by Deanna Chase
“Jane!” My name cut through the torrent of words, the avalanche of sound I was spewing so I didn’t have to tell him about the athame. “Jane,” he said again, and this time my name sounded like a prayer.
“What?” I asked, and I was surprised to hear my question shake.
“I can’t use the qilin ink. I sold the griffin quill pen.”
That made no sense. “You—”
He shook his head, staring at the vial, but not truly seeing it. “I couldn’t let our first married Yule be a symbol of my failure. I had to give you a present worth everything we’ve lost, everything you’ve given up to be with me. So I sold the pen.”
This was absurd. So ironic, I expected to see a new entry appear in every dictionary in the world, magic and mundane. So perfect, I could only laugh. The sound bubbled up inside my chest, breaking through the tangle of remorse that gutted me when I looked at the ornate sheath for the athame I no longer owned.
David looked bewildered. He thought I was laughing at him, mocking him for selling the pen. But that was ridiculous—I would never hurt him that way. That realization, that truth—so crystal clear without a griffin quill, without a drop of qilin ink—made me laugh even harder.
I fought to draw a breath. I struggled to swallow the next gale of mirth. I shoved down another wave of hilarity, and I forced myself to say, “The athame. The Morningside Athame. I traded it for the ink!”
No ordinary human man could have deciphered what I howled.
But David wasn’t an ordinary human man. He was my warder. He was my husband. He knew me, knew the crazy way my mind worked. We’d spun our magic together, and we understood each other beyond words, beyond laughter.
Very, very carefully, David set the qilin ink on the coffee table, sheltering it by the plate that still bore our holiday desserts. Just as cautiously, he took the wooden box from my hands and placed the sheath on the table.
And then he swooped in to drink the laughter from my lips. I felt his shoulders relax with his own amusement. And by the time either one of us came up for air, the windows were drifted high with snow. Our Yule was perfect. Just the way we both had planned.
A Note From the Author
Thank you for choosing Dreaming of a Witch Christmas from among all the great light paranormal stories out there! I truly appreciate your letters, emails, blog comments, Facebook posts, and tweets. As a reader, you’re in the best position to help authors like me by telling your friends about books you love (including writing reviews on Amazon, Goodreads, and other sites frequented by readers!)
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I’d also love to see you on Facebook or Twitter. And if you stop by my Website, you’ll find my latest blog posts about reading, writing, and my crazy life in Klaskyville.
Don’t be a stranger!
A Mindy Klasky Sampler
(A free sampler containing the first chapters of 24 books)
The Diamond Brides Series
Perfect Pitch
Catching Hell
Reaching First
(Triple Play I: Perfect Pitch, Catching Hell, and Reaching First available as a boxed set)
Second Thoughts
Third Degree
Stopping Short
(Triple Play II: Second Thoughts, Third Degree, and Stopping Short available as a boxed set)
From Left Field
Center Stage
Always Right
(Triple Play III: From Left Field, Center Stage, and Always Right available as a boxed set)
The Jane Madison Series
Girl’s Guide to Witchcraft
Sorcery and the Single Girl
Magic and the Modern Girl
(The Jane Madison Series, Volumes 1-3 available as a boxed set)
Single Witch’s Survival Guide
Joy of Witchcraft
The As You Wish Series
Act One, Wish One (formerly How Not to Make a Wish)
Wishing in the Wings (formerly When Good Wishes Go Bad)
Wish Upon a Star (formerly To Wish or Not to Wish)
(The As You Wish Series available as a boxed set)
Stand-Alone Works
Capitol Magic
Fright Court
Season of Sacrifice
The Glasswrights Series
The Glasswrights’ Apprentice
The Glasswrights’ Progress
The Glasswrights’ Journeyman
The Glasswrights’ Test
The Glasswrights’ Master
Harlequin Special Editions
The Daddy Dance
The Mogul’s Maybe Marriage
Non-Fiction
The Rational Writer: Nuts and Bolts
About the Author
Mindy Klasky learned to read when her parents shoved a book in her hands and told her she could travel anywhere in the world through stories. She never forgot that advice.
Mindy’s travels took her through multiple careers – from litigator to librarian to full-time writer. Mindy’s travels have also taken her through various literary genres for readers of all ages – from traditional fantasy to paranormal chick-lit to category romance, from middle-grade to young adult to adult. She is a USA Today bestselling author.
In her spare time, Mindy knits, quilts, and tries to tame her endless to-be-read shelf. Her husband and cats do their best to fill the left-over minutes.
Speed-Dating the Christmas Demon
Christiana Miller
Speed-Dating the Christmas Demon
Christiana Miller
Copyright © 2015 Christiana Miller
www.christianamiller.com
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This story is dedicated to all the readers who believe in magic.
1
As Gus and I drove away from the B&B, the ghost of my Aunt Tillie shimmered and appeared in the back seat, with the spirit of Lord Grundleshanks, the (no-longer) Poisonous Toad, nestled on her shoulder.
“You’d better get a move on, Toots.”
“Why?” I asked, panicking. “Is it the baby? Is the baby in trouble?”
“It’s not the baby. It’s Paul. If you don’t want to see him splattered against the wall like an overripe watermelon, drive faster.”
“Gus!” I hollered. “Floor it!”
Gus complied. Our trusty SUV hybrid bucked and jumped a little, but the engine caught up to the pressure on the accelerator, and we raced to the freeway.
* * *
Way too many hours later, we finally pulled up in front of our cottage in Devil’s Point, Wisconsin. The lights were on in the kitchen. I opened the door and jumped out as the SUV was still rolling forward.
By the time I reached the cottage, Gus was hot on my heels.
I burst into the kitchen, panting, afraid of what I would see.
But the baby was h
appy and cooing in her vibrating baby chair, in the middle of the kitchen table.
What the hell was wrong with Aunt Tillie? Was she getting her kicks out of terrifying me unnecessarily?
Gus nudged me and I looked over to where he was pointing.
Stuffed animals and baby toys danced in the air like a scene out of Beauty and the Beast. Paul was about six inches off the floor, held against the wall by an invisible force.
Our Dobies, Aramis and Apollo, were watching the show, so entranced, I don’t think they even noticed we were home. Their stubby tails were wagging and they both wore big Doberman smiles.
“Mara! Thank God you’re home. Tell the kid to put me down right now, or I’m throwing out her stuffed Snoopy!” Paul hollered.
“I told you!” Aunt Tillie crowed. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“Riddip,” Grundleshanks croaked in agreement.
I looked at the baby. She was definitely orchestrating this, although I had to wonder if she had a little help from the cottage — our cottage was on the sentient side, with the ability to defend itself at all costs — it had once turned a would-be arsonist into a rowan tree.
“Honey, put daddy down,” I said.
Hearing my voice got Aramis’s attention. He trotted over and leaned against my leg, waiting to be petted, while a stuffed dog menaced Paul.
“Hey, Dudette,” came J.J.’s voice from the open back door. “I saw you got home and… holy crap! Am I fucking stoned or what?!”
Great. Just what we needed. J.J.
“I said down!” I said, a little louder and angrier.
The toys came crashing down, shortly followed by Paul, who dropped with a thud and a grunt. The baby and Gus both gave me a look.
“Was that you or her?” Gus asked, in a low voice.
“Me? That couldn’t have been me. I just thought it. I mean, I thought it pretty hard, but Paul was pinned to the wall before we even walked in here.”
Right? It couldn’t have been me. I didn’t actually do anything other than command the down. Telekinesis couldn’t be that easy, could it?
“Dudette, I don’t know whether to be terrified of your flippin’ cottage or sell tickets for pot money. This is loony-tunes.” J.J. said, awestruck.
Oh, crap. I had forgotten he was standing there.
I turned to him and forced a smile. “What are you talking about, J.J.?”
“That dude, he just like, flew through the air.”
“How strong is that stuff you’re smoking? You must be hallucinating. He didn’t fly, he tripped.”
“I saw what I saw,” J.J. insisted, but now he was looking uncertain. “Didn’t I?”
“Sure, if what you saw was Paul trip while he was walking. Man, the toys he was carrying really went flying, didn’t they?” I chuckled, pushing that image into his mind. J.J. had been a pot head for so long, he was wide open to suggestion.
“Was that…? But I… I could have sworn…” the poor kid looked thoroughly confused by this point.
“What do you want, J.J.?” Gus asked.
“Oh, yeah! I was just checking the cemetery out back to see if any of my stash survived the fire last winter.”
I looked at Gus, feeling a little guilty. I mean, it wasn’t our fault J.J. and his buddies decided to move their cuttings to our cemetery — without telling us — after their stash in the woods got stolen. But the pot had come in handy to get out of the predicament we found ourselves in last Yule. Unfortunately, it meant their entire patch burned to the ground.
“Did it?” I asked, curious if the plant had somehow reseeded itself. I had been too busy to go out and check.
J.J. looked at me, clearly trying not to say something. He finally opened his jacket and showed me the plants he had pulled out of the dirt. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to get them to a greenhouse before they got frosted.”
“It’s okay, J.J. They’re your plants. Take them. I’m glad to be rid of them.”
“Really? Cool beans,” J.J. said, happily zipping up his jacket.
“Not to mention that having them here is a felony and you could go to prison, Mara.” Paul glared at me. “Are you nuts? You can’t let Potato Head, Junior there grow pot on your property.”
“Dude, she didn’t know about it.” J.J. said.
“Dude, ignorance is not a defense against breaking the law,” Paul looked disgusted. “I catch you planting anything illegal, narcotic or poisonous near the baby again, and I’ll break both your thumbs.”
“Whoa, dude. Chill. I’m not going to hurt Mara’s little mini-me.”
“You’d better not. The last thing the world needs is this kid unleashed with her mom in jail.”
Wow. Was Paul actually defending me? That was a new twist. Or was he snarking on the baby?
“Okay, time to go,” Gus said, pushing J.J. out the back door. “Thanks for taking the plants. We’ll see you at the store.”
Paul tried to get out the door after J.J., but I stopped him. “Not you. We need to talk.”
* * *
I made a pot of hot chocolate for the three of us and put the baby to bed. Then I quickly put on my warm, holiday jammies, checked to make sure the baby monitor was on, returned to the kitchen and sat down with the guys. “Want to tell me what we walked in on?”
“You neglected to tell me some pertinent details about the baby before you left.” Paul said, his tone accusatory. “Lucky me, I got to find out — the hard way.”
“Listen, asshat. Did you ever think we didn’t tell you, because we didn’t know? Why do you always assume we’re hiding stuff from you?” Gus said, glaring at him.
“Because the two of you usually are.” Paul said.
“The kid’s a baby witch. Of course she’s going to have abilities,” Gus said.
“There’s a difference between being a little psychic or even talking to the dead, and levitating me. People can’t levitate other people. Or anything else for that matter.”
“Tell it to Criss Angel,” Gus snorted.
“What?” Paul looked confused. “The magician? It’s a freakin’ magic trick and he’s levitating himself.”
“Not always,” Gus said.
“Why are you even here? You should have stayed in Los Angeles. Mara’s much better off without you.”
“Funny, I keep thinking the same thing about you,” Gus growled. “Why don’t we ask Mara which one of us she’d rather spend time with?”
Obviously, I had put too much Baileys in the hot chocolate. Both their ‘Be Polite’ filters seemed to be completely on the fritz.
“Stop it. Both of you. Before you wake the baby. Paul, what happened while we were gone?”
“She got upset. Next thing I knew, her stuffed animals were hurling themselves at me. And then, bam, I was up on the wall. She was being completely unreasonable.”
“She’s a baby.”
“She put me up on a wall.”
I thought about it. “Debatable. If the cottage thought you were a threat, it could have done the same thing.”
Paul got a pissed-off, stubborn look on his face.
“Fuck that. Come on, Mara. Face it. It had to be the baby,” Gus said. “If it was the cottage, your boy toy there would have been turned into an end table.”
Paul’s face grew pale.
Gus turned to Paul. “If you hurt a single hair on her head, and that’s why she doesn’t like you, I will plant you in the cemetery, in the middle of J.J.’s pot patch.”
“I didn’t do anything to her,” Paul said. “I certainly wasn’t going to hurt her. You two coddle her too much. Whatever she wants, whenever she wants it, you get it for her. I was reading this book by Dr. Richard Ferber—“
“Ferber?! You tried to Ferberize her?!” I laughed. “No wonder she pinned you to a wall.”
Paul looked between me and Gus, uncertain of how to proceed. “It’s not like I was going to ignore her all night. Just for an hour, until she got tired of crying.”
“You wanted her to se
lf-soothe. I think she did exactly what you asked. She provided some entertainment for herself.”
“She obviously has my sense of humor,” Gus said.
“You don’t get it,” Paul started.
“Oh, I get it,” Gus said. “You’re an idiot.”
I nudged Gus to shut him up. “You decided to instill a new method of discipline, without my knowledge, and the baby let you know she didn’t appreciate it.”
“What am I supposed to do? It’s obvious you two aren’t going to instill any discipline.”
“She’s still a baby,” I said. “I think discipline can wait until she’s old enough to walk and reason things out.”
Paul shook his head. “Maybe, if she was a normal baby. But look at her. Look at what she can do. The sooner we get discipline in her world view, the better. What are you going to do when she decides she doesn’t like the pediatrician and sends him crashing through a window?”
“We’ll need to find a doctor who doesn’t have windows in his exam room.” Gus grinned.
“You are entirely missing the point here, witch boy.” Paul said.
“Oh, no. I’ve got the point. Mara and I have an amazing baby, who’s already exhibiting some kick-ass witchy powers and you’re feeling threatened because in the forest of life, you’re nothing but a mundane sycamore.”
“She’s not your baby.” Paul growled.
“Like hell, she’s not,” Gus said. “I’m the one living here, raising her with Mara, telling her how amazing she is. You’re the accidental sperm donor who comes in and complains she’s a freak. Which one of us do you think she’ll consider her father?”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I said, standing up. “You can both be her dad. Paul, has she done anything else while you’ve been watching her?”
“No,” he said, sulking. “Isn’t what she did tonight enough?”
