by Casey Morgan
The Spell of Six
A Luck’s Hollow Urban Fantasy
Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance
Copyright © 2019 by Casey Morgan; All Rights Reserved.
A Note from the Author
This is Book 4 in the standalone but connected series of Luck’s Hollow books. They can each be read and understood alone. Because of reoccurring character interactions and the same setting/world, they are recommended to be read all together!
This book was originally published as The Seeding Spell in 2018. I revised and expanded it to fit into the Luck’s Hollow series and world. In this book, previous characters from Luck’s Hollow, Ireland come to Love’s Hollow, New York to help new characters enact a spell!
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Gwendolyn
Chapter Two
Alex
Chapter Three
Alex
Chapter Four
David
Chapter Five
Robert
Chapter Six
Eric
Chapter Seven
Travis
Chapter Eight
Gwendolyn
Chapter Nine
Gwendolyn
Chapter Ten
Gwendolyn
Chapter Eleven
Alex
Chapter Twelve
Travis
Chapter Thirteen
Eric
Chapter Fourteen
Eric
Chapter Fifteen
Gwendolyn
Chapter Sixteen
Gwendolyn
Chapter Seventeen
Gwendolyn
Chapter Eighteen
Gwendolyn
Chapter Nineteen
Robert
Chapter Twenty
Gwendolyn
Chapter Twenty-One
Alex
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alex
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alex
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gwendolyn
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gwendolyn
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gwendolyn
Chapter Twenty-Seven
David
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alex
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Travis
Chapter Thirty
Eric
Chapter Twenty-One
Gwendolyn
Chapter Thirty-Two
Gwendolyn
Chapter Thirty-Three
Gwendolyn
Chapter Thirty-Four
Gwendolyn
Chapter Thirty-Five
Gwendolyn
Chapter Thirty-Six
Gwendolyn
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Gwendolyn
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Travis
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Eric
Chapter Forty
Alex
Chapter Forty-One
David
Chapter Forty-Two
Gwendolyn
Chapter Forty-Three
Robert
Chapter Forty-Four
Gwendolyn
Chapter Forty-Five
Gwendolyn
Epilogue
Gwendolyn
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Chapter One
Gwendolyn
Two weeks before the Harvest Festival.
Harvest time is supposed to be a time of bounty. A time where there is more than enough to go around. When people celebrate all the good things they have going in life, all the abundance available to them.
With autumn having moved in to stay a few weeks back in my small town of Love’s Hollow, New York, turning the leaves gold and red, I wanted nothing more than to be feeling blessed. Abundant, since I am one of the lucky ones.
I inherited The Lucky Spell Pot from my grandmother, Cora, a master witch and healer. It’s been a successful restaurant and watering hole for three generations. A place where the magic is mixed in with the drinks.
Love’s Hollow has always been a haven for supernatural types. Those of us who were born just a little bit different, with a little bit more magic than the rest of the world.
We were founded by witches who left Luck’s Hollow, Ireland, when there were witch hunts there in the 1500s. Others flocked here during the American witch hunts in the 1600s. Now everyone who has lived here, has been here for generations. It’s been a place of safety and sanctuary.
At least it was, until I was unable to uphold the Seeding Spell that protected the town and the humans started to move in with their technology. Carl and Maxine Axelrod, a couple of human grease-ball real estate tycoons moved into our little town and decided to make every other business around them go under. Their goal, or perhaps it was just an effect, was to make local businesses collapse, or otherwise fall into destitution, disrepair and destruction.
Then they were able to make all their money from a lack of competition. Not to mention an influx of customers from all those other closed local businesses, including mine.
The Axelrods were followed by other humans, who set up technological corporations and businesses, like Reverb Tech and Slone Inc. They offer tech jobs to the locals, but also change the feeling of the town.
With the Seeding Spell gone, the magic is diminishing, rolled and destroyed beneath the mundane world the humans are bringing. The original businesses that were here are closing. The paranormal citizens are going into hiding and pretending to be human to work at the big companies. It’s all because of me and my failure; and now I’m going to lose everything.
I wasn’t expecting this. But then again, who could expect a real estate business to play dirty with other businesses? Especially a business like mine?
The Lucky Spell Pot is an institution around these parts, since everyone who’s anyone still remembers my grandmother, and everyone went to her for remedies and potions. A few even remember my great grandmother, and my great great grandmother, Agnes — the one who started this pub over four hundred years ago. She’s become a piece of local history.
Grandmother Agnes was and is the reason why this town even expanded into what it is today. When everyone started pointing fingers at witches again, she moved north and found that others facing similar oppression had made our town in northern New York in a pleasant little valley into their home.
She told her friends, those who could stir a spell and shift, about the haven that had been created and that she was helping to expand. They brought their families, built houses and started businesses to serve the town.
There were worries back then that outsiders— even those with good intentions like Grandmother Agnes— could end up harming the small, peaceful community. But other fairy folk still needed protection and had nowhere else to go.
So, Grandmother Agnes put the Seeding Spell on the town to ensure its survival. It made sure no humans entered the area and set up a business, and the paranormal citizens of the town thrived. That spell was why Love’s Hollow didn’t dry up and become desolate with the rest of the small towns in this area.
And that is why those who had moved from Luck’s Hollow, Ireland and who had established Love’s Hollow, New York, allowed my Grandmother Agnes and other paranormal beings to stay in Love’s Hollow�
�� because she had ensured everyone’s safety with the spell she had set into motion.
It’s been the responsibility of the women of my family, the Bishops, to uphold the spell. Each generation has to cast the spell anew. Therefore, each daughter in the witch family must get pregnant with a daughter in order for the spell to be enacted.
And yet, I haven’t. I am a failure to my family and Love’s Hollow because the lynchpin of the spell centers on myself being pregnant with a daughter. A little girl of my own, to pass down the lore and spells of my family.
But I’m not pregnant. Not even close. I haven’t found anyone to love, I haven’t even had a boyfriend and I’m still a virgin. And because of my lack of love, Love’s Hollow is falling prey to these rich real estate developers and tech companies.
But now it that seemed my business, the legacy of my family, was about to be the next one to turn into a living ghost, not a burned-out skeleton in this town of Love’s Hollow. Which is why, instead of feeling anything like happiness toward all the Harvest decorations, all the reminders of fall and what to be thankful for, I was slumped against my own wooden bar.
The spell was supposed to be broken by the time Harvest Festival rolled around each year, and here I was not pregnant and not even close to becoming pregnant. And here I also was, dragging my hands through my own red hair, wondering what Grandmother Agnes or Grandmother Cora would say if they were here.
I wonder whether they would tell me to keep fighting to keep this place open, or whether they would tell me to give up the ghost? Or if they would lecture me on what a failure I am?
Should I just let the pub sink, along with all the of the other businesses in town?
The thought alone broke my heart. Tears sprung to my eyes, just thinking of it, and of my Grandmother Cora. My grandmother who loved and raised me after my mother died early. The way she was when I was little. How much joy she got from showing me and my four brothers the heart of this business, though none of the boys had the heart to inherit it.
Even now, I felt her in all the beer mugs. In all the bottles of the liquor stacked behind me, waiting for their chance to shine. In all the spell pots in the kitchen.
I can’t just let it go like that. I can’t just shut this down. Not after it’s been going so strong for so long.
I wiped at my eyes, feeling them sting. I cursed at myself, even though no tears were streaking down my cheeks. Yet.
I can’t just let it go. My legacy. Not after everything they went through. Not after every hardship and joy they endured.
I raked my hands through my red hair.
But what the fuck can I do?
What should I do, Grandma?
My throat closed, just saying her name. Though she’d been dead and gone almost two years now, it still felt like yesterday when I got the phone call with the news that she had passed away, leaving The Lucky Spell Pot to me.
I’ve got to pay these bills. Fix the red I’m in, otherwise we are not even going to make it to our annual Harvest Festival.
The Harvest Festival. Our biggest, most important night of the year. Where we made up for all our financial shortcomings, and stored seeds to make it through the winter. If we couldn’t even stay open for that, we had no chance of making it to the spring.
The Harvest Festival was also the time that I should re-cast the spell to protect the town. But I could only do that if I had a daughter or was at least pregnant with one. But since I had no men in my life, no possible lovers, then this was another year of failure. Failure for myself and the town.
Interrupting these thoughts, as if the universe took pity on me, I heard noise outside. Sounds of people celebrating, laughing and having fun. For a moment, I hoped against hope that those sounds of celebration and laughter were for me. Perhaps they were visitors in anticipation of coming to The Lucky Spell Pot and giving me something other than my money woes to worry over.
But I was not so lucky. The people walked right past my window, right past my door, denying me any hope of good cheer or better business.
Just as I was about to sigh, contemplate actually tearing out a few pieces of my hair, and maybe selling them to somebody for enough cash to keep the doors open a while longer, my cell phone rang.
I could tell immediately from its techno/electric-swing vibe that it was Jasper. One of my brothers. While I was close with all of them, Jasper and I always were two peas in the same pod. We could’ve been twins, according to our grandmother. We were the same, down to reading each other’s thoughts and emotions, much like I was sure he was doing now.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t be calling.
He and my other brothers, Crispin, Holland and Seth were just a few of the paranormal citizens who were trying to keep Love’s Hallow afloat. They all recently started their own business, Spelled Ink, a tattoo shop a few miles over— and were usually too busy to call. Unless Jasper sensed something wrong.
I picked it up, though I already knew I didn’t want him to worry or fret about me on top of everything else creating a new business demanded.
“Hey, Jasper,” I said, trying to sound more cheerful than I actually felt. Even as I spoke, some part of already knew he wouldn’t buy it. “How’s it going at the tattoo shop? Getting any customers yet?”
“Don’t deflect to me, Gwendolyn,” he replied.
While my brother was a softy, he was also very much the fastidious, no-nonsense type.
“I just started to feel really sick to my stomach for some reason. Something’s up with you. I can tell. Something’s up with the spell and the pub that Grandma Cora left you.”
“Nothing I haven’t told you before, Jasper,” I replied, feeling sick to my stomach now too.
More people were walking past my windows, not even bothering to look inside or see what kind of goodies I could offer them. It made me feel like a relic, like something lost to time, or belonging in one of the role-playing video games that my brother Holland liked to play.
“People haven’t been coming in as regularly, but things are okay,” I told Jasper. “And no, I haven’t found anyone to love. Not to mention, anyone to knock me up.”
Things at the bar were not really okay.
As it is, if all of my employees show up—a few of whom were showing up now, but keeping a low profile because they knew I was on the phone— between their salaries, paying for fresh food and beer, I’m going to be out of money before the Harvest Festival even starts.
It was a mistake to even think that. To even let any of that enter my mind.
Because Jasper sucked in a breath, leaned into the phone and said, “Half right and half wrong. You’ve told me and the guys part of your situation, about the spell and how Mr. and Mrs. Asshole-rod pretty much fucked over all of the small business owners on your block, but you’re not telling me what’s really going on. How short on money are you?”
I gulped. Then I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling the heaviness of the situation. Even without us being on a video chat, I could see it now: Jasper’s bright green eyes and serious dark lips puckering at me, demanding to know why I evaded honesty, when that’s what our relationship was supposed to be built around.
“Gwendolyn,” he said, as if giving me a warning.
“A little short,” I said, feeling a bit short on breath.
That was the one thing I hadn’t wanted to admit to anyone— least of all myself— since the end of summer, when my brothers officially launched Spelled Ink. They wanted to offset the number of human-owned business in Luck’s Hollow with another one owned by paranormal creatures. But it was a bold move, since most of those couldn’t survive. I didn’t want to add onto the stress or worry.
“A lot,” he corrected, not sparing my feelings or his.
“You’re a lot short, Gwendolyn. Usually when you’re in big trouble is when you really start to minimize the scope of it.”
I held my breath, trying not to cry. Not because he was being mean or anything, but because he sounded so much like G
randmother.
“Okay, Jasper,” I said, putting my forehead in my hand. “Yes, I’m a lot short on what I need to keep running this place the way it should be run, okay? Happy?”
“No.”
Behind him, I heard the sounds of Holland and Crispin doing some kind of dare. A challenge with each other involving tattoo guns, and some vulnerable places on their bodies.
“I don’t like being right about this kind of thing, Gwendolyn.”
It got more rambunctious by the second on the other end of the speaker, and Jasper finally snapped. Got after them, saying for them to save that for the customers, and even then, without so much stupid shenanigans.
“Shut up, Jasper,” said Crispin, turning on the tattoo gun like it was a chainsaw.
“Put an X on his forehead,” encouraged Holland. “Or, better yet, some permanent eyebrows, so that when we shave them off he’ll always look fucking pissed.”
Laughter and joking followed, but Jasper wasn’t having any of it.
“You do that, and I’m going to ink the both of you out of the business. As partners and as people who are going to be working for me. Remember, this was my idea. You just brought in the talent. You were supposed to bring in customers, too, which I don’t seen many of.”
Inaudible responses to this came across the phone, but I couldn’t make them out.
What I did hear clearly was Jasper’s follow-up question to me.
“Do you need a loan, Gwendolyn?”
A pause. I could practically hear him pursing his lips.
“I can rearrange some things within the business. Take out a loan against some of our assets. It isn’t much, but it might buy you some more…”
“No, Jasper. No, you’re not doing that.”
My voice broke, along with my resolve.
“You’re not doing any of that for me. Your business is just getting started. You have barely any equity or assets that you couldn’t sell and be sunk yourself. And we both know that the competition is very fierce.”
Tears break out along my cheeks, cutting down out of my eyelashes. Already my mascara was running.
“I’m not taking a loan from you, or any of the other three, got that?”
Though he was nowhere in front of me, my body posture was ready to go to war with him if necessary. Though I knew he was doing what Grandma would have wanted him to do if I got in trouble like this, but I wasn’t going to stand and take it. She gave this pub to me to make it flourish, not to them. And I wasn’t about to prove Grandma wrong in naming me her successor.
