by Black, Regan
Henry meowed. Lily sighed. Would Cade never get here? She needed a distraction, or at least the assurance he wouldn't arrive if she started a little research.
The old folk-tales were too far removed from her day to day routine. She didn't trust her memory and would look those up. But Lily had no trouble recalling the old rumors about her personal birthmark.
The elves considered it the rarest of blessings to be born with a matchmaker's mark. The older women said a girl was fated to a romantic life with a dashing hero. The house leaders said it was the mark of peace, that somehow a union would be revealed that would enrich a particular house of elves. The old men told her tales of when they were considered dashing heroes and the younger men, when they reached marriageable age, just dashed away from her.
As folklore went, the glamour had quickly worn off. She'd started hiding and ignoring her mark, though it didn't do her much good when you had hair the color of sunlight rather than dark, polished mahogany.
Her mark tingled again, hotter now and impossible to ignore. She shoved at her sleeve to take a quick peek and stuttered in shock. More leaves and another vine had sprouted.
Her gasp startled the cat away from his dinner. Henry darted out the cat door and into the alley behind the building. Lily sat, transfixed by the patterns dancing over or under – or maybe within – her flesh.
No one had ever mentioned anything like this. Feeling nauseous, she covered it up and went to open the walk in cooler, making mental notes for the wholesaler tomorrow, thinking of bouquets for the display. Anything to take her mind off the hot, twitchy sensations.
She closed the cooler when the hinges on the back door creaked with Cade's arrival. "Sorry I'm late," he said, walking in with Henry in one arm and a cardboard box in the other.
"No problem. Henry just finished eating."
Cade set the box on her work table, then hefted the cat to look him in the eye. "You should lay off the food, bud." Putting the cat down, he wrapped Lily in a quick hug. "Long day? You look pale."
"Such flattery." She caught a whiff of fried rice and sesame. "And you're not even taking me out?"
Cade nodded. "Hope you don't mind."
"That's fine." She locked the back door and unbuttoned her coat. "But you have to carry it upstairs. Come on, Henry."
Lily led the small parade up to her apartment and into her sitting room. She turned on the TV for Cade, hoping it would distract him. She crossed to the little kitchen for plates and utensils and two bottles of beer while he unpacked the various boxes. "Got soup for you."
She stopped, frozen. As signs went, a thoughtful brother was right up there with the four horsemen of the apocalypse. "Great. Thanks." Better to play it cool. If it was wonton soup, it just meant he was cold. It was January. But if it was –
"Miso. Your favorite."
Yup. The end of her world. Or at least the end of her current peace. She lowered herself to the very edge of the sofa, her eyes on him. "What do you want?"
"I need to stay here for a few days."
She used her minimal magic to scan him for weapons. Finding no more than she expected, she glared at him as he shoveled lo mein noodles into his mouth. "Why?"
"Can't tell you that," he mumbled.
"How long?"
He shrugged.
She rolled her eyes and popped the lid on her miso soup. "Do you promise to do any and all heavy lifting I might require?"
He nodded. "Labor for room and board works for me."
Lily ate her soup and turned to the television. She didn't hear any of the opinions bouncing around the sports studio, though Cade occasionally muttered an agreement or contradiction. She nudged the remote closer to him, helped herself to his sesame chicken, and made a mental list of things to keep him too busy to notice her changing birthmark while he was intruding on her space.
Chapter Two
My dearest Amy,
Oh, I hate to start with a complaint but my client today was an absolute troll. Burning bridges is regrettable, but in this case it was necessary. I hope you never have to face a similar situation. It's wonderful to know you're in academia, hopefully giving the next generation some critical lessons on manners and thoughtfulness.
This consultant prays daily for your success!
However, it's not all terrible. The mountains are glorious and I always prefer cool evenings over hot muggy days.
All my love,
Auntie Camille
From his hotel room, Dare watched the sun rise over the city, and wished again he'd been allowed to travel his own way. Camping on a forest floor redolent with fresh growth and rich earth under a blanket of trees and starlight. When he returned to the Matchmaker's team he would double check his travel file, confirm the accuracy of the preferences listed, and then he would challenge Gilly, the Matchmaker's ornery office manager, to a duel.
The image of such an unequal match made him chuckle. For the first time in days, he felt lighter, more hopeful. Well, the second time, if he counted accurately. He glanced from the window to the vase of sunflowers on the table.
That encounter had been enlightening as well.
He'd wanted to get into the shop, get a better idea of where Amy had been before arriving there, to get a better read on the magic he'd felt there. But he couldn't talk his way in. What was it with the resistant women in this town? Fortunately, he'd picked up Amy's trail later and found no additional signs of magic intersecting with her yesterday. A good sign, really.
He'd intended to toss the flowers, having no need of them after his ploy failed, but when she'd handed them over, he'd experienced a moment of such profound comfort. Comfort and contentment beyond anything he'd ever known.
He'd been a block away before he realized he'd been enchanted, even through the barriers he'd raised to protect himself and hide his intentions. Curious. The florist was more than she projected to the rest of her community and while he still hadn't remembered the details, he knew he'd seen her somewhere before.
Reluctantly, he pulled his thoughts away from the florist and back to Amy and his purpose. He knew she'd spent some time in the shop with the florist and Dare wondered if they were friends. There was no note to that effect in the minimal background information Gilly had provided, but if it was a casual or new friendship, he might be able to work it to his advantage.
Poring over the options, it startled him to realize he was staring into the bright faces of the sunflowers. So the flowers weren't ever going to meet his mother, but that didn't mean he couldn't put them to good use elsewhere. Picking up the Matchmaker's letter to Amy, he tucked it into the ribbon on the vase and decided to deliver the flowers to her office this morning.
~*~
Lily woke with the sunrise, her body in tune with the rhythm of the day as well as a florist's need to start early. Moving swiftly and silently through her morning routine so Cade could sleep, she donned another work tee and jeans. Holding her breath, she risked a glance at her arm. No new transformations and a lovely absence of tingling. She blew herself a kiss in the mirror as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, calling it a perfect start to what would be a very good day.
The perfect start hit a speed bump at the couch. Her brother was absent, but not the mess he so often left behind. Knowing his special task force demanded precision, she'd never understood why the neatness requirement didn't spill over into his personal life. Specifically when he was at her place.
Determined to be pleasant and mature before she kicked his butt, she pasted a smile on her face as she descended the stairs to the back room.
"Morning." Cade gave her a guilty smile, decorated with red velvet cupcake crumbs and a smear of cream cheese frosting.
"Mm-hmm. Is that the last one?"
He shrugged, refusing to make eye contact.
She snarled at him on her way to the coffee pot. There was only so much a sister could tolerate and he'd crossed a line. "Fine. Add a trip to the bakery to your to-do list. And you're taking me out toni
ght. I'm not cooking for you, you sloppy, gluttonous –"
"Careful, little sis." Cade wagged a finger at her. She wanted to bite it off. "You know better than that."
How dare he come here, asking favors, eating her cupcakes, and calling her little? While she fumed and considered which of the few charms she could work perfectly might bother him most, he gulped the last of his coffee.
"Call the bakery and start a tab for me. Duty calls." Showing a small measure of sense, he rinsed his mug at the sink and swept his trash into the can. He was smart enough not to try the usual hug and kiss goodbye.
She glared him out the door, wishing he'd fall into an unseasonable patch of poison ivy in the course of his 'duty' today.
~*~
Amy had planned omelets for breakfast, to return the favor of Maeve's fabulous lasagna, but both women overslept, so Amy offered to buy coffee and croissants at the French bakery on the way to the office. She gave Guinness his treat, and promised to return for a longer noon stroll to make up for their rushed morning walk.
Maeve was eager for the croissants, speculating on what she might order until they stepped outside the house. Then she got distracted by everything male on two legs.
"You're not listening," Amy hissed at her while they waited for their order.
"Hmm? Oh, I'm trying!"
"What is wrong with you today?"
"Not one single thing. I had the best dreams last night..." Her voice trailed off as she ogled the ebony hardbody serving the table nearby.
"He's a little young," Amy chided.
"But he's a lot adorable." Maeve sighed like a freshman crushing on the all-star football captain.
"Too young."
This wasn't like Maeve. Sure, Maeve would flirt and enjoy the view, but since their first study group, her friend knew when and how to focus on the job at hand. "We have class in thirty minutes."
Maeve winked at the three-piece suit just walking in the door. "A shame we can't skip it."
"Have you had a stroke?" She leaned in and sniffed at Maeve's coffee. "Did someone drug you?"
"I'm fine. Oh! He's waay too fine." Maeve elbowed Amy as the waiter came back into view. "You need to relax and appreciate the scenery, girl."
"You need chocolate. Or maybe new batteries." Amy dropped a dollar in the tip jar as their number was called. Coffee and croissants in one hand, she nudged Maeve forward with the other. "Move it."
Outside, Maeve's obsession with the opposite sex only got worse. And based on the looks from the men they passed, Maeve was giving off some serious come-hither vibes. It took every ounce of ingenuity to get Maeve off the street, up the stairs (she wouldn't risk the possibility of meeting a man in the close confines of an elevator), and into her office on the second floor.
She nudged Maeve toward a chair and slammed the door. The modest office was even more cramped since the addition of a small desk for Amy's use during her stay. Exhausted from chaperoning Maeve, she moved a few files and leaned back against the nearest desk top.
"You okay, Aim?"
Amy felt her jaw drop, but really, the abrupt change in Maeve was disconcerting. The glassy-eyed, man-hungry look was gone, replaced with obvious friend to friend worry. She shook her head. "I'm fine. Let's eat."
"Eat?" Maeve blinked a couple times, apparently surprised when she saw the bakery bag in Amy's hand. "Oh. Did you get a chocolate one for me?"
"Ye-es," Amy replied with more calm than she felt. Was bi-polar disorder an instant onset kind of thing? She'd look it up. Later. Better yet, she'd make a discreet inquiry with one of the psych professors down the hall.
"Wow. Those are pretty."
Amy looked down at the croissants, then up at Maeve, only to follow her friend's gaze to something behind her. She turned slowly, half afraid a group of men were gathered behind her.
The vase of sunflowers offered more than a little relief. It was lovely and happy and totally at odds with the tension zipping through her.
"There's a note," Maeve prompted, choosing a croissant and tearing away a corner. "See who it's from."
Amy freed the envelope and frowned at the unmistakable script. "Looks like Aunt Camille."
Her mouth full, Maeve motioned Amy to open it, but Amy tucked the letter into her purse. "I can read it later. We've got to get over to the theater." She stuffed half a croissant into her mouth, knowing it was a sin to shovel rather than savor the flaky pastry. Handing the bag to Maeve, she picked up her coffee.
No sooner were they out of the office, than Maeve had a relapse at the sight of the first man to cross their path. "Stop it," Amy hissed in her ear, turning her friend toward the stairs and outside once more. It was turning into another balmy January day in Charleston and people were out in droves.
To Amy, it seemed the sun had amped up everyone's hormones. Thank God the theater was close. Maeve required forcible restraint to keep her from walking in front of a car toward yet another handsome specimen of manhood.
Amy muttered a prayer of thanks when she hauled Maeve through the theater's back door, away from the danger she was creating for herself and others. She pushed her sunglasses onto her head and took Maeve by the shoulders.
In the dim hallway Maeve blinked owlishly. "How'd we get here so fast?"
"Shortcut." She couldn't quell the snap in her voice. "Feeling better?"
"Better than what?" Maeve paused, studying Amy. "Did you get new contacts?"
Amy shook her head and glanced at her watch. "We've got two minutes before class. Maybe it's best if we review the plan once more?"
"In the hall?" Maeve eyed the rolled up backdrops, painted scenery, and other odds and ends in limbo between the prop rooms and stage.
Amy shrugged. "It's quiet." She endured a long-suffering look from Maeve, but proceeded with the discussion.
Agreeing on who would lead which part of the Romeo and Juliet discussion and which students each of them would keep in line, they went to greet their class.
But the discussion didn't go as smoothly as outlined in the hallway. It seemed the story of forbidden love had a mesmerizing effect on the group, no matter how many political theories Amy tried to introduce. There were winks, suggestive moves, and not a single participant offered anything of value to the discussion. After wasting her breath and thirty minutes of class time watching the hormones zing between the students – and Maeve – Amy threw up her hands.
"Let's switch gears!" she declared a little too loudly. Most of the students at least glanced her way. "Let's try re-enacting a few scenes. Ms. King will give instructions, please."
Amy left the stage, found a seat near the center of the theater and settled in to watch. It stung her pride to see how well Maeve and the group progressed without her. Maybe she was losing her touch. She used to relate so very well to her students, helping them appreciate literature and reclaim their inherent creativity.
She tapped a finger on her coffee cup, wondering if Maeve had a point about loosening up and enjoying the scenery. Trying to see with a more fluttery-feminine view, she watched a few young men give a passable contemporary portrayal of the street fight, to the jeers and applause of the class. They weren't ready for Summer stock, but she admired the enthusiasm.
And there she was right back in professor mode.
She stared into her coffee. Whatever love potion had landed in Maeve's cup sure hadn't tainted hers. She tried to be disappointed, but Maeve had really scared her with the bizarre attack of hormones.
Amy gave up trying to solve the riddles of the morning and tuned back into the class on stage. Maeve was coaching the next group, so Amy pulled out the letter from her aunt. As always the handwriting was smooth and elegant. Amy smiled, picturing the ever-fashionable Camille as she read:
My Darling Amy,
The world was once filled with diverse and talented folk. Different often as night and day, they kept to their own and when not warring, they kept the peace. But times changed, civilizations rose and fell, and tolerance faded.
Amazing lives became obscure history and history morphed into impossible myths. Myths who live among the 'civilized' and 'intelligent' peoples who populate the world we know today.
The Matchmaker is one such myth. A living, breathing impossibility. A human female who is so much more, gifted with the ability to affect the hearts of men (and women). Always a woman of Campbell blood, through the generations the Matchmaker has prevented wars, united clans, and saved more than one floundering race.
Of course there have been a few mistakes along the way…no one can claim a perfect record. Despite what you may hear in the years to come, always remember there are two sides to every story – three sides if it's a love story.
Intelligent people know myths are rooted in truth. And those diverse and talented folk I mentioned, well, most of them will have stories and myths of their own about the Matchmaker. All of them will have an agenda.
Your day will come, Amy. Cherish your true friends and most of all, my darling, forever guard your heart.
All my love,
Aunt Camille
p.s. I do hope this letter finds you well and happy in your work. You should expect a package shortly. You can trust the messenger with any and all concerns. I certainly have always done so.
Amy smiled, tracing the words with her fingertip. It had been years since her aunt had written this kind of letter, though it had once been their own special brand of communication. A Matchmaker myth within their own family. How intriguing. She'd start the research this afternoon so she could craft a suitable reply. Feeling encouraged and more energized than she had in a long while, she tucked away the whimsical letter and forced her attention to the actors on stage. She could hardly feel good about the generous paycheck if she didn't give the class any of her attention.