Phantom Quartz: A Stacy Justice Witch Mystery Book 6 (Stacy Justice Magical Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

believed to be a mountain lion. All except Mario, who thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Mario clapped, and Thor took one giant leap onto the bar to the horror of everyone.
    “That’s our cue.” Cinnamon and I raced out of her office to the tune of toppling bar stools and breaking glass. I stole a look back, just before I pushed through the rear exit, to find Thor standing on the bar, his head covered in white cake with pink and blue frosting. He glanced toward us and winked.
    I winked back and we rushed into the cold December air.
    “My mother’s going to kill him for that,” Cinnamon said.
    “He’s crafty. He’ll slip away. Or charm her with those amber eyes.”
    Chance was waiting at the curb in my Jeep. He jumped out and ran around to the passenger door, opened it, and guided Cinnamon to the front seat.
    She took one look at his nutcracker getup and said, “What the hell?”
    “Don’t ask,” I said.
    I hopped in the driver’s seat and Chance gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll call you after I get her situated. Will you see that Thor gets home? Maybe buy him a pizza? He did us a solid. He deserves a treat.”
    “Hey, I’m doing you a solid. Does that mean I get a treat too?”
    Before I could answer, Cin said, “Really? You have to googly-eye each other now ? Can you just get me to the freaking hospital!”
    “Sorry,” I mumbled.
    “Yeah, sorry,” said Chance.
    Cinnamon leaned over my lap to catch his hand. “Not a word to my mother.”
    Chance saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
    I giggled, and Cinnamon rolled her eyes.
    The car was still running, so I coasted it onto the street and pointed it in the direction of the highway. The hospital was minutes away, and it was smooth sailing all the way there.
    I spotted it beneath a pine tree in the parking lot—the first of many signs. I only wish I hadn’t been so preoccupied with everything else at the time. I kick myself to this day for letting my guard down that morning. For allowing the excitement and the happiness I held for my cousin to cloud my senses, dull my radar.
    A good Seeker would have paid more attention, no matter what the circumstances. A good Seeker would have never allowed any of this to happen in the first place.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
    Rushing an expectant mother to the hospital is nothing like they portray in the movies. There was no desperate crunch time where we thought for even a moment that the baby would come RIGHT NOW. No police officer pulled us over only to provide an escort to the emergency room, and there was no frantic bumbling husband so sick with worry that he passed out, although I often think that if Tony had been there, he may have fallen into that role.
    I pulled up to the doors of the emergency room, but no one came rushing out to shove my cousin in a wheelchair. Nor did she particularly want anyone’s assistance.
    Cinnamon waved away my offer to help her inside with a simple, “What is this, 1952? The doors are automatic, and there’s always someone sitting right at the front desk.” Then she wobbled through the glass entrance.
    Still, it was winter, and after I parked the car and trotted through the sliding doors, I noticed there were about half a dozen people waiting their turn to be poked, prodded and ex-rayed. I focused my attention on the front desk where Cinnamon stood—or leaned, rather. The woman sitting behind the counter was an old high school friend of hers—a perky blonde named Lynne. Actually, the word friend wasn’t really accurate. More like fan. She was a fan of Cin’s in the same way that some girls worship Kim Kardashian, except for better reasons.
    Today, however, Cinnamon wasn’t in the mood to humor her public. “Lynne, I can fill out my own forms, thank you.”
    Lynne was insisting it was no trouble, and I could see my cousin growing more irritated. She didn’t like to be doted on or told what to do—a trait you tend to pick up when you’ve