Mystic Luck (Mystic Tides Book 2) Read online

  Water sprite. Not surprising she didn’t want to get her hands dirty.

  “Just think of how nice the water will feel when you wash your hands later,” he said with a smile.

  She bobbed her head and dropped down beside him. “Okay.”

  He’d created twenty-four squares, enough for Sydney’s class as well as the three women. He was happy when Tabby took the square across from him.

  “Now wiggle your fingers in the dirt, close your eyes, and tell me what you feel.”

  “Coolness,” said one child.

  “It’s wet,” said another.

  “I feel a worm,” screeched a little girl, yanking her hand away.

  “It feels…kind of nice,” said the water sprite.

  “And magical.” This came from a boy with solemn eyes and a headful of brown curls. Definitely an earth witch in training.

  “It is magical,” Max said. “So magical that it’s going to create clover from your bags of seeds.”

  “There nothing magical about clover,” a little boy said. “We have clover all over our yard.”

  Max let the soil sift through his fingers. “What if I told you that, within those pouches, are magical seeds that will create your very own four-leaf clovers?”

  “The lucky kind?” Tawny asked.

  “The lucky kind.” Max turned his gaze on Tabby.

  “What makes them so lucky?” asked the tiny earth witch.

  “You all know clover is pretty common.” He glanced at the boy with the clover-filled yard. “The three leaves of the clover represent hope, faith, and love, but one with four leaves is rare, and that fourth leaf represents luck. If you’re lucky enough to find one, that luck will stay with you.”

  “Always?” Tabby asked.

  “Always.”

  Max proceeded to show them how to place their seeds in their small earthen squares. When the children were finished and happy with their plantings, he scooped mounds of topsoil from the wheelbarrow and poured some over each square so the children could pat it down. Then they shared several watering cans to give their seeds a drink of life-affirming water. The water sprite let the water trickle over her fingers.

  He gave them instructions on watering and then said, “I’ll be back on St. Patrick’s Day, and we’ll all look for our four-leaf clovers. Mrs. Spencer has name tags for you to put into your squares.”

  As the children began to print their names, Max did a blossoming spell over the little plants. Clover grew fast, but he wanted to ensure they had some real shamrocks and four-leaf clovers come next Friday for St. Patrick’s Day.

  When the kids were finished planting their little markers, Felicia led the children back into the school, Sydney thanked him, and soon he was alone with Tabby. He’d never felt so helpless and comfortable at the same time.

  She brushed her hands to dislodge the dirt, and he handed her a rag from his back pocket. Her eyelashes cast shadows across the flush of color on her cheeks.

  “Why are you shy around me?” she asked when her brilliant green gaze returned to his face.

  No point in covering. He’d been made. “I’m shy around everyone.”

  “You don’t have to be shy around me. So you’re a gardener.”

  “I am,” he said quietly.

  “Does that make you an earth witch, like Bethany Burke? You know Bethany, right?”

  He nodded. “I do. We order everything for Gercharmeerd Leven from her nursery, and yes, I’m an earth witch too.”

  That was the longest sentence he’d ever said to a virtual stranger. But she didn’t feel like a stranger.

  She took his dirty hand, twining her fingers through his. He couldn’t have pulled his hand away if hers had caught on fire. Touching her felt right, as though he’d finally stumbled into where he belonged.

  “Would you like to take me out sometime?” she asked quietly.

  His heart stuttered, along with his breath, but he searched deep inside and found his courage. He refused to be a confirmed bachelor. He refused to be a Gallagher male stumbling along waiting for life and love to happen. Luck could be found as easily as combing through a field of clover. He hadn’t told the kids, but the other parts of that clover were even more precious and hard to find. Hope. Faith. Love. He wanted them all, and he thought Tabby held the key.

  “I would.”

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “What’s your number?”

  He rattled off his number, though he had no idea why since she was standing right in front of him. When his phone rang, he stupidly pulled it out of his pocket. “Hello.”

  “You’re adorable,” her voice said into his ear.

  The fire leapt into his cheeks. “Not quite the word I’d use,” he muttered.

  “Now you have my number.”

  She crooked her finger as though she wanted to tell him a secret. He leaned down, and when her hands touched his shoulders, she kissed his cheek, filling him with hope, delight, and an indescribable lightness of being. Though an earth witch, he suddenly felt the need to soar.

  “Call or text me, okay?”

  “I will.”

  She turned and practically skipped up the path, her sturdy combat boots no hindrance to her grace and carefree charm.

  “I will,” he repeated. He wanted that girl.

  Chapter 3

  2 A.M. Thursday, March 11

  Tabby clicked off the TV and snuggled down into her blanket. She’d already double-checked her sheets to see if she’d spilled any of her glittery shadows. She hadn’t found a speck, so she was hard-pressed to figure out where the silver glitter had come from. She’d already decided she was either taking a train to Crazy Town or had some sort of brain tumor. Tabby never messed around. She was a positive person, but when something seemed out of whack, she went straight to the worst-case scenario. She wondered which scenario would be less stressful on her parents. Locking her away and forgetting seemed to be the best alternative for them. A brain tumor would be very time consuming. Crazy Town it was.

  Wait a minute…

  Tabby bolted up in bed.

  The town was filled with magic. Witches and warlocks and shifters and spirits. Tabby had a tiny touch of magic. She could read minds, though she did have to concentrate, and it usually worked only on smaller kids. It did come in handy at an elementary school at times. Her family, though, was certainly as boring as drying paint—not a magical bone in the bunch—but that didn’t mean magic couldn’t visit their little corner of Dullsville. Two questions: Why would a magical being suddenly decide to drop in on the Whitlocks? And why would someone be calling her a princess? The answer was simple: the little green queen had the wrong house. Somewhere a real princess had no clue a prophecy was about to be fulfilled, apparently in the next week or so. She probably needed that heads-up. Time to fix things—even if they happened to be imaginary.

  Tabby threw off the covers. “Off to save the day.” She pinched herself just to be sure. “Ow. Yep. Definitely awake.”

  She tiptoed out of her bedroom and opened the door to Alex’s room. As she stood inside, she strained to hear any sounds of a tiny hammer striking leather. So quiet.

  “Happy eventide, me wee princess.”

  Tabby yelped, clapped a hand over her heart, and spun around to find the tiny queen sitting cross-legged in the center of Alex’s bed, her hands folded in her lap. Though Tabby had come in here looking for the little woman, she was still surprised to find her. When she had recovered and her heart slowed down a touch, Tabby dropped a curtsey.

  “Happy eventide to you, too,” Tabby said.

  The lady inclined her head in a regal gesture.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to learn that the newly risen still threaten the heroes on thy magical story box. Such fascination. I wish me realm held such a box. Story time be fun, but ’tis often taxing.”

  When a big grin lifted the woman’s mouth, her ears gave a happy wiggle. She wore a dark blue dress, the
bodice laced with silver thread, and around her neck hung a silver chain holding an amulet emblazoned with a shamrock. Not working for a living tonight. Tonight she truly looked regal.

  “We didn’t really get introduced last night. My name is Tabby.”

  “Aye, that it is.”

  Surprised the queen would know the name of an occupant in the wrong house, Tabby just let it go and asked, “Do you have a name?”

  “I do,” said the lady happily. “’Tis Rionach, and ’tis me fortune to be queen of many clans.” She hopped off the bed. Tabby realized then how small the woman really was. She didn’t even come up to Tabby’s chin.

  “Nice to meet you, Rionach. You’re not working tonight?”

  “Nay. Last eve thy visit was not assured. Cannot waste time, you know. Much work to be done. Tonight…I knew thee would come.” She took Tabby’s hand and tugged. Tabby went to her knees.

  “I have much to say,” said the queen.

  “Before you begin,” Tabby said, “I have to explain. We’re not magical. Well, not much anyway. A bit of mind reading doesn’t really count because lots of people have that. We’re not royalty. The Whitlocks are plain humans. As plain as you can get. We know about magic—we’re surrounded by it here—but we wouldn’t be able to do magic with a wand, a spell book, fairy dust, and written instructions.”

  The queen giggled. “Is that what thou thinks?”

  “It’s what I know, and I hate to break it to you, but you’re in the wrong house and you’ve got the wrong girl.”

  “Oh, thee wee princesses are so delightful. These mortal men make me task so difficult at times. Such utter oafs. Such simpletons.” She tapped her cheek. “Or has so much time passed that they have forgotten… What year does it be?”

  “It’s 2017,” Tabby said.

  The little woman slapped her green cheeks. “Dia ár sábháil! So many years. ’Tis no wonder. Your da…he lives in this house?”

  “Yes.”

  Rionach glanced around the room, taking in the rock posters, the drum kit in the corner, the array of musical instruments spread over the shelves, several trophies Alex had acquired during high school. “Brothers?”

  “Yes, three.”

  “Four who should know yet do not. ’Tis clear thou did not expect me royal presence last eve. We must leave the realm more often. We are so out of touch, but time passes differently. Still time brings great and amazing change.” She plucked at Tabby’s hair, running her fingers through the soft spikes. “Such wondrous hair.” She fingered her own vibrant red curls. “Would me own hair do that?”

  “Maybe. We could try, but we’d have to cut it really short, and with those ears, I’m not…” She snapped her mouth closed and took the queen’s hand. “Rionach, please, we have to focus.”

  “Aye, wee princess.”

  “As much as I like your visits, I’m really certain you have the wrong house.”

  Rionach shook her head. “I do not.”

  “But—”

  Rionach placed her green fingers over Tabby’s lips. “No buts, wee one. Just listen. Allow me to do what all queens must.” She cupped Tabby’s face and kissed her forehead. “The princess be chosen.”

  Tabby stared into the dark eyes. They should probably have been scary, dark wells of unfathomable depth, where red occasionally flashed like miniature fireworks. Yet within Rionach’s eyes, Tabby found only serenity. Still, she had to say it. “The princess is chosen…in another house.”

  “Nay, me little treasure. Not another house. Eight more risings before the change. Eight more nightfalls before the choice must be made. Eight more turnings of the earth before the princess becomes the queen.”

  “You think I’m supposed to be queen?”

  “Aye. Or nay.”

  “It can’t be both,” Tabby said with a laugh.

  “Aye, ’tis true, but the choice belongs to thee. A lifetime of service or a lifetime of love. Which will thou choose, my little Tabitha Whitlock?”

  “Why would anyone choose service over love?” Tabby asked.

  “Some do, and some try not to. If the choice be not true, if the love be not real, the choice evaporates into nothing and the chosen one slumbers.”

  “Do you have to talk in circles?” Tabby huffed.

  “I do,” said the little queen. “We be tricksters, after all.”

  “I don’t get it. Why me?”

  “The births be few, the time between long. The gift be rare but miraculous and well received. Thou art the gift, me wee one.”

  “I’m not a gift. I’m just a woman, just an office aide. I’m working on my master’s in school administration, but I haven’t gotten it yet, so I’m just getting some practical experience.”

  “’Tis a wise decision to plan for the days to come.”

  “Yes, I suppose, but more importantly, Rionach”—she took the lady’s shoulders in her hands and peered into her eyes—“I’m no one important. Just an office worker, a friend, a sister, a daughter.”

  “Nay, not just a daughter,” Rionach whispered. “The daughter of a royal family.”

  Tabby burst into laughter. “Royalty, my butt. No one in this family is anything but normal, and sometimes I even wonder about that. What kind of royalty would have my family anyway?”

  “Why the kingdom of the leprechauns o’ course,” the little queen said with a giggle. “Fare thee well, me princess. Remember, eight more days.”

  Before Tabby could respond, Rionach touched her amulet and disappeared.

  “Well, damn.” She stood up, marched into the hallway, and screamed, “Dad!”

  * * * *

  Tabby stared at her mother across the kitchen table. “And you knew about this?”

  “Of course I did,” Emily said.

  “Your mother and I have been married for thirty years.” Aidan Whitlock snagged his wife’s hand and lifted it to his lips for a quick kiss. “You don’t keep a secret like that.”

  “What about the royalty part?” Tabby asked.

  “Oh, that’s new,” Aidan said, “for both of us. I thought we were just regular old leprechauns.” He laughed.

  “There should be no such thing as ‘regular old leprechauns,’” Tabby said.

  “Why ever not?” Emily asked. “We have all sorts of things here in Blansett. Witches, warlocks, shifters, fairies, pixies, vampires, sprites, elves—”

  “I know all that. Stop with the lessons.” Tabby held up her hand, fell back against her chair with a huff, and let her gaze travel between her shell-shocked younger brothers. They weren’t taking this very well. The usually boisterous twins sat silently, Mason chewing on his lip and Braden picking at a fingernail. Both looked ready to hurl. Their freckles stood out, stark brown dots on their pale faces.

  Emily cocked her head. “So why do you think leprechauns shouldn’t exist?”

  “Yeah,” Aidan said, “I’m sitting right here. I’m starting to feel a bit underappreciated. I’m still your old dad.”

  “My old dad who happens to be a royal leprechaun.” Tabby shook her head. “This is ridiculous. You can’t be a leprechaun because you’re…you’re…” She swept her hand to indicate her father’s frame. “You’re a normal guy.”

  Aidan winked. “Am I?”

  “What does that mean?” Mason asked in small voice.

  “It means Dad is losing it.” Tabby cast a glance toward Emily. “Mom too.”

  Braden cleared his throat. “Can I go back to bed? This dream sucks.”

  “I concur.” Mason stood up.

  “No escape now. It’s out in the open.” Aidan tugged his son’s hand, and Mason plopped back into his chair.

  “Can we go back to Dad not being normal?” Tabby asked. “Seriously, Dad, how can you sit there and tell me you’re a leprechaun? I don’t care what Rionach said. The last thing you are is a freakin’ leprechaun.”

  Emily got up and put a tea pod into the Keurig. “So you believe some of her story but not all of her story?”
r />   “I don’t believe any of her story,” Tabby said. “The only thing I know is she’s real. I didn’t imagine her. I didn’t dream her. She was there, a little green lady with black eyes filled with fire and curly red hair. But her story freaked me out because she shouldn’t exist.”

  “I don’t get it,” Aiden said.

  “Have you ever seen a picture of a female leprechaun? A movie with a female leprechaun? Heard a story about a female leprechaun?”

  “Well, no,” Emily said, “but that doesn’t automatically negate their existence.”

  Mason straightened in his chair, finally interested and, Tabby noticed, a bit less pale now that the focus was on her. “People don’t talk about female Bigfoots either.”

  “So basically”—Aiden paused—“you think you’re being visited by a crazy little green woman.”

  “Well, when you say it like that…”

  “Maybe she’s an alien,” Emily snickered and tapped her cheek. “Though I thought they were bald.”

  “Mom, please.” Tabby rolled her eyes.

  “There have to be female leprechauns,” Braden said, “or there wouldn’t be any leprechauns at all, right?”

  Aiden glanced at Emily. “And you’re worried about our public schools.”

  “I imagine it’s a recessive gene,” Emily said. “Something that travels through families on the X chromosome and pops up through the generations only every now and again. How many girls have there been in your family that you know of, honey?”

  Aiden scrunched his forehead. “Uh…I guess I’d have to ask my dad, but right now, I can’t think of any females who haven’t married into the Whitlock clan.”

  “Dad is not a leprechaun,” Tabby stated firmly. “If he were, Alex, Braden, and Mason would be leprechauns too.”

  “Oh no,” Mason said. “I’m not going down that road. Happy to be human.”

  “Yeah, thanks but no thanks,” Braden said.

  Aiden drew in a breath. “Sorry to burst your bubble, boys, but you’ll find the truth soon enough.” He turned to Emily. “When’s their birthday again?”

  “Really, Aiden.” Emily sighed. “They turn eighteen in July.”