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Irish Magic
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ISBN-10: 1-55404-607-6
Genre: Romance/Mystery
eBook Length: 348 Pages
Published: September 2008

From inside the flap

Abby buried her face in her hands. Why couldnít she see the killer! She had the power to visualize every murder scene, even the details in the background. Yet every time the murdererís face began to appear, the vision vanished. Abbyís clairvoyance was something she had always battled with and it was only after her grandmother had given her the diary that had belonged to her great-great grandmother that she began to come to terms with her powers. It was only then that she was able to see the murdererís face. And that vision was totally devastating!

Reviews and Awards

"Irish Magic has it all and it is an extremely well written book. I shall be looking for more books by Anita Whiting; her talent for suspense, romance has captured me, and I will be reading Irish Magic again without a doubt. Blue Ribbon Rating: 5!"--Gail, Romance Junkies

Irish Magic (Excerpt)

Chapter One

She fought through layer after layer of consciousness, fear clawing at her, the horror in front of her unbearable. Finally she shot straight up in bed, heart pounding, trying desperately to erase the images still flashing in front of her. Clutching the sheets, she curled her trembling arms around her legs. Damn it! Why couldnít she stop these visions, these nightmares from torturing her?

Take deep breaths, Abby. Donít give in. Maybe itís just a bad dream.

She knew better.

Her eyes swerved to the illuminated clock. Near dawn. Settling back in bed, she pulled the sheets up around her shoulders attempting to warm her suddenly chilled skin. But, the minute she closed her eyes it was there again.

The sight of the plane hurtling toward the ground was crystal clear. So were the initials SWA and the number 605 printed on the side. The horrifying sounds of screaming and the explosion were still ringing in her ears. She covered them with trembling hands knowing it was useless as a single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. She had long since learned she had limited control over the future she could see.

Sighing, she threw back the covers knowing it was pointless to try to sleep. She put on her robe and walked into the kitchen, absently gazing out the window. It was a starry night; the moon weaving a golden pathway across the beach and the ocean. A hint of dawn was on the horizon, coloring the few clouds a pale pink. She loved living by the water. The constant motion of the surf and the always-changing landscape gave her inspiration.

She leaned against the counter watching the restless sea, crossing her arms to ward off the early morning chill, her thoughts returning to her nightmare. Those screams echoed in her head once again, and that awful feeling of helplessness flowed through her. How many times had she tried to change what she knew would happen because of her psychic powers? More often than not, it was to no avail. The public loved to read about people with clairvoyance like hers, but when it came down to truly believing what she told them, there were more cynics than believers.

Yet, this time, she couldnít just let it go. The horrible noise of that crash and that burning plane wouldnít let her. No! Somehow, some way, this time she would make someone believe her.

She made some coffee to clear her mind and then switched on her computer, looking on the Internet for the airline that matched the initials she had seen so vividly. It took only a moment for her to find what she was looking for. Southwest Airlines. She found the phone number and quickly dialed with her fingers tight around receiver.

"Southwest Airlines, may I help you?" a young womanís voice asked.

"I really hope so," Abby said calmly. "I would like to speak to someone regarding one of your flights. Unfortunately, I lost all the information I need and can only remember the flight number. Iím sure of that. Itís number 605."

"Let me check my screen, maíam," the young womanís voice said from the other end. "Do you know where it is departing from?"

Abby closed her eyes and forced herself to relive what she could remember about the crash scene, and the sight of a burning palm tree flashed in front of her.

She forced a small laugh. "I canít believe Iím being so forgetful but all I know is it was leaving from somewhere warm."

"What is this in regards to, maíam?" The voice on the other end was still polite, but Abby could hear an edge of suspicion in the question.

She sighed. This was never easy. "My name is Abby Flannigan, and I might have some information that could be vital in regards to the safety of that airplane."

"Just a moment, please."

Abby waited impatiently, pouring herself another cup of coffee and putting it down untouched, pacing the kitchen floor. Finally a different voice, a deep male one, came on the phone.

"This is John Grant from airport security, maíam. Can I help you?"

Abby took a deep breath. "Mr. Grant, my name is Abby Flannigan. Iíll get right to the point because I truly believe there is an emergency here. I have a documented history of psychic abilities, and I just had a vision in which a Flight 605 with the initials SWA on its side crashed in a field shortly after takeoff. Iím not sure of where this will occur, but I do know itís somewhere warm because I saw palm trees burning with the violence of the explosion." She closed her eyes in remembered terror. "There were no survivors."

There was a pause on the other end, and Abby could hear conversation being exchanged.

"We do have a Flight 605 leaving later this morning from Miami, Miss Flannigan."

Abbyís feeling of dread increased. "Then what I saw is going to happen, Mr. Grant. Youíve got to find some way to stop that flight from taking off." She could hear her voice rising, but could do little to stop it. "I donít know why itís going to crash, but unless you act immediately, sir, that is what will happen. Iím certain of it."

More conversation followed, and she could hear snippets, even though she could tell he had covered the receiver. Fragmented sentences that mentioned words like ínutcaseí and íhysterical female.í Her heart sank as she waited for the inevitable.

"We appreciate you calling us, Miss Flannigan," the security officer said politely, distantly. "Iíll make a point of calling Miami and letting them know of your concerns. However, I can tell you that our planes are always inspected carefully before each flight and if there are any problems, we will find them."

"Mr. Grant, please donít dismiss what Iím telling you. Please! Hundreds of lives are at stake here!"

"Iíve told you I will follow up, maíam," he said, and she could tell his patience was thinning, but she pushed ahead just the same.

"Mr. Grant...John. Do you have any children?"

"Yes, maíam, I do. Two little girls, as a matter of fact."

"There were little children screaming as that plane crashed, John. Tiny babies and toddlers just like yours." She drew in a shaky breath. "Please find a way to ground that plane!"

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment. "I can tell you really believe what you are relaying to me, Miss Flannigan. I can only assure you Iíll do my best, and thank you for calling."

The phone went dead as she started to speak and she replaced the receiver slowly, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Shaking her head, she knew it would be pointless to call back. In her heart she knew there was nothing further she could do except hope that maybe, just maybe, she had managed to get to John Grant.

She took a shower letting the hot water run over her body, relaxing. Afterwards she forced herself to eat some breakfast and then slid into her favorite red sleeveless dress. She was scheduled for a book signing later that morning. At this moment there was nothing she wanted more than to cancel that appointment. Yet she knew that wasnít possible. In a very short period of time her series of childrenís books had become incredibly popular, and it was because of her readers that she was able to live in such a lovely spot. Besides, it would take her mind off of what had just happened. At least, she hoped so.

She took a last glance at herself in the mirror and knew she looked her best. The red of the dress accented her fair skin, the dark hair and green eyes that accompanied it speaking of her Irish ancestry. The high heels she wore added height to her petite size, a fact she had bemoaned over the years. She looked very much like her grandmother, and couldnít help but smile at the thought of the feisty woman. She had briefly considered calling her about her nightmare, but had decided against it. It would only trouble her, and there really wasnít anything her grandmother could do anyway. She knew of Abbyís clairvoyance, but it was something neither of them spoke of very often.

She picked up her purse and keys closing the door firmly. It was time she put the events of the morning aside, or at least try to. She had a sneaking suspicion that it wasnít going to be a simple task.

Locking the door behind her, she took a moment to inhale the fragrance of a mixture of the sea and the flowers growing profusely in pots on her porch. God, she loved that smell!

Starting the car she backed out, her eyes immediately going skyward, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. She pushed the button letting the convertible top ease back and took another deep breath of the fresh morning air. The strong breeze tossed her ebony hair about her head as she firmly guided her thoughts toward the day ahead.