Tingle Bells Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Tingle Bells

  ISBN # 1-4199-0870-7

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Tingle Bells Copyright© 2006 Mardi Ballou

  Edited by Nicholas Conrad.

  Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.

  Electronic book Publication: December 2006

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Content Advisory:

  S – ENSUOUS

  E – ROTIC

  X - TREME

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic.

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  Tingle Bells

  Mardi Ballou

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Beemer: Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktieengesellschaft Corporation

  BlackBerry: Research in Motion Limited

  Lysol: Lehn & Fink, Inc.

  VW Beetle: Volkswagen Aktiengessschaft

  Chapter One

  Tingle, tingle, tingle.

  Justin Clancy shook the leather strip bearing four Tingle Bells and felt the instant erection they inspired. Even though he knew exactly what to expect, and well he should as their creator, the erotic response the sounds evoked still thrilled him each time. His arousal further sparked a driving impulse to find a boyfriend. Justin hummed to himself, his habitual effort to reproduce the bells’ sound with his mediocre tenor. Now that he’d fulfilled one dream and created the Tingle Bells, maybe he could pursue the one long deferred—finding the lover he fantasized about.

  Not that he had his head in the clouds or anything, but he could see the Tingle Bells becoming a year-round bestseller after the holiday season. How could they miss? And once the income from the Tingle Bells rolled in, he could develop more of the products he envisioned. Having studied music, metallurgy and sonology in college, Justin hoped to use principles from each to create affordable gadgets that produced desirable effects—aphrodisiac, therapeutic, calming. Anything he could imagine. His family business, Clancy’s Fancies, had up until now been an almost bankrupt small-time importer of novelties for the adult market, but he envisioned a bright future now that he’d taken the reins from his recently retired Uncle Fred.

  Torn between attending to his pulsing hard-on and diving into the mountain of work awaiting him, Justin reluctantly put the bells aside and steeled himself to ignore his carnal needs. But he promised himself that after he at long last reaped huge profits and got Clancy’s Fancies back on track, Justin would take some well-deserved time off for bad behavior.

  A fast glance at his watch told him he was running late. He’d promised the family he’d come to dinner and tell them what was going on with the business. After he assured them that the Tingle Bells would bring holiday joy to all, maybe he’d cut out for a night off. At the prospect of finding a hot new guy to really celebrate the season with, Justin felt his fading erection revive.

  For now, though, he willed his dick back to neutral. He needed to be thinking with the head on his shoulders when he reported to the family. He’d be their hero, of course, when he reassured them their worries were over. All they needed to deal with were the usual holiday insanities, not the big life-jarring issues they’d been contending with in the past few years. Uncle Fred and Aunt Claire wouldn’t have to struggle to scrape by anymore. They wouldn’t have to worry about ending up out on the street with their seven cats, and Pat could get through his last semester of med school… Only Aunt Louise, who’d been estranged from the family since the dawn of time, didn’t depend on Clancy’s Fancies.

  Funny when he thought about it. Actually not funny. His family, whom he affectionately described as eccentric, could easily have solved their financial woes and kept Clancy’s Fancies free from any threat of bankruptcy. All they’d have to do was apply their considerable knowledge and skill as practicing witches to what Uncle Fred called “crass commercial purposes”. But they wouldn’t, ever.

  Justin regarded himself as an unskilled, novice-level dabbler in the family arts and traditions. Though he had some knowledge and was more cognizant of witchcraft than the average man on the street, the bottom line was he’d never felt drawn to delve deeply into the practices. The option to do so was, of course, always open—which Uncle Fred reminded him of from time to time.

  As Justin had anticipated, everyone was busy talking and eating when he arrived for dinner at Uncle Fred and Aunt Claire’s seen-better-days Victorian house just outside Princeton. “So, Justin, you’ve finally decided to put in an appearance,” the elderly gentleman muttered. Uncle Fred, who was Aunt Claire’s father, was really Justin’s great-uncle, but that title was too big a mouthful for regular use. Uncle Fred and Aunt Claire and their cats subsisted in genteel poverty on Social Security, their meager savings and the profits Justin could squeeze out of Clancy’s Fancies. The prospect of Claire, whose office skills extended to employing the hunt-and-peck method on a manual typewriter, trying to supplement their income made open-heart surgery look like a romp in the park.

  Pat, Aunt Claire’s grandson and Justin’s cousin, had almost gotten through med school. One more semester. With scholarships and student loans, Pat relied on Justin’s support for such frills as food, rent and the occasional tank of gas for his ancient VW Beetle. The only Clancy who seemed to understand how hard Justin worked, Pat glanced at him sympathetically. “How’s it going with the Tingle Bells?”

  Justin, who’d psyched himself to make a speech about the current situation and what the Tingle Bells meant to him, simplified his plan. Maybe he’d just eat, talk fast and run. He might still be able to get in some quality time at Cosmo’s, a new club. Maybe Mr. Right would be hanging around there…

  He sat down at his usual spot at the table and started filling his plate. Predictably, she served her signature fried chicken, mashed potatoes loaded with butter and milk, green bean casserole with canned mushroom soup, onion rings and miniature marshmallows and, in honor of one of the upcoming holidays, green gelatin studded with red maraschino cherries and chili peppers. Since the Clancys believed in celebrating every winter holiday—starting from the Solstice and including Christmas, Chanukah and Kwanzaa—there were also platters of potato latkes with sides of sour cream and applesauce, black-eyed peas and collard greens. He sighed and tucked into his family’s traditional comfort food. Though such things had fascinated him when he was little, now he scarcely paid attention to how the gelatin levitated off the plate and the cher
ries twirled madly before the green stuff plopped back down. Aunt Claire did enjoy using craft to enhance her cooking.

  “I’m pleased to announce the shipments got off on time to the distributors, who are really excited about the bells. I expect we should soon hear the jolly ring of cash registers.” He took a mouthful of latke and sour cream.

  “When do you expect to know how the sales are going?” Fred asked.

  Justin shrugged with hard-won nonchalance. “Could be any time. In fact, I’m expecting a phone call from one of my major distributors within the hour. I’m sure no one will be offended if I keep my cell on.”

  Claire sniffed. “During my dinner?”

  “I figure we’ll all be able to breathe easier once we get the first reports of how the Tingle Bells are gladdening hearts and enriching bank accounts. Otherwise, I’d never dream of sullying your magnificent dinner table with the accoutrements of Mammon.” He managed to get through that speech without rolling his eyes. He did kick Pat, who was biting his lip to keep from laughing, under the table. Pat looked suitably contrite for about half a minute. Huh, Justin would fix him the next time Pat needed an ally.

  As they squabbled about the etiquette of cell phone usage and traded horror stories, an hour and a half slipped by with no phone calls. Justin looked at his watch and frowned. He’d hoped to start hearing good news quickly. When the phone rang at last, he smiled at everyone around the table. As he listened to the news, he had to struggle to hold on to that smile. Pleading new business, he excused himself and raced back to his office-studio-lab.

  The entire trip back, Justin struggled to convince himself that what he’d heard couldn’t be right. According to one of his major distributors, the merchants were complaining about the Tingle Bells and threatening to return them en masse. Not only were the Tingle Bells not producing aphrodisiac sounds as advertised, their sole output consisted of ugly clangs no one would voluntarily listen to.

  What the hell could have happened? Was there some mistake? Breaking several speeding laws, Justin raced back to the office, parked his car and ran to open his door. When he picked up a set of the bells, his stomach lurched in fearful anticipation. Cringing in disbelief, his hands shaking, he heard the evidence. The sounds the bells—his bells—now made were so hideous, only a dedicated masochist might find them arousing.

  Justin’s mind raced. What could possibly have produced this effect in such a short time? He thought about—and rejected—weather exposure, chemical corruption and any possible mechanical manipulation. Something had destroyed the Tingle Bells’ tones, and for the Clancys to have a shot at financial solvency, he’d have to fix what was broken in time for holiday sales.

  As his thought processes clarified, he realized there had to be some sort of magic involved. Someone must have hexed the Tingle Bells. Much as he wanted to know who and why, what really mattered right now was how to remove the hex. He didn’t have a clue what to do next. Though he could consult his family, he didn’t want to worry them unless that became unavoidable. And he didn’t know any other practitioners well enough to contact. Justin felt the room spin around him and could practically hear his optimistic dreams shatter.

  Reaching for the local Rainbow Directory, he tried to unscramble his brain enough to figure out where to turn. Several witches and mages advertised there. He read through their ads, none of which resonated for him. Uttering an oath and a plea, he opened the book at random. Gay private investigators? Hmm. He hadn’t realized there were any in the area. Actually, he’d never had any reason to think about gay private dicks, but now he found their existence intriguing—and useful.

  He quickly glanced through the ads to see if any detective looked feasible. Ramon Ramirez caught his eye. In addition to being certified and bonded, this Ramon Ramirez, who had an office right in downtown Princeton, advertised that he was a Qualified Metaphysical Investigator. That sounded promising. Though they were well past office hours, Justin dialed Ramirez’s phone, figuring his message would be in the voicemail for whenever he checked in. To Justin’s astonishment, a live person answered.

  “Ramon Ramirez Investigations. Ramirez.”

  Good, strong-sounding voice. “This is Justin Clancy. I just saw in the Rainbow Directory that you’re a Qualified Metaphysical Investigator. I have a time-pressure situation, and I think you can help me. I hope so. Man, I’m desperate.” Though he’d started off calm, Justin knew he sounded borderline hysterical by the last word.

  “Tell me something about what’s going on and why you think you need a metaphysical investigator.”

  Justin took a deep breath and did exactly as instructed.

  “You say you’re a witch and you recognized the effects based on family traditions?”

  “My family’s been involved with witchcraft forever. I know the basic family stuff, but I’m not a practitioner. I invented the Tingle Bells and I’m a professional metallurgist and sonologist. There’s no other cause I can think of that would have this effect on my product.”

  “I don’t know about the work of sonologists,” Ramirez said, “but it sounds like you’re in a position to know what you’re saying here. I’m kind of busy right now with other cases… Let me just check my calendar.”

  “You’ve got to help me. I’m desperate. My whole family is depending on my making this work.” If it would have helped, Justin would be down on his knees.

  “Your family, huh? If you don’t solve this, it’ll ruin their Christmas, right?”

  “Hell, I didn’t think to throw that in the argument, but yes. It would ruin their Solstice, Christmas, Chanukah and Kwanzaa. They celebrate them all.”

  “In that case, I’ll find a way to help you.” Justin held his breath while Ramirez evidently consulted something. “How about you come in tomorrow, late afternoon?”

  “That’s the soonest you can see me?”

  “Yeah, and that’s only because I’ll do lots of juggling. But I want to help you and your family.”

  “Okay, if that’s the best you can do, I’ll see you then. Thanks.”

  Justin spent the next few hours dealing with messages and letting his distributors know there’d be a solution very soon to the current problem with the Tingle Bells. He asked them to tell the merchants to hold off on making returns—they wouldn’t be sorry.

  By the time he tumbled into his lonely bed, exhausted, Justin was able to fall into a troubled, restless sleep.

  * * * * *

  Ramon had to work like a demon to get through enough of his current workload to fit in the new case. But he’d been intrigued when the guy mentioned he’d found Ramon’s name in the Rainbow Directory. His cock twitched, though he reminded himself not all guys who consulted the directory were gay. Still chances were good, or at least reasonable. He’d liked the sound of Justin Clancy’s voice.

  The client’s interest in Ramon’s metaphysical detection services also amped up his anticipation. Ramon had studied to get certified for metaphysical detection the year before but hadn’t been called on to use those skills too often. He looked forward to the challenge.

  But what really hooked Ramon was when Justin mentioned his family. Ramon was for all practical purposes a loner who’d never enjoyed the pleasures of being part of a family. He was also a sucker for the kind of happiness and unity he imagined most families shared. Anything he could do in the name of doing good for a family zapped him straight to the heart.

  Now if Justin Clancy, who had a family who needed the investigator’s help, also turned out to be sexy and available, Ramon might start believing in Santa Claus.

  Ramon mumbled a thank you to the man in the red suit when Justin burst into his office five minutes early for his appointment. Of course, he couldn’t take anything for granted. But if Santa and his elves really meant to leave him a Christmas gift that year, Ramon wouldn’t at all mind finding this guy naked under his Christmas tree with a bow tied around his middle.

  The two men shook hands across the desk, and the electricity
nearly jolted Ramon a foot off the floor. Talk about instant hard-on. Ramon sat down behind his desk and invited Justin to sit and start talking. He watched with complete attention as the tall, extremely buff man bypassed the guest chair and paced and gestured his way through the story of what happened to the Tingle Bells. According to Justin, his phone and email were crackling with messages from merchants who threatened to dump the offending bells if he didn’t do something to restore their correct sound immediately.

  If Ramon hadn’t been so adept at multitasking, the vision of Justin’s butt in his tight, worn jeans would have distracted him from the man’s words. As it was, Ramon was in dire danger of whiplash from trying to watch. Then there was the hard-on crying out for attention. “What have you told them?”

  “Not much,” Justin muttered, “because I don’t know exactly what to say. I’m trying to get the vendors to give us some operating space, which they’re not too amenable to this time of the year. But if they dump the Tingle Bells, Clancy’s Fancies will be dead meat. That would spell finito to my professional dreams and throw my family to the wolves.”

  Family. There it was again. Ramon had to help them. He’d feel like that even if he wasn’t drooling over Justin. “Look, man, I’ve got to warn you. I’m kind of new at metaphysical detection.”

  “Your ad says you’re certified in that area.”

  Ramon nodded. “I’ve studied to get certified, and I passed all the requirements, but I haven’t had lots of practice. But look. Let’s put our heads together here. With your background and my professional knowledge, I think we can come up with something solid that will help. I don’t want to see your family’s celebrations ruined.” Ramon would have liked to do some celebrating of his own with Justin, who had the dark good looks that were called Black Irish. I’d bet a Spaniard must have gotten to one of your grandmothers, he thought, admiring Justin’s Mediterranean skin and hair—and his big, startling blue eyes. Ramon squirmed in his chair.