The Director Gets a Grip

by Heather Horrocks

  Her uncle’s voice called out, his tone pleasant for a change, “Jingle, I’ve come to escort you to the dinner table.”

  He couldn’t come into the room unless she allowed it, because her mother had warded the door against everyone except the two of them. This was a snow pixie’s magical lab. Not all pixies had magic. Her uncle didn’t. He had arrogance and control issues. He may have moved into her parents’ home after her mother died, claiming the home and duchy as his own now that he was Jingle’s guardian, but he still couldn’t come into this room. And that infuriated him.

  Which made Jingle wish she could just stay inside forever — but he could make her life miserable if she didn’t obey him. “All right. Let me set my things down, and I’ll be right out.”

  “Hurry, dear.” His voice had a quality of barely controlled patience.

  She set the cone down in the special holder that could corral five cones at once. This special magical snow melted at a much slower rate than normal shaved ice — this one wouldn’t start to drip until late tomorrow evening.

  She wiped her fingers on a damp towel and blew out a breath. Shaking her arms and lifting her shoulders, she prepared herself to talk with her uncle, the Duke of Snowville, control freak of the century.

  Snowball sent a thought to her: Be careful. He is not to be trusted.

  I know it, and I will, Jingle sent back. Will you wait here for me? Otherwise he might see you.

  I will wait.

  She unlocked the door and opened it.

  Her uncle smiled down at her, but she didn’t trust that smile. Usually that meant he was planning something she wouldn’t like.

  She didn’t normally go into people’s heads, even though she could, but when others were feeling strong emotions, sometimes she found herself sucked into their minds before she realized it. That happened now. He was definitely happy about something, but she couldn’t make out what it was.

  Oh well, perhaps later. Happy was good, right?

  He held out his arm, she put her hand on it, and he walked her toward the formal dining room — a room that could seat fifty guests.

  Cook had prepared a feast, undoubtably keeping her five assistants busy all afternoon. There was enough food here for twenty, and yet it was just Jingle and her uncle here.

  The butler pulled out a seat for her. She smiled at him and said, “Thank you, Arnold.”

  He smiled back. “You’re very welcome, Miss Jingle.”

  Then Arnold pulled out a chair for the Duke, who ignored him entirely. The butler went to stand alongside the wall and await the next order.

  She hated how the household staff had grown so stiff and fearful. Not at all like the happy people they’d been when her mother was still here.

  The serving girls brought out platters filled with breads and cheeses, and then her favorite soup, a sweet, chilled strawberry soup.

  Jingle ate, watching her uncle warily. He ate, ignoring her for the most part.

  After the second course was brought out, a succulent steamed fish with vegetables, he looked at her and said, “I’ve been thinking. You’ll be twenty-one in two weeks, Jingle, and it’s time for you to begin thinking of marriage.”

  If you’d like the rest (for free), just click here.

  Excerpt:

  The Fireman Finds His Flame

  Moonchuckle Bay #4

  Moonchuckle Bay … Movies … Monsters … Magic!

  She’s trapped in human form. He’s the last of his kind. It’s the perfect match.

  Swan Maiden Mara has been trapped in her human form since her feather coat was stolen thirty years ago — and she’ll do anything to get it back. The last of dragonkind, Ty has reluctantly come to terms with never finding love — until one look at Mara lights his fire and changes everything. Can two people who’ve given up on love get a second chance?

  Contents: Laughs, sweet romance, light paranormal,

  friendly townsmonsters, smelly trolls, no swearing.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fifty Years of Oblivion

  “I’M GOING HOME,” THE SHORT man announced, nearly disappearing when he slipped off the barstool. Marali Swanson had to lean over the bar to see him shrug his sturdy five-foot-nothing frame into his brown coat. He smiled up at her and gave a jaunty wave. “See you later, Mara.”

  Herb Tobolowsky was a regular at Fangs. Mara’d been told that he stopped in often after he closed Dorian Gray Photography, the store he managed. She’d been instructed to treat him well, as he was a distant relative of the owners, who’d just hired her to work in their combo bar and restaurant.

  “Good night, Herb.” Mara nodded, finding herself overcome with wistfulness. Home. She hadn’t had one in a very long time. What would it be like?

  Shaking off the sudden burst of melancholy, she turned back to her work.

  Her friend of two days — who’d introduced herself as, “Audrey Hepburn, but not the actress” — tipped her head toward the generous tip Herb had left.

  Mara nodded her head and scooped up the bills. It had only taken her about an hour to learn that one of the barmaids, Serena Graham, had no compunction about walking off with other people’s tips. The younger woman didn’t have the best ethical standards — and she resented the ease with which Mara had gotten a job as bartender here. When Mara had driven into town two days before, she’d walked in and one of the owners had immediately put her to work. She’d certainly earned that kind of respect — she had plenty of experience working in bars in towns all over the Midwest, hoping that one day it would pay off. Hoping it would. Serena would just have to deal with the fact that she was here.

  There were times when Mara wanted to take herself out of the bar atmosphere, but there was no place better to gather gossip in a town, to gather information that might lead to the man who’d taken her coat. She needed to stay in the flow of information. The old saying was that “loose lips sink ships” — and alcohol helped loosen lips.

  Thank goodness for Audrey “not the actress” Hepburn. She was tiny and petite like the actress, but her hair was almost as red as Mara’s own, and she wore it tied back in what she jokingly referred to in front of their boss as a “woman bun.” It amused Mara to realize that this tiny little woman could tear a man’s arm off and beat him with it if she chose. Vampires were just that strong.

  Mara slipped the tip money into the hidden waist wallet where she kept all of her cash, in case she had to take off in hot pursuit of her coat without having time to go back for a stash. She always worked out a deal where she was paid in cash, or she’d pass on the job. Luckily, in Moonchuckle Bay there was a lot of that going on. Lots of people who lived longer-than-normal-human lifespans wanted to stay off the human government radar. She’d run across a few other towns like this around the world — the last one in Vegas — and this place felt as close to home as she was likely to get.

  Her parents and sisters kept inviting her back home, but she couldn’t go until she succeeded. She wouldn’t go back until she was whole again.

  Audrey took a tray of bottles and headed out to deliver them to a table, while Serena jiggled her barely concealed breasts at a vampire.

  Across the bar where she was pulling levers to fill mugs, a man slipped into the seat Herb had vacated. This guy was the opposite of Herb — tall, dark, and handsome. He smiled at her. “Good to see you again, Mara.”

  “Hi, James.” She’d met the werewolf the night before, and he intrigued her. “I thought you said you didn’t come in here often.”

  James Murphy shrugged. “I usually don’t, but you’re pretty enough to get me back here. Plus I just feel kind of ...” He chuckled. “This will sound weird, but I feel peaceful around you.”

  Werewolves were particularly sensitive to the Swan Maiden vibe. Bestowing peace was a useful quality to have when working in a bar.

  As she worked, James chatted. Finally, he said, “I have a pilot’s license and a plane. Would you like to go flying sometime?”

  She tippe
d her head at him. That was a tempting offer. Though she didn’t want to get involved with a man — any man — she did very much want to fly again. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good enough.” He lifted his bottle and took a sip.

  Audrey brought back the now empty tray and said, “Go out with us tonight. There’s a great party going on.”

  James’s eyes brightened. “A party?”

  “Yes. At the old mill.” Audrey grinned.

  Mara shook her head at her friend, one corner of her mouth tilting up.

  Stanley MacGyver — a large bear of a man who wore his hair in a man-bun — walked by and sniffed. “I think it’s funny that your last name is Swanson and you smell like a swan.” Stanley owned the restaurant with his brother Mac and ran the bar side of the business.

  Not wanting the werebear to “nose around” any further, she touched the feather on her necklace, feeling only a slight tinge of magic from the only feather left from her coat. “It’s probably from this swan feather.”

  “Could be, I suppose.” He studied her, his eyes intense and showing more than an employer’s detached interest. “How are you liking the room so far?”

  She was renting a room above the bar, and she made sure to lock it up tight at night, setting a few traps, both physical and magical. She wasn’t going to be attacked again, not after that time in New York twenty years ago, when she’d only escaped unharmed because of a passerby. She’d learned a lot of tricks since then. She smiled at her boss, letting some of her power seep into the smile. “Just great. Thanks.”

  He tipped his head and mumbled, “Good, good,” and walked away.

  Swan Maiden — One.

  Werebear — Zero.

  She found it amazing that two werebears owned a place called Fangs, a vampire bar, but it seemed to work.

  Her skin fluttered, not quite goosebumps — or, in her case, swanbumps — but close.

  Her coat was close! She could feel it!

  She rubbed her arms and looked around the bar, searching for the man who’d stolen it.

  And then Mara was on the move, brushing past Serena with a quick, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Whatever,” Serena muttered under her breath.

  Mara pushed between people in the crowded bar, being jostled as she worked her way around the crowded room. Many men reached out to touch her — without success because her magic was running high — but no one had a feather coat. No one looked at her as if with the taunt, You have to marry me now, because I’ve got your coat.

  The door opened and she looked up, ready to fly after the thief — but it was just three women laughing as they walked out, girlfriends out on the town.

  She turned back. The feeling grew faint and she still couldn’t place it.

  No. Please don’t be gone already!

  But it was. She couldn’t feel the coat any longer. Not with the same level of power, anyway. It was just the same low, dull ache that had brought her to this town. The same dull ache she’d felt for the past thirty years since it had been stolen from her. The same dull ache that lulled her to sleep and woke her in the mornings.

  For a moment, she’d been so close. Closer than she’d been in the entire thirty years. Where could the man have gone?

  Had she imagined it? She knew some Swan Maidens started hallucinating when they’d been out of their coats long enough.

  At this point, she’d even be willing to marry a man just to get it back. She couldn’t bear to be without it much longer.

  Disturbed, Mara made her way back to the bar, this time smiling and interacting with bar patrons as she went, joking and fending off advances, even though her heart was heavy.

  She pushed it aside. She couldn’t let the melancholy take her over. She would keep following the coat. It was close by. She just knew it. Felt it.

  She was going to find it — and reclaim it. And after thirty long years, she’d finally be whole.

  If you’d like to read more, go to www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com.

  Thanks again!

  You’re amazing!

  Heather Horrocks

  www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com