Den and Breakfast: BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance (Honeycomb Falls Book 1) by Cassie Wright

Author:Cassie Wright [Wright, Cassie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2014-12-06T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

They all look at me with different expressions on their faces. Anita looks horrified. Blake looks furious and frustrated both. Hui appears inscrutable, but I can see a tightness in her eyes that speaks of a world of disappointment.

"There may be a way," I say. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to go there. But what choice do I have?

"What way?" Blake's voice is tight, suspicious.

"I'll be back." I stand up, suddenly resolute. I owe it to them to explore every option. I owe it to Mama B and her hopes for me. I owe it to myself.

Turning, ignoring the questions on their faces, I march into the hall, stepping over Hui's mop, and climb the stairs to the broad landing. Walk down the hall to Mama B's room, and close her bedroom door behind me. Press my back against it, heart hammering against my ribs like a rubber mallet. Do I want to open that chest? Hell no. Do I have a choice? Not that I can tell.

I take a deep breath. Open and close my hands, bite my lower lip, then step forward and throw the chest open before I can change my mind.

There it is. Mama B's staff. Dark wood and blood red crystal. I bite my lower lip again, frozen. What will happen when I touch it? Will I change? Is there any going back? I gulp. I've never done anything more magical than have a tarot reading done for me. Now here, lying in front of me, is something of real power.

I reach down. Hesitate, my fingertips an inch from the wood, and then grab it. I close my eyes, holding it as far from me as I can - and nothing happens. I crack open one eye, then the other. What the hell? I hold it closer. I don't feel anything. No zing of magic. No zap of power. I give it an experimental shake. Nothing.

"What the hell? Are you kidding me?"

I assure you, I rarely jest.

I let out a yelp and drop the staff, darting across the room to hide behind the wardrobe. The staff bounces and rattles on the floorboards. Silence. I try to stuff myself out of sight. My eyes dart back and forth.

What. Or - who? Who said that?

"Hello?"

Nothing. I gulp. Peer around the wardrobe. Nothing. Nobody there. Just the staff lying on the floor. I take a deep breath. OK. I can do this. I'm a tough chica from NYC. I've got attitude, a hell of a booty, and I'm tougher than cheap diner steak.

I tiptoe closer and prod the staff with my shoe. Nothing. So I crouch down and pick it up again.

"Hello?"

To be honest, this is proving to be an awkward introduction. Please don't drop me again.

The old gentleman's voice sounds inside my head, complete with a posh British accent. "Who are you?"

Not who, but what. I am a staff of power, once the possession of Simon Trimagister, who made a copy of his mind and implanted it in the wood that you hold.

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