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Get Grounded
Go outside on a warm summer day (do NOT do this on snow or ice). Take off your shoes and step onto earth or grass. Visualize your own roots sinking from your core, down through legs, through your feet, and into the soil. Take a deep breath. Feel yourself being grounded.
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DOWN – CHAPTER ONE
“Of course they’re unrealistic.” Officer Connor Hernandez curled the book in his meaty hand, and I tried not to wince at the damage to its cover. After years working in the bookstore, I should have had thicker skin. “It’s an urban fantasy,” he said, “a book about magic. Just ask Lenore.”
I darted a quick glance at him. Okay, so I hadn’t exactly kept it secret I was a shamanic witch, but I didn’t advertise it either.
Fortunately, Connor’s partner, Owen, didn’t follow that thread. Fair-haired and good looking in a smooth-faced, rascally way, he shook his head. “Yeah, but come on. Fireballs?”
I pulled my long, blond hair over one shoulder and shelved a book. It was no use telling him magic didn’t work that way. That magic was more subtle than fireballs and levitating motorcycles. Magic was more dangerous in ways people preferred not to imagine.
Behind the bookstore counter, my elderly boss, Mike Gallin, spoke in a low voice to a stranger in a well-cut suit. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the paned windows behind the register. It glinted off Mike’s balding head.
The visitor wore too much suit for a May day in the California foothills, and I wondered what he was trying to hide. Then I wondered why I’d wondered that. Maybe it was the sharp, wary expression on Mike’s wrinkled face.
Since last winter, we all wore that expression.
“This weather.” Owen groaned and winked at me. “I wish the Sheriff would let us wear shorts on days like these.”
I snapped my attention back to Connor. His muscular thighs strained against his slacks. On behalf of the women of Doyle, I thought shorts for the deputies were an excellent idea. Not that I would ever say that out loud.
“So what do you think?” Smiling at me, Connor stepped backward on a carpet the color of cigarette ash and bumped one of the bookshelves.
I opened my mouth, closed it. Seriously, I wasn’t going to talk sheriff’s sexy summer fashion with these two characters.
Connor’s raven hair curled around his ears in black, dangerous spirals. In his police uniform, he looked like a hero from one of my sister’s romance novels – tall and muscular and with the sort of tortured, olive-black eyes novelists think cops should have and cops would rather not earn. His right eyebrow quirked upward in a perennially amused expression, though I’d seen it switch to a scowl quickly enough. There was something about his masculine solidity that I admired. His taste in reading was eclectic: urban fantasy, mystery, and political history. He was currently working his way through a book on John Adams.
Owen didn’t read unless he had to. That’s not a criticism. I just felt kind of bad because of what he was missing.
“Think?” Owen examined the lurid cover of a graphic novel and haphazardly jammed it back onto the shelves. “I think it’s nuts. Another story for Doyle’s F’d up Files.”
Confused, I smoothed the front of my cream-colored, sleeveless tunic and felt the lump of my notebook in its front pocket. Obviously, I’d missed a step in the conversation. We’d gone from shorts for deputies to… what was he talking about? Though From Doyle’s F’d Up Files would make a good title for a prose poem. What would be in these surreal files? A mayor who thought a paperclip was a turnip? A rose rabbit? Urgh, I didn’t even know what the damned rabbit was, and I couldn’t get the alliteration out of my head. But the name kept coming up. Muttered by a dying woman. Encountered in a sister’s vision. Weaving through my dreams. It had to be related to Doyle’s magical problems somehow.
I returned the graphic novel Owen had taken to its proper place.
Noticing my action, Connor’s eyes crinkled with weary amusement. He rested his elbow on the rolling ladder. “I was talking to Lenore about getting the author in for a talk. I hear he’s local.” He jammed the sleeves of his white, sheriff’s deputy shirt to his elbows.
“It never hurts to ask,” Owen said to Connor rather than me.
I nodded and glanced again at Mike and the stranger. Most authors leapt at the chance for exposure. But the bookstore – the entire town – had experienced a sharp decline in visitors since the Bell and Thistle event. We’d even taken to calling it that: The Event. Capital letters.
“Thanks, Lenore.” Connor rapped me playfully on the shoulder with the book the way a big brother would tease a baby sister.
I bit back a sigh. I could drool over the deputy all I wanted, but it would never work. He couldn’t see beyond the twenty-two missing people standing between us. And I worked at a bookstore because fictional relationships were easier than real ones. I’d been disappointed too many times before, by men who wanted more or just got bored or couldn’t handle the real me. I could hardly blame them. Watching someone else read isn’t exactly riveting. The only thing worse was someone who’s attention constantly wandered to loitering ghosts.
A woman in a bonnet strode past the windows. Carrying a basket, she walked through a Mini Cooper.
“You going to the concert at the winery?” Connor asked his partner, but I could see his heart wasn’t in it. Pretending Doyle was normal only took one so far.
“I have to work it,” Owen said, ignoring me. It wasn’t intentional. I’d perfected the art of fading into backgrounds, right down to my colorless tunic and slacks. “How’d you get off?”
“I asked,” he said.
At the counter, Mike wore his fixed, the-customer-is-always right expression. Which meant the customer, whoever he was, wasn’t right at all.
I bit my bottom lip.
“Lenore?” Connor asked.
“Hm?”
“Are you going to the concert?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.” I brushed some loose strands of blond hair behind my ear. I avoided crowds. Even at the most innocuous events there was an undercurrent of violence. It attracted things I’d rather not deal with.
“Why not?” Connor asked.
“I’m behind on my reading,” I lied. “Jayce is probably going though.” Concerts were more my sister Jayce’s thing. Our other sister, Karin, of romance writing not-quite-fame, might attend in a pinch. But lately she’d been so caught up in her wedding preparations that I doubted she’d find time for this one.
“Books aren’t life,” Connor chided gently.
“They’re my life.” And I’d learned that fiction was often more true than what you read in the news.
Uneasy, I glanced again at the counter. Mike’s expression had shifted to annoyance.
The stranger’s arms crossed, his chin down, his legs apart. The body language said confrontation, but their voices remained low. The stranger turned. I caught a quick glimpse of a handsome face chiseled into a frown, dark brows slashed downward. Then he was striding to the door, his back to me again.
“Still, you should come.” Connor’s expression turned grim. “The town needs a break.”
“I can’t–”
“Lenore?” Mike waddled around the counter. He wore a short-sleeved, brown-checked shirt, khakis held in place by suspenders, and a comb over. He looked like an elderly egg, and I adored him.
I glanced to the open door. The stranger stormed outside.
My skin twitched.
“Would you start unpacking the new inventory?” Mik
e’s mouth tipped upward. “That nephew of mine has found another reason not to be here, and the new shipment’s in.”
“Sure.” I smiled briefly at Connor and Owen. “I’ll ask about that author.” And then I realized I didn’t know which author he’d been talking about. But the two deputies were already joking and laughing and moving to the register with Mike.
My cheeks warmed with embarrassment, and I hurried toward the back room. The bookstore was deep and narrow, so deep that the storage room at the rear was always a bit of a surprise. I flipped on its overhead light, and the florescent bulb pinged and flickered. Its beery light steadied.
Glancing one last time over my shoulder – Connor was buying the book after all – I shut the door. The deputy would be the perfect man – he liked to read, was honorable and handsome. But he was a Doyle cop, and that was rough on a person’s psyche. Our sheriff had lost thirty pounds in the last six months.
Doyle was caught in a web of powerful, fae magic. It had preserved the town, keeping the people who lived here dazzlingly beautiful. But there was a high price tag.
Twenty-two missing people.
I found the box cutter inside a battered metal desk. Slashing harder than I needed to, I attacked the boxes and sliced through the packing tape. I stacked the books on the desk by title, pausing to flip through a new urban fantasy. Connor might like this one.
Picking up a new romance by my sister, I smiled. Mike had set me up – he’d known Karin’s book – a bundle of romance novels about shifters – would be in the box. Which meant he wouldn’t mind me skimming its pages.
I read the first few pages, then a few more, finally losing myself in the story world. Karin’s stories always had happy endings – such lovely fantasies.
Karin, Jayce and I were triplets, and we each worked our own flavor of magic. I worked shamanically with the spirit world and had seen plenty of weird spirit forms. Shifters though. Could they exist? I’d only recently come to believe in fairies. And if they were real...
Something thunked in the bookstore, and I raised my head.
Silence.
I listened, intent. “Mike?”
Nothing.
Scalp prickling, I walked to the door. My hand paused, raised above the knob.
Something shuffled behind me, and I whirled.
A massive turkey vulture perched atop Karin’s stack of romance novels.
I gasped, stepping away and bumping against the closed door.
A vulture, an omen of death and rebirth.
The bird cocked its ugly, blood-red head.
“What are you doing here?” I croaked.
Slowly, the turkey vulture extended its brown and gray wings.
My breath quickened.
And then it vanished.
“Mike?” Dread pooling in my stomach, I wrenched open the door to the bookstore and hurried through it. Mike wasn’t behind the register. I hurried down the center aisle. A tasseled loafer stuck out from behind one of the shelves.
My heart stopped. “Mike!”
I raced around the bookshelf.
Mike lay sprawled beside the ladder, his head at an unnatural angle. Blood pooled around his head. His blue eyes were open, staring.
“Mike,” I whispered, my eyes burning, growing damp. No, not Mike. Anguish twisted inside my chest.
“I got your favorite coffee.” Mike’s nephew Peter strolled into the bookstore holding two paper coffee cups. He tossed his shaggy blond hair. “It’s not as good as Ground’s, but...” He stumbled to a halt, his blue eyes widening. “What did you do?”
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About the Author
Kirsten Weiss authors genre-bending stories of mystery, suspense, and enchantment.
She worked overseas for over fourteen years, in the fringes of the former USSR and deep in the Afghan war zone. Her experiences abroad not only gave her glimpses into the darker side of human nature, but also sparked an interest in the effects of mysticism and mythology, and how both are woven into our daily lives.
Now based in San Mateo, CA, she writes paranormal mysteries, blending her experiences and imagination to create a vivid world of magic and mayhem.
Kirsten has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer reruns and drinking good wine.
You can connect with Kirsten through the social media sites below, and if the mood strikes you, send her an e-mail at [email protected].
Follow her on Twitter: @KirstenWeiss
Check out her story world boards on Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/kirstenweiss/
Sign up for her newsletter for cool free stuff and book updates at: kirstenweiss.com
Please check out these other great misterio press series:
Karma’s A Bitch: The Pet Psychic Mysteries by Shannon Esposito
Multiple Motives: The Kate Huntington Mysteries by Kassandra Lamb
Maui Widow Waltz: The Islands of Aloha Mysteries by JoAnn Bassett
The Metaphysical Detective: The Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mysteries by Kirsten Weiss
Dangerous and Unseemly: The Concordia Wells Historical Mysteries by K.B. Owen
Murder, Honey: The Carol Sabala Mysteries by Vinnie Hansen
Steam and Sensibility, the Sensibility Grey Steampunk Mysteries by Kirsten Weiss
To Kill A Labrador, the Marcia Banks and Buddy Mysteries by Kassandra Lamb
Plus even more great mysteries/thrillers in the misterio press bookstore.
Books by Kirsten Weiss
Follow the links below for more information on each title and purchase links for all vendors.
The Witches of Doyle Series
Bound (Book 1) | Ground (Book 2) | Down (Book 3) | Spirit on Fire | Tales of the Rose Rabbit
Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum Series
The Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum | Pressed to Death
The Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery Novels
The Metaphysical Detective | The Alchemical Detective | The Shamanic Detective | The Infernal Detective | The Elemental Detective | The Hoodoo Detective | The Hermetic Detective
The Mannequin Offensive
Sensibility Grey Steampunk Suspense
Steam and Sensibility | Of Mice and Mechanicals | A Midsummer Night’s Mechanical
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright ©2016 Kirsten Weiss. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites and their content.
Visit the author website to sign up for updates on upcoming books and fun, free stuff: KirstenWeiss.com
Cover artist: Zack Weiss
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites and their content.
misterio press / ebook edition December, 2016
ISBN-13: 978-1-944767-18-1
ISBN-10: 1-944767-18-5
Table of Contents
Books by Kirsten Weiss
PREFACE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
&nb
sp; 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
Spell for Home Protection
Spelled Bath Salts/Bombs
Get Grounded
DOWN – CHAPTER ONE
About the Author
Books by Kirsten Weiss
Copyright
Ground Page 26
