by T. A. Foster
formatted by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs
Smashwords Edition
Time Spell by T.A. Foster
Copyright 2014 by T.A. Foster
First edition published 2013. Second edition 2014.
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Cover Art by Once Upon a Time Covers.
Formatting by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Books by T.A. Foster
Dedication
Prologue
IVY
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
*Handy Dandy Guide to All Things Witchy*
Q & A with T.A. Foster
Reader Discussion Questions
Helen and Holden—Time Spell Hidden Chapter
COVER SPELL
Acknowledgments
About the Author
About the Book Designer
Copyright Notice
Books by T.A. Foster
The Ivy Grace Spell Series
Time Spell (Book One)
Cover Spell (Book Two)
Fire Spell (Book Three)
Head Over Heels Collection
London Falling
Kissing Eden
Hollywood Kiss Collection
Finding Haven
To Shane
Come away with me, one more time.
THE MIXTURE of cool rain and warm blood steadily washed down my cheekbone. I pointlessly wiped the stream away from my eyes and massaged my throbbing temple. Keep going, Ivy; keep going.
As I hurdled each expanding step in front of me, the quick pace of the footsteps tracking me seemed to cut the distance between us. My chest hurt as I tried to catch each breath and push myself into a faster pace. He was close and I didn’t know if I could make it to the seam before he stopped me. A quick diversion might help, but that was how I got into this mess. I had to do something. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t make it back, and this was not the place I wanted to get stuck.
The blur of the sidewalks and brownstone steps rapidly peeled past as I turned to find a place to hide. I felt my body lunge forward and shudder with a thud. I hit the pavement, and my already scraped face smacked into the stones. In that moment, I realized I could be caught. How could I have been so careless to jeopardize it all?
IT’S TRUE what they say about things that go bump in the night. You should fear what you can’t see and especially what you don’t understand. I know about the secrets and the mysteries of the world that most people don’t see once they close their eyes at night. I’ve spent almost my whole life trying to ignore what I am and where I came from, but sometimes the universe speaks to you and you can’t ignore it anymore. Yes, I am a witch. A full-fledged, bona fide, casting spells, fly on my broom, look-at-me-funny-and-I-can-whip-up-a-curse witch. But that’s not who I want to be and not how I want people to know me. I just want to be a regular girl.
New York City, Present Day
AS THE limo door closed behind me with a heavy thud, I reveled in the quiet hush that filled the car. I leaned my head back onto the cool leather seat and let the night’s scenes whirl through my mind. I looked down at the tulle gown I had chosen for the premier. The strapless cut showed off my shoulders and the slim, satin belt accentuated my waistline. I loved how the waterfall folds of the dress were the same deep blue as my grandmother’s sapphire ring I had on my right hand. One glance at my pointed high-heels and I knew I had a problem. The tiny heel was cracked. It must have caught on the lip of the car door’s frame. The driver was still walking around the front of the car.
“Remedy,” I whispered as I pointed my finger at the glittery heel and watched it reattach to the rest of the shoe.
Shoe disaster averted, I smiled then reached into my matching glitter clutch on the seat and pulled out the compact my parents had given me before the trip to New York. My blond curls were loosely cascading down my shoulders and my cheeks still had a rosy glow at the tip of each cheekbone. I dabbed a bit of lip gloss across my bottom lip and gave a little wink to my reflection followed by an inner giggle. My body surged with excitement, as if champagne bubbles were running through my veins.
“To the airport, Ms. Grace?” the driver asked as he turned over his shoulder.
His suit was pristinely pressed, and he wore a military-like haircut. He fit the inside of the car perfectly; it was meticulously clean. I had noticed the extra sheen on the exterior while flashes bounced off the roof and doors as I carefully stepped into the car, not wanting to trip on my dress and have my exit be more dramatic than my entrance.
For a moment, I thought about having him drive back to the hotel so I could make a brief appearance at the studio’s celebration party. However, after three nights of cocktails, soirees, red carpet interviews, and finally attending the movie premiere, the week had left me with barely enough energy to muster a picture-ready smile, and my voice was fading to a raspy whisper. An image of Cooper wagging his tail impatiently by the back door flashed through my mind.
“Yes, please,” I answered. It was time to get back home.
“All right, it should only be a few minutes once we pull away from the theater traffic.” He paused for a second and drew in a deep breath. “It looks like you had quite a crowd tonight. My wife can’t stop talking about your books and this movie. She’s not going to believe you rode in my car tonight. She’s just such a fan of yours.”
“Aw, well thank you. That’s so nice to hear and so sweet of your wife to say.”
I hoped he sensed my sincerity. The press tour this week had kept me out of touch with fans, and it was refreshing to hear genuine compliments. I was used to reading in local bookstores to small groups and joining the intimate crowd for coffee or wine after a reading. Everyone always had so many questions and so much to say about my characters. I loved my fans—that’s why I did this after all—it was for them.
That reminded me; I needed to tweet something. Gina always urged me to work on my “brand” and stay in touch with social media. She was the marketing specialist assigned to me at Raven Publishing. She was good, just a little too persistent sometimes.
I pulled out my phone and tapped the little blue bird icon.
Thanks y’all for an amazing night in NYC! Love to my fans! –IG.
That tweet should make her happy until I got back into town and we could map out a marketing strategy for the next phase of this journey.
The driver turned his attention to the steering wheel, and gripped it with both hands. We pulled away from the curb, and maneuvered into the endless stream of red taillights. I looked up once more at the marquee with Ivy Grace sparkling in the distance.
In three short days, I had gon
e from a virtual unknown in New York City to meeting every celebrity who was in town for the movie premiere. Each spare minute was crammed with reporter interviews. They were from magazines, online review sites, and mainstream entertainment news. I could feel the slow surges of regret begin to surface in my stomach. How much of my life had I just sacrificed?
I could hear my father’s concerned broken record playing in my head—“Ivy this is too dangerous.” Could I keep writing big hits like Vegas Star if I was in the public eye?
I knew now all eyes would be on me to produce a follow up that was just as good or better. The reviews projected the movie to top the summer charts, and there was already buzz about the award season. I hoped the few paparazzi who followed me this morning to the coffee shop had been ditched by their original targets, and had only stumbled upon me by accident. I didn’t want anyone trailing me back to Sullen’s Grove in North Carolina.
My hometown was a small southern city, big enough for thriving businesses, but still quaint enough that I ran into people I knew at the grocery store.
The driver turned us onto the next street. One more time. I needed to see it again. I made one last glance over my shoulder to see my name twinkling like stardust. Stardust had always been my favorite. I smiled, knowing the shimmering letters answered my nagging questions. Yes, I could do this, and no matter what, I was going to have fun doing it.
I carried my suitcase up the front stairs and gave a quick wave to the driver in the Town Car parked out front on Southern Avenue. The porch light was on, and I declined his polite offer to carry my bags in for me. It was nearly 2 a.m., and I was sure he didn’t have anyone else to pick up tonight from the airport. Even the usual moths circling the gas lamps had abandoned their posts for the night.
I dropped the keys on the table by the front door and switched on the lamp. Home. My own bed, my darling Cooper waiting for me by the door, and I’m sure there was something from Mama in the fridge. First, I had to perform a quick security inspection.
You might think that because I’m a witch, I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone breaking in or following me, but actually, my life was quite the opposite. For the last two years, I had to watch for nosey intruders and now for paparazzi. Raven Publishing’s competitors were willing to go to great lengths to uncover my secret. I had created a type of storytelling that no one else could replicate—well, except maybe someone else in my family—and as long as I kept telling those stories, and my books kept outselling other authors, I had to be careful. Editors and writers wanted to get to the sources before I did. What they didn’t know was that they couldn’t.
The new microscope on my life was one of the consequences I was willing to accept for my new career. I loved writing, I loved the fans, and I loved my newfound place in moviedom. I was determined to have it all and keep my secret from the world. Being famous would just make it a little bit more complicated.
“Reveal,” I called as I walked through each room of my 1920s bungalow, looking for the low-glow luminescence of any uninvited guests.
If anyone had been in the house in the past few hours, or if they were there now, the trail they had made walking through the house would begin to appear in glittery particles then gradually transform to a yellowy-orange glow.
Cooper anxiously followed me through the tiny maze of rooms, nudging my legs and whimpering for some extra attention. I could see a glittery glow at the base of the front door where he had been waiting, but there were no other traces of visitors.
“All right, all right, looks like we are alone. How are you, little guy?” I leaned down close to his ears and nuzzled my nose into his neck.
I had found Cooper on the side of the road when I was traveling home from one of my research trips. I slowed my car as a blur of yellow fuzz darted out from a wilting field of cotton. I pulled over, put one foot on the ground, and the small puppy immediately started jumping frantically all over my brown boots. There was no collar around his neck, he was splattered with mud, and I could hear the low rumble of his tiny tummy growling.
“You must be hungry, little guy.” I looked up and down the road, no cars, no houses in sight. It didn’t take much inner convincing to scoop him up and take him home. That was three years ago and that tiny puppy was now a ninety-pound watchdog—maybe more lapdog than anything else, but I wasn’t going to spill his secret. Calling him “little guy” stuck even after he surpassed the fifty-pound mark.
I sat down at my desk with a bowl of Mama’s homemade mac and cheese that I had pulled from the fridge. I took a bite, and waited for my laptop to wake up and kick into action. The entertainment page sprang to life, and I couldn’t scroll through the headlines fast enough.
Vegas Star rocks
Vegas Star, dazzling thriller
Vegas finally has Grace
It was a hit! The headlines and the reviews all echoed the same sentiment—people liked it, and they were going to see this movie. My novel and now my screenplay were going to be a part of entertainment history—just like the stories I was telling.
My inbox was loaded with requests for interviews, congratulations from friends, and a reminder from my mother that family brunch was still on for tomorrow. If I crawled into bed now, I could still get a few hours of sleep before facing the barrage of family questions I knew would be served along with bacon and pancakes at the Grace residence in the morning.
I typed out a quick email to my mother.
Mama,
Can’t wait to see you, Daddy, and Ian at brunch. There’s so much to fill you in on from the premiere. Thanks for checking on Cooper!
xo,
Ivy
I closed my laptop. My palms faced the lamps in the room. “Extinguish,” I spoke to the light.
With the wave of a hand, each lightbulb faded. I walked through my room and into the bathroom to turn the shower to the hottest setting. As I was absorbed in the steady stream of water and engulfed in faint clouds of steam, I couldn’t help but think of how magical the last few days were. I giggled. I lived with magic every day, but somehow everything that happened in New York was much more fun than any spell I could cast.
Cooper snored, and he was already curled up on his red gingham pillow bed, situated next to mine. I pulled back my duvet and slipped between the cool sheets.
“Twinkle,” I barely whispered as I pointed to my ceiling.
I was pleased with tonight’s night sky. Each star twinkled just enough so I could pick out the constellations but not enough to light up the room. I always needed a way to help quiet my mind and find the road to sleep. The stars usually did the trick. Cassiopeia glimmered overhead as I closed my eyes and dreamed about New York.
Sunday brunch at my parents’ house was a tradition I seldom broke. Of course there was the lure of my father’s cooking, but more than that, I loved being with them.
My parents had been married for over thirty years, which was not unusual for witch relationships, but was something I cherished. Many of my friends split their holidays and summer vacations between parents and divvied their time with new extended stepfamilies. I wasn’t sure if my brother, Ian, would be there today. He was a detective with one of the smaller precincts in Sullen’s Grove and had spent more than one Sunday tracking cases. I wanted to tell him all about New York and some of the actresses I had met. He wasn’t going to believe that I had actually talked to Julie Monaco, one of the leading ladies of Vegas Star.
My parents lived in the house Ian and I grew up in. The long wraparound porch was filled with Mama’s potted plants, herbs, and the creaking wooden swing. Climbing roses and ivy wrapped around the trellis, inviting friends and family to walk up the brick steps that led to the kitchen door. Everywhere I turned, I saw my parents’ imprint on the house, the yard, and each carefully selected plant. There was a vegetable garden directly behind the kitchen, which my father faithfully tended year round. No matter what the season, he said there was always something fresh he could add to a recipe. My parents had spen
t a lifetime building a sanctuary for our family, and it encircled me each time I walked through the door.
I parked in the back by the kitchen and strolled around to the front porch. Today was the perfect morning to sit on the swing for a minute and replay my trip.
I eased onto the swing, but before I even had my foot off the ground for a solid push off the porch, I was met with my mother’s urgent summons.
“Ivy, why are you out here? I saw you park by the kitchen.” She had a quizzical look on her face. I stood to give her a hug.
“Hi, Mama.”
She winked as she let me out of her tight embrace and pulled back to look at me. “Come on in and tell us every little detail! But wait, before you say anything, honey, let’s get some coffee.”
I followed her through the front door toward the kitchen. We passed the halls, wallpapered with family photos of all of Ian’s and my accomplishments. Mama loved to capture our life moments and frame them.
“Just between you and me, your father was more than a little worried about you going on this trip,” she whispered with one eyebrow arched higher than the other.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose bun to showcase her pearl necklace and pearl earrings. My mother always touted the importance of Southern ladies and their pearls. I couldn’t think of a single wedding, funeral, or luncheon we had attended that those pearls weren’t draped around her neck.
“I know, Mama, but it was such a huge opportunity. How could I turn down my first movie premiere? It might be my only one. Who knows if the next book will be movie material?”
Clearly, she couldn’t tell I knew she was hiding behind my father’s concern, as if she was completely okay with my decision about Vegas Star. I took a deep inner sigh.
