Bloodstone (28 page)
Authors: Barbra Annino
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Dogs, #Magic, #Witches, #Fantasy, #Mystery
“You shouldn’t have left her there.”
I said, “John, you have no idea how badly I feel about that.”
“I don’t care how you feel. She could have died out there.”
“You don’t understand.” I didn’t know what else to say. Didn't know how much he knew.
John stared me down. Finally, he dropped his pants and mooned me.
On his ass was the mark of the Guardian.
I knew I forgot to check something when I caught up with Sayer at the Shelby farm.
John said he had just gotten the confirmation from the council on the Warrior and was about to make contact when the call came that Deirdre had been shot.
I asked him if he knew what ‘Mahoney money’ meant (Ivy had mentioned phony money and I thought maybe she had been mistaken). He explained that his family was the wealthiest of the three clans and it was determined that any funding needed for the cause would be set up in a trust for all three families to use as needed at the discretion of the council.
“Until next time,” he said and walked back into his wife’s room.
It was Friday afternoon when Chance walked into my office.
“Hey gorgeous. You ready?” He came over and brushed his lips across my neck. Then he sat on my desk and pulled me to him, his blue eyes warm and inviting.
I stood, draped my arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly. It felt safe to be in his embrace. As much as I cared for Leo, Chance was the one who knew me best. We had a history that couldn't be shaken. And even though he could be a tad protective, he trusted my judgment and accepted me for who I was, flying imaginary squirrels and all.
Besides, if a man can forgive you for crashing his truck, he's worth a second look.
“What do you say we get some take-out and go to my place?” he asked.
“Only if it involves chocolate syrup,” I said.
“Oh, that could be arranged.”
I leaned across my desk to grab my bag when the phone rang.
“Don’t answer it,” Chance said.
I smiled. “Two minutes.”
The voice on the other end of the line was gruff. “Stacy Justice?”
“Speaking.”
“Stacy Justice the second, right?”
“Yes.”
Chance tickled me and I laughed.
“I just thought you should know that I have the tapes.”
“What tapes?” I asked slapping Chance’s hands away.
The man on the phone swore softly. “You haven’t gone through his files yet have you?”
“Whose files? What you are talking about?”
Chance looked at me, concerned. He raised his hand, questioningly. I shrugged.
“It wasn’t an accident,” the man said.
I sat down in my chair, that creepy-crawly feeling climbing up my spine. “Who is this?”
A pause. Then he repeated it. "It wasn't an accident. Your father was murdered.”
Click.
Author’s Note
While writers often take great liberties in fiction, much of what you read comes from hours of research. I thought fans of my work might be interested to know that there is indeed a
Ballymote
book and it resides within the halls of the
Royal Irish Academy
.
The first page is still missing.
You may be surprised to learn that
Ogham
was a written language and that in Northern Europe today, there are approximately 500 known stone carvings engraved with this script.
This is what it looks like:
Translation:
Money is honored, without money nobody is loved
Now what about the zombie powder, you ask? Well, that too is an actual
poison
derived from the puffer fish and has been used as Fiona described.
Sadly, the antidote is not bat poop.
This book takes place sometime between Imbolc and Ostara, the spring equinox. Ostara occurs around March 21 when the balance of light and dark is equal. It’s a day when the world has one foot in the dead of winter and one aimed toward the birth of spring. Rituals vary on this day and may include chasing winter away via a banishing spell or spring ‘cleaning’ with a sage smudge stick. Egg decorating is also popular this time of year. Eggs symbolize fertility and life—much like Mother Earth is awakening, preparing to accept new seeds into her belly.
Below are some recipes to wake up your body and soul from a long, harsh winter.
Salmon en Croute
In Celtic mythology, salmon are a magical fish that grants the eater knowledge of all things.
Notes:
Non-stick spray may be substituted for melted butter.
Keep the phyllo covered with plastic wrap and a damp towel until ready to assemble, otherwise it will dry out.
2 cloves garlic
1 7 oz jar sun-dried tomatoes in olive oil
3 cups torn basil leaves
salt and pepper to taste
1 package 9x14 phyllo dough, thawed
1 cup melted butter
10 4oz salmon filets, skin removed
2 eggs, beaten, mixed with ¼ cup water
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. In a food processor, blend garlic, tomatoes with oil, basil, salt and pepper. Set aside. Grease 2 large cookie sheets. Carefully lay five sheets of phyllo across each cookie sheet, overlapping, and brushing each sheet with melted butter. Repeat. Divide salmon evenly among each cookie sheet vertically and place on top of phyllo, leaving a space between each filet. Divide and spread basil mixture on top of each individual salmon filet. Cover salmon with five sheets of phyllo, brushing each sheet with butter. Repeat. With a pizza cutter or knife, slice in between each filet. Using egg wash, fold sides of phyllo together to form individual “packets”. Bake for 15-20 minutes.
Lemon Zucchini Bake
Use lemon thyme to add a sweet, citrus flavor to everything from poultry to vegetables. If you can’t find it in your area, try chopped lemon balm, lemon verbena or lemon basil.
2 large zucchinis, thinly sliced
1 large Vidalia onion, thinly sliced
4 tablespoons of butter, melted
¼ cup seasoned breadcrumbs
¼ cup Parmesan cheese
2 teaspoons of lemon thyme leaves
Mix breadcrumbs, cheese and thyme. In a round casserole dish, layer ½ of the zucchini and ½ of the onion slices. Baste with butter. Add half the breadcrumb mixture. Repeat layers and bake, covered, in a 350-degree oven for 20 minutes. Servings: Serves 4-6.
Body Scrub
Sugar scrubs are a great way to slough off stress and dead skin. For unique scents, try layering dried herbs like lavender (revitalizing) or peppermint (energizing) with a cup of white sugar and let stand for two weeks before use, shaking periodically. Then blend with a tablespoon of light oil such as sunflower seed. Slough away dead skin in the shower or tub.
Opal Fire - Stacy Justice Book One
Sexual Healing - short stories
Every Witch Way But Wicked - anthology (includes a Stacy Justice story)
Pink Snowbunnies in Hell - anthology
Thank you
for reading my work! Feel free to lend this book to friends and family
and please leave a review sharing your thoughts about the story. If you do write a review for either Opal Fire or Bloodstone, send me an
email
for a free copy of
Every Witch Way but Wicked
, a magical anthology of 11 witchy tales that includes a Stacy Justice short story and a forward by Amanda Hocking.
Don’t forget to check the
website
for contest information and for Tiger’s Eye—book three of Stacy’s story. You could win a free copy of a book, a “Thor Loves You” tote bag or even the chance to name a character!
Connect with me online
Website - for contests, upcoming titles and more
At the beginning of this whole, surreal journey, I had no idea you could be evicted from your body as easily as you could be booted out of your apartment. Easier, actually, since there’s none of those pesky laws in place to protect you. But it all started out so innocently. . . With a streak of bad luck.
One of the problems with being a witch is when you ask the universe a question, it generally gives you an answer. Or just enough of one to ruin a perfectly good week.
But since it was my birthday. . .
And since I was an eternal optimist. . .
And mostly ‘cause I was stuck at the longest red light in the history of traffic, with nothing else to do. . .
I dug my tarot deck out of my purse and pulled three cards for the coming year.
Death.
Three of Swords.
The Tower.
Transformation. Sorrow. Change through destruction.
Happy birthday to me.
Damn it. I shouldn’t have looked. You’d think I’d know better by now. Damn tarot cards always suckered me into peeking into my future and I just about always regretted it. Because the hell of it was. . .
They were usually right.
After a quick stop at Trader Joe’s, I was finally home. I propped the grocery bag on my hip, wrestled open the wrought iron gate and placed my hand on my mailbox.
Mara Stephens, Apt 1-C
.
