Flying Fawna Read online

  Copyright Agreement

  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.

  Magic New Mexico Series Forward:

  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!

  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.

  For all the stories, go to MagicNewMexico.com. Grab your copy today!

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter One

  The twins, one wearing a tall black hat, the other donning a curved white one, galloped through the forest in Magic, racing to keep up with the fairies they found sitting on the dandelions they blew. They loved it when they made the fairies twirl through the air.

  “They sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks when we make them laugh,” Jonah giggled. The boys were only distinguishable by the hats they wore. Today, the one with the black hat ran the fastest. They were the Drayton twins. Simon Drayton, a centuries old werewolf who’d become a reclusive billionaire, had fallen in love with Tory and followed her to the world of Magic, New Mexico. Like his English ancestors, he was elegant and tall, with pale skin, shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes.

  His wife Tory, the twin’s mother, a beautiful vampire witch with an intoxicating glow and deadly allergic reaction to any blood type except A, was so lovely their grandfather Charles had been known to toss boys off roofs and chase others down drainpipes to keep her from falling in love. Tory’s father was protective because he knew his daughter was as stunning as her mother Sophie, the absolute love of his life.

  Both boys had inherited the gift of poofing from their mother. Jonah decided to do it today because he wanted to find a way to get the jump on Joseph. And off he went. Poof! He transformed himself into a puff of smoke, flew passed his twin and reappeared.

  “We said we were going to run without magic, the other twin pouted. “You’re cheating.”

  Poof. Jonah reappeared. “No it’s not,” he walked backward so he could look at his brother.

  “Mom said using magic for good is not cheating. And beating you is good—no matter how I do it,” he chuckled. He could never resist the urge to tease his brother. His musical laughter pealed through the forest.

  Joseph took his brother’s lead and began poofing himself in to a huff to chase him. They were soon disappearing and reappearing in puffs of smoke—racing each other. They forgot all about the fairies they’d blown off the daffodils.

  Poof! Jonah, exhausted, transformed himself back into existence and began walking backward so he could face his brother who’d also grown tired of the game and was now walking.

  “I just decided…” Plunk. Jonah a fell with a hard thud onto his bottom. His outstretched hand helped cushion his fall—a little.

  “Ouch! That hurt!” He looked down at his hand which was buried in the soft emerald grass of the forest to see what was on it. “Something feels squishy.” Wet, sticky, red. Blood. He tried getting it off his hand by sliding it onto the grass.

  He heard a distant moan nearer to the creek. “Did you hear that?”

  “I did, brother. Could it be a wounded animal?”

  “Maybe.” Jonah sprung to his feet and listened. He followed the sound.

  “Mommy will be mad at us if she knows we’ve gone this far into the woods, Jonah,” said Joseph a little afraid of what they may find. Maybe we should go back.” Even though Joseph loved adventure as much as his twin, he was the more cautious one.

  “What if an animal is wounded, or needs food? Maybe we can help. We’ll only go a little further,” Jonah promised as he inched toward the sound. “If we don’t…”

  “Oooooooooooooh,” the sound came from one of the wounded beings.

  Both boys grabbed hands, looked at each other with fear in their eyes and gasped at the desperate sound of the moans.

  Behind a felled log they came upon two beings. One was conscious and remained in human form. The other was semi-conscious, but he kept shifting between a human, lion and some sort of bird. His shifts were so vague, the boys had trouble deciphering all but the lion. And his hair—one minute it would be short, the next it would grow past his shoulders, almost like a lion’s mane. He seemed to becoming more and more erratic—having trouble keeping a viable shape. The two boys looked on, not sure what to do next. Their instinct of helping animals kicked in.

  They had a menagerie of snakes, birds, hamsters and whatever else they could find. Tory, their mother, put her foot down when Jonah and Joseph tried to sneak a pony into their collection. Even though they’d shrunk it and snuck it into their bedroom, she and Simon could hear him whinnying.

  The twins loved animals. And they loved to heal them with magic.

  “Let’s get some water.” The Drayton twins ran to the creek and Jonah removed his water pouch from his shoulder. He twisted off the top and sank the pouch into the running stream to fill it.

  They dashed back to the wounded beings. Jonah tried giving the unconscious human water by pulling his lips apart with his fingers. When he found he couldn’t hold them and pour the water, he beckoned his brother.

  “Help me, brother. Hold his mouth like this while I put water in.”

  Joseph hesitated. “What if he tries to bite me?”

  “He’s too weak. Help me. Whoever they are, they are hurt. They might die out here if we don’t help them. Understand, brother?”

  Still hesitating, he eventually ran to his brother’s side to help. He took over holding open the human’s mouth. The being reacted to the water trying to go down his throat by coughing. He was still too weak to move.

  They patted water on his face with their little hands then turned their attention to the human whose shifting was still erratic. Holding his mouth would be more difficult.

  Jonah decided it might be best just to splash water onto his face, then onto his mouth. Jonah reasoned, the beasts inside him may have more control over him than he does them. They needed to be careful. The water seemed to have a calming affect on him, as his shifting stopped, and he was able to stay in human form.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, trying to sit up.

  “Don’t. Rest a minute. Your wounds are bad.” Jonah told him.

  “But I must take care of my brother, Troy. Where is Troy?”

  “He’s over there,” the twins said it in unison then pointed to where the other injured man was lying.

  The human looked over at his brother who was still unconscious. Any fight in him left and he laid back, going limp. “I’ve killed my own brother. I’ve killed him.”
The Drayton twins looked at each other and started to move away. “Why would someone kill their own brother?” They both looked back at the stranger and he continued.

  “I’m not fit to live. You must leave me here to die. When I am strong enough, I will bury my brother, but you must leave me here to die. Once I’ve told you what I’ve done, you’ll know why you must.”

  Chapter Two

  “This never gets old,” Fawna almost squealed when she said it—seated next to the pilot flying the private jet she’d leased. She looked like a child anxious to unwrap a longed for birthday present. It was against regulation for civilians to fly in the cockpit alongside the pilot, but he made an exception since she was the only passenger aboard the large private jet aircraft. “Oh, please, please let me sit in the cockpit with you,” she begged. I promise I won’t touch a thing. I want to look out at the horizon.”

  “Ok, Mrs. Zanobia-Walker,” the pilot relented. “Come on in.”

  The weather in Chicago had been blustery and nasty the night before, halting most commercial flights. As soon as the skies cleared, she’d decided she wanted to avoid the chaos at O’Hare and rent a plane instead. She was itching to get home and spring the surprise she had in store for her husband.

  “I probably land in this airport more than ten times some months,” she told the pilot. “The lights below still blow me away every time.” The lyrics of Fly Me to The Moon by Frank Sinatra began playing in her head:

  Fly Me to The Moon, And Let Me Play Among the Stars, Let Me See What Spring is Like on Jupiter And Mars… She played the tune in her mind while watching in delight as the miniature skyline below twinkled in the moonlight. Three layers of awesome: the clouds, the stars and the city below.

  Fawna imagined the clouds were created by some invisible giant puffing away on an enormous wooden pipe until he puffed out a blanket-like pattern of cottony clouds covering the sky below. It seemed as if they were floating on top of them. Little did Fawna know, she’d played on some of those clouds with the same giant she thought she’d only imagined.

  Some of the stars burst onto the dark night like fireworks while others clustered into swirls, as if someone had thrown glitter onto the sky. And the shimmering city below sparkled in the glow of electric lights. Bridges became straight lines of neon racing across the water, while streets and highways snaked throughout the enormous city. From skyscrapers kissing the sky to small houses, Chicago laid lit up before her like an enormous light-filled Christmas snow globe.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a pilot,” she confessed.

  “It’s the best job,” Captain Robert Traynor admitted while he flipped a few switches, checked gauges and kept a steady hand on the wheel, readying the flight for descent. “I fly in and out of dozens of airports, see hundreds of different types of landscapes. So many that you take it for granted. It’s sort of like living in an exotic place like Hawaii or Switzerland. Or even near a gorgeous mountain landscape.

  “When you see it everyday…day in—day out…it’s easy to go beyond seeing it and almost become blind to it. Sometimes, when I get that way…taking it for granted—I do what you’re doing now. Stop and mindfully take in the beauty of it all. Nothing beats it.” He beamed as he looked out of the planes crystal clear windows at the breathtaking landscape.

  Fawna Zanobia-Walker looked on as the pilot talked, wishing she knew what it felt like to command a jet plane. Sadness overtook her a moment as she thought about Mr. Brown, her high-school counselor who’d chuckled when she asked him about becoming a pilot in the Air Force.

  He did what most people did who she dared tell her dreams to. They told her to get her head out of the clouds (literally—even though that’s where she wanted to be) and become an actress or model. Something that wouldn’t waste her good looks.

  As gorgeous as she was, with her green eyes rimmed in gold flecks, thick curly ebony hair and honey-golden skin, thanks to her Greek ancestry, Fawna could’ve cared less about her looks. Against advice from her mom and dad and Mr. Brown, in eleventh grade and with full intentions of becoming an Air Force pilot, she signed up for the ROTC—Reserve Officer Training Corp—a program that prepares young adults to become officers in the Air Force. It was not to be. When she was 17, a talent agent spotted her while she was at Dairy Queen enjoying ice cream with her family. The agent urged her parents to bring her in for a photo shoot.

  The agency signed up the 5’9” natural beauty on the spot. Still, she insisted on finishing out the remaining school year’s ROTC training, determined to one day join the Air Force. She finally gave in and began modeling when she was almost 18.

  Even she had to admit that traveling to exotic places, taking photos in lovely clothing was not nearly as vacuous as she thought it would be—though the hours could be long. And the money couldn’t be beat. She made millions. For about three solid years, her face and slender body were splashed on the cover of every fashion magazine all over the world. She became one of the most well-known international supermodels. She was able to buy her parents and new house and her sister, Nell, a brand new car.

  She knew it wouldn’t last, though. She realized that like a football career, the average model’s time on the runway was short—three to six years. She determined she’d make the most of her time, but also make smart investments.

  Fawna made so much money in the five years she spent modeling, she was able to buy the agency when the owner’s husband died suddenly and she decided she wanted to get out of the business to retire. Now Fawna spent her time growing her modeling agency—Every Shade of Gorgeous. She’d added her own line of skin care and cosmetics to her brand. Her line thrived because she concentrated on a niche she noticed was definitely underserved in the modeling community—women of color.

  And she never forgot how dismissive many of the make up artists were with the Black models when they would dare ask for hair products to tame their thick manes (as far as she was concerned they didn’t need taming—their natural locks were often stunning). The make up artist would often look at the model with a—why in the hell would I carry that?—annoyed look on their faces. As if they were speaking to an alien. Most of the Black models stopped asking and brought their own products.

  She changed that atmosphere in an instant as soon as she bought the modeling agency and changed the name. She insisted her make up artists come equipped with all of the supplies needed to service every skin and hair type. Any make up artist not worth their salt was replaced. Anyone treating her models with a hint of disrespect was either dismissed from the campaign or, if it was a client—she would cancel their account. All of her models ranged in color from the blue eyed blonde with fair skin, to the gorgeous Hershey bar chocolate velvety skin ones she loved to hire.

  From honey-brown to cinnamon to cafe’ a lait, she also had models with many variations of mixed ethnicity. Most everyone thinks of mixed race as only Black and White. Nothing could be further from the truth. There are many people of mixed ethnicity and Fawna’s agency tried their damnedest to specialize in all of them.

  She even insisted they hire Eskimo models when the agency wanted to shoot an extensive campaign on Eskimos using White women. Fawna refused. She worked hard to represent every ethnicity with dignity and respect. Indian, Asian, White, Filipino, Black, Greek, Spanish—Fawna’s agency became well-known for supplying models from all different backgrounds.

  She wanted to make sure her agency included and celebrated every skin type. She would often tell audiences who invited her to speak about her business success, “our skin is the glue that holds our magnificent bodies together. Every inch of it, every different type of skin should be celebrated. It’s like appreciating a room full of gorgeous flowers. Imagine how boring it would be if nature had created only one color or one variety.”

  She’d developed her line of cosmetics when she noticed how many of the models she’d hire, especially the women of color who had richer, darker tones had to mix two, sometimes three different shades of foundatio
n and lipstick to get the right colors for their beautiful skin.

  Even some of the paler skin women had trouble matching their exact skin color. She hired some of the top cosmetic chemists and had them study every shade of skin and come up with a variety of colors.

  And recently, she’d been asked by Fortune 500 Corporations teaching cultural diversity to their employees to speak during to them about inclusion.

  She had to laugh out loud when she saw a recent news story on television about a large coffee chain, forced to shut down their outlets for an afternoon of diversity training after a White manager called the cops and had two Black men arrested when they asked to use the bathroom without making a purchase.

  The two young men had been in the coffee shop for less than five minutes when she called the cops. In a place known for business meetings and an Internet hangout—they were treated like criminals. Sure, it was good the company was teaching diversity to their employees, but— “how hard is it to treat another person like a human being?” Fawna would ask people who attended her diversity talks.

  “How hard is it to treat people the same way you’d want to be treated.? How hard is that? Prejudice people and White people thinking they are ‘better than’ was something I saw play out too often without punishment or regard in the modeling business. It’s something I've always despised.”

  During her diversity talks, she also discussed how it irked her that Western and European society, even when they call out White prejudice still try to sugar coat their racism with words like privilege, snowflake and supremacy, but throw around words like Black Rage, and Angry Black Woman when describing different racial emotions.

  “I’m sure If they used words like White Arrogance, White Ugliness or White Psychosis, prejudice White people would keep their outrageous behavior in check. I mean, how arrogant is it to enslave a people for 400 years, hang them or burn them alive for offenses like trying to learn how to read, refuse to employ them or educate them, then get mad at them when they dare ask for help?