Celestial Magic Read online

  Celestial Magic Copyright © 2021 T.M. Cromer

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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  ISBN: 978-1-7352032-3-2 (digital)

  ISBN: 978-1-7352032-8-7 (Paperback)

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  Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  To Kate Bateman & Sara Whitney:

  Thanks for always coming through for me.

  I’m thrilled you’re part of my tribe.

  Chapter 1

  Being dead wasn’t so bad. Preston Thorne was enjoying the experience—for the most part. Mainly he missed his family. His daughters. His siblings. And now, with the addition of grandbabies in the mix, he missed them, too. Or rather, the idea of spoiling them. He’d yet to meet or cuddle one.

  But dead was dead, and the Goddess liked to constantly remind him of this. Especially whenever he borrowed her scrying mirror or escaped the Otherworld to watch over the Thornes without her permission.

  All in all, it wasn’t a horrible existence. Mainly because he was able to spend time with the woman he loved. The only problem was that the love of his life was, in fact, the love of his afterlife, and she wouldn’t give him the time of day or… er, well, any time… period.

  Current case in point, the lovely Selene Barringer was going about her day, feeding the ducks at Isis’s favorite lake and refusing to acknowledge his existence. She was naturally reserved and kept to herself, but Preston also suspected she wanted nothing to do with a Thorne witch. His family had caused her enough problems when she was alive and was the direct reason for her death. On the day she died, she’d attempted to help them escape the evil clutches of her asshat half brother, Victor. For her disloyalty to him, she’d received a bullet to the head.

  Preston intended to find a way to rectify the situation. Perhaps convince Isis to restore all Selene had lost. The only reason he hadn’t done it yet was because all the color in his life would bleed dry when she left, and he’d truly be dead.

  “Stop following me, Mr. Thorne.”

  Her cool, cultured English accent reminded him of his widow, Aurora—now the fiancée of his brother, Alastair. Both women had that same smooth way of putting a man in his place with the lift of a well-groomed eyebrow.

  “I’m simply enjoying the morning, Ms. Barringer.” He worked hard to keep the grin off his face. Annoying her had become the best part of his day. “The view is spectacular from here.”

  She straightened from her bent position, flicked back her long, glossy black hair, and glared over her shoulder.

  Preston was male chauvinist pig enough to admit he loved the fire lighting her chocolate-colored eyes and the way her irritation increased her breathing, thereby making her breasts heave.

  “Go view some other spectacular sight. This lake is mine for the moment.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the lake,” he said with a chuckle.

  Really, she’d set herself up for that one.

  “As if I didn’t already recognize your sly innuendo for what it was,” she scoffed.

  As she stalked to where he sat on the stone bench, she reminded Preston of a twitchy feline. If she had a tail, it would be flicking a warning. Standing before him with her graceful and delicate hands fisted on her hips, she was magnificent. When she was annoyed by his very existence, like right now, her fiery passion would simmer beneath the surface and she stole the air from his lungs.

  He wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his lap and show her what she was missing with her stubbornness. But he wouldn’t. He wasn’t a damned caveman. Also, she’d likely bloody his nose if he tried. Despite being dead, pain was still pain when someone decided to plant a fist in your face.

  When Preston rose to his full height, he assumed she’d retreat a step or two. Instead, she held her ground, tempting him—no, daring him—to make a move. Although her lips were pressed together in her pique, they were infinitely kissable. If he allowed himself to go there in his mind, he could almost imagine their pillowy softness as they opened to allow him entry.

  Selene was tall for a woman. At nearly five feet ten, she could almost look him in the eye. Her body was willowy, like a dancer’s, yet oh so sultry. If she ever decided she wanted him in return and took him up on his millionth request to go on a date, Preston would drop to his knees and kiss the hem of her skirt. Or any other part of her she desired him to kiss.

  “Have dinner with me tonight.” He already anticipated her denial, and when it came, his disappointment was keen.

  “Bugger off,” she said just before stomping away.

  “Was it something I said?” he called after her, grinning as she gave him the finger.

  “Her continued refusal is a mystery.”

  Preston didn’t bother to turn around. He’d sensed the Goddess’s presence the moment she appeared. “She’s warming to me. I can tell.” With a deep, regretful sigh, he faced Isis.

  Today, she wore a dress the color of pale pistachios, belted with a gold filigree chain draped loosely around her waist. The hem of her dress swept the ground, hiding what he knew would be perfect bare feet with bright-red toenail polish. The woman loved her cosmetics. She’d once told him it was the one thing—besides mini lemon cakes—she loved most about the human world.

  With her upswept black hair and her bold but feminine features, she reminded him a lot of Selene.

  “I could influence her,” she offered.

  “No. Her mind should be her own. Anything else is tantamount to rape, my beloved queen. You, of all people, would hate having your will removed.”

  “It wouldn’t be like that. I would just convince her to have dinner with you. Maybe add the suggestion that she would enjoy herself.”

  Preston’s lips twitched. “I appreciate your offer, but I’m enjoying the chase. Oddly, I believe she is, too. In the end, I’m certain my antiquated way of wooing her will win her over.” Although he was from a bygone era when flirting could dance on the edge of risqué, he felt it was important to remain a gentleman in dealing with women. He believed they deserved respect and the right to make their own decisions. “Besides, where’s the fun in having you make her fall for me?”

  “You sound exactly like your b
rother. He has to do things the hard way, too.”

  Her dry tone made Preston laugh. Nine times out of ten, Alastair deferred to Isis. But when he didn’t, the Goddess was fit to be tied. “What’s he done now?”

  She waved a hand as if to reject the idea his brother was caught up in a new problem. Still, she couldn’t hide her concern.

  “Exalted One, what can I do to help?”

  “I’ve a mission for you, and I expect you to carry it out without delay.” She gave him a stern look.

  “Of course.” Don’t I always?

  “Not always. There’s been a time or two when you’ve gone off on your own for the sake of your family.”

  He shrugged. It wasn’t as if he could deny it. And although she’d get in a barb here or there, Isis never truly reprimanded him for his side trips to deliver a message under the guise of it coming from the Goddess herself.

  With a mock scowl, he said, “Stop reading my mind. It’s creepy.”

  She smiled, and the sun shone a little brighter in the Otherworld. Even the ducks turned their faces to the light. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone. “I’m going to miss you when you leave.”

  “I’m never gone for long.”

  Frowning, she crossed to stand at the shoreline.

  He followed at a slower pace. No amount of prodding would get her to tell him what was on her mind. The Goddess kept her cards close to her chest at all times. If, or when, she decided to show them, she would. Otherwise, Preston would be left in the dark—as he’d been on so many occasions before—until she dropped her four aces on the table and left him scratching his head over his two pair.

  “You might as well tell me,” he urged. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together, my queen.”

  With a heavy sigh and a heavier frown, she faced him. “Evil has invaded the Otherworld, and I know not the source.”

  Mentally, Preston reeled from the news. As calmly as he could, he asked, “What sort of evil, and how do we eradicate it?”

  “It happened recently. I believe it was attached to the Enchantress when she crossed over.”

  Isolde de Thorne had died after an intense battle with her son, Damian. After years as the Aether—the one responsible for the balance of good and evil in the magical world—she’d given in to the Darkness. When she became infected by its poison, the deterioration of her mind began, and she’d morphed into one of the most deadly creatures imaginable. As an Enchantress Aether, she’d been able to seduce other witches and warlocks into sacrificing themselves so she might gain their magic. The first time she was entombed, it had taken a god, a goddess, and the most powerful beings from both sides of the veil to subdue her. When she’d awakened almost two hundred years later, she’d gone completely mad and had taken on Damian as well as Preston’s family before she was finally stopped.

  “Is there no way to tell?” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. Evil on this plane should be nonexistent. If it leached into their world, the situation was dire.

  She gave a tight-lipped shake of her head. “If you weren’t so enamored with Selene, you might have noticed it on your own.”

  “I don’t understand. What does my flirtation—”

  Isis waved a hand, effectively cutting him off. Without answering his half-spoken question, or what was left of it flitting about in his head, the Goddess began to pace.

  In all his time in the Otherworld, he’d never seen her worked up to this degree. “Tell me, Exalted One. How may I assist you?”

  “You and your blood relations are the only ones it doesn’t seem to affect. You, Nathanial, your father… the entire Thorne male line, in fact. Yet the women are not exempt.” She rubbed her arms and gazed up at him. “I feel it. It’s trying to attach itself to my power.”

  “Perhaps it’s why I’ve been blind to it before now.” Preston looked at his surroundings with new eyes. On the far side of the lake, a couple argued, and the sound of the woman’s palm cracking against the man’s cheek was as loud as a gunshot in the otherwise quiet, peaceful park.

  “You see?”

  “I do.” Perhaps it was why Isolde, a distant cousin, had been infected in the first place. A sense of dread settled in his chest. “Where is Isolde? Can she shed light on this?”

  “Doing her penance as my handmaiden.”

  Preston barked out a surprised laugh. “You made her a servant? For how long?”

  “Until I deem her reformed,” she snapped. Once again, she frowned, as did he. They knew her temper was an oddity. “I haven’t alerted her to the problem. Should she become infected a second time, and should she find a way to regain her powers, she’ll be unstoppable.”

  “If this Evil is here, my queen, shouldn’t we find a safe place for you until I rip out the source?”

  “I cannot leave until it’s time to destroy it. I risk bringing it with me to another plane.” Unease rested in her kohl-lined amber eyes.

  His heart rate picked up, and he looked over his shoulder in the direction Selene had gone. “Is she…?”

  “Not yet. But it won’t be long.” Isis touched a hand to his cheek. “Take her and go with my blessing, Beloved One.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “If you stay here to fight this, you risk losing your one true love. I promised you a happily ever after, Preston Thorne.”

  Chapter 2

  Selene stopped walking about halfway to her destination. The crack of a palm on a cheek jerked her from her musings, and she spun back toward the lake, curious to see what or who had caused the sound. She half feared Preston Thorne had irritated another woman with his ridiculous flirting. Despite his ungodly good looks, he was a nuisance, and he had a tendency to appear anywhere Selene was.

  Insufferable man!

  Her lips curled.

  Okay, yes, he could be annoying, but he was also a charming rogue. With his rumpled auburn hair and those twinkling eyes of his, he woke butterflies in her lower belly whenever he looked her way. She’d never let on how much she enjoyed their dance. Not for a good long while anyway. They had time. It wasn’t as if they were going anywhere. They were dead.

  Her mouth tightened as she remembered the circumstances that had brought her here. Thankfully, she didn’t remember the pain of the bullet wound.

  But the slap she’d heard couldn’t be attributed to Preston. Across the distance, he stood deep in conversation with Isis. With a suddenness that halted Selene’s lung function, his head whipped up and he looked in her direction as if he sensed her regard. His troubled expression sent her heart into overdrive. The man was never serious. If something was upsetting him now, it couldn’t be good.

  With fresh eyes, she turned in a circle. All around her people had begun to argue over the most inconsequential things. A shiver of awareness swept through her. Without a doubt, the balance of the Otherworld was off. To what degree, she couldn’t say, but perhaps it was why Isis and her favorite consort were holding such a bone-chillingly serious discussion for anyone to see.

  Selene started back the way she’d come, stumbling momentarily when she realized Preston was running for her as if his life depended on it. She met him halfway.

  “What is it?”

  “We have to go. Now.”

  When he reached for her hand, she allowed it for a second until her mind caught up with her body’s disturbingly eager desire to touch him. Only then did she pull away. “I don’t understand. What’s happening?”

  “Selene, I don’t have time to explain. I need you to trust me when I say we have to get the hell out of Dodge.”

  She looked over his shoulder and noticed Isis watching them intently. When the Goddess nodded, Selene understood this wasn’t another of Preston’s flirty games. She gave a single incline of her head in return and allowed Preston to lead her away.

  “Where are we going, Mr. Thorne?”

  “Back to the earthly plane.”

  Due to the endless years of showing no emotion when her psychotic half-brothe
r had made her life a living nightmare, she was able to keep the shock from her expression.

  Preston led her to the sorting area of the Otherworld. The place where time stood still as a deity determined where a soul would end up after their life was over: the beauty of this plane or the hell of another.

  “Wait here, Selene. Please.”

  Cautioned by the solemness in his cognac-colored eyes, she could only nod. His brand of charm lent to teasing and fun. This serious side disturbed her.

  “Where are you going? Is it safe?” She was showing too much concern for a man she professed to dislike and whom she continually brushed off, but she wasn’t going to be coy at a time like this.

  He flashed a cheeky grin, squeezed her hand, and darted off, leaving her to begin the worrying process.

  She remembered the day she’d first seen him. Not here in the Otherworld, as one would assume, but at an estate auction to bid on one of her mother’s favorite art pieces. Everything they’d owned that wasn’t destroyed in a house fire had been sold off after her mother’s death, leaving Selene a pauper as well as homeless. She’d been a mere girl, and yet Preston had stood out among the sea of eager-faced adults who were there to scavenge through the wreckage of her life. In her gray, lifeless world, he’d been a wave of bold color. When he’d entered the room, he commanded attention.

  Other than initially to squat down in front of her and express his condolences regarding her loss, he’d paid her no mind. Or so she’d believed at the time. Years later she’d learned the “small bequest” she’d inherited from a unknown distant relative was, in fact, an account he’d set up for her to live off while she pursued an education. Why a stranger would do that for a child related to his brother’s greatest enemy, she’d never know. But it bespoke a kindness she’d not encountered to that point in her life. She’d only known pain and abuse, especially at her brother’s hands.