Swimming for Air: Messing Up Magic, #2

By Winnie Winkle

A lie meant to protect her could lead to her destruction...

Sylvia's brother, Theo, reveals the unimaginable—their parents were anything but human. Her half-brother may be a dragon, but Sylvia has inherited both their parents' magic. Her life was already complicated; now the sudden appearance of a handsome, haughty Djinn with anger management issues doubles the tension. She is both drawn to and repulsed by Rafi, which is adding to her confusion.

Rafi is shaken when he meets the sweet and sexy Sylvia. How can he—a sworn hater of humanity—be attracted to a human?! He can't shake the power she has over him or his raging desire for her. As he struggles, determined to win Sylvia and become her forever lover, his own magical brother's growing madness and violence threatens to overwhelm them all.

Sylvia learns there's a spell covering her, one meant to protect her and hide her magic. She struggles to break the protecting enchantment so she can fight, alongside her brother, against the pestilence that is coming. Is Rafi on their side, or will the fidelity of brotherhood bind him to evil?

Facing a master of magic, Sylvia knows her steadfast belief in the human heart and harmony within the forces of the earth isn't much use. As she races to find the answer to unlocking her magic, she can't help wondering if their love—connecting Rafi's wind and her water—can find balance and be enough to protect them and those they love from a force intent on their destruction.

Author's note: Swimming for Air is Book 2 in the Messing Up Magic series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Winnie Winkle
• Release date: Jan 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781732905016

Winnie Winkle

Winnie Winkle is a fabulous Central Florida broad who swills bourbon, likes dogs and cats, and practices yoga, but not with any degree of grace. Supporting live local music is a pretty big deal to Winnie, so if you pass a gravestone that admonishes, 'Go see the band and hit the tip jar', it's probably hers. But, since she's not dead yet, she'll keep penning fun stuff to rock your reading chair. Winnie has lived in Florida for 30 years and splits her time between South Daytona Shores and the Mount Dora area. She prefers writing beach-side as much as she can because, if we’re baring our souls here, the ocean is a mighty muse and there’s only so much that coffee can do. Winnie writes humorous fiction with a new series, "The Record" releasing three titles in 2021 )Boogie Beach, Slat Shaken, Speedo Down). She also released a literary fiction, "To Walk in the World: Twin Tales of Inception in 2021. Winnie also writes (6 books so far)  paranormal and sci-fi romances for the series "The Worlds or Magic, New Mexico".

Book preview

Acknowledgments

The Author of this Book has been granted permission by S.E. Smith to use the copyrighted characters and/or worlds created by S.E. Smith in this Book; all copyright protection to the characters and/or worlds of Magic, New Mexico are retained by S.E. Smith.

This book is dedicated to Elizabeth Marie O’Leary

I’d like to thank Patricia Melum and Julie Sutherland for their unflagging support, Joseph D’Amico, whose social media skills are game-changing, Deborah Kroh for her steady encouragement, and every reader who bought, read, left reviews or sought me out to share their enthusiasm for Messing Up Magic.

You make writing a forever joy.

Special thanks to S. E. Smith for opening her world and letting me play there.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Forward

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

About the Author

Excerpt Raining Magic

Excerpt Messing Up Magic

Forward

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Imagine The Worlds of Magic, New Mexico... A series that brings together outstanding paranormal and science fiction authors to expand a town where witches, aliens, vampires, werewolves, goblins, sorceresses, pirates, time travelers, and paranormal live in harmony - when they aren’t joining forces to defeat the bad guys. A magical town where being abnormal is the norm!

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I’m S.E. Smith, the creator of Magic, New Mexico and I invite you to curl up with each book now and discover all the action, the magic, and the love that makes Magic, New Mexico the ultimate go-to series for Paranormal / Science Fiction Romance readers.

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Find all the stories at MagicNewMexico.com/books/

Grab your copies today!

Chapter One

I’ve gotta go. Mr. Puddles is giving me the look.

MP needs to chill. Love you. See you tomorrow night!

Sylvia shoved her phone in her pocket, pulled her long blond curls into a pony and picked up the leash. Tina says you need to chill, Puddles. Wait until you see how hot it is outside, you’ll be wishing for chill.

They swung out of her crappy double-wide rental and headed towards the reservoir; it was her favorite thing about living there. Every other home on Martin Street was a mansion, sitting upon incredible manicured lawns with gorgeous tropical plantings and fountains. Each had, she was certain, disappearing edge pools with hot tubs tucked into lofty pool enclosures alongside a tasteful lanai. The property she rented was the neighborhood eyesore. Two trailers teetered on a five-acre parcel with tenants in each one. When she first moved in, she loved the quiet, the access to the walking paths, and her neighbor in the other trailer, Taylor, was decent.

That changed when she met the fancy neighbors. To be more precise, one tucked a note in her mailbox detailing her sins of living in the ugly eyesore trailers. This is such a farce. Eyes rolling, Sylvia grabbed out one of her old protest signs and painted it white, sketching and filling in the letters after it dried.

Take it up with the Owner or my Attorney

Marcus Bellshire, Esq. 813-449-8382

Like I don’t know my rights, she muttered as she stuck it in the ground near the road. There were no more notes, but a sense of permafrost pervaded Martin Street over the following warm weeks of May. I do not care. I get ‘right of enjoyment’ with my lease. Y’all can shove your clutched pearls where the sun don’t shine.

Mr. Puddles tugged Sylvia toward the mowed trail that began at the dead end of Martin Street and led through to the Lawton C. Chiles Regional Reservoir. A twenty-foot wide walking path surrounded the water, used by the people in the adjoining neighborhoods to jog or bicycle, and every quarter mile was a doggie bag station and a trash can.

The security guy in the golf cart returned her wave as they broke into a run. The muggy mid-June air prickled her skin, but they made the mile and stopped. Puddles got his business on before crossing the path for a drink at the water’s edge. Sylvia kept an eye on the water. The reservoir’s ongoing maintenance meant it wasn’t a desirable home for gators, but she didn’t care. Better vigilant than horrified is my motto. I suppose that’s not much of a motto, but as the Puddles Mama, I’m standing guard.

Thirst slaked, Mr. Puddles cocked his head.

Tck, tck! Let’s go, boy.

Puddles barked, staring at the water.

Oh, crap, is it a gator? Puddles, come! Pud...

The roar shocked her system as water exploded in a vertical column from the reservoir, blasting her feet off the ground, the pressure slamming against her body. A reflexive yank on Mr. Puddles’ leash pulled him to her as they blew twenty feet over the bank, onto the path. Sylvia whammed to the ground on her back as the forty-pound dog smashed on top of her, knocking the remaining air from her chest.

She had a death grip on Puddles’ fur, her chest and head screaming in pain. I... can’t... catch... my... air. The smothering water crashed back to earth; she shook with panic inside the pounding torrent. The sheer mass of water lifted her body. It’s grabbing us! The unbelievable force, yanking them into the current, sluiced them back toward the basin.

Sylvia rolled, fighting the returning water’s insistence to steal her away. Fright tearing her throat, she jammed her feet under her, struggling against the push, clutching Puddles close. Ankle-high, the rushing water tugging hard, Sylvia stared at the enormous whirlpool. It whipped and roared, sounding like Niagara Falls as it drained back into the reservoir, rushing down through the gaping hole. She stood, dumbfounded, the last of it drained into the earth.

It’s gone. Vanished! All of it! Holy crap, what happened?

To her right, she sensed movement and turned. That’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen, and he’s coming straight for us! Puddles whimpered in her arms. If I run, he’ll chase us. The dog was black, 160 pounds easy, with a rough, shaggy coat, yellowish eyes, and, as it slowed, the beginning of a snarl.

Sylvia’s throat clicked as she swallowed, staring just past the dog. I know not to stare at it, that’s aggression, but oh my God, it’s huge!

Help! she whispered, voice gone in fright. My tummy is all twisted. I feel like puking.

The dog circled, and Sylvia felt pee running down her leg. The snarl became a growl, and she willed herself not to move. No, no, no, no, don’t. Stay. Don’t run!

The dog looked up and eased back, turning toward the scrub and trotting away, still growling. Sylvia turned, waving at the security guy and two men running towards her. They arrived and circled her, the two men flashing badges.

Miss, we’d like to ask you a few questions. Come with us, please.

In the scrub, the dog became a man, his quiet laugh as they led her away grew louder.

Oh, man, she pissed herself. That’s perfect.

A SECOND HUGE BLACK dog trotted up the soggy reservoir trail, sniffing, before veering into the brush.

That rocked!

The second dog, now a man, agreed. Off the chain, my Brother.

The shock wave I released through the water was perfect. Yours blasted right through the bottom, a perfect shot. It’s in the aquifer now, Pirro, Rafi said, running his big hands through his long dark hair that fell to his waist. Rafi looked to be in his mid-thirties, 6’ 7", with huge shoulders, a broad chest, and smooth tanned skin.  He was also naked.

What happened to the girl? Pirro asked.

Two cops and the wimp security guy grabbed her. His golf cart slid right out from under him as the water returned. Rafi laughed, remembering the expression on the guy’s face. Classic.

You scare her? Pirro knew of Rafi’s tendency to go soft of the human ladies. Djinns aren’t easy on humans in Pirro’s book. Their misery was the entire point.

She pissed herself, Rafi said, shifting to an osprey and preparing to leave. I’m finished here. You?

Pirro shook back his copper-red hair, spun into a long mop of tight wild curls that hung halfway down his back, shot Rafi a half smile and completed his shift. The Djinns lifted, heading for the next new trouble.

WHAT’S YOUR NAME, MISS, the taller cop asked Sylvia, leaning toward her.

Sylvia Bravian. This is Mr. Puddles. I live on Martin Street. He, she pointed to the security guard, knows me. I run here every day.

Ms. Bravian, we need a statement from you. We can do it here at Mr. Gamble’s office, he gestured at the security guard, or we can go to the station.

The office is fine. I’m soaked and want to get home to dry clothes. And a well-earned bourbon. I have little to share, I’m afraid.

Mortified that she might smell, Sylvia followed the guard to his office, the two officers following behind her. Thank God I’m soaking wet. At least it’s diluted.

She sat as the taller cop said, Please describe what you saw, Ms. Bravian.

Sylvia noticed that the shorter cop was recording. Freckled, small but wiry, he wore his red hair cut close. I bet he hates his curls.

I left my home with Mr. Puddles at about 6:30. We came through the mowed path at Martin Street, and I waved to Mr. Gamble. Oh, it’s nice to meet you. Her smile for Gamble trembled. He waved back. Puddles and I ran a mile and stopped. He pooped, I picked it up and put it in the can, and let him go to the reservoir to drink. I know there shouldn’t be gators in the water, but I always watch.

What happened next, Ms. Bravian?

Puddles barked. I didn’t see a gator, but I pulled him back. The air changed. Weird. Hard, like it was a wall. It knocked me backward, and Mr. Puddles landed on my chest, The water poured out of the sky. I was sliding in water, back towards the reservoir, and I got my feet underneath me and stood. The water rushed back towards the basin, and I realized there was a hole in the middle. The water poured through the hole and it was empty!

Did you see anyone besides Mr. Gamble?

Only a loose dog. Big. Huge. Scary. You need to call animal control to come and get him.

Sylvia shivered, and not because of the office A/C. Something about that dog was damn weird. He was thinking it over, deciding what to do with me, weighing options. Sentient over instinctive.

The shorter cop wrote her address and contact info into his notes and gave her a smile. You were in the right place at the worst time, Ms. Bravian. Do you need medical attention for that scrape?

Sylvia twisted, looking at the side of her shin, surprised by the long scrape. Must be from sliding across the asphalt. Ouch.

No, but thanks. I’ve had worse from softball, she told him, taking the card he offered. Patrick Murphy. That’s a good Irish name. Goes with his Boston accent.

Have you been in Florida long, Detective Murphy?

Now, the accent gave me away, I suppose.

A little.

The state will send engineers to this site, the taller cop interjected. They may have questions for you. In the meantime, head on home and take care of your leg, Miss.

I will. Thanks. Sylvia rose, grabbing the leash, and closed the door behind her, chafing her way toward Martin Street, dry clothes and the needed bourbon.

HER STORY MATCHES YOURS, Gamble. My gut says she was telling the truth. You ever heard of a sinkhole opening the way this one did, Boggus?

Max Boggus shifted his weight and looked