Living with Your Past Selves (Spell Weaver) Read Online Free PDF Page A

someone should have more common sense than to hire a smoking hot twenty-something nurse with long blond hair and the figure of a Playboy model for a high school. Usually students just try to get sent to the nurse’s office so that they can miss class, but at good old Santa Brígida High School, the guys had an additional reason for faking illness. You practically had to be dying, though, before most teachers would let you out of class. Clearly, they knew what was going on.
    “Tal, your heart rate is a little fast.”
    No kidding! (Yeah, I know, I should have been thinking about what to do with Stan, and the Gwrach y Rhibyn , and the myriad of other problems I had, but again I’ll point out that the combined wisdom from my previous lives couldn’t completely override my sixteen-year-old body.)
    “Adrenaline, I guess, Nurse Florence. You know, from the accident.”
    “Probably.” God, even her voice was sexy. “I don’t see anything else wrong with you.”
    Funny, I don’t see anything wrong with you, either.
    “But,” Nurse Florence added, “I should call your mother, just to let her know what happened.”
    Well, that was certainly one way to derail the porno movie I had started scripting in my head.
    Switching into Welsh, I said, “That won’t be necessary. There is no need to call my mother.”
    As if I had not spoken, Nurse Florence smiled, and said, “Well, I guess there really isn’t a need to call your mother—but come back here if you notice anything wrong. I mean anything.”
    You can count on that. “Yes, Nurse Florence.” It was good to know that my Celtic mojo was still working, even if it didn’t work on Stan for some odd reason.
    I pulled on my backpack and left the office as slowly as I could. As I closed the door behind me, the bell rang. I must have missed first period. As they say, it is amazing how time flies when you’re having fun.
    I’m sure someone out there is silently cussing me out for objectifying women. Guilty as charged, but at least I don’t act on every impulse I have. Indeed, I don’t act on most of them. Say what you will about my parents—and certainly I have said my share about them—they brought me up to respect women and to set moral boundaries, and I really do. At least my brain does—I can’t always vouch for the rest of my body, but my brain manages to stay in charge—and this despite the whisperings from some of my past lives, during which society had a quite different sexual morality. You know I’m not just putting you on. Given my unique abilities, think what I could do without moral restraint. Hell, give me a guitar and a chance for a little lunch time concert, and I could have the whole female population ready to jump into bed with me right on the spot. I could, but I don’t.
    Damn morality! Damn free will!
    And damn…down the hall came Eva O’Reilly, a fellow Celt, straight at me.
    My self-restraint was certainly being tested today.
    Eva was about my height, strawberry blond with deep green eyes and a curvaceous figure. She wasn’t quite Nurse Florence, but I knew my heart rate was a little too fast again. Now that she was closer, I caught a whiff of the jasmine perfume she liked to wear.
    “Tal, are you okay?” she asked softly. “I heard you got hit by a car.”
    “Rumors of my death have been much exaggerated,” I said, trying to be witty—nearly always a mistake. Somehow, Eva never seemed to get my humor, even though I’d known her for years. Apparently, she didn’t get Mark Twain’s humor either.
    “Well, I knew you weren’t dead ,” she replied in her stating-the-obvious voice. “But anyway, I’m glad everything is okay.”
    “Yeah, Weaver,” came a loud voice from right behind me, “next time look twice before crossing the street.”
    I didn’t need to turn around to know that Eva’s boyfriend, Dan Stevens, was right behind me.
    Yeah, boyfriend. The way my luck was going, you would have to figure Eva was attached.
    Except