True Love is Magical Collection Boxed Set: True Love is Magical Collection, #4

By Sherry Gammon

Enjoy as magic weaves it way through these three romantic tales.                                                                                     Pete & Tink

        Pete Pancerella loves two things in life: 
      Video games and Spongy Cremes. 
        He's happy, content, and he's also a geek. All that is about to change when his mother wishes upon a star and Tink answers the call.
        Tink is no nonsense faery and knows she can help Pete get into shape so he can finally get a date.
        But will it take more than a five-and-a-half inch faery to whip this manga-loving goofball into shape?
                                                                                    Loving Marigold    
        Young Marigold Yarrow has a secret. She’s also in love with Jack Mahoney. In the middle of her ninth grade year, Jack's family up and moves to Port Fare, New York, leaving the small town of Sugar Maple, West Virginia - and Marigold - far behind. 
        Nine years later Jack and Marigold meet again. They join forces to weed out the shady Abbott boys. The unscrupulous brothers are illegally selling moonshine near her home on Sugar Maple Ridge. And they'll do anything to get Marigold to leave the ridge. Anything. 
        But this time it could be magic that tears Jack and Marigold apart. 

                                                                          Angel in a Black Fedora

        Ciel Björk died a tragic death . . . but she got over it. Now she works as an undercover angel, answering people's prayers. 

        Chloe is obsessed with achieving perfection to please her unpleaseable father. Her BFF Austin will do anything to support her in achieving her goal, including helping her win the heart of Bridger Reed. 
        Ciel is sent to the sleepy little town of Port Fare, New York to help turn Chloe's dreams into a reality. As secrets are revealed, Ciel soon learns that things are not as simple as they seem as secrets are revealed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sherry Gammon
• Release date: Feb 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507088913

Book preview

Pete & Tink

Pete & Tink

C:\Users\sherry\Documents\pics-PSD\aPNG clips\wings\png_fairy_wings_2_by_naughtygirlgraphics-d3hqdxv.png C:\Users\sherry\Documents\pics-PSD\aPNG clips\wings\png_fairy_wings_2_by_naughtygirlgraphics-d3hqdxv.png

Book one in the True Love is Magical Collection

Sherry Gammon

DEDICATION:

This book is dedicated to:

Geeks everywhere and to those who love us!

Chapter One C:\Users\sherry\Documents\pics-PSD\aPNG clips\wings\png_fairy_wings_2_by_naughtygirlgraphics-d3hqdxv.png

I jumped back at the sharp stab of light. A completely reactionary move. My reflexes were on edge. Nobody gets Pete The Stud Pancerella that easily, I smirked. The energy level indicator on my 752 Macro Laser Pistol read: Recharge soon.

Come on, you freakin' snake in the grass. Come out where I can see you. I squatted low to the ground, as if it would help. I’m so on today. Simon Crawford’s going down if it kills me!

Warning! Battery life is about to expire! Must recharge immediately, squawked a sultry voice from the computer chip in my gun. The warning rang out ridiculously loud, and if I wasn’t expecting it, I'd've jumped several inches.

Despite the warning, I couldn't stop, not yet. I'd lose Simon and be back to square one. No. I had to keep up my pursuit. I was so close now I could almost feel his presence. I just needed a few more minutes.

I eyeballed the direction my opponent headed, but couldn't see him so I slid back against the metal trunk to wait. He had to come out of hiding sometime. Simon never stayed hidden for long.

And there he was! I see you, slime ball. Prepare to meet your maker, I whispered reverently. I lifted the gun and aimed directly at Simon’s head. I gave the trigger several pulls, each time missing him.

No way! I totally shot him! Frustrated, I smacked the stupid gun against the trunk. Before I could refocus my aim, the enemy turned and shot me dead.

Game over, came the sultry voice as my laser gun shut down.

Impossible. I still have a life left. But it didn’t matter, my battery died. I stomped across the room and plugged it into the recharger before heading downstairs for breakfast.

Stupid Laser Wars, I complained to no one. Best video game on the market . . . Not! I’ve played, and won, better games than Laser Wars. I’m so done with the game. Totally done. Actually, I’m done with all video games. They’re a complete waste of time.

I made myself a bologna sandwich, drinking about a cup of milk as I did. At least I think it was a cup. Drinking straight from the carton like I did made it hard to tell.

To appease my mom, I grabbed a two-liter bottle of Diet Pepsi to take with me. See, mom. I don’t have to fill up on ‘sugary garbage’ all the time. I took another drink from the milk carton and put it back in the fridge. I tucked the pop under my arm and hurried back upstairs to play some Mario Brothers until the laser gun had enough time to recharge.

Chapter Two C:\Users\sherry\Documents\pics-PSD\aPNG clips\wings\png_fairy_wings_2_by_naughtygirlgraphics-d3hqdxv.png

Peter Mathew Pancerella! If you’re still in front of that television, you are in so much trouble, mister!

Oh, man, what time is it? Why is mom home for lunch anyway? I quickly shut off the TV in my room. It was a decent size room, nothing to complain about really, but the place was a pigsty ever since mom went back to work last year. I wished she didn’t work so much, it really put a damper on things around the house. Not only did I have to clean my own room now—though thankfully, my parents seldom enforced that rule—I also had to make my own breakfast and lunch. I even had to do my own laundry. I glanced over at the overflowing wicker basket in the corner and frowned. I'd forgotten to do it this week, which meant I'd have to wear something dirty, again. Of course, I could spot clean it. Maybe if I got lucky I'd find something dark colored and I wouldn’t even have to do that.

Peter!

Where the heck is my clock? I flipped over my book bag and shoved my tennis shoes under the bed in the mad search for the clock. There you are, you stupid . . .  6:30! I’ve been playing Laser Wars for eight and a half hours? Certainly not my record, but embarrassing nevertheless. I really needed to get a life. I yanked off my PJ bottoms and tossed them in the laundry basket . . .  well, close to the basket anyway, and tugged on my jeans—my dark blue jeans. Thankfully, I'd slept in my Anime shirt so I didn’t have to change that. I grabbed my tattered copy of The Cricket on the Hearth, by Charles Dickens, only because it was on the required summer reading list, and thumbed through to find my place.

Personally, I didn’t get all the excitement over a little insect. These people seemed to think it was the luckiest thing in the world to have a stinking bug on the fireplace. Whatever! The dumb thing chirping away would drive me mad. I’d hunt the stupid bug down and squish it. I only chose it because it was a short read and we were required to read something off the list before school started.

To keep me motivated, I made a deal with myself this morning. I’d read three pages before taking a break and play thirty minutes of Laser Wars. The plan was to repeat the cycle until I’d finished the book; only that was eight and a half hours ago, and I'd still only read three pages. Obviously, I needed a better plan.

Young man, is that TV on? mom bellowed as she pounded on my bedroom door.

No, mom. I’m reading a book off my summer reading list. Personally, I didn’t know why the rush. September was two months away.

She opened the door quietly, apparently embarrassed by her assumption. Sorry, son. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. The look of contrition on her face racked me with guilt. I sat up, ready to come clean, when her face twisted into a sour expression.

Good heavens, Pete. When was the last time you showered? This room reeks, and I know for a fact you wore that shirt yesterday. There’s ketchup from last night’s dinner on the front of it. She shook her head and added, I do worry about you.

Hello, mom. It’s nice to see you too. Did you have a relaxing day at the nursing home? My mom worked at the Final Rest nursing home. Yup, that was actually the name of it. Rather morbid if you asked me. She also took care of my invalid grandma who lived a block away from us every morning before work. I don't know how she did all that and still had time to cook and clean for the family. Amazing woman, my mom.

Yes, dear. She exaggerated a smile. Now answer my question. When was the last time you showered? My mom was quick witted, and it took a sharp mind to fool her. Dad, on the other hand, was a sponge. I could pull the same joke on him over and over again and he’d fall for it every time. We shared the same first name and birthday, but that was where the similarities ended. My dad, a mortician, was a little stiff, no pun intended. Probably comes from spending every day, all day, with dead people. You certainly couldn’t sharpen your wit around a bunch of lifeless bodies.

I had one sister, Jenny. Annoying, but thankfully she worked at a girl’s camp this summer, and I didn’t have to deal with her. Jenny was a health freak. She never ate anything that had more than twelve percent fat, or didn’t have the words whole grains listed as the first ingredient. In an effort to enlighten me about my poor diet, she once pointed out where they listed all the useless information on the packaging of my favorite treat, Spongy Crèmes, moaning about all the chemicals and other junk that she claimed harmed my body. Like I really cared. I liked the spongy cake-like outside, and I loved the fake cream filling inside. Seriously, what's not to like?

I’m waiting for an answer, young man. Mom stood over by the door, clearly not brave enough to come any closer. Huh, and I thought there was nothing in the world that could frighten her. She was a nice looking woman, for a mom. She even dressed pretty good, again, for a mom. She had on her mom jeans today, not exactly in style, but at least she wasn’t in sweats, unlike my best friend, Bryan’s mom, who always wore sweat pants. She also had on a pink shirt with blue roses and small white rose buttons running up the front. Again, sort of a mom look, but it wasn’t stained, unlike my shirt. I tugged awkwardly at the dirty shirt I'd been wearing for two days. Well, maybe three.

You look nice today, I said with a smile. She cleared her throat and began tapping her penny loafers against the carpet floor.

Okay, redirecting didn't work. What did she ask me? Oh, yeah. I don’t remember, I said honestly, tossing the book, which I'd now read four pages of, onto the night stand. I’ll shower after dinner. She glared at me. Mom, we’re having spaghetti for dinner, right? No sense in showering now and taking a chance of splashing spaghetti on a clean shirt, right? I’m only thinking of you. Far be it from me to add to your laundry, I declared honorably.

You do your own laundry, she grumbled. Fine, after the dishes are washed and put away, which is your job tonight, I want you in the shower, and you will put clean clothes on, including underwear. Do you understand?

I nodded at her way too judgmental statement as she left. Clean clothes. You’d think I wore the same thing day after day, I complained, scratching at the dried ketchup on my Anime shirt.

After dinner, Dad cleaned the kitchen for me so I could make some headway into my cricket book, much to my mother’s dismay.

Sweetie, the boy needs to concentrate on his studies if he is going to succeed in life. Mom shook her head at my father's complacency and went downstairs to do laundry. Dad was so easy to manipulate. I smiled and dropped onto the sofa in front of the dormant fireplace, tossing my legs up over the top.

Pete, I do wish you'd learn to sit like a gentleman. Dropping like that is hard on furniture.

'Kay, dad. I read the next four pages of the bug book, still wondering why anyone would consider having a bug in their home as lucky. Sometime later I heard my parents head to bed. Now on page twenty, I felt proud of my accomplishment.  By page twenty-two I was fast asleep.

Ouch, I mumbled at the slight twinge in my side and rolled over onto my stomach. Something thudded on the floor next to me. My half-asleep mind reminded me I was reading a book. It must have fallen onto the floor. Oh well, it was safe, it’s not like we had a dog.

A few seconds later I felt it again. Ouch. This time the pain was more intense, and it hit me square in the back.

I was having a heart attack! My mother warned me this would happen if I didn’t start exercising and cutting back on the junk food. I jumped to my feet and grabbed my chest. I’m too young, this can’t be.

Please, God, don’t let me die. I promise I’ll never eat Spongy Crèmes again! I bargained with God, as I struggled to pull air into my lungs. Oh no, my lungs are now collapsing! Or maybe I was panicking.

Then I heard it. A small tinkling sound. A small tinkling laughter to be precise. I spun around to find a six-inch girl—correction: a six-inch totally hot babe, floating next to the fireplace.

If I had a nickel for every time I heard that promise, I could retire, laughed the hot little mirage. She was dressed in an iridescent green gown that hit halfway down her calves. She had the tiniest little pink shoes on I had ever seen, and her . . . wings were a golden translucent color. They sparkled when the light caught them. She held a small stick in her hand, and a tiny shimmer of light emanated from the tip.

Leave it to me to dream up a six-inch babe. If I even tried to kiss her, I’d end up biting her head off. Bummer. I lay back on the couch, kicking the stupid cricket book out from under my foot. No more bug books. I’ll read the CliffsNotes tomorrow, I promised myself. I turned back onto my side and tried to imagine the six-inch girl as a five-foot-six-inch girl. If I was going to dream of a hot girl, she might as well be a tall hot girl.

Whoa, pungent boy. You’re not sleeping on the couch tonight. We have a lot of work to do starting tomorrow and I need you to be fully rested. Sleeping on this lumpy thing isn’t going to cut it.

Go away, bug girl, I muttered to my figment. OUCH! Cut that out! I complained, rubbing my backside where another sharp jolt of something clearly stabbed my butt cheek. I thought you didn’t feel pain in dreams. This is my dream, and I’ll decide where it is going to take place. And there will be no more pain!

Get up and go to your room or I will zap you again. She was a bossy little figment, to say the least.

I sat up and stared hard at the floating pygmy. Listen, Tinker Bell, I’ll sleep where I want to—Hey, don’t point that thing at me! I demanded, climbing backwards over the couch. Her wand was pointed directly at my heart. My healthy heart, thank you very much.

Don’t. Call. Me. Tinker Bell! she spit out. She tried to zap me again, only this time I was ready for her. I ducked behind the sofa. I felt it move a couple of inches as the sparks hit it. That one would have really hurt.

Fine. Stop zapping me. I was exhausted and needed to fall into a deep sleep. I’d promise the figment anything if it meant sleep.

Up to bed, now. We have a big day ahead of us. Move! she ordered.

So done with this dream, I marched up the stairs as she floated behind me. I watched her nervously over my shoulder in case she decided to point the wand at me again. When I got to my room, she smiled.

Now, wasn’t that easy? she asked sweetly.

Yeah. Whatever, pint-sized witch! I went inside and shut the door before my imaginary friend could follow. No more Spongy Crèmes and soda for lunch, I promised myself before falling into a—thankfully—dreamless sleep.

~*~

Pete. Pete. Peter!  Someone shook me and I bolted up straight in my bed. I looked around half expecting to see the miniature hot demon. Instead I saw my mother.

Sorry, son. I want to remind you to take a bath and clean this room while I'm at work, it's disgusting. I nodded at her request before dropping onto the pillow. I mean it, Pete. And no video games today. I want you to finish the book you started last night. She set the book onto the side table next to my bed. You left it downstairs on the floor, young man. Is that any way to treat a library book?

No, mom, I muttered from under the pillow.

Peter! Do not go back to sleep. If you don’t do what I said, you’ll be grounded from video games for a week, do you understand?

Yes, mom. I pulled the pillow off my head and sat up. She stepped back and plugged her nose.

Shower, now! And with that rude demand, she turned and left.

I glared at the clock. Seven a.m. I’m so going back to bed. This is my summer vacation, for crying out loud, I mumbled before dropping back onto the bed. I began snoring almost immediately.

Da da dada da, da da dada da.

What the . . .? I swore I could hear a bugle, and it sounded as if it were playing . . . Reveille? I peered out from under my pillow and there it hovered. The six-inch demon girl, her wand at her lips as if she were blowing on a bugle, with sparks flying out the other end. Oh no! I was in hell. Who knew the devil was a girl?

It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream, I repeated, snagging the pillow over my ears, frantic to drown out the make-believe sound.

No, not a dream, a nightmare! A full-blown nightmare. The bugle’s notes crashed on my eardrums, and I jerked with each note.

Peter Pancerella, time to rise and shine. I let you sleep in.

I peeked out at the clock. I hardly call eight-ten sleeping in, I said to her.

She smiled. Don’t make me regret my kindness. Thankfully, she stopped the horrible bugle sounds and now chirped away as she flew around the room.

My, my. Cleaning is not your strong suit. What’s that horrible smell? she asked, plugging her dainty nose.

This cannot be happening. Six-inch people didn't exist, especially six-inch people with wings. I was dreaming again. That had to be it. I pulled the pillow back over my head and began reciting the Lord’s Prayer–just in case I was going crazy.

The room fell silent. Thank you, God. But when I removed the pillow, she was still there with her arms folded.

Are you done with your morning prayers? she asked politely. I rubbed my eyes. If not, I can wait, she assured.

You can’t be real. Six-inch, flying people do not exist, I sputtered out.

Five-and-a-half inches. I’m a little small for my age, she replied. I think she actually blushed, but it was hard to tell on a face so tiny.

I jumped and paced down the hall like a crazy man. Why not, since I was crazy!

Relax, Peter. You’re not going crazy, it said, trying to reassure me. But a six-inch, or rather a five-and-a-half inch, figment of my imagination telling me I wasn't crazy didn’t reassure me.

I ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, slapping my cheeks, hard. When I turned around, much to my dismay, there she hovered.

I’m trying to tell you, you’re not crazy. Her impossibly delicate wings fluttered softly as she spoke. This happens every time. I told Jaxton there had to be a better way to prepare our clients, but he won’t listen to me.

I didn’t know what to ask first. Who Jaxton was, or who her clients were, though I had a pretty good idea on the second one.

I decided on the first question. Wh-who’s Jaxton?

Jaxton Williams is the head faery in my department. All orders have to go through him. He coordinates our assignments and decides who goes where. He also runs the computer simulations to try and predict the best fit for each human and faery.

Best fit?

Yes. We’re assigned to the person who is the most physically repulsive to us. That’s why I was assigned to you.

Okay, that is just plain rude.

Jaxton is the best coordinator we’ve had in a long while. He hasn’t missed yet in pairing the right faery with the right human, she cooed softly. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say she had a crush on this Jaxton character. We usually don't allow female-male pairings. We work quite closely with our human and it's too easy to fall in love. We've lost many a good faery that way. So sad. She shook her tiny head. Anyway, Jaxton estimates the chance of you and me falling in love at point zero-zero-zero-one. And after meeting you, I do believe that number is a little high, she said with a snort.

Alright, faery girl, let’s—

Tinkanova-Marie Bellitoinski, she smiled. She looked rather sweet when she smiled. If I was losing my mind, at least I’d have something cute to look at in my padded cell.

Listen, Tinker Bell—

Don't call me Tinker Bell, she snapped.

Whatever. Let’s say I believe you. Let’s say I'm not losing my mind, and a six, I mean, five-and-a-half inch faery really does exist. Why exactly am I being paired, as you put it, with a faery?

She dropped a few inches, a frown now hung on her face. Ah, well, I’ve been instructed to help improve your social skills and to clean you up, which, by the way is the first thing you’ll be doing. You stink. She pinched her little nose again and pointed to the shower with her other tiny hand.

I got the feeling she knew more than she let on, and wanted to ask her what exactly that was, but then I remembered: SHE DOESN’T REALLY EXIST! I decided not to push the delusion. I mean, seriously, why did it matter? I should be wondering where the padded cell was that I’d be spending the next several years in. Man, I hope my family will visit me. Well, maybe not me sister.

Sorry, delusion, I’m not getting into the shower. I’m tired and need sleep. Hopefully, after a good long nap, these hallucinations will disappear, and I’ll be cured. I waved a hand at the hot faery. Good night, Tinker Bell. I’m going back to bed.

I was halfway down the hall toward my room before the electrifying zaps began.

I. Told. You! Don’t. Call. Me. Tinker Bell! With each word she jabbed her wand at me. Little sparks flew out the end and hit my body, repeatedly.

Stop doing that, you obnoxious five-and-a-half inch demon!

Oops, I shouldn’t have said that. She froze in midair, sucking in a huge breath. I’m a dead man. A delusional dead man, but a dead man all the same. Was it possible to die at the hands of a delusion?

I am not a demon! For your information, demons are two feet high and covered in hair, you narrow-minded troll. She folded her arms. I slumped against the wall, grateful to have escaped my faux pas with my life.

Get into the shower. Now!

Okay, enough was enough. If I was going to spend the rest of my life in lala land, I wasn’t going to let a faery boss me around.

No, I said simply.

What did you say? she asked, clearly shocked by my defiance.

I said no, Tink ... whatever your name is.

Tinkanova-Marie Bellitoinski. You can call me Tinkle, she replied calmly.

Yeah, right. Like I was going to call my delusion Tinkle. Tinkle was something two year olds did in the toilet. Definitely not a name you called a hot delusion.

You will take a shower. You stink, big time. Now, get into the shower.

And I said n— hey, knock it off, Tinkle, I protested as my shirt flew off my body and down the hall. I stood there glaring at her as if she had a third eye, my arms clasped tightly over my bare chest. I’m not getting in.

Unless you want me to see what you're keeping in those disgusting way-too-small jeans, I suggest you get in, now, she said sweetly.

You wouldn’t dare, I challenged.

Out came the wand she'd tucked up her sleeve just seconds ago and my jeans began to unsnap.

Okay! I stepped into the bathroom.

Thank you, she said with an angelic smile.

Obnoxious imp! I slammed the door and locked it before dropping onto the closed toilet.

No stinking faery, real or otherwise, was going to tell me what to do. I tried to refocus my mind as to when the whole delusion started. I was just fine after dinner. I even had my mental faculties when I started to read the cricket book.

It was the book! I should have kept playing Laser Wars, maybe then I'd have dreamt up hot girls that were my size. I sat there for fifteen minutes, picking at a few zits, thumbing through my dad’s Readers Digest, and observing my rather sparse facial hair in the mirror-quite a pathetic showing for two weeks.

Suddenly the water in the shower sputtered to life, and my body, my half-clothed body, was hoisted into the shower.

Hey, wait a minute! I yelled, pulling off my jeans before they became too wet.

I gave you fifteen minutes, I’m done waiting, Tinkle yelled through the door. Out of nowhere appeared an ominous scrub brush and some strange looking blue soap. The soap and brush started at my head, lathering and scrubbing, hard. My head began tingling.

Each time I tried to grab the brush; it rapped me on the knuckles. After several welts, I decided to try for the soap, only it kept slipping through