To Spell & Back Read online

  How could I run screaming through a room and no one would hear me, open the Balefire without anyone noticing, but still trip over a trunk full of books? It made no sense.

  With the lights finally blazing, and my shin throbbing, I checked the shelf where I’d seen the gold before and came up empty. The next ten minutes I spent ransacking the place until the compass buzzed me again.

  Oh, right. I was supposed to use the compass. Duh.

  After the familiar whirl to orient itself, the needle pointed right at the Balefire, which meant the gold was probably in the parlor. I could have saved myself a barked shin, and I didn’t grumble when I flicked off the light and avoided the trunk on my way back out. You can’t prove otherwise; no one was there to hear me.

  On the other side of the fireplace, the compass directed me back into the kitchen where it pointed toward Clara and when I circled the table, stayed oriented on her instead. I stopped breathing, probably out of reflex, and panicked a little. Was I supposed to grope her and expect she wouldn’t feel it? And if she was carrying the gold, wouldn’t she notice when it went missing?

  After invading her privacy by running my erstwhile gold detector around her for what felt like forever, I was pretty sure the amulet dangling around my grandmother’s neck was the source of the living gold, and just as certain I didn’t have a shot at pulling off a retrieval.

  However, with the ever-present buzz of the bow chiming in the back of my head, I knew I had to try.

  Once I got a good look at it, I’d have bet my birthday tiara that Tempest had been the smith behind the work of art. Egg-shaped and wrought from pure silver, the amulet featured our family sigil, a tree with Balefire branches. I’d have loved to go back and see what method she used for creating the design in bas relief.

  Waiting until Clara leaned forward to snatch a cookie from her sister’s plate, I saw the heavy pendant swing free, and yelling, “Sorry.” Even though she couldn’t hear me, I made a desperate grab.

  The ring flashed just as my grasping fingers went right through the metal. All I felt was a tingling chill, and then a stomach-lurching feeling of being dragged back to my own place and time. Empty handed.

  Drat.

  Chapter Seventeen

  MY HOPES FOR A JOURNEY to a moment in the past of my own choosing (not, mind you, that I had any idea precisely when I’d like to go) having been burned to cinders and the ashes scattered to the wind, I turned to Kin for solace. It didn’t occur to me that this meant taking another step toward my future, seeking comfort outside the arms of my godmothers for the first time in...ever.

  Five women living in close quarters made for a lot of amplified emotions. The party planning pact seemed to be quelling the annoyances that normally brewed to boiling. Since I’d come into my magic—and after the initial fallout sparked from the worry I might not need them anymore—things with the godmothers had calmed to a simmer, and now I doubted you could even poach an egg in it.

  Preoccupation with the lonely hearts party that was just days away left hardly any time to work up a good critique of my life or my choices. We’d reached a detente: the godmothers would treat me like an adult and support my relationship with Kin, and I’d include them in my life and keep them informed of anything dangerous coming down the pike.

  Not that supporting my relationship with Kin could be considered a hardship; I mean, the guy treated me like a princess and the godmothers like queens. What more could you ask for? He had wormed his way into their hearts, so much so I was starting to think they liked him more than they liked me.

  Tonight the two of us were enjoying a magic-free, plain old camp fire in Kin’s backyard oasis. He’d arranged two beautiful Adirondack chairs around a graduated semicircle of stacked, reclaimed bricks in a range of colors and a variety of patinas. A set of soft cushions covered both chairs, and several throws draped over the arms would keep us warm and comfortable long into the night.

  The air smelled of citronella and eucalyptus (because banishing bugs smacked of personal gain, so I used old-fashioned oils to keep them away), and twinkled with the light of at least a dozen darting fireflies if I squinted against the flames and stared into the relative darkness beyond the patio.

  Old Port is a fairly small city, but the lights are still bright enough, even on the edge of town that unless you were allowed entry into my faerie enchanted backyard, you’d never mistakenly think you were out in the country.

  Most of the time, that fact didn’t bother me. It meant fewer mosquitoes on nights like this. Where some people needed to commune with nature—remind themselves they’re part of a great cycle—to feel in touch with the universe, I find my reassurance in the faces of all the people I interact with every day. Tonight, however, I was happy to limit communing to just one other participant.

  Kin stoked the fire and then disappeared into the kitchen to return with a large wooden cutting board filled with graham crackers, marshmallows, and several of my favorite kinds of chocolate, including peanut butter cups and a dark variety he’d seen me sneak into my purchases during our last trip to the grocery store.

  “I know it doesn’t compare to the wonderland outside your terrace door, but I think it’s pretty cozy back here,” he grinned, pulling a couple of long, clean wooden skewers from someplace behind my chair. I’d already settled into the cushions and begun to let the detritus of the day slowly dissipate.

  “It’s perfect,” I replied, spearing two marshmallows at once and expertly, patiently, toasting them over the edges of the licking flames. Smoke wafted into the night, the caramel scent of molten sugar on its back. Shadows danced against the brick, now and then coalescing into recognizable shapes like clouds on a hot summer day—twin hearts, Falkor from The Neverending Story, and a pointy witch’s hat—before flickering into obscurity.

  Kin and I talked for hours after I’d abandoned my chair in favor of curling between a fuzzy blanket and his warm chest. The chemistry between us was palpable in the air and in the lingering fingers that stroked an errant lock of hair from in front of my eyes or wiped a smudge of chocolate from the corners of his lips.

  I did my best to capture the moment clearly in my mind’s eye, encase the memory in bulletproof glass, and preserve it forever.

  At some point, the air turned cool against the sweat we were creating, and I allowed Kin to lead me by the hand to his bedroom. A respectable amount of time later I finally fell asleep, wrapped in his warm embrace, completely sated.

  When I sleep, I’m pretty much dead to the world, which is why I so despise waking up in the morning. It’s also why my office hours start significantly later than most businesses. It always takes a while before I feel like myself again, even with a generous amount of caffeine thrown in for good effect. Clasped in Kin’s warm embrace, completely spent and more relaxed than I had felt in months, I dived into unconsciousness with abandon and welcomed the beginnings of a dream.

  Everything was pitch black, but I could hear chanting in my ears and feel warmth on my skin. Warmth, and something else. A hand cupping my bottom, and one supporting my neck. My body felt more compact than usual, like I’d shrunk and was being carried by a giant. The sensation made more sense when I cracked open an eye to see Clara’s face swimming in front of me at what felt like twice its regular size.

  Fire to keep the keeper

  Flame to heal the healer

  The words echoed in my ears like a promise.

  Clara smiled down at me indulgently, her mouth forming the O most adults make when entertaining a baby, and her green eyes shining with love and affection. Peace crept into every pore, every muscle, relaxing me with safety.

  I’m sure there was more happening outside my field of vision, based on the number of voices repeating the mantra that had been running on a mental loop ever since my dream visit to a similar ceremony from an observer’s perspective.

  Held snugly in the crook of my grandmother’s elbow, and due to that whimsical quality dreams have of rendering you comple
tely unable to control your body, I couldn’t look around. Whether this was an actual event I was reliving or a constructed memory based on the vision from my last dream I couldn’t be sure. But I felt the heat from Clara’s hands and saw the white light of the Balefire flickering in my peripheral vision, and it certainly felt real. This time, I was the infant being offered to the Balefire flame.

  Without warning, I went from basking in the warmth of the flame to being thrust among its brazen tongues, the notes of the chant pounding in my ears, the fire tickling at my toes.

  Every nerve in my body tingled as energy bubbled below the surface, rushed over my skin, and was reabsorbed over and over again until it compressed into a pinprick of immeasurable power within my breast.

  As I was pulled from the fire, the energy dissipated, but the feeling of fullness in my heart remained long after I woke in a daze and snuggled closer to Kin. I couldn’t sleep with all the thoughts swirling around in my head. Finally, I slithered out of bed and slipped downstairs quietly, making sure not to wake Kin.

  In the kitchen, I brewed a cup of green tea, doctored it with a dollop of honey, and padded out to the patio to curl up in one of the chairs Kin and I had abandoned a few short hours before. The campfire had burned down to a few blackened pieces of wood, something the Balefire would never do as long as its Keeper maintained the flame. And I knew I would fulfil that role until the last breath left my body. That spark of energy still thrummed in my heart; connecting me to the Balefire. It had always been there, a tether to the power of the flame—but now I knew exactly what it was.

  No matter what the other pieces and parts of me could or wanted to do, the Balefire could never be denied.

  I also knew, somehow, that Clara’s connection had broken the second she’d turned to stone. What I couldn’t work out was how to get it back; the Balefire could penetrate her granite form with no more success than the first spell I had tried. Possibilities swam through my consciousness until my brain grew tired and my eyelids began to droop. When I woke, once again snuggled close to Kin, I couldn’t be sure if I had walked back up the stairs myself, if he had come down to retrieve me upon waking to an empty bed, or if I had flown back in on the wind.

  Chapter Eighteen

  DRESSED TO THE NINES, I moved through the lonely hearts party like a ghost borne on a cushion of lovely music.

  Kin’s singing voice is sunset and kittens and a baby’s cheek—colorful, sweet, and smooth. Sexy is what it is. Turn-your-knees-to-water sexy. His gaze pierced mine from across the room and made me want to peel him like a grape and slurp him down in one delicious bite.

  He’d agreed to play one set before passing the baton to Mona’s boyfriend Mark, who would spin tunes in his role of DJ for the rest of the evening.

  Warm bodies packed the place from wall to wall, called to us by Mona’s cards and the fliers posted all over town. Hopeful energy wove in and around the room and pulled me to where I was most needed.

  Thanks to the faeries’ event planning skills, I hadn’t stepped foot inside the warehouse venue until a couple of hours before the first guest arrived. Glamoured to the hilt, the four of them buzzed around the space putting on finishing touches while I watched, unneeded, from the sidelines.

  Evian, naturally, manned the bar with her usual flair while the rest of the godmothers spun through the crowd serving guests like total pros. I could not have asked for more seamless teamwork. All in all, the event was a smash.

  In contrast to the industrial bones of the building, they'd chosen a romantic, but still chic decorating theme. White linen draped tables covered with fragrant roses in every shade of pink and red Mother Nature could produce (and a couple that I’m pretty sure only appear in the Faelands). Black wrought iron sculptures rose from several points around the room, their bases draped with even more roses.

  My favorite decoration, a stylized heart with two curlicues protruding from its point, was the faerie’s idea of an inside joke. The emblem, called a Sankofa, symbolized the idea of using what you’d learned in the past to guide you through the future. Good advice for new couples and the personal significance didn’t escape my attention either.

  To keep the decor from being too girly, guests sipped frothy brews from sturdy glass mugs resembling mason jars with handles. Making their way around the space on simple silver trays, fifteen kinds of appetizers disappeared between smiling lips. Drink menus and descriptive labels picked out in white script against a gunmetal gray card stock punctuated the mix of masculine and feminine opulence.

  Strands of twinkling Edison bulbs crisscrossed the space beneath the ceiling, creating a soft glow over the dance floor and bar, carving out more than a few dim corners where couples might retreat for a bit of privacy. And canoodling; there was a lot of that going on. I witnessed several lip locks sweet and steamy enough to eventually lead to a true love’s kiss, binding the couples together for life.

  Sexual tension clashed with nervous anticipation and, in some cases, outright desperation. I couldn’t tell you how many little black dresses and carefully chosen neckties were in attendance, but it would have been obvious even to an impartial bystander that this was a pick-up party—and a damned successful one at that.

  Left with zero event-related responsibilities, I extricated myself from the unapologetic people-watching (and judging) Flix and Carl were enjoying and embarked on an evening full of what I do best: matchmaking. The queen of have you met so-and-so, I flitted around the space pulling couples together.

  “Hey, Elizabeth, how are you enjoying the party? Oh, and by the way, have you met Todd Sweeney? Hey, Todd, this is Elizabeth Walker, she’s a swim instructor at the Union Street YMCA. Oh, you were both on your college swim team, how about that?”

  Several variations of the same conversation later, four more new couples were cozied up to quiet tables on the outskirts of the festivities, discussing shared interests between furtive glances from beneath lowered lashes. Two more took advantage of the impromptu garden space just outside a pair of sliding doors. It wouldn’t be a proper party unless Terra landscaped—her motto, not mine.

  Amid the hum and buzz of voices, the bow pitched muted tones against the fine bones of my inner ear. Each time I spotted a pair of soul mates, it warbled a babbling song that slowly increased in volume as the night wore on. When a couple broke from the crowd and began to focus solely on each other, the noise turned softer, becoming a hum of approval. I still couldn’t tell if it was singing or trying to talk to me, and after an hour or so, I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out. How was I ever going to get anything done with all that noise?

  Sure, I knew weaving fates affected the world beyond that of the specific couple in question, but what would happen if I abandoned my responsibility remained a mystery with ramifications I wasn’t able to predict. Just like the power of threes, love has long-ranging consequences.

  Experiencing that many matches coming together at once prompted a what if moment for me, and I imagined what might have happened if I’d let the fallout from Jett’s actions simply work itself out on its own. I’m sure some of the couples would have come together without my help, but a good percentage would have been left adrift. Would the absence of the positive effects of those unions create a vacuum of negative energy instead?

  Be nice if I had a clue, but I couldn't see a downside to putting people together.

  Right in the midst of me giving myself a mental pat on the back, Flix, his arm draped around Carl in a protective manner, drew my attention to a situation developing across the room.

  “Well, would you look at that?” Flix banged his glass on the table. “Ten bucks says he goes after the redhead at the end of the bar.”

  “Double or nothing says her perfect match comes back from the men’s just in time to swat Lothario like a bug.” Carl challenged.

  I turned to look at the object of all the betting and wished I hadn’t.

  Joshua Owen was about to win Carl a crisp twenty and probably earn himself a tri
p to the ER, besides. The redhead in question had been hanging off the arm of a mountain of a man with biceps nearly as big as her head—her perfect match. Joshua, for all his swagger and bravado, was the next best thing to a hundred pound weakling in this scenario.

  The man closing in on Joshua swayed to the left on his way to the end of the bar, as if he’d had a cold one too many.

  The noise in my head took on the tone and volume of a large cage full of chattering parakeets taking turns on a squeaky swing. The bow had an opinion, and it demanded I listen.

  Whatever The Hulk dished out, Joshua would have earned, judging by the way he leaned over his quarry and chatted her up. Until he was firmly matched, the idiot stayed on my list, so I muttered a few choice words from the faerie’s naughty-naughty-no-no category and hurried across the room to see if I could intervene.

  Before I made it halfway there, it was already too late. Dropping seemingly-friendly hands on Joshua’s shoulders, the flinty-eyed guy insisted—bodily—on taking things outside. A bit over-the-top, considering he’d just met the woman, but it takes all kinds, I suppose. Or maybe the magic in the air ramped up his protective instincts.

  The redhead looked positively thrilled at being the object of the fight, and I searched the general area for some backup. None of the hired help were anywhere to be found, and I made a mental note to give my godmothers the name of another, more reputable service. Throwing a pleading look back at Flix, I fell into step behind the redhead and gained the parking lot just in time to see the big guy’s arm pull back for a first punch.

  “Dude, stop.” An otherworldly level of command amplified Flix’s order and made it echo across the narrow sidewalk. “The little fellow meant no harm. Look at him; he just wants to buy you a beer. Why don’t you go back inside and have a laugh about this.” It worked, too. Some Fae mind meld let the air out of the confrontation, and it fizzled into nothing while we all watched in astonishment.