Bloodstone

• Bloodstone
  
• Midpoint
  

BLOODSTONE

Book Two of the Stacy Justice Series

By

Barbra Annino

A long-lost sister.

A missing mother.

And murder.

Stacy Justice finds herself caught in a web of deceit, betrayal and family secrets that run deeper than the Mississippi.

Not only must the reluctant witch determine if the teenager on her doorstep is her sister—she’s forced to confront her mother’s disappearance—again. Add to that a dead guy in the kitchen and Stacy’s at her witch’s end. She’s pretty sure the Blessed Book of her family’s ancestry holds the key. Except she can’t find it. And if the killer does—it may be over Stacy’s dead body.

Is Ivy really her sister? Where is Stacy’s mother? And what does the dead guy have to do with it all? Find out in Bloodstone.

Author’s Note: It is highly recommended that you read the first book in the series,
OPAL FIRE
before reading BLOODSTONE.

PRAISE FOR OPAL FIRE

“
A truly enjoyable and engaging read requires several ingredients: an intriguing protagonist, interesting, well-rounded supporting characters, a brisk pace, a hint or more of danger, a slew of story questions, and a satisfying end in which the bad dude gets his just reward. Opal Fire by Barbra Annino has all this and more.”

~Author E.J. Knapp

“
A tantalizing mix of witchery, mystery, dogs, bars and small town fun all embodied in fast and fun protag Stacy Justice. Opal Fire burns your page turning fingertips with twists, turns and tenacious plotting. Annino is a major new talent in the genre and a fresh new voice in fiction.”

~Tom Schreck, author of Out Cold

“
If you want a fresh new series by a talented debut author, get your hands on a copy of Opal Fire. You’ll laugh, you will shake your head but most of all you’ll adore it!”

~Wicked Little Pixie Reviews

“
Barbra Annino presents us with the gift of a very entertaining story. Lots of humor, wonderful character descriptions, great one liners and a plot that will keep you guessing. You won’t want to miss this book, it’s a keeper. And, don’t miss the next installment of the Stacy Justice mysteries, Bloodstone. I’m sure it will be just as good as Opal Fire.”

~Night Owl Reviews

“
Barbra Annino has created a fun, laugh-out-loud story that will keep readers entranced. It’s a fast-paced story that is both hysterical and mysterious at the same time with a great cast of characters. Stacy and Cinnamon will quickly become beloved characters in this series.”

~Socrates Book Review Blog

For George (they’re pretty much all for you)

Special thanks to my beta readers, George Annino and Jennifer Watkin, not only for agreeing to read a first draft, but for shaping it into a better book. Thanks to the editorial hand of Leslie Gay who has a keen eye for polishing a script. Thank you too, Tara Barnow Smith of
Pip Designs
, for technical image altering. A huge shout out to the magnificent creatures known as book bloggers, especially my favorite
Kindle mom.
And a big slobbery kiss from Thor to the readers. Thanks for the emails, encouragement and gentle prodding to finish the thing. Surprises await you after The End.

PROLOGUE (from the last scene of Opal Fire)

Maegan’s words penetrated my head as we stared at each other.
The Seeker of Justice shall cross with one who embodies the old soil, the force of which will have great impact on Geraghtys past, present, and future. The choice she makes shall decide her fate. One path leads to unity; three become one. The other leads to destruction—which shall never be repaired.

Was this the moment Maegan had warned me about?

“Why won’t you speak?” I asked.

He looked down, his toes barely touching the carpet. I don’t know why, but I plucked the sword from the drywall and lowered it to my side.

He seemed vulnerable—not threatening—standing there in the shadow of the sun.

I sighed, my patience lost. “Okay, as you can see, I’ve had a pretty screwed up week. So off with the hat and glasses and let’s talk about what it is you want so you can leave my house and I can get on with my life. And if the sword isn’t a big enough incentive not to try anything that might get your arm lopped off, then take a gander at my boy, Thor.” I pointed out the window.

He peeked, then faced me again.

He looked at the carpet, contemplating his next move.

He chose the right one.

The sunglasses floated down first. Then the mustache, then the gloves.

He lifted his head up and slowly removed his hat.

I gasped as a pool of long red hair, the same color as the setting sun, spilled around the shoulders of a female.

I stepped back, staring. Disbelief overwhelmed me.

Green eyes.

Red hair.

But it couldn’t be. It was impossible.

I have only seen that shade of hair on one other person.

She removed her coat, exposed a cape.

And before she said a word, bells were ringing in my ears and somehow my heart knew. Just
knew
.

Geraghtys past, present and future...
Maegan whispered in my mind.

But I would have known. I would have felt it these last few days. All these years.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

The words reached out at me, knotted around me.

“My name is Ivy. I’m your sister.”

The snow was knee deep, my leg hurt, and my sweats were soaked but I was hopped up on painkillers and a huge dose of pissed off so I didn’t care.

“Stacy, wait!” Ivy said behind me, her voice desperate.

I ignored her as I marched into the Geraghty Girls’ House, slammed the door behind me and screamed into the foyer. “Birdie! I need to talk to you right now!”

How could they keep her from me? Why would they keep her from me? A million questions swirled in my head. How old was she? Did my mother know she was pregnant when she left?

“Stacy, don’t, please.” Ivy spoke in a hushed tone. “Listen to me.”

“This is not about you, Ivy. Just back off,” I said.

“No, wait. You don’t understand. They can’t see me.” She squealed in that high-pitched voice that only teenagers could manufacture.

I stopped and turned to her. “What do you mean they can’t see you? Are you invisible? Are you a hallucination?”

At this point, anything was possible.

“Please,” she begged, “come outside.”

“Tell me one good reason right now, Ivy.”

“Mom’s in trouble,” she said quickly. “And Birdie doesn’t know about me.”

I wasn’t sure I believed that. Birdie knew everything.

“Please,” she said again.

We locked eyes and as I read her young face, I knew my life was about to change forever.

Stacy Justice:
A reluctant witch with the grace of a newborn giraffe and the determination of a Jehovah’s Witness. The not quite 30-year old heroine of our story.

Ivy:
A mysterious teenager claiming to be Stacy’s sister.

Thor:
A 180-pound Great Dane with a sensitive side.

Cinnamon Panzano:
Stacy’s cousin and owner of The Black Opal bar.

Leo Warick:
The police chief of Amethyst and Stacy’s former beau.

Gus Dorsey:
The deputy who makes Barney Fife look like Eliot Ness.

Derek Meyers:
Photographer for the local newspaper.

Birdie Geraghty:
Stacy’s grandmother, owner of a guesthouse and ringleader of the Geraghty Girls.

Fiona Geraghty:
Stacy’s great aunt who still has the legs of a Rockette.

Lolly Geraghty:
Stacy’s eldest great aunt who is a few slices short of a whole pie.

Tony Panzano:
Cinnamon’s husband and auto mechanic extraordinaire.

Chance Randall:
Stacy’s high school sweetheart and the world’s most reliable contractor.

Monique Fontaine:
Cinnamon’s nemesis.

Iris Merriweather:
Coffee shop owner and gossip columnist.

Shea Parker:
Publisher of the local paper.

Gladys Sharp:
Research assistant for the local paper.

ONE

I made a wish more than twenty years ago and it finally came true. You know how they say be careful what you wish for? They aren’t kidding.

My name is Stacy Justice and until a short while ago, I thought I was an orphan. My father was killed when his car collided with an eighteen-wheeler on a snowy day my first year of high school. My mother couldn’t handle the loss and faded away little by little until one day, she disappeared altogether.

It was rumored that she checked into a mental hospital. It was also rumored that she flew to Las Vegas to swing from a pole and (my personal favorite) ran off to Florida to read tarot cards in a trailer park.

Nothing had been confirmed.

The day my father died was the day I stopped believing in magic, both literally and figuratively. Unfortunately my grandmother, Birdie, and her two sisters, Lolly and Fiona, took to raising me in the tradition of the Old Ways. This meant I grew up in the Victorian Era family home with crystals in every corner, herbs simmering on the stove, and black mirrors—scrying mirrors if you want to get technical—on the walls. Birdie insisted on teaching me everything she knew, but what she didn’t understand was that if I couldn’t save the people I loved most in this world, I had no use for witchcraft.

You see, it was my fault Dad got behind the wheel that day. I had dreamt the night before of him falling on the ice, smacking his head into a fire hydrant. I thought he would be safer driving to work instead of his usual walking route so I begged him to take the car.

It was the last time I ever saw him.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, because at the moment I had bigger problems than battling my grandmother.

You see, the baby sister I wished for on my sixth birthday appeared on my doorstep a few days ago claiming that the mother we shared was missing. And as if that wasn’t a loopy enough roller coaster ride, she made me promise not to involve Birdie.

I was out of options. So I came here.

TWO

Ivy was engrossed in a trashy reality show called the Bad Girls Club. Two young women were beating the crap out of each other for no apparent reason on the screen. On the couch, the girl claiming to be my little sister was scribbling furiously in a green notebook. That notebook had not left her side since we met.

“What is she writing?” Chance asked. A fair question since she was occupying his sofa and her combat boots were covering his latest Sports Illustrated.

“She won’t tell me,” I said. “It’s personal.” Emphasis on personal.