Phantom Quartz: A Stacy Justice Witch Mystery Book 6 (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries) (2 page)

Chapter 2

The Saturday before the Yule sabbat, the day of Cinnamon’s no-frills baby shower, I was wrapping up the perfect gift. I knew that Angelica and her relatives, along with Tony’s parents, my mom—who was coming for a visit all the way from Ireland—and a few friends were going to buy Cin everything she would need for those first months of motherhood. I had no idea what my grandmother Birdie and her sisters Lolly and Fiona had planned, but I was certain it would be something along the lines of the gifts young Aurora received from the three fairies in the cartoon movie
Sleeping Beauty
. I just hoped there would be no Maleficent.

Because unfortunately, in my family, we seemed to attract evil villains. The burden of hailing from a long line of Celtic witches was that people wanted to hurt you. Often. And with great intensity. And now that I was deemed the Seeker of Justice, there was a target on my back from every whackjob who was an enemy of my family or the Council. Or anyone, for that matter, who wanted to possess what we protected.

The Council is composed of the men and women who make up the secret society that granted me my role. They’re based in Ireland, and they guard ancient texts, invaluable artifacts, and treasures handed down by the Tuatha Dé Danann—the magical race descended from the goddess Danu.

It took me a long while to accept who I was and what I was born for, despite the efforts of the Geraghty Girls. (That’s how my grandmother and her sisters were known around Amethyst, the small Illinois tourist town where we lived.) But I now carried that responsibility close to my heart. And it didn’t hurt that I inherited a kick-ass sword and a powerful locket as part of my uniform.

They are my weapon and my badge.

The sword tended to attract attention, so I kept that at home in my cottage hanging on the wall. The locket—the Seeker’s amulet—went everywhere with me. I slipped it on now and tucked it under my cable-knit sweater. Then I strapped on some boots, zipped them up over my jeans, slipped an athame inside the left one, and called Thor, my familiar.

Thor once lived with my cousin. He was a stray Great Dane that wandered into town and found himself working as a bouncer at Cinnamon’s bar, apparently biding his time until I came to my senses and moved back home from Chicago. He’s one-hundred and eighty pounds of muscle with a sunny disposition that doesn’t match his fierce black-and-tan face. After knocking over one too many rows of bar glasses with his whip of a tail, Thor was out of a job and came to live with me, although if I was being honest, I felt as if I’d known him my whole life.

When Thor didn’t come the second time I called him, I went looking for him. He had been acting strange the last couple of months, visiting Cinnamon on a regular basis to ensure that she and the baby were safe. Fiona, whose main gifts were affairs of the heart and communicating with animals, told me he would outgrow this phase once the baby arrived.

That wasn’t soon enough for Cinnamon, however, so Thor and I made an agreement that he could only visit her once a week.

So
where
was he?

I searched the cottage and the yard and finally found Thor sitting in the front seat of the Jeep, waiting to go to the party.

I walked up to the door and opened it. “Thor, buddy, we talked about this.”

He grumbled at me, chastising me for making him wait so long for his visit.

How he managed to open the door I’ll never know.

I said, “Look, I just need to write the card, grab my jacket and the gift, and we can go.”

More grumbling. But I noticed his lips were just barely moving. Normally, Thor was all mouth and teeth, a vocal dog from the moment we met. If he were a human, you wouldn’t want to sit next to him on a long flight.

“What’s going on with you?”

He sat there, still as stone.

“Thor,” I warned, dragging out his name.

He flicked his eyes to me, but faced straight ahead, his left ear twitching.

“Is there something in your mouth?”

He didn’t respond.

There was no snow on the ground yet, and the sun was out, but it was still a cold December day and my patience was wearing thin.

“Okay, drop.” I stuck my palm beneath his huge jowl.

He ignored me.

“Thor, drop it or we’re not going anywhere, and if you try to make it there on foot, I’ll call Leo and have your big ass thrown in jail. And not doggy jail either. Those cages aren’t large enough for you, remember? Real jail. With no couch and no Milkbones.”

Leo was the chief of police in Amethyst. We used to date, but despite our breakup, I see him way more than I should, mostly due to my job as a reporter and, well, because people are always trying to kill me.

Thor gave me a look that would have made a marine soil his pants. He rolled his eyes and opened his huge jaw.

A chipmunk squeaked into my hand, and I screamed.

The chipmunk twirled his whiskers at me, then Thor.

I swear the dog purred at it. At me, he barked in protest.

“Look, Big Man, I know you want to bring a gift for the baby, but this isn’t the way to go about it. Cinnamon would have both our behinds in a sling if we brought a rodent into her bar. Now put Alvin here back where you found him because I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to be hibernating.”

Thor considered this. Then he shrugged and yawned. As his jaws opened and closed like a drawbridge, a long line of spittle fell from his tongue and hung there between his mouth and the upholstery of my new Jeep. He tilted his head just slightly to the right and eyeballed me.

One of his many negotiation tactics. I put my hands up. “Don’t do it, Thor, please don’t shake.”

One twitch of his lip.

Panic filled my voice. “Fine. How about this? I’ll add your name to the card for the gift I bought. Okay?”

He raised his eyebrows, appeased with that idea, and opened his mouth. To my astonishment, the small rodent climbed back inside and nestled onto Thor’s tongue. The dog jumped out of the car and lumbered off toward the woods behind the Geraghty Girls house bed and breakfast.

I called after him. “And when you come back, I better find you in the back seat. You’re not driving, Thor. You can’t drive without a license, not to mention thumbs!”

He swung his head back to me and harrumphed.

I jogged inside to shrug on a coat and grab Cinnamon’s gift, a gorgeous phantom quartz. The stone would be perfect for this occasion. It’s a smaller quartz crystal within a larger one, and it had always reminded me of a woman with child. It represents the many facets of the journey of life and facilitates healing and universal awareness. It’s also a spiritual stone and is believed to lead one to their spirit guides and open clairaudience channels. It’s most powerful attribute, however, is its ability to connect directly to the Akashic Records, the energy imprint of all thoughts, actions, and emotions that have ever occurred in time and space.

It’s also pretty.

What I didn’t know, as I scribbled out a card and grabbed my keys, was that it would  soon crack open a secret I wasn’t prepared to learn.

Chapter 3

Amethyst is a hamlet tucked up in the far northwest corner of Illinois. Only a few thousand people live here, but thanks to its unusually sloped topography, its historical ties to Mark Twain, President Lincoln, and Ulysses S. Grant, and its quaint Main Street featuring fine dining, spa services, and fashion boutiques, nearly a million visitors pass through here every year. Some of them check into the Geraghty Girls Guest House, and normally on the weekends I pop over to the inn to see if Birdie or the aunts need any help.

Since my cottage is only steps away, I’d be doing just that, but they were likely cooking up something special to bring to Cinnamon’s shower. The party was at the Black Opal, a quick fifteen minute walk, but in case I needed to pick anything up from Angelica’s bakery or cart some gifts home, I decided to drive. My phone was in my bag on the passenger seat, the gift inside, and Thor was stretched across the back seat as I backed out of the long driveway.

I coasted down the hill and looped the car around to Main Street, trying to find a parking space. This wasn’t the busiest time of the year, but with the lack of snow, more weekenders dotted Main Street than usual. Couples strolled hand in hand pointing out the festive decorations, the holiday lights, and the old fashioned lamp posts draped in red ribbons and fresh garlands. The popcorn shop was packed with a group of skiers stocking up on snacks. Magic Mountain, the resort just outside of town, made their own snow when Mother Nature didn’t cooperate. We passed a street vendor roasting chestnuts, another selling hot cocoa, and a musician plucking out Christmas tunes on a guitar.

The tourism center was always promoting some activity or another, especially around any holiday, and this weekend featured
living windows
displays. Shopkeepers were encouraged to put on a holiday themed act in their storefronts using real people. The candle shop was doing a rendition of
A Christmas Carol
with Tiny Tim and Scrooge, who was cast perfectly in the form of Scully, Cinnamon’s best customer and longtime Amethyst resident. A vintage toy store a few doors down featured Santa’s workshop, and at the end of the street was the most surprising display of all.

There, standing inside the window of a store called Nuts About You that sold—you guessed it—nuts, was the man in my life, Chance. All six foot two inches of him was dressed as a classic Tchaikovsky nutcracker complete with face paint, a tall fuzzy hat, red jacket with gleaming gold buttons, black pants, and shiny black boots.

I was cackling as I swung the car to the right and parked.

“Come on, Thor. Let’s go see who roped Chance into this.”

We got out and I grabbed my bag, phone at the ready, because this was so going on Facebook.
Hell, I might even make it my profile pic.

Thor trotted along next to me as we made our way over to the shop. Even he seemed to be smiling.

I jumped in front of the window and snapped some pictures with my phone. Chance winced and shook his head.

He mouthed something through the glass, but I couldn’t hear him so I told Thor to wait outside while I slipped into the shop.

Homey scents of salt, caramel, and pecans drifted through the building. A few customers were browsing the aisles discussing gift options for friends and family, and a plump teenager was tallying up a purchase for a white-haired woman. It was a long space shaped like a shoe box and painted a soothing walnut color. The shelves were filled with bags and boxes of peanuts, macadamia nuts, pecans, walnuts, cashews, honey roasted nuts, barbecue nuts, Brazil nuts and more.

I curved around the glass to where Chance was nutcrackering.

“Hey handsome.” I pointed to his ensemble. “So this is a new look for you.”

He smirked. “If you like it, I might be able to buy it at cost.”

I pretended to consider this. “Does the hat go with it?”

“Probably not.”

“Then no deal.”

I snapped another photo, pressed a few buttons on my phone, and said, “And post.”

Chance gave me a sharp stare. “Why are you busting my balls?”

“Hey,
you’re
the nutcracker.” I grinned.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I tapped my chin. “Let me think.” My head bobbed up and down. “Yes, yes I am. It’s nice to see
you
dressed silly for a change. And since you never held back whenever Aunt Lolly strapped me into one of her ensembles, this is what they call payback, my friend.”

Birdie’s eldest sister, Lolly, was a few hours short of a full day due to a loss she’d suffered long ago. To keep all her circuits firing, we poured a steady stream of liquor down her throat—I had no idea how or why, but alcohol had the opposite effect on Lolly that it did on the rest of the human race. But when she’s not firing on all cylinders, she loves to play dress up. And by dress up, I mean anyone and everyone around her can and will be used as her personal dolls. Not even Thor is safe. The worst time was when she dressed me up as Catwoman. Chance still teased me about that one.

“Touché.”

“So whose idea was this?”

Chance rolled his royal blue eyes. “My mother. Her friend owns the place and asked her if I could help out at the store today. You were going to be at the shower, and I had no plans, so I figured why not. Of course, when she called me this morning, I thought helping out meant lifting a few boxes, maybe making some minor repairs.” He raised his arms. “This never crossed my mind.”

Chance owned a construction business, and when he wasn’t building houses or working on kitchen remodels, he was lending a hand to friends and family, often at no charge. The man was generous to a fault, which was one of the reasons I fell in love with him way back in high school. And although I moved away and went to college and dated other people for the next fifteen or so years, he’d stolen a piece of my heart, and I never got it back. Now he had the whole thing, and I his.

“Wow, that’s nuts.”

“You about done?”

I shrugged. “I have a few more.”

He sighed. “Get it out of your system.”

“Don’t work too hard. Wouldn’t want you to bust a nut.”

He grunted. “And?”

“Is that a wooden leg or are you just happy to see me?”

He gave me a cocky smile. “That one was pretty weak.”

“How about ‘I’m nuts about you?’”

Chance had a way of looking at me that went straight through my heart and into my stomach, where butterflies swarmed. He did that now as he stepped off the platform, reached for my face with both hands and kissed me so deep I felt it in my toes.

He pulled away and I smiled at him.

“See you later?” he asked.

“Sure. I’ll save you some cake.”

He put his forehead to mine and whispered, “I’m not interested in cake.”

“Well then, I’ll save you a spot in the bed.”

“Deal.”

Thor barked impatiently, and I gave Chance another kiss and rushed out into the chilly afternoon. As I did, I spotted a familiar-looking man speeding down Main Street.

I whipped my head around and fumbled for my phone to take a snapshot of the license plate, but I was too late.

I stood there, staring at the now empty street wondering if it was my imagination, or if I had really just seen who I thought I saw.

But...that would be impossible. Surely my mind was playing tricks on me.

Because dead men don’t drive.