No Chance in Spell Read online

  “Blueberry pancakes?” Soleil carrying the plate around the table was a subtle dig at Vaeta, who usually used her magic to jet serving dishes around the room. Not that the others weren’t capable of doing the same, it had simply become Vaeta’s task ever since she came to live with us. All Clara had to do was point the finger at Rhys, and her sisters were willing to throw out the baby with the bath water.

  Vaeta’s response was a complete freeze-out, and none of us had seen much more of her lately than her back side as she tripped happily out the door to do whatever it is you do when you’re cavorting with a demon. It amazes me sometimes that I grew up with any sort of moral compass given the pettiness practiced by my role models.

  She'd had fallen off my list of favorite people, too, but I was starting to feel a little bad about it. After all, who hasn’t had a thing for a bad boy at least once in their lives? I might have made a stab at brokering peace if the doorbell hadn’t interrupted breakfast. The insistent peal of the chime triggered a burst of head-throbbing harmony from the bow that reminded me of the way two barking dogs feed off the sound of each other.

  An ancient weapon with all the impulse control of a Schnauzer and it lives in my head. My life gets weirder every day. Another chime sounded, this one more frantic than the last, and I realized no one else planned to answer the door.

  “Nobody move, I’ll get it.” I rolled my aching eyeballs in their sockets and went to see who was keeping me from blueberry fluffiness. Honestly, Soleil’s pancakes are like heavenly clouds of yum.

  “Don’t look at me, I don’t actually live here,” Kin mumbled through a mouth full of pancake, his eyes half-closed as he chewed unapologetically. He can say what he wants, but he’d miss hanging out here in the mornings if I moved into his place. My idea of making breakfast involves a toaster oven and a pack of frozen waffles.

  A steamroller waited on the other side of the door.

  “Oh Lexi, is it true? I’ve just heard the news, and I wanted to come see for myself.” At least I think that was what she said, it wasn’t easy to hear with my head pounding and my face pressed up against the bodice of a hot pink sundress that lacked the wherewithal to adequately cover a pair of absolutely ginormous ta-tas.

  Violet Bloodgood. The name swam up through layers of memory. One of the witches who came to every Balefire celebration, but wasn’t a carrier of the flame.

  “Oh, dear. Let me fix that for you.”

  Before I could ask what, Violet laid soft palms on either side of my head and pulled the headache out of me so fast I hardly had time to process what was happening. An empathic witch and a healer.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Violet tucked a lock of no-way-that’s-her-natural-color blond hair behind one ear and presented me with a cheerful smile. “Better? I thought so. Now, about Clara—is it true? Millie told me she heard it from Bellona, who was shopping at Athena’s when she thought she saw your grandmother walking by with that sister of hers. The one that used to live in the house of sticks until someone huffed and puffed all over it.”

  How she could talk so fast and not have her tongue dry out was beyond me.

  “Gran! There’s someone here to see you.” I got at least that much out of the barrage of words.

  Violet bounced and jiggled her way down the hall. She had to turn sideways to thread her way past bins and boxes labeled Enchanting Events. Making a mental note to finally have that conversation with Terra about the mess, I gave my grandmother a saucy wink when we burst into the equally crowded kitchen and noted the sliding doors leading to the patio were open slightly.

  Aunt Mag must have moved fast to make it out in time. My grandmother’s eyes cut to mine, then rolled up to the ceiling. The last thing she wanted was to be co-opted into a gab session with the biggest gossip in of all witchdom, but I hadn’t given her a choice.

  I’ll admit it gave me a great deal of pleasure to watch my grandmother’s face slam into the same spot mine had occupied only a few minutes before. Violet went all out with her hugs, and it didn’t seem fair I was the only one covered in a thick fog of Chantilly Lace cologne. I coughed, partly to expel the cloying scent, and partly to cover a giggle I doubt Clara would have appreciated.

  “Don’t leave, Lexi. There were several reasons I came here today, and one is to see if there’s a problem with the Balefire again. I assume it’s all right to discuss this in mixed company?” Lips coated in candy-colored lipstick pursed and kohl-lined eyes slid in Kin’s direction while Violet searched for a way to be diplomatic.

  “Yes, of course,” I responded dryly, lifting a subtle hand toward the godmothers to indicate they should mind their own business. Faeries are easily offended, and quick to react. I somehow doubted their involvement would improve the situation.

  Violet cleared her throat and continued, “Ever since last Beltane, we’ve all enjoyed having that little bit of extra oomph that comes when the Balefire burns strong. The past few days, though, things have been...” Another pause. “Well, it hasn’t been good. Look, we all felt bad when it took so long for you to Awaken, but keeping our powers balanced during those lean years required a lot of extra muscle, and it’s been nice being able to perform complex spells with ease again.”

  Unapologetic, Violet leaned sideways to get a glimpse of the fireplace and the Balefire which had chosen that moment to shoot bright pink sparks across the rug. Lucky for me, the carpet was protected by Soleil’s best anti-scorch charm.

  Clara and I exchanged another glance, and this one contained no amusement at all. This trouble with the Balefire seemed to be having far-reaching repercussions, and I'm not sure either one of us had given the matter a proper amount of thought.

  “Nothing more than a minor glitch, Vi. Easily set to rights.” Easing her way out of Violet’s clutches, Clara put the kitchen island between herself and the overly affectionate witch before continuing. “Was there anything more? We have some pressing matters to...”

  Moving through the kitchen like she owned it, Violet chose a plate from the glass-doored cabinet where they were stored, filled it with a stack of pancakes, and plunked down next to Soleil with a mile-wide grin on her face.

  “Pass the syrup.”

  I curled my lips under to hold back a smile at the look on my grandmother’s face.

  “The blueberries were especially succulent this year. Real shame about Tansy Blankenship, don’t you think?” Violet tucked into her breakfast with gusto, and before anyone could answer or ask if she knew anything about the case, she’d moved on to her next topic. “How perfectly awful these past few years must have been for you, Clara. It’s a mercy you slept through the whole experience.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  Violet paled. “You couldn’t have been. Clara, are you telling me you were awake the whole time you were...during your unfortunate...ahem...incarceration?”

  “Unfortunately.” Dry as dust, Clara’s answer triggered a wave of pink to wash over Violet’s face.

  “So you heard the things certain people might have said to you?”

  What was I missing? The conversation reeked of unclear subtext.

  “Every tiny detail.” The sound of a fork tinkling against china signaled the end of Violet’s appetite. “As you know, I pride myself on being the soul of discretion. After all, a good high priestess is one who helps her sister witches solve their...” A pregnant pause, “...most delicate problems.”

  Two inches of cleavage heaved when Violet sighed, “Too bad you couldn’t have reined in your more...ahem...violent tendencies. The coven just hasn’t been the same without that Balefire touch.” Leaving her dirty plate on the table and ignoring more than one sidelong faerie glance, Violet wended her way toward the parlor as if she’d been invited to stay and visit awhile.

  I know I wasn’t the only one who noticed the way her gaze kept straying toward the fireplace, but what was I supposed to do? Ask her to leave?

  “Come sit by me, Clara. I’ll bring you up to date
on everything you missed.”

  Call me a coward, but I used work as an excuse and hauled Kin out of there before Violet could draft me into the recent history lesson.

  Chapter Eleven

  “WHERE DO YOU THINK you’re going?” Gran’s voice followed me as I edged toward the door.

  “Uh, I’ve got a work thing. Big deal, lots of love to spread.” Buh-bye.

  Kin and a dirty look followed me out the door.

  “You’re going to the office? I thought we were...”

  “Shhh. We’re going to the market, I have a thing there, it won’t take long. It’s Saturday, the sun is shining, and I’ve got a hankering for roasted beet salad for dinner tonight, with goat cheese.”

  “You know how to make roasted beet salad?” He teased.

  “No, but I’m sure we can figure it out.” I twined my fingers with his. “And I know where to get the best goat cheese.”

  Comprehension dawned. “By we, you really mean me.”

  “You’re the one with mad grilling skills, and you can teach me. I can brew a potion, that’s like cooking, right?”

  Thank goodness Kin is one of those boyfriends who knows it’s smart to indulge his girlfriend when it comes to things like farmer’s markets and yard sales. I have a sneaking suspicion he actually likes chick flicks, too, but instead of pointing it out, I’ve chosen to return the favor and be a good girlfriend. Why rock the boat when it means I get to watch Ryan Reynolds do his thing anytime I want?

  Besides, there was no way I was leaving him alone at my house today. I always worry about his safety, especially since he seems to be developing a talent for making himself a target for my enemies. It’s one thing to worry about outsiders but protecting him from my own family borders on the ridiculous.

  Unfortunately, with the Balefire acting wonky and the godmothers on permanent edge, the possibility that he could get caught in the crossfire was just not something I was willing to risk. Removing the concern would fall nicely into the pro column of the whole moving in with him list of factors to consider. At least Clara and Mag were around to balance out the wrath until I made my final decision.

  My life had begun to feel like a high-wire balancing act to stay in the middle ground between witch and demigod, and learn how to tame the Balefire flame with another, more powerful Keeper living under my roof. Or, I supposed, it was really her roof. Things were complicated.

  How to stay sane in the face of so many variables was a complete mystery to me, but I was trying my best. The permanent imprint of teeth on the tip of my tongue proved how many times I’d clamped down on my own irritation and frustration, and yet complaining made me feel like a big crybaby.

  Sure, my life had changed in unexpected ways, but I’d gained more family out of the deal, so it balanced. Of course, I felt a bit stressed out about work stuff, but now I had the Bow of Destiny on my side and could make a bigger difference than ever before. Once I figured out the rules for using it.

  Baby steps might keep me from plummeting off the wire.

  “...I hate playing phone tag, don’t you?” Guess I’d better give back my A+ girlfriend medal. Kin had been talking while I was preoccupied.

  “Yes, it’s the worst.”

  Or close to the worst. I’d trade a rousing game of it now for a moment of silence. After an extended period of relative quiet, the bow had decided it was speaking to me again. Gentle persuasion toned down the volume, but not the distraction.

  It seemed to have something to sing about for nearly every person I passed; sometimes a gentle hum of satisfaction, or a lament for those who were, I assumed, as yet unmatched but not quite ready to meet their mate. Once in a while, it would forget and crank up the tunes again. Loud enough to rattle my teeth until I muttered the command under my breath and my not-so-silent companion mercifully lowered the volume by a few decibels.

  It worked for a few minutes.

  All my effort went into listening as attentively to Kin as I could while trying to assess the sounds. The music, I knew, was one key to unlocking my Fate Weaving potential.

  Port Harbor’s historic district was more crowded than usual, vendor tents full to overflowing with locally grown fruits, vegetables, flowers, and potted plants from this year’s harvest. Saturdays, when the square transformed into a farmer’s market, were my favorite days to wander the cobbled streets.

  As if in answer to a prayer, Kin said, “Hey, there’s Darius. Mind if I go have a word with him about the schedule for next week? I promise I’ll only talk shop...”

  “...Just long enough for me to hit my favorite vendors. Go on, I’ll be around when you’re done.” I gave him a kiss that promised it would be worth his while to find me later and turned left while he went right.

  With Kin occupied, it was time for a little test. Orienting myself using the most plaintive tune, I locked in on a man in his forties: attractive face, not much fashion sense, and definitely lonely. He needed the goddess and her pointy friend more than most.

  Hello? Dead-eye bow shooter, are you in there? Calling to her didn’t work, so I squinched my eyes, tensed my whole body, and tried to force her out into the open. The chuckle I heard came from my imagination. Probably.

  Nothing worked, so I finally pulled out one of my enchanted business cards and moved close enough to drop it in the bag of apples dangling from his left hand. If you can’t shoot them, match them the old fashioned way. Maybe FootSwept was in less dire straits than I thought.

  At the first stall, I snagged a bunch of fragrant lavender and tucked it into the canvas tote hanging from my shoulder, tossing a couple extra dollars into the tip jar on my way past. Of course, we have herbs growing in the back yard, almost every kind you can name, but it feels good to support local growers.

  “Hiya, Lexi, the usual?” A plump, red-faced man with a stubble-covered chin waved a hand and winked in my direction.

  “Extra tomatoes today, and make it two, please.” We chatted about the end of growing season while Frank piled organic greens onto homemade flour tortillas, loaded the wraps with veggies and his secret recipe vinaigrette, and expertly rolled them up into sheets of brown paper for Kin and me to enjoy come lunch time.

  Finally, I located my quarry. Hannah Aarons’ mother, Emily, displayed artisanal cheeses in a booth toward the back of the market, and the opportunity to combine business with pleasure didn’t hurt my feelings one iota.

  As I approached, Emily Aarons, in what seemed like a practiced spiel, explained the process of cultivating goat’s milk to a young woman who listened avidly.

  Perched on a stool next to her mother, Hannah, the sour expression on her face proclaiming she’d rather be anywhere else than hocking what amounted to rotten milk at the crack of dawn on the weekend, played with her cell phone. When she caught sight of me, she grinned and put down the phone. I squelched her greeting with a wink of my eye while scanning the contents of the table thoughtfully.

  “What can I help you find today?” Emily asked with a genuine smile. Wide eyes the color of toasted hazelnuts framed with thick lashes showed a few deep-set lines as if the expression were her default—but a few thinner ones around her forehead spoke of a rising stress level in recent years. She looked like an older version of her daughter and was a prime example of how a healthy lifestyle can slow the ravages of time. If Emily Aarons had walked into my office, I’d have thought her an easy match based on appearance alone, for she radiated warmth and vitality.

  “I’m not really sure, what would you suggest?” I feigned ignorance and elicited a flurry of a response.

  “Well, that depends on your tastes. Here, take a cracker and try this cranberry coated chevre. It’s fabulous with wine and a nice, crusty bread.” I closed my eyes with pleasure and got distracted from my mission for a split second as sweet and tart berries blended with the creamy, tangy goat cheese.

  “That is excellent. Do you make all of this yourself?” I snapped my focus back to my goal and fished for information.

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sp; Emily hesitated for a fraction of a second, her forehead wrinkling as though she were trying to push away an unpleasant thought. “Yes, and my daughter, Hannah here, helps me.” She wrapped a protective arm around Hannah, but you don't work with people as much as I do and not develop the ability to sense when they're feeling fragile.

  “I help milk the goats in the mornings, and after school.” Hannah beamed but couldn’t hold back an eye roll. “They’re cute but smelly.”

  I chatted with Emily long enough for my LPS to kick in and discovered that unless it was off by a mile, her match was also at the market. Coincidence or fate?

  Had to be fate.

  Planning to follow my gut and scope out her match, I picked a few items from the table and handed over my cash. Just as Emily deposited the change into my left hand, Hannah passed me the bag of cheese, and as both mother and daughter’s fingers contacted mine, I got caught up in another vision.

  This was becoming a regular thing.

  That might be an understatement. I didn’t so much get caught up as sucked into it. I watched Hannah Aarons’ life play out in a slow motion montage, musical accompaniment provided by the Bow of Destiny. You’d have thought when I absorbed the essence of the bow, it would have done a quick scan of its new host and tailored its playlist to my liking. As it was, twangy country tunes didn’t really float my boat, and elevator music was nearly as far down on my list. But, that’s neither here nor there.

  What I saw proved Hannah's future happiness rested on a pivot point anchored in the decisions her parents would make over the coming weeks. For her sake, I hoped the man my gut said was right for Emily would turn out to be Hannah's father. If not, the girl was headed down a path that led nowhere good.

  I know, it sounds a lot like the butterfly effect; one small change influencing all the future events of a person’s life—but doesn’t that make sense? We’re never the same person from one moment to another. We know more, have felt more, have changed our minds and chosen an alternate destiny every second of our lives from the instant we’re born until the second we die. Did that mean affecting positivity was pointless? No, it means it’s necessary if we want to keep the world from going to hell in a handbasket. We still have to live in it, after all, and some of us for longer than others.