

  Claudia sighed. “No fun…”

  “And no privacy either,” Marilyn reminded her of the crowd all around them.

  “You did it,” her friend reminded her.

  “Do I look proud of myself?” Marilyn asked.

  Claudia rolled her eyes. “I can just pretend I kicked him in the balls,” Claudia said with a wicked smile for the vampire as he narrowed his eyes on her – she’d do it, he could tell. “Anyone who’s met him would get that.”

  “And I could break your leg off and hand it back to you,” Neal said, but rather than make it sound like a threat, he was oozing with charm and offering her a dashing smile. “But I won’t.”

  “You say that like it was a given,” Claudia said with a smile of her own. “But I could make your little brain explode in your head with just a flick of my wrist.”

  Marilyn had to admit that while she’d been listening to the verbal tennis match between them, she’d calmed down a lot. She no longer felt the need to fry him to a pile of ashes. A
lthough, she did retain that right if she wish to use it.

  But, now that she was thinking a little clearer, there was one thing she did wish was different – her outfit. It was little wonder that the vampire had failed to take her seriously with big hair, that she’d sprayed pink and purple in wild streaks, and fifty bangles per arm that was weighing her down – not to mention the giant cross on one of her many necklaces that felt like a snub nose to those church ladies.

  If only they could see her now.

  The miniskirt, six-inch heels, and low-low bright lemon mesh top over a black bra probably hadn’t helped, and he did flick her the strangest look even while fencing words with her best friend.

  Yep, she’d definitely change her outfit for future encounters with the man, and she might even burn the whole look when she got home – except for her hair because that would be dumb.

  “That would be overkill when Tiny Turner here…” He shot a look and waved an absent hand at Marilyn.

  “Do I really look like Tina Turner to you?” Marilyn bit out.

  “Well, the hair is … weird…” Neal waved a hand and grunted. “But the short skirt, heels, and the fact I’m so much taller than you and can see right down your top…”

  Marilyn had never felt so self-conscious in her life before. Sure, when she was in her teens and her twenties, she’d never given much thought to guys sneaking a peek at her girls. But now she was in her fifties, and those girls had started to venture south, well, she needed a lot to hold them where they had once been.

  “You should leave,” Marilyn announced, desperate for some kind of jacket, shawl, or all in one snowsuit to cover her embarrassment.

  Neal held his hands up to his chest in mock surrender. “I just came in for a drink,” he said, and Marilyn snorted her contempt for him.