Excerpt of Alacazam by I. R. Plummer

"Is he a good kisser?" "Go away," Cinnamon Prescott hissed. A warm, golden funnel, heavily scented with Opium perfume, swirled around Cinnamon. A paper napkin danced across the Formica tabletop. The tea Cinnamon had let grow cold slouched over the rim of the mug. In the center of the table, the flame in the votive candle flickered. A spiral of pink smoke rose from the candle wick and curled into the shape of a heart. As the mini tornado waltzed across the pale blue tabletop, star shaped confetti, the color of spun gold, whirled within the tornado. At the booth's navy blue vinyl seat, the funnel hovered. As the gold stars faded, Salina Owens' ghostly presence materialized. Salina's blonde hair was a riot of corkscrew curls. A skin tight, metallic gold bodysuit's V-neck ended a hair above her navel. The bodysuit and ultra thin strands of gold, roped around Salina's neck, shimmered and sparkled. Uninvited company was bad enough. One who made Cinnamon feel like a frumpy bag lady sitting next to a beautiful golden cat on the prowl was just plain unfair. "Don't scowl," Salina chided. "It's not hospitable." Swallowing a sarcastic comeback, Cinnamon arched a brow. "Who is the ‘he'?" "The man you're mooning over." "There is no man." The half-truth held a sharp bite. Since awakening, Cinnamon had been sending messages to her deceased mother, Caitlin. She had wanted—correction, needed—her advice, and a big dose of motherly pampering. Salina was a walking encyclopedia of advice, as long as it circled around clothes, shoes, hair, shoes, lingerie, shoes, than looped back to clothing. Pampering involved a pedicure and full body massage, not a hug, soothing words and a batch of homemade cookies. "Bullshit! You're young, pretty, single, and sitting alone in a café at five in the morning. "By the way, that sloppy ponytail looks dreadful. "With your red hair, stop wearing pumpkin; the color makes you look sick. "And baggy sweatpants and t-shirts are an eyesore that should be outlawed outside of a gym. "Instead of a cup of tea, you should have headed to the lounge to drown your problems in something sweet, fuzzy and potent. Who's the guy that's got you twisted in a knot?" "Thanks for the kind words, and oh-so-not-asked-for advice. I had a dream. Couldn't go back to sleep. As for the tea I wanted something calming, not stimulating. Satisfied?" "Good thing I'm accustomed to the Prescott sarcasm or I'd think you didn't like me. There's a fully stocked kitchen in the penthouse. You didn't need to come down to the casino to stick a tea bag in hot water." Hell's bells. Cinnamon arched a brow and tapped a finger against her arm. Salina smiled, fluttered her fake eyelashes, and purred. "I have all the time in the world. Tell me about the dream. I'm here to help." "You are my brother-in-law's mother. In case you've forgotten, you are dead, as in no longer breathing. No offense, but I don't want your advice. Besides, you couldn't change anything if you knew." Salina shivered. Her assets jiggled like Jell-O.

"I'm not dead. Your folks, Walker's papa Gus, and I are simply in a different dimension. And don't forget we're related. It might be distant, but we share the same Grandmamma's gypsy blood. So think of me as your older sister."

Cinnamon snorted.

"Today is your lucky day. I have officially become your fairy godmother."

"This has to be a cosmic joke. Where are the cameras? Mom has to be hiding somewhere, because Dad wouldn't participate in a candid camera stunt."

"Lower your voice or everyone in the casino will hear you. This isn't a joke; being a fairy godmother is serious business. And I plan on being five-star rated, the best of the best. Your mother is under strict orders not to interfere."

"Fairy godmothers are sweet, chubby, and maternal. Wearing that outfit and without an ounce of fat on your frame, you don't come close to fitting the part."

"A compliment; how nice. I'm the new improved version. And I design better outfits than the cutesy prom dress Cinderella wore to the ball. Just think of the fun we're going to have making you a knock-out wardrobe."

"Go. Leave. Do not return. I do not need or want a fairy godmother."

Salina bristled.

Cinnamon watched Salina's lips move, but couldn't hear what she was saying. Pounding the table with a fist, Salina frowned when her effort didn't rattle the table. She swiped Cinnamon's teaspoon and smiled with satisfaction when it clattered against the tile floor.

"Right now I'd love nothing more than to zap you into a..."

A low rumble vibrated the air.

Salina ran her tongue over her cherry red lips, closed her eyes and nodded. Meekly, she said, "Yes, Warren."

Cinnamon knew that Warren, a supervisor, commonly called a guardian angel by earthbound souls, also worked with Cinnamon's parents and Gus. She'd heard him rattle the air with clapping rolls of thunder when her dad and Gus had pushed their luck by volunteering more information than was allowed.

"When I lived on this side of the veil, I was selfish, self-centered and vain. I used my powers to please me."

Salina snapped her fingers. The cup of cold tea setting on the table began to steam.

"I've changed. You look like hell, drink your tea. You and I are going to become such good friends."

"Salina, get real. Warren's warning proved my point."

She brushed away the comment with a sweep of her hand. "Temporary setback. Nothing more."

"I don't want your help."

"Too bad." Salina wore a smug smile.

"Ask Warren to assign you to someone else. I'll sell my soul, and name my first baby after him. The sky's the limit; all he needs to do is sic you on someone else."