Mystic Luck (Mystic Tides Book 2)

by Kate Allenton

  Emily shuffled off to bed in her bunny slippers.

  Tabby glanced up and down the hall again, checking out the doors to her brothers’ rooms. Braden and Mason, seventeen-year-old twins, shared the room across the hall. When she pressed her ear to the door, she found it silent. Her older brother, Alex, was currently touring with his Celtic rock band. Since he spent most of the year on the road with his four bandmates, he kept all of his crap in his childhood room and crashed there when he was in town, which wasn’t often. He wouldn’t return until next week to play for the St. Patrick’s Day celebration at Hooligans. There should be no sound coming from inside Alex’s room and yet…

  She tiptoed down the hall and put her hand on the wooden door, snatching it back when she felt a vibration tingle up her arm. She wiggled her fingers and stepped away, shaking her head.

  When tap-tap-tap came from beyond the closed door, her heart flip-flopped and she lurched backward, her hands pressing against her chest.

  “Jumping jelly beans,” she whispered. She scrubbed at her hair. “Wake up, wake up, wake up. Maybe you’re in a hypothermic coma. You’re imagining things. Just get back to bed.”

  Tap-tap-tap.

  The sound had a slight metallic clang, still muffled but a bit more purposeful. Not at all like a random noise, more like someone performing a task. She thought of miners deep in the bowels of the earth, farriers shoeing a team of horses, a shoemaker resoling a pair of boots.

  All old-timey things. Nothing that would exist here in the middle of Blansett, North Carolina, in the twenty-first century. No one in her dad’s footwear factory made boots by hand. What a silly idea.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  Maybe Alex had come home in the middle of the night and was trying out a new percussion instrument. Maybe a shutter had come loose and banged against the clapboard. Maybe a window had blown open and squirrels were building a nest. With a hammer? Sure, why not.

  “Maybe you’re dreaming,” Tabby murmured. “Yeah, that’s it. A dream.” She shrugged. “In that case…”

  She twisted the doorknob, surprised by, yet ignoring, the heat and vibration in the metal. Opening the door revealed a dark room, but a tiny bit of light glowed and flickered from beneath Alex’s closet door.

  “It looks like candlelight,” Tabby said.

  She grabbed the throw from the bottom of the bed—even in her dream her father was a real miser—and tossed it around her shoulders. Then, full of purpose and indignation, she strode across the room and flung open the closet door.

  She blinked then rubbed her eyes.

  Nope. That didn’t help at all.

  Light from a dozen candles.

  The smell of soft, buttery leather.

  The sound of a hammer striking a metal object.

  The feel of mystical energy whirled in the small space like a vortex in space, energy that bounced and skittered over Tabby’s skin like drunken fireflies.

  Tabby drew in a deep breath and blinked again.

  The little green woman inside the closet set aside the hammer and the tiny shoe she had been repairing and smoothed the leather apron over her lap. She gave a big toothy grin as her dark eyes twinkled with flashes of red. “A good mornin’ to thee, little miss.” Her large pointy ears wiggled a bit through her red curls.

  Tabby just stared. She might have been scared if this hadn’t been a dream, but the presence of an ugly little elf-creature in the closet pretty much guaranteed this was all a dream. “What are you doing in my brother’s closet? And why are you green?”

  “Why all the true queens be green o’ course,” said the little woman.

  Tabby decided to play along. She bobbed a little curtsey. “Your Majesty.”

  The woman flapped a hand. “Ah, get on with thee. ’Tis no ceremony needed between us, wee princess.” She adjusted the leather on her lap, and her face grew solemn, her mouth drooping and her red-tinted eyes glowing brighter. “’Tis a warning I’ve come to give to thee.”

  “A warning…” This was one hell of a dream. Intrigue, mystery, and all.

  “Nine more risings before the change. Nine nightfalls before the choice must be made. Nine turnings of the earth before the princess becomes the queen.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Thou will, child. Thou will understand soon enough.” She dipped her fingers into a small leather pouch beside her. When she lifted her fingers to her mouth, she blew some shimmering silver dust in Tabby’s direction.

  Tabby fell to the floor on her butt, and that was all she remembered except for a faint tap-tap-tap.

  * * * *

  Tap-tap-tap.

  “Tabby, get up. You’re late for work.”

  Tabby shot up in bed at the sound of her mother’s voice, head snapping left and right, gaze darting to all the corners of the room. Nothing out of place. No strange little women tittering in the corner. She pinched herself in the arm.

  “Ow.” She shoved the covers down and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Okay, definitely awake.” She shook her head as she thought about her dream. “That was definitely a trip.”

  Her phone gave a chime for an incoming text.

  Felicia: Where are you? My car’s in the shop, remember?

  Tabby: Be right there. Running late.

  Felicia: They’ve probably already started.

  Tabby: Chill. Peace out.

  Tabby flew into the bathroom, in and out in two minutes. She grabbed a flowered swing dress from the closet, topped it with a pleather moto jacket, and pushed her feet into her pink combat boots. After grabbing her phone and messenger bag, she hopped down the stairs and barreled into the kitchen. Her mother held out a travel mug. Tabby grabbed it on her way toward the back door, a thank-you on her lips until her mother said, “Thought you could use it after last night.”

  She screeched to a halt, froze, and then turned around slowly, frowning.

  “What?” Not a dream.

  “After your phantom noise quest.” Emily held up a muffin. “Want one for the road?”

  “Um, no thanks.” The thought of food suddenly made her stomach roil. “Gotta pick up Felicia.”

  Emily placed her hand on Tabby’s forehead. “Honey, are you okay? First I find you prowling through the hallway last night, and now you look like you’re sweating. You feel a little clammy, and you seem a bit quiet. Where’s my little Chatty Cathy?”

  “Way to date yourself, Mom.”

  “And there she is.” Emily dropped a kiss on Tabby’s forehead and gave her a little shove. “Be gone, little imp.”

  * * * *

  “How was your evening?” Felicia Dennison asked as she climbed into the passenger seat of Tabby’s used Ford Bronco and slammed the door.

  “Sucked. How about yours?”

  “Could have been better,” Felicia said. “Love the jacket. New?”

  “Thanks. Yeah.”

  Tabby pulled out into the dusting of traffic on Crepe Myrtle Drive and headed toward the school, lost in thought. She was aware of Felicia talking about her date of the night before. She and one of the Riker brothers had gone to the movies, but Felicia wasn’t sure she could actually date a vampire. They generally had so much baggage, not the least of which was the whole daylight thing. Felicia was a creature of the sun. As a dragon shifter, Felicia thrived in the heat and the sunlight, and as a dragon shifter, Felicia also often thought the world revolved around her. Often? That was a laugh. It was more like always. Tabby loved her friend, but Felicia was so high maintenance.

  Tabby tuned her out. Her gaze flicked between the mirrors automatically, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel, but her mind was a million miles away, picturing a little green woman and a closet full of pretty candlelight. When she created a fantasy, she really went all the way. A queen of all things, yet obviously a queen who still had to work for a living.

  She shook her head, and a silver sparkle drifted from her bangs and landed on her lap. She peered at it for a moment, so long that Fel
icia said, “Tab, eyes on the road.”

  Tabby snapped her head up. “Sorry.” She brushed at the speck, wondering if she’d dropped some eye shadow on her bed.

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “Huh?”

  “The jacket. Where’d you get it?”

  “Online.”

  Felicia was quiet for a moment. Tabby shot a glance at her and found Felicia’s lips pursed.

  “How much?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  Tabby pulled into the parking lot of Blansett Elementary and swung into a space. She’d dropped her keys into her bag when she caught Felicia staring at her intently.

  “What?” She yanked open the car door. “Come on. We’re late.”

  “What’s wrong with you today?” Felicia fingered the golden braid that hung over her shoulder, her gorgeous face scrunched in confusion. “You seem odd… and you have a weird smell. Like you’ve been burning incense all night or something.”

  “I’m fine,” Tabby huffed. “Or I’d be fine if people stopped asking me that.”

  “If you’re so fine, why didn’t I get an entire story of how you found that jacket, how you couldn’t decide which color, where you bought it and how awesome or crappy the site was, how you debated if you should buy it at all, how online shopping is good but not quite as good as—”

  “Ladies, care to join us?”

  Tabby hopped from the car to find Sydney Spencer standing on the curb, her hair swept up in a ponytail, wearing a beige trench coat that showed her baby bump and a pair of to-die-for Burberry rain boots. Her little charges circled her like a litter of puppies, all dressed for a bit of digging in raincoats and boots. Regretfully, Tabby realized she’d chosen the wrong outfit for today. She’d totally forgotten she’d promised Sydney help in planting the clover.

  “Sorry, Syd. I slept in.”

  Sydney peered at her. “Rough night? You look a little peaked.” For the second time that day, someone put a hand to Tabby’s forehead.

  Tabby thought of candlelight and leather, the sounds of tapping and funny-looking green women. She shook it off.

  “I’m…just tired,” she finished lamely. She needed to face facts. Not a dream. She’d been awake and walking around her house at five in the morning. She’d seen things, hallucinated something obviously. No way would she tell anyone what she thought she’d seen last night and no way would she have burritos after ten at night again.

  Felicia came around the side of the car and started chattering to the kids, leading them back toward the playground, her golden braid iridescent in the morning sunlight as though capturing and holding in the rays.

  “Maybe you should take the day off,” Sydney said. “I’ve got plenty of help.”

  “You might be right. I’m feeling kind of strange and—”

  The rumble of wheels snagged Tabby’s attention. She turned to see a tall, lean man hunched over and pushing a wheelbarrow toward the playground, his black hair shielding his face. The children fell into a happy parade behind him, their voices ringing through the air like music. The man lifted his face to answer a question, and his dark gaze caught and held Tabby’s. Something pinged at her heart at the sight of his face—handsome, strong-jawed, olive skin tanned to dark perfection. Black Irish. She’d never seen anyone more perfect. A tiny lightning bolt of awareness zipped through her that told her this man belonged to her. It was an insane thought, but it flickered through her mind nonetheless.

  “Who is that?” Tabby whispered.

  “Max Gallagher. He’s helping us out today.”

  Tabby felt lightheaded looking at him. She pushed the words out. “Where has he been hiding?”

  “Max isn’t very social.” Sydney laughed. “He’s my father’s gardener. Been with Dad about a year now after he moved from New York. He lives in the gatehouse at Gercharmeerd Leven. I had to bribe him to help today. Promised him he could rework the landscaping at my beach cottage.”

  Those dark eyes held Tabby’s hostage, locked on hers even as Max continued to push the wheelbarrow over the sidewalk, the muscles in his arms flexing with each step, his corded neck visible when he tossed the hair back from his face…

  And tripped on a raised slab of sidewalk.

  Ack. Don’t ruin that perfect face.

  He righted himself from the stumble before he fell face-first into the wheelbarrow full of dirt. He gave Tabby a crooked smile that made butterflies dance in her stomach and then pushed the wheelbarrow around the side of the school.

  Sydney gave a little laugh. “I think he likes you.”

  “I should be so lucky,” Tabby murmured, but she thought, He’ll be mine.

  “If anyone should have the luck of the Irish, it’s you.” Sydney looped her arm through Tabby’s. “Come on. Let’s go plant that clover.”

  Chapter 2

  Max Gallagher’s face went up in flames. Not literally of course. As an earth witch, he had no control over fire, but it felt like flames just the same. Trying to act so cool and casual, so in control all the time, had finally taken its toll. Confronted by a little pixie—at least he thought she must have pixie blood with that spiky auburn hair and those intense green eyes—and suddenly he’s the biggest klutz on the planet.

  He ducked his head and just kept walking. Hopefully the pixie would just go inside. He had no idea why, but talking with women turned him into a blithering idiot. He had a hard enough time talking with Sydney, and he knew her. He felt like a complete dolt half the time in her presence, which was why he kept his contact to waves and nods.

  The entire clan of Gallagher males had this problem. Not the women. Oh, they were regular old chatterboxes. They found their soul mates immediately and went on to raise passels of Irish kids, just like earth witches were supposed to do. Go forth and multiply was the motto of the Gallagher women. But the men… another story entirely. Half of them were confirmed bachelors, and the other half slogged through life hoping to trip over a woman and have her take pity. He didn’t want to find his woman that way. He wanted a woman to complete him, the other half of his soul. She was out there somewhere. The trouble was he hadn’t bumped into her yet. As the only son, with five sisters, Max had his work cut out for him and real pressure to keep up the Gallagher name.

  He dropped the handles and pushed back his hair—his shield—because he was safe with just a bunch of kids and the blonde woman who held no interest for him. Earth and fire didn’t often mix well, so he avoided dragon shifters. He avoided everyone if he were honest with himself.

  He straightened his shoulders. He could do this. Just get through the day, help Sydney get her clover planted, and then check out that cottage landscaping. He’d wanted to get his hands in that dirt for a year.

  “Hey.”

  It’s her.

  He swung around and hit his upper thigh into the wooden handle of the wheelbarrow. An intense pain radiated through his groin and down his leg. He almost bit his tongue.

  So much for kids. Sorry, Dad.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Is that it? You can’t do better than that?

  “I’m Tabby Whitlock.” She stuck out her hand, and Max stared at it stupidly.

  He glanced at her face. Even with his head down, he couldn’t avoid it. He was six feet, and she wasn’t any bigger than his twelve-year-old sister. When a smile tugged at her mouth, he felt one answering it, and he took her hand. For some reason, that was as far as he got. Her eyes held such a sparkle, a twinkle of vibrant, almost ethereal light. He could have sworn he saw stars locked in there, bright green stars from some unknown and unexplored realm. He wanted to explore, search, learn everything about her.

  “You’re Max,” she said cautiously, as though he might deny it.

  He took a deep breath and nodded as his heart sped up and trip-hammered against his ribs.

  He felt a tug on his pocket and found Tawny Riggs, Sydney’s stepdaughter, giving him a funny look.

  “Aren’t we supposed to be plantin’ someth
ing?”

  Sydney stood nearby, studying his interaction with Tabby intently, as though trying to push them together. He didn’t think Sydney would ever use her push on him, not even if he begged. Sometimes he wished she would, especially with his mother on his butt to get married and give her more grandchildren. He was only twenty-seven, but considering the track record of the Gallagher men, she was starting early. His dad had been forty when he finally married.

  All of the second-grade kids hovered around the small plot of land he’d already tilled, rowed, and squared off in preparation for the seeds. All he had to do was supervise and then put the topsoil over the seeds. Seemed like a monumental task at this point. He couldn’t get his head in the game, and for an earth witch dealing with plants, that was like forgetting how to breathe.

  Tabby picked up several cloth bags from the wheelbarrow and hefted them in her hand. “Are these the seeds?”

  He nodded.

  “Should we get started?” She tilted her face, and all he could think about was cupping her cheeks and giving her a kiss. Just a sweet, tender kiss to see if there could be more between them. He thought there could be more. He suddenly wanted more.

  The other woman, the one Sydney called Felicia, started passing out small bags to all the children.

  “Kids,” Sydney said, “please give Mr. Gallagher your attention, and he’ll tell us what we should do.”

  Max hunkered down and spread his hands in the dirt of the first small square. The minute his fingers touched the moist, rich soil, his heart rhythm slowed and his breathing became deep and even. The sweet healthy aroma drifted to his nose, and he pulled it deep into his lungs, drawing power and strength from the vital earth. The sense of calm spread through his limbs and torso, allowing him to do what he’d come to do.

  “Before we start, I’d like everyone to choose a square and put your hands in the dirt.”

  Several boys leapt into action, each finding a square of ground and plunging their hands deep into the dirt.

  “Eewww.” A little girl grimaced.