Emerald Isle, Crimson Curse (Love Among the Runes Book 1)
LOVE AMONG THE RUNES
– BOOK ONE –
“Emerald Isle, Crimson Curse”
By: A. Carr & Polly Amori
Copyright © 2019 A. Carr & Polly Amori Cover Illustration by Wictoria Nordgård All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in print or electronic form without the express, written permission of the authors. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to any organization, event, or person, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Mom & Dad if you are reading this PLEASE skip over the sex scenes.
A. Carr: Polly, you shameless hussy you, thank you for stroking my flame of imagination.
Polly: I dedicate this book to the Iditarod.
LOVE AMONG THE RUNES
The Call On The House Phone
Welcome To Westhaven
Why We Need Coffee
Not at the End of the Rainbow
A Girl Walks Into a Bar...
Men of Magic
Meet the Morrigan
Wake Up and Shape Up
I Do Believe In Fairies
Knowledge is Power
Feeling the Magic
Scratch and Sniff
Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Fettuccini
Unintentional Brain Mush
This is How You Magic
House of McDonough
You Say It’s Your Birthday
Time to Paaaar-taaaay
Enter The McGuffin
B and E, Times Three
Catch of the Day
A Three Hour Cruise...
Grabbing for That Bone
Bye Bye Blackbird
Red Sky at Morning
About the Authors
Three men, shrouded in sinister hoods, huddle around a scarred wooden table, conspiring in furtive whispers.
“I’m tired of sitting around and waiting for her to surface,” a sepulchral voice scrapes, deep and frightful. “Over twenty years hunting, and not a single sighting. It’s time we took some action.”
“I agree. It’s pointless to sit and wait any longer.”
The others turn to face the largest figure in the center. It’s clear he dominates this cabal. Quietly they await his verdict. Slowly, he pours wine into his silver goblet. Enjoying a long slow sip, not for the flavor, but for the exercise of control this displays, making them wait like eager hounds.
“Our Mother was never very patient,” he says to the first. He left that hanging a moment. “Maybe that is where your eagerness comes from, Brother.”
The first – youngest of the three – pipes up assertively. “We have been patient, just as you asked. And what has it gotten us... Brother?”
The eldest brother sets his goblet down carefully, then slowly turns his head in the youngest brother’s direction. Inside his hood, no face is visible. But slowly, two red orbs glow and they burn sharper, brighter, as a choking sound gurgles from inside the youngest brother’s cowl. Slowly, his figure begins to rise, gagging, as if hoisted by an invisible noose. His choking retch grows desperate, and beneath his long-hooded robe, he kicks his feet, as his body jerks in spasms of helpless agony.
Finally, the second brother speaks up quietly. “He is young, brother, and still foolish.”
The eldest continues to focus his power. The life gurgles out of his impatient youngest sibling, whose body has risen to the rafters by now. The middle brother keeps his tone reasonable, but deferential as he spoke, “You are a wise teacher, brother. But he will only keep the lesson if he survives your instruction.”
“So? You think this has gone on long enough, then?”
The burning eyes inside the eldest brother’s hood suddenly go dark. The youngest brother drops fifteen feet like a stone and he slams down on their table hard enough to put a crack in the inch thick oak, knocking over the wine goblets. He gags and sputters, gasping for air as he pushes back into his chair.
The eldest ignores him, turns to the middle brother now.
“What you both fail to appreciate is that the longer she stays out of sight, the weaker she grows. And, in her absence, our power grows.” He turns to the youngest brother, slumped in his chair, sucking wind. He gives an almost imperceptible nod, a mere flick of the chin. The young one’s chair flies back like a shot and he hammers against a stone column and crashes to the floor.
“Get up,” the eldest commands. “You spilled my wine. Fetch more.”
The chastened youngest drags himself up. As he staggers off toward the bar, the eldest turns again to the middle brother. “I take it you have had little luck with our prisoner?”
The middle brother hesitates. Holding back will only further enrage the eldest, he knows. He shakes his head no. “Unfortunately, no.” As he speaks, a thin black smoke tendril swirls around the top of his goblet. “But I think I may have a plan that even you, my evil brother, will find tempting.”
A flash of silver makes the middle brother flinch, nearly toppling his own chair backwards. The eldest begins to clean dirt from under his nails with the tip of a small, nasty dagger. “Go on.”
“The old lady, the crone. It’s not like she has moved recently. Why don’t we pay her a little visit?”
“You think you can be more effective, carving the truth from her?”
“Even if we can’t... her suffering may draw the other one out.”
From the black void of his hood, the eldest brother allows himself a tired sigh. “I would prefer to kill two birds with one stone, but for now... we shall settle for the one old bird.” Then he turns to bellow at the youngest brother, scurrying back with three new goblets of wine.
“Hurry, if you’re still so eager for action! We have a new plan. Let us drink to it!”
The Call On The House Phone
- Keira -
The shrill BURRR! of my alarm snatched me rudely from an anxious dream, which slipped from memory as my eyes opened. I rubbed them in circles, decrusting the lids and struggling to pull my fingers through the bird’s nest of bed head that was once my shiny black hair. I tried to stretch, but every movement felt like