No Chance in Spell Read online

  Who wants to tell their grandkids they got together because a computer told them they had points of compatibility? Okay, plenty of people, and good for them because love is love, after all. As for me, I try to give my clients a really good story, and most of the time, I make it work.

  Flix mans a high-end hair styling salon out back where we pamper the lovelorn.

  Or he used to, anyway.

  Flix and I had been on the outs ever since his boyfriend, Carl, got tangled up with my arch-nemesis, Serena Snodgrass—daughter of Calypso, Gran’s replacement as coven high priestess, no less—and I’d refused to let him unleash a can of Faerie-brand whoop-ass on the pregnant witch.

  I’m not saying she didn’t deserve it, but she happened to be carrying my half-niece or nephew in her belly. My conscience wouldn’t allow any harm to come to the babe just because its mother was dumb enough to get involved with a jerk like my half-brother, Jett.

  And thank the Goddess I hadn’t. The chances of Calypso welcoming Gran back into the fold with open arms were about the size of a flea, and if I’d let Flix loose on Serena, they’d shrink to where you’d need a microscope to see them.

  Knowing what I would find, I opened the connecting door leading into the darkened salon where a fine layer of dust showed it had been several days since he’d come to work. I avoided making eye contact with the oversized glamor shot of Flix mounted above his chrome barber’s chair and retreated to the front office.

  If this kept up, he’d break our record for staying mad. I was the current holder of the BFF belt for bitchy behavior with a solid three weeks of cold shoulder action following a stupid argument over a board game. We’d be fine. Eventually. I hoped.

  Finished with my final appointment of the day, I was squaring up a pile of papers when I noticed the edge of a hot pink sheet of card stock sticking out from underneath. A stray flier for the event that happened on the last night I’d seen Flix gave me a pang when I saw it.

  Worse than the pang, it served as a reminder of some unfinished business. The matter of the most annoying client in the history of ever: one Joshua Owen. I’m ashamed to admit my heart had skipped a beat the day that gorgeous hunk of a man walked into the office. Turns out I’m shallow sometimes.

  Hey, I might have a boyfriend, but I’m not blind, and even if what was inside turned into letdown, the package had been especially impressive. Appreciation had almost immediately given way to irritation when he opened his mouth and essentially made a mockery of my life’s work. The man had the gall to offer me a bonus for setting him up on dates with an even dozen women. What did he think I was, some kind of matchmaking madam pimping out my clients?

  Given my distaste for the man, I hadn’t considered him a top priority client despite feeling the tingle that signaled he had a soul mate nearby. But the bow—which at that point had still been broken and could only whine plaintive tunes in my ear—seemed to think differently.

  Now that the bow was fixed, I was dying to finally shoot someone with it. What’s more, the ick factor had somewhat dissipated once I knew I wasn’t actually going to messily pierce anyone’s heart with a pointy arrow.

  Clara seemed no worse for the wear, and the one she’d been struck with had been tipped with flaming Balefire. Joshua’s physical well-being wasn’t high on my priority list, so he’d make a perfect test subject even if it would be difficult to resist shooting him in the backside instead of the heart.

  Centering him in my thoughts, and taking a moment to tune in, my internal LPS—Love Positioning System, as I’d taken to calling it—extended its reach from a spot behind my navel and pinpointed Mr. Owen’s exact location. Ten blocks east of the office, at a pub in the financial district. The fourth booth from the left, to be exact. I checked my watch. It was half past noon and assuming Joshua took long lunches, I might catch him if I hurried.

  Trekking it on foot, I contemplated getting myself one of those little fitness tracking devices everyone raves about. The kind that tells you how many miles you’ve walked throughout the course of the day. With Pinky, my beloved scooter, reduced to a pile of rubble (thanks again to Serena Snodgrass), I’d probably max out the display. With lunch time traffic, a cab would take longer than walking, so I hoofed it until quaint period architecture gave way to the clean, modern lines of the section of town that held Port Harbor’s few skyscrapers.

  I fished a pair of dark sunglasses out of my purse and began twisting my hair into a bun before it occurred to me to cast a glamour over my face if I didn’t want to be recognized.

  A glamour was one of the spells I'd worked hard to perfect. Even witches have the occasional bad hair day.

  Disguised to my satisfaction, I settled myself onto a bench across the street from where Joshua lunched. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to pull a similar stunt, and I chose my position carefully, half-obscured by a large concrete planter filled with cigarette butts and situated catty-corner from the restaurant door.

  Then I waited. And waited. And waited some more. Apparently, there had been no need to rush, because what I’d taken for a leisurely lunch turned out to be a business meeting slated to last half the day. Nearly two hours later, I’d counted the bricks on every surrounding building, cataloged how many foreign versus domestic cars lined the streets, and completed three extremely frustrating levels on Candy Crush Saga.

  When Joshua finally pushed through the glass double doors surrounded by several men in nearly identical black business suits, the bow began to sing a tune that signified, I assumed, something about the target’s psyche. I wouldn’t have guessed that under all that yuppie attitude Joshua was actually a heavy metal kind of guy. Drums and bass vied for attention, pounding through my skull like a sledgehammer.

  Distracted by the sudden pain, I almost missed it when the restaurant door opened and two women stepped out. Even without the bow stepping up the tempo, my LPS homed in on the pair. One of them was Joshua’s perfect match, I was sure of it.

  Was it the gorgeous blond dressed in a Vogue-worthy silk jumpsuit the color of heavy cream paired with dangerously high stiletto heels, and a wide belt with a gleaming gold buckle? Given his proclivities, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume Miss Business Suit was the one.

  Or was it the other woman? Quietly attractive, well-dressed but not flashy. Nope, way too tame for Mr. Hook-Me-Up. My money was on the first one, but I had to know for sure.

  Nothing for it but to apply the touch test, so I double-checked my glamour and hauled off down the sidewalk. Pretending to be preoccupied with a phone call, I managed to pinball my way into all three of them.

  Miss B.S. never even raised a tingle of a vision. She impolitely called me a dog’s mother before she blew past Joshua with barely a nod. All of this registered only faintly with me because I was having a vision of Joshua staring at the more understated woman with stars in his eyes.

  When their entire future unfolded before me, I knew I’d squarely hit my mark. Justine was her name, and under Joshua’s shockingly tender care, she blossomed into a woman lit from the inside by the beauty that comes from being truly loved.

  It was so sweetly romantic, I closed my eyes to savor the moment.

  When I opened them again, I found myself holding an intangible, glowing representation of the bow I sure hoped nobody else could see. I bit my lip and waited for passersby to start pointing and screaming at the freak with the cocked weapon on the corner of a busy street. When nobody batted an eyelash, I shrugged off the worry.

  A gust of wind blew my hair into my face as I lowered my eye to the sight, and what I saw through it made me jump out of my skin. Actually, that’s not a half-bad analogy, considering the way it all went down. Slack-jawed, I watched as part of myself detached from the rest and stood, surrounded by pink smoke that curled up into hearts all around it—her—me.

  My astral self turned her head to face me, the hair of her chin-length bob obscuring one blazing pink eye, and winked at me with the other before fitting arrow to string.
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  If you ever tell anyone I said this, I'll deny it, but I envied her cool stance, the way she stood hipshod and ready to let the arrow fly. It takes a brave woman to break up a faerie fight, so it's not like a wimp or anything, but my inner goddess, if that was the best term, was badass.

  Still, it was something of a letdown to watch the whole thing unfold; I’d assumed it would be my flesh and blood self, and not some strangely-coiffed representation of me who would be doing the actual shooting. Sure, I’d made the decision to come here and weave Joshua’s fate, but now I felt a bit like the proverbial messenger, following orders rather than making them myself. Was I wielding the Bow of Destiny, or was it wielding me?

  Or was I really fractured into two disparate halves?

  Too bad there was no one I could ask. Thanks for not sending directions, Dad.

  Before I could curse my father out loud, she let the arrow fly.

  Insubstantial as a dream, it zinged through the throng of pedestrians to pierce Joshua’s heart, where it immediately disappeared into a rose-gold ball of light, along with the glowing arrow.

  For a split second, I could see it like an x-ray; one brief moment of silence as his heart skipped a beat and then began thumping again to a slightly different rhythm than it had before.

  The look on his face wasn’t pain, and it wasn’t exactly shock, either. Dumbfounded moron would have been a more accurate term, or maybe lovesick fool.

  Ever since I'd gained the ability to watch the fates of a match play out before my eyes, I'd had to maintain physical contact with both potential lovers. Then again, I usually spend more time pairing them up. This time, the images funneled through the bow in a rush, showing bits and pieces of Joshua and Justine’s past, present, and future.

  But it wasn't the lovebirds who commanded my attention, it was the bearer of the bow. While she watched the series of images, I watched her to see what she would do next.

  For all the good it did me, I might as well have been watching a snail race. One thing I could say, she had the best stone face I'd ever seen. Next to my grandmother's, of course. Not so much as the twitch of an eyelash betrayed her reaction when it felt like we were both sucked into a dream.

  You know the kind I mean. The ones where you’re playing the part of more than one person, and it's just plain weird.

  I felt three versions of goosebumps—theirs, mine, and hers—tingle across my skin as desire flooded my senses. I experienced hope and wonder that this person, this one perfect soul mate could stand before me and be mine. During those moments, I was Justine, and I was Joshua. Our breath caught, and my knees trembled when our lips touched for the first time.

  The world clicked into place, and my heart swelled with theirs during what I knew beyond all doubt was True Love’s Kiss.

  The vision faded like a chalk image being washed off the pavement and I came back to the present to see that I'd jumped the gun. In fairytales, when princess meets her prince, it's love at first sight. Justine and Joshua were candidates for true love's kiss, and so far, all they'd managed to share was a lingering look.

  Still, bow song swelled as if the union was a done deal and my pink-haired half faded. If she melded back into me, I never felt a thing.

  When the joyous notes faded, I noticed a shining symbol hovering over Joshua’s head. He walked away before I could get a good look, but I’d seen something like this before. A new wrinkle in the process, but I assumed the seed had been planted.

  Not that I worried, I’d just...sort of...been part of something wonderful. Something forever.

  Yeah, I had a goofy look on my face for an hour—and for more than one reason—but I didn’t care.

  Chapter Five

  COMING HOME TO CHAOS is the measure of a normal day around my house. Faerie tempers run hot, and every time the godmothers get riled up, my life turns into a powder keg with a two-inch fuse in a room full of matches. The day I shot Joshua, the fuse burned merrily as I strolled up the walkway to find three out of the four godmothers on the porch pressing their faces up against the front windows.

  “Can you see anything?” Evian changed positions and shoved in next to Soleil, which started a tussling match. Fire and water described more than their relationship, for those were the elements this particular pair of faeries commanded. Under the human glamour they habitually wore, my witch eyes saw the gloriousness of their real faces.

  Evian’s hair tumbled in luxurious sea-green waves and moved as though under water even when she was on land. One hand lifted while she contemplated using nails like mirrors to scratch out her sister’s eyes. Soleil, by contrast, carried all the colors of a fiery sunset in the short cap of hair that flickered around a face so full of pale beauty it would make a grown man cry.

  “Shut up, the both of you.” Godmother number three warned with a dire tone and narrowed eyes the color of pink marble. Terra shook back her mane of mahogany hair and pointed a finger at her sisters. Her affinity for the earth element meant she could crumble the ground at her sisters’ feet and allow it to swallow them whole if she so desired.

  Anyone with half a lick of common sense could see the fight brewing under the tension, and after the past few weeks of relative calm, they were due for a knock-down, drag-out battle.

  “What’s going on?” I nudged my way to one of the windows to peek inside but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Is it Clara?” With my grandmother back, and her sister Mag staying for an indeterminate amount of time, the house had surpassed its estrogen limit. An unintended side effect I should have foreseen, but didn’t.

  “Vaeta’s lost her mind,” Soleil muttered darkly. “Airheaded bimbo.”

  Uh oh. They were already at phase 2. Name calling.

  “What happened?” Asking might contribute to the problem, but if I didn’t know what was going on, how was I supposed to diffuse the situation?

  Terra harrumphed and turned back toward the window while Evian explained. “Vaeta’s dumber than a bag of dragon hair, that’s what.”

  Not at all informative, and faintly dismissive of dragons.

  Wait, what part of the dragon had hair? Maybe I didn’t want to know.

  “What did she do now?”

  “She’s in there with Rhys.” Soleil flopped down on a rocking chair coated in faded green paint. “Rhys.”

  I knew she expected me to have a clue who she meant, but I totally blanked it. “Rhys?”

  “We had to go drag her out of the underworld, and now he’s back to fill her head with nonsense and trap her again.”

  The demon who seduced Vaeta into following him to the underworld for a hundred years. Rhys.

  “You let a demon in my house? A demon? Are you kidding me?” I took two steps toward the door.

  Evian held up both hands in surrender. “It wasn’t us. Vaeta did it.”

  “Is my grandmother in there? Or Mag?” Granted, I hadn’t known Clara very long, but I suspected her stance on demons in the house would be similar to mine. No. Just no.

  “Left right after you did.” Terra peered inside again, and then jumped away from the window. “Here they come.”

  The three sisters scattered like roaches when a light goes on. Watching Terra vault the porch railing and land behind a shrub with the finesse of an Olympic athlete shocked me enough to leave me standing there with my mouth hanging open.

  I don’t know what I was expecting to see when Rhys stepped out onto the porch. Horns. Red eyes. A curling mustache and a goatee. Maybe a cape. All my perceptions of hellbeasts come from Hollywood.

  Vaeta’s demon filled out a pair of faded jeans that went well with a belt buckle with an elaborately carved symbol, and the cowboy hat he wore tipped down low on his brow. No wonder she followed him to hell. Strong jaw, sexy glint in his eye, and when he spoke, a voice worthy of sending shivers down a woman’s spine.

  He turned once and gave her such a heated look it made me blush—and I’m no prude. Vaeta’s porcelain-white skin remained tint-free, her face carefully
neutral while their gazes stayed locked as if an entire conversation went unsaid between them.

  An ear-splitting cacophony fired off in my head when the bow weighed in with its opinion. Unnecessary, since I’d already figured out this wasn’t a good match, thank you very much. And now I had a headache to go along with the pain in my behind.

  When he finally turned away, Vaeta shoved a strand of mist-colored hair behind one ear, and said to no one in particular, “What’s for dinner?”

  Thirty seconds of shocked silence followed the question—which is long enough to think about how long half a minute feels during these types of situations, but not long enough to frame a suitable response. Fury-born magic bled into the close space of the porch, and I knew what was coming next unless I could nip it in the bud. Faerie-tastrophe.

  “Let’s go inside.” Where the neighbors won’t see you do anything weird. Saying that last part out loud was the equivalent of throwing gas on a barbecue grill, but there are only so many ways to explain away flying pigs and Mrs. Chatterly had nothing better to do than spend a lot of time watching our house. Can’t imagine why.

  Three flouncing faeries led the way toward the kitchen, their favorite indoor fighting spot because what with the knives, cleavers, corkscrews, and the meat tenderizer there were more weapons in that room than any other. An absolute redundancy since the faeries themselves were the biggest weapons.

  “What’s everybody so upset about?” Vaeta had one of her clueless moments.

  “You let a demon into my house.” For once, I understood the impulse to throw a magical hammer at someone’s head. Where was Thor when I needed him?

  “Rhys? He was a perfect gentleman. You don’t have to worry about him, it’s fine.”

  A demon gentleman? Gullible much?

  “It’s not fine...” Before I could finish the sentence, faerie magic shot past my head so close I felt the breeze stir my hair. Vaeta deflected the curse, which fell on Soleil instead. Vines slithered up her legs like snakes to bind her limbs tightly against her body.