To Spell & Back Page 2

  They say hindsight is 20/20 and I couldn’t fault the adage because today her face looked completely different to me. Blinded by an untruth, I’d taken her fierce expression as one of evil intent. Now, with the true vision of her history fresh in my mind, I could see the pain written in every tense muscle.

  Tears burned while I imagined Clara, granite crawling through her veins, watching Sylvana celebrate a victory. The scene played through my mind again, and I shivered in helpless horror now as I had when I’d watched the creeping stone take her over. Bit by bit it swallowed shoes, dress, arms and hands, the amulet around her neck, and finally her face.

  I would see that scene in my nightmares for many years to come.

  The punishment when one witch kills another is literally set in stone. Or would that be figuratively? I can never remember. Either way, any witch who kills another turns to stone. There’s no judge, no jury, no trial. Just a swift and final sentence followed by a new statue in the world.

  When Terra found me in that basket, she and her sisters assessed the crime scene and assumed my grandmother had killed my mother. As a result, I had lived with the stigma of rising from wicked beginnings since before I was old enough to understand what that meant.

  I should have suspected something when my mother, Sylvana, turned up right after Beltane—very much alive and not at all forthcoming about the events leading up to Clara’s current state. Gullible fool that I am, I fell for the convenient lie that Clara probably killed someone else after banishing her daughter to a portal on the edge of a hell dimension.

  How many times had I sat in this spot and self-righteously ranted at my grandmother for choosing the evil path and leaving me alone in the world? And why do we find it so comforting to speak to our dead? Is it because they can’t carry our secrets away with them or because they can?

  “It was never you. I know that now. Mag gave me the ring, and I went back to the day you...she...what Sylvana did to you; to us. I know you can’t hear me, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness for jumping to conclusions, but I’m sorry. I’d have liked the chance to get to know you.”

  Witches aren’t supposed to cry, but then, I’m not like most of my kind. Or maybe I am.

  Depending on who you talk to, it is believed Fate Weavers—half witches and half children of Cupid—are nearly extinct. My familiar, Salem, says I’m the last, but Delta, a bounty hunter from Olympus, disagrees. According to her, there are more like me out there somewhere.

  As far as I can tell, we’re cosmic cogs in the wheel that determines the balance between good and evil. No pressure there, or anything.

  All I can do is keep orchestrating matches between soul mates much the same way I have since long before I had any idea that what I was had any bearing on what I did for a living. Just my way of being one up on those who prefer wreaking havoc and tipping the scales toward chaos. Such is the way of human nature.

  I’d go looking for others like me if I could, but I’m also the Keeper of the Balefire flame. A sacred job handed down from the very same grandmother whose stoned body currently loomed over me and a job only I could do. One that kept me on a short leash.

  The Balefire, once a wild and mighty thing, now warmed the hearth of my home. My magic fed the flame and the flame gave magic to all witches. Seems like a circular situation now I’m thinking about it. I’ll admit to being a little fuzzy on the exact details, but one thing was certain, my job didn’t come with either paid or unpaid vacations. I stayed put, or the fire went out. Simple as that.

  Besides, the Bow of Destiny, currently concealed in a box in my magical sanctum, had shattered into three pieces during the godmother’s attempt to wrest it from Sylvana after she betrayed me and tried take my birthright.

  Yeah, my mother, what a peach.

  Sylvana had planned, I could only assume, to use the bow in some nefarious scheme to find my father. A plan we’d foiled, but I’d still have to fix the weapon before I could wield it, and I had no idea how to go about repairing a tool of the gods.

  While my brain tried to chase down the technical term for a fixer of bows, a flutter of red at the base of the statue drew my focus. One and then another blood-colored rose burst into bloom. Feather-soft petals sent their fragrance into the air like a gift, and I snapped my gaze back to Clara’s face, searching for any sign of movement or change. She looked the same as ever, except knowing she might still be alive inside that stone prison made my heart ache.

  “I will figure out a way to free you, Grandmother, that’s a promise.” Between trying to figure out how to repair the bow and embrace my Fate Weaver heritage, it looked like my life was about to get even more complicated than usual.

  My mixed heritage had come as quite a shock. I’d always known I’d tend the Balefire flame, and that I had an affinity for putting couples together, but I’d taken both of those things for two sides of the same coin, and it had a witch on it—not a god or a heart-tipped arrow.

  Descended from wicked, murdering witches had colored my life with a truth I’d come to accept, and now it looked as though I’d been wrong about that, too. Perhaps, fate wished me plagued by unanswered questions and erroneous assumptions.

  Every truth I knew about Fate Weaving would fit neatly in a thimble and leave room for two pieces of pocket lint and a fingertip—most of it being hearsay even if it had come from trusted sources. As much as Salem and Delta tried to help, there were gaps in their information big enough to drive a truck through.

  Learning that Clara had not supported my father’s wish to train me as a Fate Weaver raised concerns I couldn’t properly define. If I succeeded in reversing the spell that incapacitated her, would she accept the decision I had made to follow in Cupid’s footsteps? You know, once I figured out how to find them.

  Or would Clara, who had missed out on the debauchery of the last couple of decades on earth, perhaps come to see that the world collectively stood in line to buy tickets for a trip. To Hades in a hand basket.

  I was still contemplating the ramifications of my visit to the past when the present intruded in the form of a white van with colorful advertising splashed down the side. The vehicle I had dubbed the Faerie Van of Party Planning rocketed down the street and missed tearing the bumper off a Jeep by a narrow margin. My faerie godmothers were home, and it was time to tell them what I’d seen.

  Stepping into the house, I heard excited female voices punctuated by one with a deeper tone drifting toward me.

  “Hi Honey,” my boyfriend, Mackintosh Clark met me in the hallway looking a little pale after his ride with Evian at the wheel. He hugged me and whispered in my ear, “She’s a maniac. How long has she had her license?”

  “Don’t ask.” I pulled his head down for a kiss and a moment of peace before I broke the news of my latest escapade. At least they couldn’t peg me for being impetuous since my trip to the past had been completely unplanned. I mean, come on, if I’d meant to go wandering through time, I’d have at least put on a decent outfit.

  Growing up with three—and now four—women who crawled out of bed looking breathtakingly gorgeous had forced me to develop a healthy body image. Otherwise, I’d have found a rock to live under and never shown my face in the light of day.

  As mere mortals go, I do all right in the looks department. It’s a family thing, apparently. We Balefire women seem to run to a particular pattern and we’re cut from pretty cloth.

  Kin earned about a million boyfriend points by not appearing dazzled whenever the godmothers were around—and another million for working with them on the music portion of their newly hatched business, Enchanting Events. Initial concepts for the Martinez/Kirkenbaum wedding were the focus of the day, and I hated to bust up the excited chatter, but I had big witchy news.

  I lived in the same house where prior generations of my family have kept the Balefire flame alive. Once I hit the age where most people move out on their own, it would have been the expected thing for my faerie godmothers to return to the Faelands. Had I
come into my magic at the age of fourteen like every other witch, perhaps that would have been the case, but I was a late bloomer. Heck, I was almost a non-bloomer. A dud flower.

  It had taken ten long years and a gift from my returned-from-the-dead mother—who waltzed into my life in disguise, no less—to trigger my Awakening. Shock number one in a series of changes that left me reeling. My ring-assisted blast from the past probably wouldn’t be the last of them, either. My life had gone from slightly boring to totally crazy in a matter of weeks.

  The godmothers choice to stay and protect me meant my smallish house had become home to three larger than life personalities. As a concession, they had added their own wing onto the back which, you’d think, would have granted me a modicum of privacy. You’d be wrong.

  We all shared the kitchen—which was a lie we conveniently chose to believe because that area of the house was not where my talents lie. Consequently, it fell under faerie domain and was the most frequented area in the house.

  All our most important conversations happened there, and so did the bitterest of battles. I’ve lost count over how many times the faeries have nearly demolished the room during one of their epic fights.

  My current news shouldn’t set off any sort of faerie apocalypse, but you never knew about these things. I let them have a few minutes to fuss with the makings of a light meal before I dropped the bomb.

  “I used a time traveling ring to go back to the past and watch what happened the day you all came to live here.”

  The four faeries froze in an approximation of Clara’s stoning, except with bugged out eyes and slack-jawed shock riding their faces.

  “You did what with a what, now?” Recovering the fastest, Vaeta, the newest addition to the household demanded answers while the other three continued to stare at me like I’d grown a second head.

  I guessed I should have eased them into it.

  “My grandmother had a time traveling ring, and I used it to go back to the day when she fought with Sylvana. Accidentally.” I slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar and added that last bit to help soften the blow. “And I learned a lot about what happened that day.”

  Kin took the seat beside me and when his leg brushed against mine, I felt the tension in his muscles. It wasn’t hard to figure out the cause when the air had gone heavy and warm.

  Did I mention the godmothers are elemental faeries? Each held dominion over her own element—earth for Terra, Soleil was fire, and Evian controlled water.

  Rounding out the foursome, Vaeta’s affinity with the element of air was probably the culprit in the looming feeling in the atmosphere. The most recent addition to our home, she carried the nickname Airy Faerie—one I wouldn’t recommend using unless you’ve always had a deep desire to see what the inside of a tornado looks like.

  After taking a deep breath, I launched into my story and gave the most salient point first.

  “We already knew Clara didn’t kill Sylvana, but she didn’t kill anyone else, either.”

  Kin stroked my right hand with his guitar-string calloused fingers the whole time, squeezing gently whenever he felt my muscles tense. Like I said, best boyfriend ever. Golden blond curls that looked even cuter since he’d let them grow out a little tumbled above deep-set, chocolate brown eyes, full lips, and a strong jawline. It got even better further down, but I couldn’t let myself get distracted by thoughts of his body during an emotional conversation, so I averted my gaze.

  “They fought, and Cu...my father was there to make it worse. Magics got tossed around, and then Clara grabbed the bow and tried to shoot Sylvana, but he jumped in front of her and took the hit instead. It did something to him and he took off right before the two women wound up for the final salvo.”

  Compared to the magical fights the three, and now four, sisters indulged in from time to time, the one that took my family had been tame in comparison. Still, it was odd that not a one of them offered a comment. Worse, they all had on their best closed-off faces so I couldn’t tell what they were thinking. Instead, I just blurted out the end and waited.

  “Clara tossed what looked like a binding curse at the same time Sylvana shot black witchfire. The spells crossed, and bing, boom, bang. That was a few minutes before you guys showed up and saw the results.”

  The air cleared enough to make breathing easier while I waited for a response.

  “How does one accidentally use a time traveling ring?” Uh oh. Terra had gone all lofty on me. Not a good sign.

  As patiently as I could, I explained what had happened and then turned the conversation back on her.

  “Since we’re being candid with one another, can you explain to me why Clara’s faerie godmother didn’t step in before it went that far? I know for sure if I’d been in that situation, you would all be there to protect me. Isn’t this the type of cataclysmic event godmothers are supposed to prevent?”

  Soleil and Evian exchanged a look, then turned their eyes to Terra. “Explain it to her. It’s time.”

  Terra sighed. “You’re right. Lexi, please forgive us for not being completely honest with you, but there are certain things we’re not supposed to talk about. We’ve broken enough rules that I suppose one more is just a drop in the bucket.” She settled back into her chair, and I mimicked her action even though the tension in my shoulders turned to knots and refused to budge.

  “What you saw; us taking you in like that—is forbidden.”

  “Forbidden? By whom?” Was there a council of faeries somewhere who made the rules? Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I indulged in a brief mental image of the three of them standing in front of a group of their peers trying to explain why they’d chosen to raise a witch and worse, why they’d thought she needed a pink unicorn for a pet. “The faerie police?”

  Taking my humor for snark, Terra flashed me a warning look, and I zipped it. The next one might be dirty, and Terra’s version of dirty looks tended to be literal; I didn’t have time for a shower right now.

  “This kind of thing just isn’t done for reasons too numerous to share. We’ve been in and out of hot water ever since.”

  Soleil ran a hand through her fiery hair, "Tuning our magic to the Balefire was a big no-no." Then she wrinkled her nose when her sisters shushed her.

  “I don’t understand. The Queen of Faerie is a Balefire witch, for heaven’s sake. Why would Esmerelda punish you for taking care of me?”

  “It’s not Esmerelda, dear.” Soleil interjected, “It’s just that for us the whole of witchkind is new. I know it seems like an eternity, but in Fae terms, a few thousand years isn’t all that long. We're still settling in with our role in your lives.”

  Evian raised an eyebrow, “You know it’s not a godmother’s job to prevent all harm from coming to her charge. We don’t have the power to alter a witch’s will. Otherwise, we’d be no better than the Unseelie, making decisions for others, taking matters into our own hands. That decree came directly from Esmerelda; we were given leniency and allowed to raise you, but only if we agreed to certain conditions.”

  “And we did, for a while anyway,” Terra looked chagrined, “but then you took that spill off the roof the year you were eight, and I set the bone in your leg before it even occurred to me to take you to the hospital. That started the downward spiral.”

  “What exactly can you do, then?”

  “We’re allowed to protect our charges, but only from certain types of danger—outside forces and the like. Your mother and grandmother ended up where they did strictly through their own actions. Two spells crossed—badly intentioned spells from what you described—and intention is not something we meddle with. It's a fine line. Like I could assist you with that eaflock you summoned because you didn’t mean to call a faebeast. It’s just, well—”

  Evian, never one to keep quiet for long, cut Terra off, “Typically, a godmother isn’t allowed to show herself; she’d intervene without her charge ever knowing she had been there. Make it look like an accident or just good
luck. It’s our mission to stay out of sight and perform our little miracles anonymously. We don’t grant wishes, we don’t send Cinderella to the ball, and we don’t live with our charges. Those Grimm brothers muddied the waters for all of us even if they did get some of the basics right.”

  With hindsight, I could see the times the faeries had brazenly and unapologetically broken the rules to be the best parents they could. It hurt to know how often I'd taken for granted the knowledge that Terra was just a whisper away? I asked of them so many things, never realizing each act carried a price. I owed an overwhelming debt, and I knew they’d never allow me to attempt to pay it back.

  “I’m so sorry. You will not put yourselves on the line for me anymore. I mean it—all of you. The best thing you could do for me is to stay safe yourselves. No more protection; no more of anything you’re not supposed to be doing.”

  Terra pursed her lips, “Whatever you say, dear.” Yeah, like I believed that.

  “I’m serious, Terra. I won’t have you paying for my debts.”

  She steadfastly avoided my gaze and returned to the topic of my trip to the past. “Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say it’s a great relief to know the truth. I guess it’s a good lesson in how evidence can be deceiving. Or about jumping to conclusions.”

  A tender smile curved Terra’s lips and I looked up to see it mirrored on her sister’s face as well, “If you’re asking us whether or not we are sorry for how we handled things, though, the answer is no. You, Lexi, were worth the cost at any price. We’ll help you however we can. I’m not crazy about sharing you with anyone else, but that’s selfish—so if you’re able to restore Clara, we’ll just have to figure out how we all fit together.”

  Unshed tears glistened at the corners of my eyes, and I was beginning to think I’d better start carrying a bottle of water to replenish my fluids if I was going to continue to cry that much.

  “It hurts my heart we didn’t discover the truth sooner,” Evian added solemnly.