O ther Titles by H.P. Mallory:
FIRE BURN AND CAULDRON BUBBLE :
Book 1 of the Jolie Wilkins Series
A self-deprecating witch with the unique ability to reanimate the dead.
A dangerously handsome warlock torn between being her boss and her would-be lover.
A six hundred year old English vampire with his own agenda; one that includes an appetite for witches.
The Underworld in a state of chaos.
Let the games begin.
Life isn’t bad for psychic Jolie Wilkins. True, she doesn’t have a love life to speak of, but she has a cute house in the suburbs of Los Angeles, a cat and a quirky best friend.
Enter Rand Balfour, a sinfully attractive warlock who insists she’s a witch and who just might turn her life upside down. Rand hires her to help him solve a mystery regarding the death of his client who also happens to be a ghost. Jolie not only uncovers the cause of the ghost’s demise but, in the process, she brings him back to life!
Word of Jolie’s incredible ability to bring back the dead spreads like wildfire, putting her at the top of the Underworld’s most wanted list. Consequently, she finds herself at the center of a custody battle between a villainous witch, a dangerous but oh-so-sexy vampire, and her warlock boss, Rand.
Other Titles by H.P. Mallory :
TO KILL A WARLOCK :
Book 1 of the Dulcie O’Neil Series
The murder of a dark arts warlock.
A shape-shifting, ravenous creature on the loose.
A devilishly handsome stranger sent to investigate.
Sometimes working law enforcement for the Netherworld
is a real bitch.
Dulcie O’Neil is a fairy. And not the type to frolic in gardens.
She’s a Regulator—a law-enforcement agent who monitors the creatures of the Netherworld to keep them from wreaking havoc in the mortal world.
When a warlock is murdered and Dulcie was the last person to see him alive, she must uncover the truth before she’s either deported back to the Netherworld, or she becomes the next victim.
Enter Knight Vander, a sinfully attractive investigator sent from the Netherworld to work the case with Dulcie. Between battling her attraction to her self-appointed partner, keeping a sadomasochistic demon in check, and fending off the advances of a sexy and powerful vampire, Dulcie’s got her hands full.
As the body count increases, Dulcie finds herself battling dark magic, reconnoitering in S&M clubs and suffering the greatest of all betrayals.
TOIL AND TROUBLE
by
H.P. Mallory
TOIL AND TROUBLE
Copyright © 2010 by H.P. Mallory
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.
This is a work of fiction. 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.
Acknowledgements:
To my mother, thank you for everything you did to make this book as strong as it could be. It would never be what it is today without your input.
To my wonderful critique partner, Lori Brighton, thank you for all your help and for forcing me to add more internal narrative!
To my husband for being so supportive of my writing and of me.
To Mercedes Berg, one of the winners of my “become a character in my book” contest! Thank you for your help with the Wiccan rituals and for helping me shape your character. I hope you enjoy the part you played in this book!
To Christine Trum, my other winner! Thank you for all your help with German translations and German traditions. I hope you enjoy your character!
To my beta readers, Belinda Boring (reviewer for www.thebookishsnob.blogspot.com), Mary Genther (reviewer for www.sparklingreviews.com) and Evelyn Amaro (reviewer for www.paromantasy.com), thank you for all your guidance and help with this book. I’m thrilled to have you all so involved in my writing.
To my son, Finn, who never stops making me laugh. I love being your mom.
One
It was all I could do to open my eyes and take in my surroundings. I turned my neck and squinted against the bright light infiltrating the window in a garish display of brilliantly colored poppies. Blinking a few times, I tried to make sense of the scenery before me but my memory still wasn’t with the program. I attempted to sit up but found I couldn’t move. It didn’t feel as though I were strapped down—it was more like my body decided to go on strike.
“She’s awake!”
It was Christa’s, voice. Relief washed through me. Whatever bad situation I was in had just gotten more bearable.
“Chris?” I started, attempting to shield my eyes against the glare but I couldn’t lift my arm.
Something is very wrong, I thought, a lump forming in my throat.
“I…I’m paralyzed,” I stuttered. At least my voice still worked.
I blinked against an onslaught of tears and forced myself to focus on the bails of straw forming the ceiling of my abode. Where the hell was I? It was like I was playing hostage to Bilbo Baggins.
“Jolie, don’t try to move,” said a man and his voice was decidedly unhobbit like. It took me a second to realize it was Rand.
Rand… my warlock boss who I was massively and totally in love with.
It was Rand who first enlightened me to my powers as a witch and although my life had since taken several twists and turns, (some good and some really really bad), I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.
Rand leaned down into my line of sight, his pitch black tee shirt contrasting against his tan complexion. I wanted to smile but I wasn’t sure if I could. None of that mattered anyway; what did matter was Rand’s stunning face smiling down at me—the aquiline features of a Roman nose, chiseled cheek bones, deep dimples and a strong and well-sculpted chin. Eyes the color of molten chocolate and hair a matching shade. Although his hair was mussed and dark circles decorated his eyes, he was male beauty personified.
I felt the heat of his fingers against my face and an electric current passed through me at his touch. It was the same feeling I always got whenever Rand touched me—I never had figured out what it was--maybe his energy. I closed my eyes against the feel of him, afraid I might start crying.
“Jolie, you’re going to be alright,” Christa said and grabbed my hand with an encouraging squeeze.
At least I could still feel my hands even if they weren’t working. I glanced up at Christa and immediately noticed her swollen eyes—she’d been crying. I could only assume it was concerning my predicament.
“What happened to me? Why can’t I move?” I whispered as panic began to stir in my stomach, sounding like a grumbling ogre in a cave.
“You defeated Dougal, Odran’s fairy,” Christa said in a tight voice. She quickly looked away and began dabbing her eyes. I closed my eyes again, trying to remember what had happened, what it meant that I’d defeated Dougal. Attempting to remember was like wading through tar—completely exhausting and more so, useless.
“And because of it, you’ve lost a lot of power, Jolie,” Rand added. “You absorbed Dougal’s negativity thereby neutralizing most of your strength and now you need to heal.”
; And that was when the memories came pouring back as if someone had dumped a pitcher of realization juice over my head.
It was a freaking miracle to surpass all miracles that I was still alive.
Dougal just happened to be the strongest of the Fae King, Odran’s, fairies. And I, like a dumbass, had challenged him to a duel whereby I had to defend myself against his fairy magic. Doesn’t sound like a major deal? Yeah, that’s what I’d thought too, but that was before I was stuck in bed, as immobile as an engorged tick.
So, somehow I’d managed to prevail over Dougal’s magical ambush and now my victory would force Odran and his fairy league to uphold their end of the agreement by allying with us in an impending war. Ah, yes, now the pieces of the puzzle were falling nicely into place. If only I wasn’t paralyzed, I might have considered it a good day.
“What do you mean, I absorbed Dougal’s negativity?” I asked.
Rand heaved a sigh and sat down on my narrow cot-like bed. His weight caused mine to shift, the straw of the bed poking me like the bite of a thousand ants.
“While you were defending yourself, using your own magic, you expended your life force. In the process, you absorbed some of the hostile negativity Dougal used to attack you.”
“Oh my God!” Christa yelled and collapsed on top of me in a new deluge of tears. “Your life force!”
Rand chuckled, shaking his head. “Christa, Jolie just needs to sleep it off for a few days. It’s similar to a bad hangover.”
Christa sat up and wiped her tears away, looking a little bit embarrassed. If she was embarrassed, I was relieved. A hangover I could handle, paralysis was something entirely different…
“And speaking of a hangover,” Rand started, leaning over me with a mysterious smile. He grabbed hold of my shoulders and lifted me up, pushing me back into the soft down of my pillows. Now propped in a sitting position—well, more like a slumped-over position, at least my line of sight was more interesting. Rand reached to the wood table behind him and presented me with what appeared to be a tankard of something that smelled like…ale.
“Beer?” I asked.
Rand shook his head. “It’s a fairy potion meant to aid in your healing. One of the elders gave it to me this morning.”
“Can’t you just heal me, Rand?” I blurted, remembering the many instances he’d used magic to heal my upset stomachs, headaches, cramps, the list went on.
Rand shook his head. “Unfortunately not. My magic is useless here.”
By “here” he was referring to a fairy village in BFE, otherwise known as Glenmore Forest, Scotland.
Christa eyed the tankard of fairy juice suspiciously, her eyebrow arched in exaggeration like a cartoon character. And in her fairy provided blue gingham dress combined with the yellow ribbons in her dark hair, she looked like Pollyanna.
“Are you sure that stuff isn’t the tainted mead Odran was trying to make her drink the other night?” she asked.
The tainted mead in question had been exactly that—mead tainted with a love charm to get me to acquiesce to the King’s sexual advances. And the stuff had almost worked—I’d narrowly escaped with my virtue intact. One thing I’d learned about the otherworldly is they’re a randy bunch…
“Yes, I tried it myself,” Rand answered and turned his smiling eyes on me. “We almost lost you once, I wasn’t about to take my chances again.”
His words, though meant to be comforting, had the exact opposite effect.
I had almost died.
It felt as if the weight of a semi had suddenly descended on me as I considered how fortunate I was to have survived at all.
“Jolie,” Rand said, grabbing my attention. He gently tipped my chin up so it would be easier to swallow and held the tankard to my lips. I gulped a large mouthful before the taste of something akin to vinegar hit my tongue and I started to gag.
“Ugh,” I protested as Rand dabbed the nasty stuff from my lips.
“You’ve got perhaps five more sips.”
He repositioned the foul stuff on my lips and I had a vision of the black tar like substance bubbling into my mouth, reluctantly making its slimy way down my throat like a slug.
“I think she’s gonna ralph,” Christa observed.
I came damn close.
“She should get some rest,” Rand said, facing Christa.
Christa nodded and dropped her eyes, fiddling with a piece of straw which had escaped the bedding or the ceiling. She glanced up again and offered Rand an apologetic smile.
“Rand, would you mind if Jules and I had some girl talk?”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.” He stood up. “I’ll just be outside.”
Christa nodded and we watched his heavy stride as he neared the door. I wasn’t sure if Christa noticed how his black kilt revealed the tiniest hint of his taut backside but I sure as hell did. He opened the wooden door which looked like it would be better suited to a makeshift fort and threw us both a grin. As soon as the sound of the door closing reverberated through the small cottage, Christa faced me.
“Jolie, I thought you were going to die,” she said and started crying again, tears blurring her green eyes until they resembled glittering emeralds.
“Did I come close?” I asked, my stomach dropping at the idea.
She nodded. “You were in a coma for three days.”
A coma! A new bout of anxiety visited me, turning my stomach sour.
“Sounds like I’ve been through hell and back,” I said and offered a weak smile.
“And I was so worried about Rand, Jules.”
I wore my surprise. “Why? Did Dougal or Odran hurt him?”
Christa shook her head. “No, no. Rand is fine. I mean, no one hurt him. He just…seemed to fall apart where you were concerned.” She sighed, long and deep. “He sat by your bedside day and night, Jolie. He didn’t even sleep.”
Warlocks don’t actually require much sleep so that wasn’t as big a surprise as it otherwise could have been. But, still, the idea of Rand assuming the role of ever vigilant caregiver was something worth considering.
“I didn’t know what would happen to him if you…well, you know…died,” Christa nearly choked on the word and glanced away.
“He seems okay now.” It was all I could think to say. I still hadn’t moved past the fact that I’d been in a coma and nearly merged into the express lane of death.
“Yeah, he’s okay,” Christa said with a smile and then dropped her gaze to her fidgeting hands. “I just…I just wanted to tell you that I couldn’t imagine what my life would be like without you.”
I smiled and attempted to squeeze her hand but the attempt was useless. “Thank you, Chris.”
She nodded and stood up, smoothing down the skirts of her blue dress. I couldn’t see the outfit the fairies had magicked for me but given the circumstance, fairy scrubs were probably in order.
“Guess I better go let Rand back in,” she said, clearing her eyes as she started for the door. She opened it and Rand poked his head in, the sunshine outside acting as a halo around his head until he looked like an angel. All that was missing was a choir and organ belting out the notes to Gloria in Excelsis Deo.
“How is she?” he whispered.
“Seems to be better,” Christa answered. “You probably want some time with her?”
“I can hear you,” I said. “My ears are still working just fine.”
Rand didn’t say anything more but by the fact that I heard the door shut and Rand was the only one to approach my bed, I figured Christa had left.
“I don’t remember feeling like this after dueling with Dougal,” I said, starting to get annoyed.
Rand nodded and took a seat on my bed. “Your adrenaline was piqued. I knew it would be a matter of time before his fairy magic drained you.”
“So, is this paralysis thing just temporary, I hope?”
“Yes, but you have to rest, Jolie, that’s the only way you’re going to heal.”
Did I mention Rand i
s English and therefore has that wonderful and melodious British accent? Granted, Rand is insanely hot but I think the accent makes him even hotter. But, as it was, I had bigger things to think about than Rand’s hotness. There was that whole subject of the fairies and our new alliance. Another thing I’d learned about otherworldly creatures was that they had a way of appealing to their own self interests. And to say Odran hadn’t wanted to join our war was an understatement.
“Is Odran still on our side?”
“Yes, the fairies are perhaps the most honorable of creatures. Odran will not go back on his word.”
Odran and honor didn’t seem likely bedfellows.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Rand ran a hand through his longish hair. “While you were sleeping, we discussed plans to go forward.”
I just nodded, allowing all of it to sink in. And what a lot of it there was.
Bella’s plans to become Queen of all otherworldy creatures and Rand, believing in the ideals of democracy and probably more so in the lunacy of Bella, stood against her. Not surprisingly, Bella had declared war against us.
So far, she had recruited half the vampire population, the majority of the witches and virtually all the demons as well as endless packs of werewolves. Until the fairies agreed to join us, we were exponentially outnumbered. Now we could wage war on a more even battleground.
“When can we go home?” I asked.
“It’ll be a few days, Jolie,” he answered. “You’re in no shape to travel. You need to rest and let yourself heal.” He stood up. “And having said that, I should leave you to get some sleep.”
But, I didn’t want him to go. Now that we were alone, there was so much more to say although I didn’t know where to start. We’d been through so much together already—confessing our feelings for one another but never acting on them. Rand had told me a long time ago that love between a witch and a warlock wasn’t the same as what humans consider love—it was all encompassing, a “union of souls” he’d called it. Well, after what had happened with Dougal, when certain death had seemed imminent, now seemed as good a time to talk as any.
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