“Essentially, yes. We’re not suggesting your sister is involved—but she has a connection you can’t deny would be hard for someone like Rhys to ignore.” Clara’s tone was diplomatic, but it didn’t matter one bit to Vaeta, who had come around the corner, sleepily rubbing her eyes, at the most inopportune moment.
Now she was wide awake and more than a little ticked off. “Of course you witches think all demons are scum. I’m not surprised by your attitudes, except for you, Lexi. I thought you were more evolved than that.”
I expected World War Three to break out, for hell to freeze over, or at the very least for a tirade of insults to start flinging around the room—but all of the faeries remained conspicuously silent. Apparently, Gran’s presence was enough to keep them on their best behavior, and though I was grateful, it irritated me to no end that they could rein it in for her when they’d never made an attempt to shield me from nine levels of crazy.
“So you deny he had any involvement? How could you possibly know that?” Terra countered.
“Lexi just said the evidence was inconclusive. You think a demon was involved, but you don’t know which demon, correct?” She continued without waiting for an answer, “So we’re at an impasse, are we not?”
“I guess so...” I looked from Mag to Clara, who averted their gazes and let me take the hit for all of us.
“All right then. So when you have something a little more solid, we’ll talk.” Vaeta whirled around and stalked back out of the room.
Chapter Nine
FLIX STILL HADN’T RETURNED to the office, but he’d left a long, rambling message on the answering machine letting me know he’d taken Carl to his beach house up the coast and they’d be gone for at least ten more days. Thank goddess he took salon calls on a dedicated line, or I’d be knee deep in complaints from addicted clients who couldn’t handle two weeks without one of his legendary blowouts. There had been a softness to his tone I took to mean he’d forgiven me, but for the time being, I was on my own when it came to FootSwept.
There were surprisingly few other messages, considering my lack of attention to business matters over the past several days. Strange, we hadn’t seen a downturn in clientele like this...well, ever.
It had gone from boom to doom ever since the lonely hearts party cleared out my backlog of matches and then some.
Vacations are nice when you want to take them, less fun when you’re not sure if you’ve been fired. I’d be thankful the bow hadn’t made a peep if I wasn’t worried I’d done something wrong. With it quiet around possible matches and my inner goddess a daily no-show, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be fooling with people’s fates or just waiting for a golden apple to drop on my head as a sign.
Whoever set up this Fate Weaving deal hadn’t invested in direct deposit or a 401k plan, so I had to pay the bills somehow. Who was I kidding; FootSwept had always been a bit of a passion project. A way to parlay what little innate magical talent I’d displayed before my Awakening into something important.
Of course, I couldn’t see the forest for the trees back then. With no idea my father was the actual Cupid of ancient lore, I hadn’t recognized my power for what it was.
Was it possible I’d outgrown FootSwept altogether? Was I fooling around in an office when I should be strolling around town, watching for glowing signs and waiting for the bow to sing out that it’s time to let my arrows fly?
The thought broke my heart a little bit, so I pushed it way down deep inside and hoped for clarity.
Or I tried, but it kept popping back up. I mean, think about this for a minute. Once I hit my groove with my weapon of mass love construction, how much business would I have?
Not that I was complaining because watching, even from a distance, that moment when hearts collide gave me a thrill. But, this bow and arrow thing seemed so cut and dried, so clinical compared to my previous work. If this was all there was to weaving fates, I’d be going from management to working on an assembly line.
I needed more.
I might not be able to maintain the business indefinitely, but for now, I wasn’t ready to let it go, either. Even if it did mean having more time to spend with Kin, who was so busy we’d become used to seeing one another only in passing. His day job as radio DJ was a means to an end; his evenings were spent playing guitar with his band around Port Harbor, making connections for the day when he could finally open his own recording studio.
That man was almost too good to be true. Sexy as sin in a rock star-meets-nerd kind of way, he had a magical voice and hands to match. Thinking about Kin always put a smile on my face, so I let myself get lost in memories. How we’d met on the street in front of my house; the fear in my heart when I had told him about being a witch; and the way his lips felt when we’d shared True Love’s Kiss.
And I still felt like we’d missed out on something wonderful. Our relationship started on fast forward—we went from strangers to being a fated match with almost nothing in between. We missed a lot of those moments I’d been giving my clients over the years. That breathless feeling when you notice him, or he notices you for the first time. Will he or won’t he ask me out? What will I say? Will I be able to get the words out while my heart is thundering in my chest?
Kin made my heart pound from the first time I met him; that’s not the point. We went from zero to sixty without going through any of the numbers in between. Sixty is nice. I love sixty. But twenty is a good number, too.
What was wrong with me? I’m Lexi Balefire, queen of setting the stage for love to build. If I could engineer romantic scenarios for my clients, why not for myself? All we needed was to replace some of the domesticity with adventure. The kind that is only dangerous to your heart, not your body. We’d had plenty of that already. If anyone could put a romance in motion, it was me.
Suddenly much more optimistic, I was just about to pick up the phone and get some appointments on the books when I heard a tentative knock at the door. A little girl, maybe twelve years old, with a determined look on her heart-shaped face stood on the other side. As I waved her inside, she pushed a pair of baby-pink glasses onto her nose and looked around curiously.
“I’m Hannah Aarons. It’s very nice to meet you, Lexi.” She spoke in a clear, precocious voice after I introduced myself and offered her a seat at one of the Chippendale chairs opposite my desk. I have to admit, I was a bit thrown. It wasn't every day—or ever, for that matter—a child comes looking to employ my services, and I had a feeling I knew just what she was after.
“What can I do for you, Hannah?” My friendly grin seemed to calm her, and she straightened in the chair and began her story.
“I want you to help get my mother and father back together.” Just ducky, exactly what I feared.
“They still love each other. I know they do. My dad is lonely, and he still keeps a picture of my mom in his wallet. Mom’s gone on a couple of dates, but she always comes back from her nights out looking disappointed. I can pay you; I have lots of bat mitzvah money left.” Hope and fear vied for top billing as her eyes widened and then steeled against the onslaught of tears. I felt a rush of respect. Hannah Aarons was one tough cookie.
Formulating a response proved problematic, because the bow began to sing a sad tune, and my instincts screamed that I was supposed to help this little girl one way or another. It also appeared unlikely Hannah would take no for an answer.
“Sweetheart, I will not take your money. But I will do what I can to help you. I can’t promise anything, though. Relationships are complicated, and just because two people love each other doesn’t mean they’re meant to be together.” I couldn’t not say it, though I hoped for Hannah’s sake I was wrong on this count.
Her hands fisted in her lap. “That’s what everyone says, but I just know it’s not supposed to be like this.”
I had to admire her spunk and her determination. And let’s face it, she tugged pretty hard on my heart strings, and if there was anything I could do to help her, I would.
It turned out Hannah’s parents had been high school sweethearts—typical tale, and you’d be surprised how many soul mates are right under each other’s noses. Proximity plays a big hand, and so does the heart. Except it’s not the heart; it’s the essence of one’s very being that calls out to another, kindred soul. I’ve never been offered a 101 course on fate weaving, but that’s what I’ve gathered. And good thing, too, because otherwise, I’d be trekking all over hell’s half-acre to make matches.
According to their daughter, her parent’s relationship failure sounded textbook: they married young, started a family quickly, and then allowed the fire to fizzle. Hannah described lots of seemingly pointless arguments and misunderstandings, but I could only take her observations with a grain of salt. After all, she was a kid, and though her point of view was valid, it definitely wasn’t the whole story.
“They used to have fun together. We had fun together. Look." She yanked a cell phone out of her pocket and keyed up the photo gallery to show me a blurry photo of a man smiling down at a woman with her back to the camera.
"This was last summer at Coachman’s Bluff. We camp out in the caves for my birthday every year. Last year was the best. I got this phone for a present and took about a hundred pictures. But this year...well, we’re not going of course. Because of the separation.”
Hannah’s despair touched my heart and reminded me why I was in this business, to begin with. This was exactly what I needed to get back into the swing of things at FootSwept.
Still, the closest I’d ever come to repairing a relationship was when my half-brother had used magic to screw it up in the first place, and this was different. My heart ached for Hannah, and I could only pray to the minor deities I wouldn’t have to witness her disappointment if her parents weren’t actually fated.
I reached across the desk to touch her hand and offer what little comfort I could, and as my fingers grazed hers, Hannah’s need overtook my senses. This was becoming a regular habit.
In the vision, I was the tiny baby looking up into the glowing faces of two parents obviously in love with each other and their little bundle of joy. I felt safe and protected along with little Hannah. You don’t have to experience loving parents to recognize them when you see them.
Over the years I lived through Hannah, Emily and Matthew’s expressions altered, grew tense, and while the sensation of feeling loved never abated, we felt less secure as time wore on. Fights erupted on a consistent basis, and from the snippets, I could hear it sounded as though the stress had finally worn down their resolve to weather any storm.
My role of matchmaker typically means I’m helping to ignite a spark, not bring one back from the dead. I’d have to step up my game if I was going to have any shot at repairing this breach.
The This is Your Life episode served a second purpose. My LPS had taken the opportunity to home in on Hannah’s parents in a big way.
I pried a few details out of her, then bid her goodbye, made copious notes on a little slip of paper in lieu of tappety-tapping them into my phone, and tucked it away inside Saturday’s page of my day planner. Take some advice from me: if you don’t want to work weekends, don’t become a matchmaker.
“I want to talk to you about something.” My brain heard the words, but I had trouble processing them while Kin’s hands played over my feet. He could have had a career as a foot masseuse, he was that good. We’d finally been able to carve out some time for one another, and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend it.
“Mmmm. Okay.” The joyful kneading of my arch stopped.
“I’m serious, we need to talk.” A phrase that has come to mean uh-oh.
“Sounds ominous.” Was he about to break up with me? Dread shot my heartbeat up to a rapid flutter and robbed me of my breath. Just when I was about to launch my plan for pumping up the romance, it might be the end.
“I hope not. I want to talk about moving forward. You know, taking the next step.” He twisted around, so we were facing each other.
Panicked, I tried to buy some time to think. “Isn’t it usually the woman who initiates the where is this relationship going talk?”
Kin took a deep breath and blurted, “I think you should move in with me.”
Once the initial shock subsided, I said, “You know I can’t. I’m the Balefire’s Keeper. I can stay away a day or two at a time, maybe longer if the flame is strong. But I can’t move out.”
Could I? If I went back every day? Kin said something I didn’t hear while my mind raced through the possibilities. Could I treat the Balefire like a second job? Would that be enough to sustain it?
Keeper of the flame isn’t something I do, it’s something I am, just as much as being a Fate Weaver. Obviously, my father, the ultimate Fate Weaver, didn’t wield the Bow of Destiny from his home—I pictured him living in a Greek palace with fluted columns in sparkling white.
Was I expected to travel around the world in my capacity as celestial matchmaker? How would that even work? FootSwept would certainly not be part of that equation. And could I fly commercial or would the bow show up on the scanners? Clearly, there were things I needed to learn about my new destiny.
“...she can take control of the Balefire.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
After a short, assessing pause, Kin repeated himself. “Now that Clara’s back, she can take control of the Balefire, leaving you a bit more freedom.” From his clipped tones, I assumed he’d condensed a longer observation to the bare minimum of information.
I opened my mouth to shoot down his proposal, then closed it again when I realized the idea did bear at least a modicum of thought. What if Clara could take over the Balefire? Would that really be so bad? Port Harbor is home, and I’ve never been bitten by the travel bug. This town has everything I want: nice people, good shopping, tall ships to admire, great restaurants, and I love it here. Watching over the Balefire and helping the lovelorn has always been enough for me, even before I saw my greater potential for doing both.
Going out into the world armed with an invisible bow and thwacking an arrow into anyone who needs it might sound like heaven to some, but not to me. Cupid, I assumed, could move from one place to another in the blink of an eye. Hell, even Santa Claus had more game than me in the magic travel department.
Truth be told, all I ever wanted was to get my full portion of witch magic. This extra stuff hadn’t been part of the plan, and if I’d been given a choice, my answer would have been an emphatic no to almost all of it. How ironic is it that the thing I grew up wanting to do better—tending the Balefire—was the one thing I could now relinquish to someone else? Just at the moment I reached my full potential, too. Sometimes life sucks.
While all of that ran through my head, Kin interpreted my silence as disinterest.
“Never mind. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. I know you’ve been through a lot these past few months, and the last thing I want to do is pile more on your plate. I thought we wanted the same things, but I understand if you’re not ready.”
“Shut up.”
“Shut up? Really?” Kin looked pained.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I softened my tone, “Look, I know we haven’t seen a lot of each other lately, and with the upheaval at home, we haven’t exactly had much alone time. But do you really want to live with me? I can’t cook, I don’t do windows, and you’ll find out exactly how big a mess I really am.”
Kin grimaced, “That’s a cop out, and you know it. I already know you come with crumbs in the bed. And Skittles. And a closet that looks like it is organized when it’s really chaos in disguise. But I’m still asking. If you don’t want to, it’s all right. I thought we were soul mates, but maybe you’re not as sure about that as I thought you were.”
“That’s not it at all.” I shook my head emphatically, “There are two separate issues here—our relationship and my living
arrangements. That I might need a minute to think about one does not negate the other. I love you. I love spending time with you. The more, the better. All things being normal, I’d be home packing right now.” I slid over to sit in his lap, and for once, his arms didn’t go immediately around me.
“I understand that you can’t make a snap decision and that this would be a big step for you. But will you promise me you’ll just think about it? Clara’s back, let her take the Balefire off your to-do list. You have enough other things to handle. Let her deal with four fighting faeries throwing magic around like water balloons.” I could tell Kin was still bitter about the godmothers’ transgression, but I couldn’t help jumping to their defense.
“They’re perfectly safe, I’ve lived with them my entire life, and I’m still in one piece.” Relatively speaking, anyway, considering I split my personality with Demigod Lexi, shooter of hapless love targets. “And I don’t even know if Clara would want the Balefire back—or if it can be given back, for that matter. But I’ll think about it. That’s the best I can do right now.”
“That’s all I’m asking. Take all of your options into consideration.”
How could I blame him for wanting more when that’s what I also wanted—if in a slightly different format.
Right?
Or was I just feeling like this relationship was too good to be true because it had moved so quickly? Maybe what I saw as a boatload of too much convenience was only a front for the lack of trust that the universe would allow me this much happiness.
Clearly, I had some issues to work out.
Chapter Ten
FAERIES MYSTIFY ME. Even after all these years of living with my godmothers, some of their motivations are as clear to me as mud. Like the way the four of them fawned all over Clara after she shut them down during the whole Vaeta-and-the-demon fracas. Then again, the one time I lost my cool and tossed a hissy fit, they responded with respect. If anyone ever offered a class in Fae ethics, I’d sign up in a heartbeat.
No Chance in Spell Page 8