Magical Tendencies
Magical Tendencies
Book 1 of the Magical Tendencies Series
By Selena D. Hunter
Copyright 2013 by Selena D Hunter
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
For my loving husband and extraordinary son. You both fill my days with endless magic and wonder.
A big thank you goes out to the people that have helped to make me want to write and be excited about it. Kym, you are my most supportive reader and your input has become the highlight of my writing experience. I love the way you think! It has been an experience of a lifetime becoming your friend.
Cori, Mom, Loretto and Laura… thank you for reading and for giving me the feedback that helped me to believe in myself.
RC and Keith—you are both amazing for supporting me the way that you have. I am one amazingly blessed woman!
Thank you especially for my cover artwork prepared by Killbot Design at
www.killbotdesign.com
. The amount of work and talent that was poured into the cover has brought this dream of mine to life. Thank you again for all of your help!
Table of Contents
I really do enjoy my life sometimes. Sometimes I get one of those rare days when everything just goes right. My friends call it my rose-colored glasses day and this was one of those particular days.
My name is Celeste Woods and I'm a desktop publisher by day and a singer by night. I sing only swing and crooning tunes because I'm not into the pop and hip hop. I have a classically trained background and I can sing classical music easily, although there aren't many times that I have reason to do so. Guess it's because it just doesn't interest me that much—it's not a challenge as some people see it.
Sitting on the stool on stage of the popular night club Pete and Jack's, I turned to my bassist as he was packing his beautiful black bass in its case. "So how do you think it sounded tonight, Jack?" I flicked my wavy brunette hair over my shoulder. I could feel it sway against my shoulder blades because my muscle shirt didn't really cover everything.
"Sounded really solid, Cell." He nodded to me as he grabbed a cord and began to spool it around his hand and elbow. I mimicked his movements with my microphone cord that was now in my hand.
"Yeah, I thought so too." I smiled.
I really loved performing because it was an outlet that just kept giving. It never really mattered what the audience thought of the performance because they weren't really there for us—they were there for other reasons and we just provided the ambiance. That gave us freedom to do whatever we pretty much liked with the music to make it our own.
"I really liked your scat on the
All Of Me
tune." Jack hopped off the stage and began piling the wiring up next to the side. "It flowed well into the chorus." You know, you really have to like a guy that knows about musical techniques like scat.
"Thanks, Jack. Hey, why are we the only ones putting up? What happened to Max and D?" D really wasn't his name, his name was Douglas but he hated to be called Doug so we started calling him D. I leaned down to grab an amplifier as Jack grabbed two others from the stage.
"Who knows," he shrugged, "I just saw them dodge down the hallway towards the men's room. Maybe they're having a rough time." he snickered.
"Gross," I shook my head. Men are just so disgusting sometimes.
Leaning down, I grabbed a handful of cords and made a beeline for the back of the building. The van was parked in the back and we loaded it for the next twenty minutes it seemed. It really didn't go that quickly with just the two of us.
"Okay, Cell, so that is it," Jack smiled as he opened the door to the van. "D and Max can walk or catch a cab so don't worry about them. They get what they deserve if you ask me."
"Yeah," I looked at the backstage door of the club one more time before I turned towards my own vehicle. My baby, a fire engine red '88 regular bed Chevy 1500 Silverado truck with a simple cab and a bench seat. My toolbox served as my trunk and I threw my microphone setup in it before I locked it closed. "Are you tired, Jack?"
"Huh?" Jack caught up to me quickly, "Sorry, Cell, I have school in the morning and since I'm the one paying the college tuition it's hard to be okay with skipping." He gave me a look of disappointment—he was going to miss his chance to hang out with me and I could tell he didn't like it at all.
I was so proud of him—paying his way through college was a big feather in his cap and he was working twice as hard as other people to make it all work. "Yeah, I know. Sorry, Jack. I'm just all wound up and I need someone to hang out with for a little while."
"Yeah, I understand." Jack raised his apologetic eyebrows at me and gave me the puppy dog eyes. I snickered at that adorable expression on the 5'11" shaggy-haired musician. He paused and got out of the van, "Get in the truck, Cell, so I can know you're safe, okay?"
I smiled as I pulled the door open, turned the key in the ignition, locked the doors and rolled my power window down, "Thanks, Jack, you're a great friend."
"Yeah, yeah, don't depress me more than I already am," he shook his head as he waved to me and drove away.
Just to fill in the blanks, Jack has a huge crush on me. He has since the day we met but I laid it out on the line that I wanted a professional relationship with him and nothing more. He hems, he hahs, sometimes he makes sexual remarks when no one else is around, but he would never cross the line with me because I don't want him to.
He's a bit shaggy for my liking but he's built like a Mack truck. His body is amazing, having brushed up against him a couple of times in the hallways to and from our gigs. He has beautiful chocolate brown eyes which seem to get darker sometimes when he looks at me seriously. He stands 5'11" and he has gorgeous coppery skin that never seems to get lighter. He says it's because he spends time tending his garden on his off days. That doesn't seem to be enough time to get that amazing tan but who am I to point fingers? I hate the sun—it always seems to sap me of all of my energy. For everyone else it energizes them but not me. What a weirdo.
I turned down Jefferson, thinking about what I was going to do with the rest of my energy. Seeing the Starlight Diner built out of an old Streamliner bus, I decided to stop and get some coffee. Like I needed more coffee.
As I jumped out of the cab of my truck I swung my purse over my shoulder, locking the door and shutting it in one quick motion. My performance outfit was not warm enough to keep out the crisp breeze as it picked up and I shuddered against the unexpected chill. I usually wore a pair of black cargo pants and a black muscle shirt so a jacket would have been a good idea. I opened the cab quickly and grabbed my leather jacket off of the bench seat before I locked the door again for safety's sake, slamming the door and hopping up onto the sidewalk.
"Hey there, chica," I heard a husky, greasy voice behind me. I swore I could hear it slither. "Whoyoo doin' tonight? Me I hope?"
I turned quickly around, refusing to keep my back to anyone that was approaching me. My inner instincts told me that this guy was a slimeball and I was pretty much by myself at 3:00 a.m. with this jerk in my space. I slowly fingered my keys that were still in my hands, sliding one of the keys between my pointer finger and middle finger knuckles. Self-defense was not my strong suit but I had paid
some
attention.
"Just going to see a friend that is waiting for me," I said it firmly and calmly. A total lie.
"I can be your friend," he slunk closer to me with one long slimy stride. His hair was slicked back with what looked like Crisco, he was wearing ultra-baggy jeans that could have housed a small family in a third world country, and he was wearing a wife-beater shirt. Damn I hate the nickname of those shirts—it made them so much more unattractive. He was wearing black work boots and had something in his hand, waving it around like he wanted to show the world.
The fact that he was about an inch shorter than me made me question just how dangerous this guy could be but I didn't want to take any chances, with whatever he was waving around for my benefit.
What the hell was that anyway
? I squinted to try to get a better look.
The slimy jerk chuckled under his breath as he flipped the thing in his hand, tossing it from hand to hand. I couldn't see more than a black stick, or what looked like a stick. "So whattaya say? Wanna be mah friend?" He winked up at me and my stomach immediately dropped into my shoes. This was NOT good.
I took a step away from him, "I would prefer not to. I told you—I have a friend that is waiting and
he
will come looking for me if I take any longer." I pointed my head to the corner where the diner door was located.
Buy it, dammit, buy it.
"Ha!" The man looked back to the corner of the diner, knowing that we could hear anyone that was coming, "No one is coming, mamasita. Guess your
friend
isn't worried about you. I'll take
really
good care of you so I wouldn't worry either." His eyebrows bounced up and down as he licked his lips and eyeballed me hungrily from top to bottom, spending extra time ogling my chest.
I sighed and began to make a wide sweep around him, "I really need to go," I looked at him seriously as I fondled the keychain in my palm, getting a better grip on my impromptu weapon. "I'm walking away now." My voice shook a little at the end.
Dammit!
Mr. Slimey just chuckled as he watched me begin my wide arc around him, trying to keep the same amount of space between us as I tried to get as close to the corner as possible. He eyed me as I worked my way around, greedily, hungrily. My stomach wanted to upchuck.
I got an instant sinking feeling as the man began to move closer to me with every step I took. I would move around in my arc, he would step closer, taking the more direct route. I stepped back, he stepped closer. It was a losing battle. What the heck was I going to do?
Just as I was half of the way towards the door I watched in horror as he lurched for me, reaching out with sinewy arms and claw like fingers. His eyes seemed to glow red in the direct light of the moon. Ick! He looked like he could be the devil!
I squeaked as he hands grazed my arms. He wasn't close enough to grab me but one more step was going to do it. My right arm thrummed with the sensation of his fingernails touching my skin. I looked down and saw no marks.
Dang, that's weird.
Just then, with a blur of motion and dark clothing, I watched as he was lifted high into the air. A pillar of a man seemed to just … appear as Mr. Slimy squirmed at his fist. The man was holding Mr. Slimy by his throat, arm fully extended, giving him the most threatening look I may have ever seen in my life. He was tall, at least 6'3", he had dirty-blond hair that was cut short and brushed back in a sweep, he had a model-like face complete with strong cheekbones and dimple in a squared chin. His fantastic black suit was fitted and tapered down to his athletic waist. His feet were shoulder-width apart and his other hand was just lying fisted at his side. He was holding the man up with one hand.
Oh my gosh, I think I just wet myself.
This man was hot.
The stranger turned his eyes to me which seemed to have a slight iridescent appearance to them. Must have been the moon. He lifted an eyebrow as if to ask me if I were okay.
"Yeah, I'm fine, thank you." I almost whispered. My adrenaline seemed to be waning. I was going to crash soon.
The stranger nodded and released Mr. Slimeball onto the ground with a loud thump. The guy just got right back up like nothing had ever happened and stared my savior down with a cruel look.