MYSTIC LUCK
DELLA LEWIS
DEVIN GOVAERE
LAURIE KECK
AVERY MICHAELS
KATE ALLENTON
Copyright © 2017 Coastal Escape Publishing
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Published by Coastal Escape Publishing
MAGIC & MAYHEM
Della Lewis
PRINCESS O’ THE GREEN
Devin Govaere
EARTH’S SKY
Laurie Keck
HEALER’S KISS
Avery Michaels
MYSTIC HEART
Kate Allenton
Magic and Mayhem
Della Lewis
Chapter 1
Thursday, March 9
“Never put pixies and sprites on the same floor,” Bannon Murphy chided her younger sister. “Weren’t you paying any attention when Dad explained all this?”
Molly shrugged disinterestedly. “Everyone else is out enjoying the St. Patrick’s Day festivities, and I’m stuck in here.” She turned to give Bannon a baleful glare. “Besides, I don’t want to be an innkeeper all my life — boooring.”
Her singsong insult set Bannon’s teeth on edge and she almost missed the telepathic launching of a vase aimed by a giggling sprite at the back of an unsuspecting pixie’s head. Bannon used a little magic of her own to drop the vase back on its pedestal.
Boring. Right.
In the melee of incoming tourists, Blansett Bulbs and Flowers had arrived to deliver the dozens of shamrocks that decorated Beachmoor Inn for the St. Patrick’s festivities. Bannon flapped an apologetic wave to Bethany Burke, owner of the greenhouse. She didn’t have time to chat with her friend now.
“Molly, the festivities haven’t started yet. Please help with our guests.”
“Why do they come so early?” Molly complained. “I’d rather be decorating the floats for the parade. Everyone is getting ready for the events.”
“Because they’re from Ireland and they want to experience our town. This happens every year. It’s not like it should be a surprise to you. For the last half of March, we always book an assembly of Seelie tourists.”
Bannon smiled at one of the beautiful male elves signing his name on the register. “Enjoy your stay.” She handed him a keycard. He turned it over and over in his hand as if it perplexed him.
“We protect our rooms with magic,” she explained. “You can only break the spell with your card. No one else will be allowed in your room unless you open the door with it, inside or out. Of course, you’re welcome to add your own protection.”
He raised one perfect eyebrow, giving her the slightest nod of approval.
“What’s his deal?” Molly asked as he stepped into the elevator. “Does he think he’s too good to speak to us?”
“As a matter of fact, he does. He’s a prince from the Seelie Court. You’d do well to remember him and act accordingly,” Bannon warned. “These people are dangerous, Molly. Don’t underestimate their politeness or good humor. If you insult them, or cross them in any way, they will make your life hell. Do you understand me?”
Molly sighed heavily but turned her attention to the tourists waiting for their room assignments. Bannon hoped she would remember the advice their parents offered, keeping the groups with their petty grievances in different locations of the inn.
When the last guest headed for the elevator, Bannon turned to her sister. “You can go now. Thanks for your help.”
Molly shot her an insolent grin. “You’re welcome, I guess.”
“Brat,” Bannon teased, watching her sister head for the door in a rush before Bannon changed her mind and found chores for her to do.
Bannon had graduated at the top of her class in hotel management. Her parents had turned the inn over to her as a Christmas present this year. She had always loved playing in the lobby when she was a child and meeting all the guests and interesting personalities.
Molly, on the other hand, complained long and loudly if she had to step foot in the family business. She would be heading off to college in a year, and it seemed safe to say that a degree in the hospitality industry would not be her major.
* * * *
A couple of tourists wandered into the lobby looking around with critical eyes. The man had a paunchy frame and thinning, greasy hair styled in a bad comb-over. He sneered at the sparkly bouquets of shamrocks as if they were stolen plastic grave decorations.
The frizzy blonde holding on to his arm proprietorially was obviously best friends with Miss Clairol but hadn’t visited her in a few months. Her dark roots begged for peroxide.
“I’m Harold Clement, and this is my wife, Darlene. We’re from New Jersey. I assume your little hotel here is checked regularly by the health department for bedbugs, right?” Clement asked condescendingly. He gave a sniff as if checking for dust, mold, or other irritants. “I told Darlene we should get a room along the interstate, but she wants to see all this magic nonsense. Who believes in magic anyway? Does anyone really expect a leprechaun and pot of gold to go with this cheap clover? And why aren’t they all four leaf clovers if this town is so damn magical?”
What a jackass. Even if every room I owned was empty I’d never accept these two as guests. Lucky for me the place is booked.
Bannon had opened her mouth to tell them there were no rooms available when a mournful wail rippled through the lobby, sending a shockwave across the room. Even though she knew the cause of the shriek, Bannon’s hair tickled the back of her neck with instinctive primal fear. Oh no. One of the banshees on the second floor has a problem.
In instant reaction, the greasy-haired man screamed nearly as loud as the banshee. Grabbing his wife’s hand, he whirled toward the exit, making an undignified dash as he yanked his stumbling wife along behind him.
At least he didn’t run off and leave her like I expected him to, Bannon thought. She gasped as the couple nearly flattened a man who had been reaching for the door of the inn when the two of them barreled through it.
Bannon watched a flash of annoyance cross the newcomer’s face as he was slammed out of the way. His expression of anger quickly turned into amusement as Clement missed the bottom step and hit the soft earth in an awkward sprawl, pulling Darlene to the ground with him. Unable to fight momentum, they tumbled in a jumble of arms and legs down the short bank to the sidewalk.
By now, the man holding the door was in full uproarious laughter. Bannon couldn’t help it; despite the possible liability, his laughter was contagious. She found herself leaning on the counter wiping her eyes as the terrified couple leapt up from the ground without hesitation—and seemingly no physical inju
ries.
Clawing their way past each other, Harold and Darlene sped to one of the boxy little energy efficient cars parked on the street. The kind, Bannon thought, that makes a golf cart look roomy. Somehow, Clement managed to find enough power in the vehicle to peel away from the curb while Darlene looked back at the inn with eyes the size of dinner plates.
After a brief shake of his head, the newly arriving guest opened the door, stepping inside the lobby. Bannon could feel magic radiating from him like static electricity in the air. The sensation left her feeling slightly uncomfortable but strangely excited and energized.
Her heart sped up in a drunken rhythm, stealing her breath as she admired his broad chest and lean, aesthetically muscular body. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his face with its prominent cheekbones, stubborn jaw, and fully kissable mouth—all framed by thick shoulder-length auburn hair.
“I take it the terrenes have never heard a banshee, lass.”
His softly lilting voice washed over Bannon like a sensual tidal wave, leaving her shivering lightly in the backwash.
“In all fairness, they aren’t very common in America,” Bannon admitted. “Very few non-magical humans ever hear them. Do you have a reservation with us, sir?”
He shot her a dimpled smile, and his unusual amber-colored eyes seemed to sparkle like a leprechaun’s gold. “That I do...”
“What is going on in here?”
Bannon whirled at the threatening voice, only to come face to face with a furious elven prince. “I was told…”
His voice faded away as he checked out the new guest. “Tuatha Dé Danann.” His voice was a respectful whisper.
Bannon felt her breath catch in her chest. Some historians thought the Tuatha Dé Danann were fallen angels, some thought they were gods and goddesses, but the truth had been lost eons ago in the mists of time. However, no one doubted their power, and not even the highborn elves would insult a Tuatha Dé Danann.
The newcomer inclined his head slightly. A wavy lock of auburn hair brushed the top of his wide shoulders. “Prince Cian.” He pronounced it the Irish way, KEE-an.
Deaglan glanced toward Bannon. “I’m sure the banshee’s request has already been taken care of. There will be no more disturbances tonight, prince. I suggest you go back to your room and get some rest.”
“Of course.” The prince cast a murderous look toward Bannon then turned on his heel, striding to the elevator with as much dignity as he could muster. His raven-black hair fell to his waist, swishing back and forth like a horse’s mane behind him.
“Thank you,” Bannon whispered.
“Pompous ass,” Deaglan muttered. “Anyway, I have a suite reserved for the next two weeks. You must be the proprietress, Bannon Murphy.”
“Yes, I am,” she acknowledged, noticing his thick accent had dropped away at the prince’s arrival. Had he been pouring on the blarney to impress her? The thought made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Please sign the register for me.”
Bannon’s hand shook as she ran his key card through the spell coder. Once the machine ran the card, the spell was bound and could not be broken. She’d invented the system in her last year of college, and it was now used by most magical establishments. At twenty-five, she had already proven herself a successful entrepreneur without her parents’ generosity.
Glancing at his signature, she frowned slightly at his name, unsure of the pronunciation. “Here you go, umm…Mr. O’Brian.”
“Deaglan.”
He pronounced it Declan. Handing the card over to him she felt the sting of magic when their fingertips brushed. In his striking face, Bannon recognized a warrior, a poet, a dreamer, and the bloodline of an ancient race.
Chapter 2
Friday, March 10
Celia Goodbloode crossed her arms and looked out over Blansett from the safety of her newly rented home on Maplethorpe Ridge. Below, she could see the town preparing for the upcoming St. Patrick Day celebrations. The Celtic madness would last for a week. Blansett was getting famous for it. In the past several years, Magicville, as Blansett was affectionately called, was slowly stealing tourists and dollars away from Eastsage, Celia’s hometown.
“They look like ants scurrying to please the queen,” Geoffrey commented, handing his wife a glass of wine. He took his place beside her, watching the preparations with little interest.
“And like ants, I desire to step on them and grind them into dust.”
“Careful, love. Best to keep those thoughts inside that pretty head of yours while we are here.”
Celia narrowed her ice-blue eyes into slits. “Eastsage once boasted the highest population of magical entities to gather in one location. We had it all, money, fame, tourism, and a steady influx of terrenes to harvest.”
“And we will have it all again,” Geoffrey assured her. “We are barely 100 miles from Blansett. We already take in the population Mayor Helena-Marie deems unfit to live in her precious little community. Imagine, not being able to hurt a terrene.” His fangs flashed at the thought. “What good are humans if not to be useful to the paranormal community? They are nothing but cattle.”
A sinister smile spread over Celia’s bright red lips. “Tonight, I will cast a spell over Magicville cursing the St. Patrick’s Day festivities. We’ll see how successful the town is when nothing goes right for the next week.”
“Helena-Marie will be on guard at the first sign of trouble,” Geoffrey warned.
Celia turned to her husband with a look of genuine affection, admiring the aristocratic features of his face and the silver-white sheen of his long hair. “Trust me, darling, Helena-Marie has her hands full with more pressing matters than my shenanigans.”
Her husband arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Do tell.”
A throaty chuckle bubbled from Celia, and she reached out to touch her husband’s bicep. “Don’t worry. I will curse them in such a way Helena-Marie will not be any wiser. I don’t plan to destroy them, only wreak constant havoc that ruins all the festivities. By the end of the week, tourists will be paying not to return to Magicville, and I’ll offer the humans many incentives to visit Eastsage in the upcoming months.”
Geoffrey finished his wine, leaning down to kiss Celia on the forehead. “Do as you wish, love. I’ll be glad to get back to Eastsage. I don’t like the stench of Blansett, and I’m getting hungry.”
“You vampires are always hungry,” Celia said without judgment.
* * * *
Bannon took extra time putting on her makeup and styling her pixie-cut blonde hair. Red highlights accented the feathery tips of her bangs, drawing attention to her nearly flawless skin and wide-set round hazel eyes.
“What are you primping for?” Molly asked with a frown.
“Just putting on a little makeup. Not like you don’t spend hours in front of the mirror.”
Molly shrugged. “Yeah, but I have a life. All you ever do is work here at the inn.”
“Molly!” Bannon protested. She dropped her makeup back into the desk drawer and put away the mirror. Her sister’s jibe made her feel confrontational. “Speaking of work, what do you plan to do after you graduate?”
Molly shrugged. “I’ll go to college for a while then decide.”
Bannon shook her head. “And major in what? You need to be thinking about—”
“Top of the mornin’ to you ladies,” Deaglan said, leaning over the registration desk to wink at both women.
“Good morning.” Bannon’s heartbeat leapt to the critical level and kept pumping. She didn’t think she’d ever seen her sister speechless, but Molly was staring at Deaglan as if he had wings and a halo. Bannon cleared her throat softly, bringing Molly out of her trance.
“Uh, good morning,” Molly managed to squeak.
He inspected both of them leisurely, taking time to focus on Bannon’s mouth before he spoke. “You must be sisters. No town could have two women this beautiful working in the same place unless you’re family.”
Oh my God, she’s blushing, Bannon realized, hiding a smile that someone had finally managed to breach her sister’s indifference.
“This is Molly, my sister.” She turned to her. “And this purveyor of blarney is Deaglan O’Brian. He’s visiting with us for the rest of the month.”
Molly nodded enthusiastically. She didn’t seem capable of speech yet.
Deaglan grabbed his heart, pretending to be mortally wounded by Bannon’s words. “Is that any way to treat a favored guest?”
Bannon laughed. “I’ve got your number, Deaglan O’Brian. You only use that thick accent when you want to make an impression.” She shook her finger at him in warning. “And you haven’t earned the favored guest award yet. So, what can we do for you this morning?”
He shrugged good-naturedly. “I’d like an escort around town if either of you is available?”
Before she could answer, Molly gave Bannon a little shove. “Go ahead. I’ll watch the desk. If anything comes up, I’ll call you on your cell.”
Speechless, Bannon turned to Molly wondering if aliens had invaded during the night and taken over her sister’s mind and body. “Are you sure?”
Molly nodded, giving Deaglan a hesitant smile. “Bannon knows everyone in town, and she can introduce you around. My boyfriend would never speak to me again if he saw me with someone like you.”
Bannon felt her face flushing hot, and she shut her eyes. Molly had positively no filters on her mouth. If it was in her head, she blurted it out. Deaglan laughed with a husky chuckle that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest.
“I’ll be thanking you for that compliment, Miss Molly.”
Taking Bannon’s elbow he gently pulled her outside the reception area. “It’d be a lot easier to show me around if you open your eyes.”
Mystic Luck (Mystic Tides Book 2) Page 1
