Gutsy, p.1
Gutsy, page 1
GUTSY
KI BRIGHTLY
Gutsy © Ki Brightly 2022
All rights reserved. No portion of Gutsy may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Ki Brightly. Copyright protection extends to all excerpts and previews by the author included in this book.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author or publisher are not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
If you enjoyed Gutsy, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Authors work their asses off to bring you the stories you enjoy reading. Spread the love, not the files.
Credits or It Takes a Team to Raise a Book
Authenticity reading for Journey Baral’s character and family by Keval Shah.
Line Editing by Susan Reeves.
Early Reading by Jennifer Griffin, LoLo, Julie Hanson, Shelby De Jesus, Denise Westra, Jo McCorkell, Natalie Strong, Kortland Wood, Pam Thullen, Shelby Holder, and Suzanne Irving.
Sanity Checks Provided by Julie Hanson.
Early Reading, Developmental, and Line Editing by Anita Ford.
First Round Edits, Copy Editing, Proofing, and Editing Coordination by Kiyle Brosius.
E-book Formatting by Meg Bawden.
Cover Design by Dez at Pretty In Ink Creations.
A Tale of Horror and Romance. . . .
The Rich City Slicker
Journey Baral met Pious on a night out and was immediately interested in him, but after only one dance they had a fight that sent Pious stomping off into a snow-filled night. Journey found the whole encounter humorous, though he did feel a little bad for causing issues, but he brushed off the incident. Days later, a peculiar hunger strikes Journey, and his life quickly runs off the rails.
The Farmer – And Hex Meister
Pious Sturms hexed himself. He didn’t mean to stir up trouble, but a hex is the only explanation for the barrage of bad luck that has been following him around. Everything in Pious’s life has been going downhill since he got home from a visit to the city. One dark night, Journey, the man Pious has been thinking about nonstop since he met him, turns up on his doorstep, and Pious is horrified to realize he didn’t only hex himself, he hurt Journey, too.
Will Pious be able to fix this magical problem before it is too late, or will Pious and Journey both be consumed by the hex in the end?
Gutsy is a spooky horror romance, so be prepared for your heart to race with fear as Journey and Pious fight for their happily ever after!
AUTHOR’S NOTE FROM KI BRIGHTLY
Hexes are usually good in Pennsylvania, which is the state where I grew up and still live. You will see hex signs on barns, houses, and sometimes even businesses, and they protect the animals, people, and goods in the buildings. It is said to simply have a copy of the charm book Long Lost Friend: A Collection of Mysterious and Invaluable Arts and Remedies for Man as Well as Animals on your property will serve to protect it from all types of disasters, and the charm will work even better if the book is hidden in the walls of your home. (We have to assume Pious Sturms definitely has a copy hidden somewhere in his house—maybe two or three.) Long Lost Friend is considered the first truly American grimoire, although the information within likely did not originate in the New World.
Pennsylvania had a lot of German immigrants throughout its history, and with these immigrants came the folk magic that they practiced, which mainly revolved around animals, healing, and the farm. The people who wielded this brand of magic were referred to as the PA Dutch. These folks didn’t call themselves German, even though for many generations they sometimes still spoke the language. There is a lot of research and lively debate surrounding PA Dutch magic and Pennsylvania Heathenry (Northern Tradition magic), if you would care to delve into it.
In Gutsy you will find a Hex Meister, someone who is well versed in PA Dutch magic, but as a note, I have chosen not to use some of the appropriational language that was originally a part of the practice. If you’re reading this book and are familiar with hex and charm work, and you wonder why I didn’t use certain words, it is because I don’t find them to be integral to the spirit of the book or work, since PA Dutch magic is heavily based on Christianity. You will also note I have dropped the -k from “magick” that is the typical spelling used to differentiate between sleight of hand and spiritual workings in most written discussions held by Pagans. Since I am not trying to have a theology discussion in this book, I thought the -k would be distracting.
Of course, Gutsy is a scary story, and as such it veers sharply from the land of reality. I thought it would be fun to use something I personally grew up with—hex magic—in a book, and maybe showcase a tiny bit of something completely unique to Pennsylvania that can’t be found anywhere else in the world. I hope you can read this book with entertainment in mind.
Also, I would like to talk about Journey Baral’s religion. His father, Arjun Baral, is Hindu, his mother is Anglican, and Journey describes himself as “Hindu with a side of atheist.” In this book I mention Ganesha, who is an elephant-headed god respected and revered in Hinduism, as well as several other religions. I suggest reading about him as the mythology is fascinating. I also mention puja, which is daily devotion and prayers. Someone performing puja for Ganesha might burn incense and leave flowers on an altar in their home for the god. Nag champa is something I also mention briefly, and it is simply a popular type of incense.
Please, go out and read about the religions of the world, if you’re so inclined, because it’s fascinating how different and yet similar people can be from every place on the globe.
Thank you and happy reading!
~Ki Brightly
IN LOVING MEMORY OF VICKI JO BROSIUS
June 21, 1935 – July 29, 2022
Grandma, I think you would have liked that this book presents something uniquely Pennsylvanian. I love and miss you!
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
1
PIOUS STURMS
Why did I think this was a good idea?
The glittering high ceiling of the Vanheim Environmental Center was decked out in strings of bright holiday lights with large old-fashioned bulbs in red, green, and blue that reminded me of Oma’s cabin when I was a child. The packed-to-capacity hall was built with timber and glass, so the smell of cedar swirled in the air, and the snow drifting down outside was a gorgeous, natural backdrop. The clink of champagne glasses distracted me each time it happened. Voices overlapped in a low hum. Women in expensive dresses laughed together, and the single men were easy to spot because this was mostly a crowd for the moneyed—and they tended to marry other rich people and go to events with them. At least, that was my experience. This was the fourth talk I’d given in as many days.
I want to leave. I hate this. I hate crowds. I took a deep breath. Sweat ran down my spine along with some prickles.
More than anything, I wished I was out near the river that flowed off in the distance, barely visible through the glass walls. The city lights made the water a glistening crystal ribbon. I tried to stop my stomach from rebelling and my feet from fleeing into the dark night while carrying the rest of me with them. I wiped my hands on my pants and sucked in another deep breath.
You can do this. Everyone back home is counting on you.
I slipped my hand into a pocket of my black suit jacket and clutched at the rock with a hole in it, then played with the leather thong tied to the hag stone. On the end of the leather was a hex I’d fashioned into a charm—a small painted disc created to give myself strength and courage. I took a step into the room. Nothing bad happened, so I straightened my shoulders and started working my way around the crowd, smiling and introducing myself. I had about twenty minutes before my talk. As I chatted with people about Kernza, the strain of wheat crop my family farm had been working on domesticating, I got a lot of impressed sounds and head nodding, but I wasn’t sure if the polite outbursts were ecstatic enough to lead to investment.
If we wanted to keep up the Kernza project, we needed outside support. Dead weight only meant extra work and no joy on a farm.
A few minutes before I was set to go on the hot seat in front of the audience, I introduced myself to a good-looking older man with silvering hair, who paid more attention than most. Then he asked the dreaded follow-up question, “How exactly is this crop sustainable?”
“The roots of the Kernza plant keep sod in place, so it’s a ground-friendly crop, Mr. Baral. We’re doing good work, making a more hearty variety than what is currently on the market. It will grow with less water, and the seed output is twice what most other strains are seeing.” The gentleman’s beautiful wife nodded along. That was a good sign, right? She was in a long crimson dress and had wavy black hair that fell past her shoulders. Her red lips matched her clothes, and she grinned when I stared at them too long. “It could help cure hunger if enough farmers adopt its use.”
“That’s stunning.” Mrs. Baral patted her husband’s shoulder, gold bracelets tinkling happily on her wrist. “We’re always looking to put our money to work in conscientious ways.” Her British accent was light but clear as a bell in her words, and the lilt surprised me for a second.
“Here you go, Mum.” A man who took my breath away stopped next to the couple as he handed off a glass of golden champagne to Mrs. Baral, and he had that same enchanting British accent. The perfect mix of the older man and woman in front of me, he had to be their son. I stood there like a stump while he swung around to offer me his hand, feeling every inch the farmer I was next to him. My throat closed when I shook with him and stared into his wide copper eyes. His skin was unbelievably soft.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Pious. Pious Sturms.”
He blinked at me, then did a curious thing where he slid his gaze from my feet, up my body, and back to my face. He cleared his throat and gave me a beaming smile. “Well, hello there, Pious.”
My body flared hot.
His mother smacked his shoulder with a giggle, and my stomach somersaulted as he gave my hand a playful squeeze before he let go. “You’re the one giving the talk tonight that dragged all these snooty people out in the snow?” He glanced around and my heart jerked in my chest.
“Yes.” I felt fumble-fingered as I pushed up my glasses, then felt stupid because they weren’t there. I’d brought my contacts with me, even though I rarely wore them, because my sister Beth always said I had nice eyes—and I was trying to impress everyone.
“Don’t worry. These crusty old farts are already excited. Anything green or to help combat climate change is good with this lot.” He turned his head to survey the crowd with me. The lights glinted off his black curls, and he sent me a smile that held trouble. I have no idea what to do with these city men. God help me, but he’s handsome.
“I worry a lot,” I said, jamming my hand in my pocket to brush my fingertips against the charm. “This is my life’s work, so I want to make a good impression.”
He let out a hum, then gave me another bright smile that had me wanting to sink to the floor at his feet. “I’ll be out here rooting for you—that’s a joke, since you work with plants.” He let out a laugh that was a little forced and ducked his head. Was he embarrassed? His tawny cheeks flushed, and I found the shyness beyond charming and gave him a real grin.
“Thank you.”
The noise of the crowd died down a bit as a man came up and tapped me on the shoulder, and I recognized him as the organizer, so with a final nod, I went off to the raised podium set up near the Christmas tree in the corner. The angel on top gave me a boost because it reminded me of why I was here: to serve my community. The small church my family went to had been good enough to have a holiday service before I had to leave, since I would miss the sermon because I was away. I let out a long breath as I mounted the stairs to the platform, then glanced out over the well-dressed crowd. I removed the microphone from the stand, turned it on, and studied the audience. My pulse skipped a beat as my attention landed on that man again. He was a heart-stopper, and I hadn’t even gotten his name.
Good going, Pious.
Men like him were part of why I’d decided to come all the way to Vanheim to give these talks. There was no one for me at home, or at least, no one who was out. I planned to spend a few days in the city in the hopes that I’d meet someone. . . although, it was ludicrous that I’d talk a man into going back to live a simple country life in just a few days.
My heart sank, and I forced myself to get started or I’d end up with jitters. “Hello, I’m here to talk to you tonight about my farm,” I said, starting simply, because I didn’t have anything more complex in me. “My work is about saving the world.”
There was a ruffle of laughter around the room, which I didn’t expect, but I plowed on.
“I’m going to do that one grain at a time. I believe it’s my duty to feed God’s children, all of them.” I’d thought maybe I would lose the crowd because I’d noticed people outside my community often shied away from talk about God, but I moved on quickly to the specifics of my farm and what we were doing. I continued, not getting into any of the complex science jargon that came with the tedious process of hybridizing plants. When I finished speaking, everyone clapped and smiled. Stergis, the investment manager for the farm, gave me a sly thumbs-up off to the side that I returned to more laughter.
My hand felt clammy when I settled the microphone back in the stand, and I was surprised when the breathtaking man I’d enjoyed meeting was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He held something up as I stepped down beside him, and my stomach turned. It was my charm. I stuck my hand out, and he tucked the charm into my palm, letting his warm fingers linger. Heat coiled in my gut and tingled across my skin. He bit at the corner of his plush mouth in a way I thought might be purposeful but still snared my attention.
“That’s a beautiful folk piece,” he said, touching the miniature hex sign on the leather cord. “Wherever did you buy it?”
“Uh. . . . I made it.”
His bold eyebrows flew high and he leaned closer, bringing a delicious citrus-tinged musk with him. “Would you like to get out of here? They’ll only mill about and rehash everything they heard and decide how many thousands to toss your way. You’re not needed.”
The offer was a tantalizing temptation. I glanced toward Stergis, and he was indeed surrounded by people. No one seemed to be paying attention to me. I caught sight of our reflection in a glass wall nearby—me, huge and awkward and looking stiff in my suit, with my beard I probably should’ve shaved off before tonight, and my face mean, even when I was trying to be approachable. And then there was this elegant man who appeared as if he lived every waking moment in nice clothing, touching my arm and smiling up at me. I glanced down at him, lost again in his eyes, which crinkled a little in the corners the longer I stared. “Where would you like to go?”
He nodded and scanned the room as if he was checking to see if he could get away with something, shoulders going back. “Will you ride with me? Or do you have your own car?”
“I came here in a taxi.”
“Excellent,” he murmured, and I couldn’t help how his approval glowed like the sun in my chest. “Follow me. We’ll make a break for it.”
“I should probably—”
“Please?” he begged quietly. “I’d like to get to know you.” His brown eyes were so unusual and intense, and I found myself nodding. He winked, and together we walked through the crowd and out of the hall. I got turned around because we were in a corridor and I couldn’t remember which way led to where, but he appeared to be familiar with the confusing maze of the building’s layout, and eventually we emerged into an entrance hall that doubled as a botanical garden. The spotlights among the greenery turned the room into a series of living jewels, and I couldn’t see the exit for the plants on the tiered platform in the middle of the soaring space.
“No cold feet now. It’s not far.” He laughed and waved me forward, and I took off at double time at his heels. I stopped to get my coat from a long rack near the door, but it seemed he didn’t have one with him. He chuckled, shaking his head when I offered him mine instead of putting it on.
