To Spell & Back Page 15

  I wasn’t quite sure what to say, and for a second I wondered if someone had started another matchmaking service in town trying to horn in on my business. “What new cards?”

  Sinclair’s face contorted into a puzzled expression and he pulled a rectangle of familiar-looking pink card stock out from beneath the cash register. FootSwept’s logo splashed across the center of the card, along with the tagline “Get Swept Away.” FootSwept’s address and phone number appeared on the back. I recognized the sparkling black ink immediately.

  Someone had just rocketed to the top of my naughty list. I bade Sinclair goodbye and swore under my breath during the entire six-block walk to the office.

  Flix sat at my desk, busily fiddling with the notepad computer I should have known would make my life anything but easier, a puzzled expression on his face. “What is going on here? Did you do this?”

  “Do I look like I’m the responsible party?” I tossed him an annoyed eyebrow raise and the business card at the same time. “I’ve barely touched this thing, and by the way, it seems like I was right. The computer has caused more problems than it solved.”

  “Well, then who did?” He demanded, ignoring my completely legitimate—and not at all snarky—comment. “Someone has obviously been meddling in our business, and only one name comes to mind.”

  “There’s no way this was her; after all, it can only increase business and Serena would never help me, even inadvertently.” Flix gave me that look. You know the one that says, don’t be an idiot. Or maybe you are an idiot. Either way, I thought back over the last few days, and finally slapped my head against my forehead.

  “Mona. She’s the only one who had access. I had to run back home, and I left her in the closet picking an outfit for her date with Mark. She said she’d lock up on her way out, but it looks like she decided to do us a little favor as well.”

  "She must have printed more flyers because they're circulating in a three-town radius. I think there was a mix-up with the ink, because it's not limited to the matches for your current client list. It's anyone and everyone who wants to find love. We’ve already had over a hundred and fifty RSVPs to the lonely hearts party, plus at least a dozen appointment requests waiting for your return call. I can’t imagine these business cards are going to do anything except bring us more clients than we can handle.”

  I told him he was right.

  “We were already in feast mode, and now we’ve got even bigger issues.” Flix looked like he could have breathed fire, and I only hoped Mona had a cake to bake today and no plans for stopping by.

  “What effect do you suppose the ink will have on the cards?”

  “How the heck should I know? This was all your brilliant plan. You’re the one who mixed it up and enchanted it.” Salem would get a kick out of lecturing me about the proper use of magic.

  “Let’s figure out what to do about the party for now, and worry about the cards later.”

  “What party?” I hadn’t heard the office door open, but I recognized the voice of Joshua Owen and rolled my eyes before spinning around to address him.

  “Hello, Mr. Owen.” I leveled his gaze and hoped this time he’d treat me with a bit more respect. “ I was going to call you and invite you to a little soiree we’re planning this weekend. The guest list has ballooned out of control, which means there will be plenty of available, unattached women in attendance.” Making it very clear I wasn’t one of them was a top-of-the-list level priority.

  “Wherever the ladies are, that’s where you’ll find me. Consider this my RSVP.” I didn’t hear the rest of whatever Joshua had to say because the bow began its sad lament, calling to me even though it rested in pieces several miles across town. I could almost feel what it would be like to bend the string, knock the arrow, and weave Joshua’s fate into a brilliant tapestry.

  Whether I felt he was deserving of my efforts or not, clearly destiny had a plan for his future and judging by the strength of the call, our most frustrating client’s future union would serve humanity in a positive way. That is if I came through in the clutch and didn’t kill him first. I’d search all the realms for living gold if it meant getting Joshua Owen off the dating market and out of my office for good.

  Once the man in question had been successfully dispatched, a flier in his hand more for me to ensure he was worthy of attending than to convey the date and time of the event, I broached my concerns about him to Flix.

  “I’ve never had a client I disliked as much as I dislike that man. He’s lucky he didn’t ask about the church supper; I’m not about to help some Lothario get laid by preying on eager, unsuspecting women.”

  Flix laughed, “So you’re going to turn away half your male clients, then? I can tell you that they all come in here reeking of sexual frustration. The only reason I haven’t clued you into that fun fact before is that once you set them up, I can tell they’re committed. You’re the real deal, Lexi, and I’m guessing our handsome friend will feel the same way once he’s been tamed.”

  “When you say it like that it sounds like a death sentence. I’m not in the castration business, for crying out loud.”

  “Relax, Lexi, it’s not like you’re the one doing the snipping. That’s between the couples themselves. Trust me; they’re happier than clams just to have someone to go home to every night.” Flix assured me.

  “It doesn’t seem like I have much choice. Based on the bow’s reaction, the fates want him matched, and soon—I’d love to know why, but the visions only happen when I come into contact with both halves of the couple, and there's been no sign of a signal from his mate. Maybe she’s not close by? Or maybe my dislike for the man is clouding my LPS.”

  “Sounds like you need to put your personal feelings aside and treat him like you would any other client.”

  “Sure, I’ll get right on that,” Easier said than done.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE NEXT TIME THE RING flared back to life, Kin and I were curled up in my bed, binge-watching Netflix with a silencing charm blocking all outside noise.

  “I hate to get up, but this is important,” I frowned, kissed Kin on the lips, and hopped out of bed, “fixing the bow is more crucial than ever.”

  “The Sons of Anarchy will be here when you’re finished.” Kin really was the best boyfriend in the world. “Can I come watch?” He asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  “As long as you don’t get freaked out watching me turn into a ghost. Salem says it’s quite unnerving.” After three trips, I thought I knew the process well enough to see any possible danger, and I didn’t think it would hurt for him to watch. If he was going to get a case of the witch willies, better to find out now and handle it before something weirder happened. That I was expecting weirder should say something about my life lately.

  “I think I’ll manage.” He replied, looking a bit unsure but unwilling to admit to anything that might diminish his manliness.

  I wasn’t taking any chances this time, and pulled on a set of thermal underwear, snugged a second extra pair of socks beneath my boots, and added enough layers to my torso to keep me warm but still allow for movement in case the gold wasn’t easily accessible.

  Kin, eyes intently focused on me, sat next to Salem. His swift intake of breath was the sound that followed me back through time.

  I twisted the ring around my finger three times and felt the familiar sensation of traveling through space and time. Except for this time the only space I traveled through was the ten feet from where I’d been standing to the other side of the fireplace. I found myself in the parlor, clearly not too far in the past judging by the old-fashioned tube television set resting on top of a seventies-era curio cabinet in the corner.

  Fascinated, I spun around slowly, taking it all in. There were photographs hanging on the walls; if not for the dated pressed metal frames encasing each one, I could have mistaken the child in them for myself. Well, except that I’d never looked that sullen in my whole life.

  There was no do
ubt in my mind that the child was my mother, Sylvana. In the present, her face had been cut or burned out of every photo I could find. According to her, Clara had gone mad with the scissors, but I was willing to bet money on that being counted as another one of her lies. Sylvana would never cop to anything that might make her look bad.

  Even if I hadn’t already been a first-hand witness to my mother being a miserable excuse for a witch, I’d have predicted an unhappy future for the girl in the photographs. She looked like the type who would go from sullen child to temperamental teenager, torturing anyone she didn’t like and blaming everyone else for her problems—a stereotypical mean girl.

  I stripped off enough layers to be comfortable in the warm room and lost myself in staring at the photos until a cat with a puffed-out tail tore past me. With its fur standing on end, I couldn’t tell if the cat was mad or scared. Probably a little bit of both.

  “Endora,” a voice sing-songed into the room just ahead of a little girl who tripped in with what I can only describe as an evil grin on her lovely face. My mother, ladies and gentleman, liar and cat torturer. She hadn’t yet Awakened, so I knew poor Endora was still confined to her cat form and therefore at Sylvana’s mercy.

  “Sylvana Elizabeth Balefire, you leave that poor cat alone!” A woman’s voice echoed from the kitchen. I followed little Sylvana through the hall and into a room that in no way resembled the space I was used to. Everything was either pink or avocado green, and the combination reminded me of one of the toads that like to hang out in the backyard near Terra’s mud hut.

  Clara, looking so similar to her statue it was a little scary, rested her elbows on the table, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. Mag, seated on the other side, stared at Sylvana through slitted lids. Whatever catastrophic event had sapped the youth from my great aunt’s face must have taken place sometime between when she and Clara were girls and the year I was visiting now, because Mag looked exactly as she had the first time I met her in the Fringe. Fluffy white hair billowed around a lined face that I knew from experience could appear gentle and harmless until Mag had a reason to turn fierce.

  “I wasn’t doing anything,” my mother lied smoothly, “she must have seen a mouse or something. Are you two about done chit-chatting? We’re supposed to be in the workshop; it’s time for my lesson.”

  Clara sighed and rubbed her temple. “Your lesson will have to wait until we finish with our tea. Aunt Mag gets cranky when her tea gets cold.”

  “But you said I could try scrying with my own crystal today. You promised.”

  “Go to your room, Sylvana. Now.” She went, but with an eye roll one of my godmothers would have smacked right off my face if I’d dared show them such disrespect.

  “There’s something wrong with that girl, Clara.” Mag only half whispered. “And you know it.”

  “She’s my daughter, Mag. You don't understand what that’s like.”

  “Thank you for pointing out my lack of offspring, dear sister, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” Mag waved a finger at Clara.

  “We have more important things to worry about right now. He stopped by again. He’s already looking in her direction.” Her eyes slid to the door Sylvana had just exited. “It's like he can smell the power on her and you've seen it too. She's developing more power than I could have imagined.” Pain colored Clara’s face, and I realized how difficult it must have been to raise a willful girl like my mother all by herself. “He’s not going to simply walk away from the possibility.”

  I knew she was talking about my father.

  A quiet giggle rang with a metallic echo in my ear, and I looked up toward the ceiling where a ventilation duct connected the kitchen to the upstairs. I recognized the scrolled pattern of the metal cover, its surface thick with layer-upon-layer of paint, various shades showing through a few chipped places.

  Before the advent of forced hot air heating, two story houses weren’t all that practical in colder climates. Cutting a hole in the ceiling and fitting it with a fancy grate allowed heat to pass from one floor to another. A popular solution now known to be a fire hazard.

  Any child growing up in such a house could also tell you that while the heat was nice, the vents were even better for spying. Many an hour I’d spent listening in on heated faerie arguments with my ear pressed to the other side of that same grate; my—and Sylvana’s—bedroom was on the other end.

  “So you’re quite sure that’s what he’s been after all this time?” Mag drained her cup, held it out for more, and nodded to show she agreed with Clara’s assessment of Cupid’s intentions. “A Balefire Fate Weaver would be almost as powerful as he is—and she would always have a target on her back. We can’t let him succeed.”

  “Funny, that’s not the tune you used to sing,” Clara challenged.

  Mag’s voice quivered as bitterness crept into her tone, “Raising a powerful child was not what I wanted him for. He had other assets of interest.” The veiled sexual innuendo, coming from someone who looked the way she did, made me cringe and triggered a snort of disgust from Clara.

  “You know I’ve been over my teenage crush for quite a few years, Clara. And I’m already paying the price for my youthful indiscretions, so there’s no need to rub it in my wrinkled face. Especially when we’re on the same side.”

  “You made a choice to satisfy your wanderlust. Don’t try and blame me for the repercussions.” Despite her mild tone, Clara’s words carried weight as she leaned forward and poured yet another cup of tea. Mag pulled a flask from the folds of a caftan-like garment made from what looked like polyester and covered in a pattern of tropical flowers. Some of the contents of the flask joined the tea in the delicate china cup, and Mag took a deep gulp before she answered.

  “Are you trying to say you would have stepped aside if I decided to stay? That you would have been happy to let me be the Keeper of the Flame?”

  Clara wanted to say yes, but the lie refused to pass her lips. “No, but that was never at issue. You’ve had itchy feet since you were old enough to ask Mother if she would allow you to walk away from the Balefire.”

  “And now I have arthritic ankles, so I’ve decided to settle down.”

  “That’s wonderful news. Sylvana’s in your old room, but we can always move her into mine.” No enthusiasm colored the offer.

  A shudder ran over Mag at the thought. “No. This is your place now.” Her eyes flicked away from Clara’s, and I got the feeling she was trying to be diplomatic with her opinion about living near Sylvana. “I already have a place.”

  Mag described the hut I’d visited in the Fringe and Clara gave a half-hearted argument against the isolated location.

  “You could blow yourself up, and no one would ever know.”

  After several minutes of arguing over the merits of living between worlds, Mag deliberately returned to the previous discussion.

  “Him turning me down was a blow to my self-esteem, but I’m fine with the fact I didn’t show up on his radar. I’ve learned a thing or two over the last couple of centuries, including that Fate Weavers rarely live the long, happy life you’d want for your child. Even if there was no danger, handing out the happily-ever-afters doesn’t ensure she’d get one of her own, and the work takes a toll. I don’t want to see any of our Balefire daughters put in that position.”

  “Unfortunately, daughters are what we usually get, and we’re not always going to be around to protect them. There’s a change coming, I can feel it. Can’t you?” Earnestly, Clara searched Mag’s face as though hoping her sister would disagree.

  “I'm afraid you’re right. Anyone with half an iota of power can sense the looming darkness, and maybe that’s why he’s so determined to make a Fate Weaver strong enough to stand beside him.”

  “It won’t be a Balefire; not if I can help it.”

  Right. Never say never. You’d think a witch as powerful as Clara would have figured that out already. Thanks for jinxing me, Grandma.

  All sarcasm aside, I listened clo
sely to all they had to say about an impending imbalance between darkness and light. This was the same assumption Adriel had been working under when she teamed up with the faeries to fight a demon that had turned out to be Vaeta in disguise. From the minute I heard the word danger, I wanted to learn as much as I could about my possible fate.

  There’s no handbook for Fate Weavers, and I’ve never met another one, so everything I knew about that side of my heritage had come from Vaeta. She professed not to know anything useful but spouted random facts as though they were common knowledge. Delta, a supernatural bounty hunter whose attention had been more on finding the Bow of Destiny than instructing me in how to use it, had also been of little help.

  No one knew exactly where my father had gone, and the only other person who had been there that day and might be able to provide a clue, well, she wasn’t talking. Not with lips of stone, anyway. All this talk of fate-weaving danger seemed melodramatic. I’m putting happy couples together, not fomenting thermonuclear war and I don’t see how one of those could be connected to the other.

  The compass interrupted my meandering thoughts by sending a couple of vibrating pulses against my chest. Caught up in the conversation, I’d forgotten my mission. This should be an easy retrieval. I already knew where great grandmother used to keep the living gold. Or I thought I did. Somewhere between my last visit to the past and this one, the fireplace had been fitted with the handle I knew from my own time.

  I tiptoed (yes, I know they couldn’t hear me or see me, but I couldn’t help myself) over to the fireplace and reached into the flame. The conversation continued behind me as I stepped into the sanctum. One question I’d like to ask my grandmother—if and when I finally release her from her granite state—is who made the rules about these visits to the past. On my way to turn on the lights, I barked my shin on a haphazardly placed trunk, then danced my way into the back of a chair that wasn’t where I remembered it.