No Chance in Spell

by ReGina Welling

  “They’re saving your favorite spot at the end of the bar, and my tab is open. Love you!”

  I added an exaggerated wiggle as I sauntered toward the bar a little slower than necessary, throwing a mischievous grin over my shoulder knowing Kin watched me walk away.

  I tossed a wink at Tiny Tim, who stood with his hands clasped in front of him at the stage entrance, a formidable expression on his robust face. A teddy bear of a man inside the body of a grizzly, he broke character with an enormous grin and gestured for me to come closer.

  “Sandy’s pregnant!” Tim shouted while I was still several steps away. Matching him with his wife had almost been an accident, back when I had no clue how to use my powers with any sort of intent. I’ve seen them go through some ups and downs since then, but their commitment to one another has never wavered. Now, Tim and Sandy were one of the yardsticks by which I measured my success.

  “Congratulations! How far along is she?” I pelted Tim with questions and squeals of delight, taking care to avoid offering my babysitting services once the little one arrived. You never know when these things are going to come back around to bite you in the butt. Don’t get me wrong, I love babies and would like to have children of my own one day, but hanging out with faeries and witches could scar a human child for life.

  When I finally made it to my saved seat, Kin had already begun to strum the intro to his opening song. Carlos, who had recently been upgraded from a waiter-slash-barback-slash-gopher into a full-fledged bartender, slid me a vodka and soda with a twist of lime and waggled his eyebrows toward the stage.

  “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Kin’s husky, sexy voice floated out over the crowd who cheered and woo-hoo’d with gusto as he launched into a sped-up cover of A-Ha’s Take On Me that had become such a frequent request he’d finally decided to add it to the set list. Even those who chose to remain seated couldn’t help swaying to the beat.

  The fact that Kin’s goal had never been to become a rock star was a testament to just how talented he really was. Driven started out as a side gig; inspiration for Kin’s artistic motivation, but this offer for a tour could be the start of something else, and any sort of publicity is good publicity. He might think he wanted to hunker down in good old Port Harbor for the rest of his life, but things change. Bright lights have been known to turn even the most steadfast head.

  I couldn’t hold him back, especially if it meant a boon to his career. Not to mention, I’d never ask him to give up a dream just to stay near me and keep playing the same gig every week. I was lamenting the possible loss of the love of my life to the rock gods when a conversation down the bar caught my attention.

  I tuned in to my witchy senses and spotted a man and woman whose resemblance marked them as brother and sister. I’m not ashamed to say I blatantly eavesdropped; it comes with the territory, and I admit it: I’m nosy. And good thing, too, because as it turned out, the man was Matthew Aarons, whom I’d almost forgotten I’d drawn here with a spell.

  “What am I supposed to do, Michaela? I love her, but she won’t even talk about our marriage anymore. This was supposed to be a trial separation, but I don’t think she’s ever going to forgive me.”

  “Why do you think she’s so angry?” It sounded like Michaela had a background in psychology and was grilling her brother for information; her voice conveyed the practiced nonchalance of a professional therapist as she steered Matthew into revealing the root of the issue he needed to confront.

  “She said we’d turned into a stuffy old couple like her parents, and she was right. I focused on work, and she focused on raising our daughter. Then it was all about the business, and even though we both loved what we were doing, it wasn’t enough. We’d become one of those couples who watch Netflix and chill without the chill part.” He tossed back half his drink and thumped the glass back down on the bar.

  “Emily made it clear that she was only thirty-seven, and she didn’t want to spend the rest of her nights watching television and ignoring each other. Everyone talks about that seven-year itch, and I’ve always thought it was a bunch of nonsense, but I’ve realized that’s when things started to go downhill. We’ve been treading water ever since.”

  “The seven-year itch is definitely a thing—I mean, come on, they made a movie about it—but what most couples don’t realize is that if you can get past it, what comes next is even better than those first few passion-filled years.”

  His empty glass hit the bar, but Matthew didn't motion for a refill. “How did you and Elliott make it through? You’ve always seemed like the happiest couple in the world. What’s the secret?”

  “No secret; just hard work and understanding. And plenty of compromising.”

  “Well, duh, Captain Obvious. Isn’t that the textbook answer to all relationship issues? I thought you’d have more insight than that. I feel like I do compromise.” Matthew’s voice turned just a tiny bit whiny.

  “Everyone does. That’s the problem. You compromise every day on little things you don’t even realize, and then years go by, and it adds up to feeling unappreciated even though you were probably never asked to make the concessions you’ve made. And Matthew, I bet Emily feels the same way. The question is, what do you want to do? Is she worth working for, even if that means waiting until she makes up her mind? Even if it means still more concessions and a lot of additional effort on your part?”

  Matthew was quiet for a long moment. “All I want is to make her feel like the most beautiful, amazing woman in the world because that’s what she is to me. And I want to feel loved the way I used to when she’d look at me across a room. We’d share that secret smile, and it let me know everything was going to be all right. But I’m not willing to live on a one-way street. She’s not the only one who has felt forgotten and ignored. Our sex life was...”

  His sister shoved a raised palm toward Matthew's face.

  “Okay, okay, that’s all I need to hear. I don’t care what I do for a living, hearing about my little brother’s sex life is creepy and way too much information. All I’m going to say is this: give her the space she’s asking for. And take some for yourself while you’ve got the chance. Get a hobby, or pick back up an old one. Spend some time doing the things you like to do for you—like coming out to a dive bar and watching a great band. When she’s ready, have a conversation. An adult conversation. It’s got to start somewhere.”

  Their talk turned to more mundane matters, and I tuned back out and completely missed Kin’s second set as I pondered what I’d just heard. Simple advice, easily accepted; that’s what I’d witnessed—and my intuition was echoed by the bow playing a few bars of You Can’t Hurry Love. Again. You can’t force someone to feel the way you want them to feel if they aren't ready.

  All the signs were pointing toward me leaving Matthew and Emily to their own devices because this wasn’t something I could fix. Not with one of my patented setups, or even with Cupid’s bow and arrow. It wasn’t a problem of the heart, it was one of the minds.

  Except I'd already stuck my nose and my arrow into things, and since I had no idea how to reverse my actions, I’d have let the fates decide what to do with the Aarons. I hated the idea of breaking the news to Hannah, but you can only lead a horse to water. If it doesn’t want to drink, it staying thirsty isn’t your fault.

  When I let myself into the house at nearly two o’clock in the morning, I hadn’t expected my grandmother to still be up and about, but there she was sitting next to the Balefire with a pair of knitting needles in her hands. Uttering a few words from the faerie’s naughty no-no list—she didn’t wind up with a mouth full of soap bubbles as punishment, I noticed—Clara chucked them, yarn and all, into the Balefire.

  The flame lurched and then let out a sound that could only be described as a belch, and flung one of the needles across the room where the tip embedded itself into the door frame about three inches to the right of my ear.

  Clara followed its trajectory and took in my outfit with a raised eyeb
row. “You look like a school girl in one of those dirty movies,” she commented without the shadow of an apology.

  “Thanks, Gran.” I grinned in spite of the insult; for one thing, she was kind of right, and for another, it was nice that she cared. The godmothers who, let’s face it, had never been the pinnacle of modesty, only commented on my outfits if they wanted to borrow something. I’d worn a dress code-restricted tube top to the last week of high school, and they’d batted nary an eyelash when the principal threatened to withhold my diploma. “I was out watching Kin perform at a nightclub. It’s the required uniform for that sort of thing.”

  “Hmm, yes, I suppose so.”

  I took a seat in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace to watch the Balefire twirl and bounced back and forth between us like it was playing a game of eenie-meenie-miney-moe.

  “What’s on your mind, dear?” Grandmother asked, having tiptoed through my emotions and zeroed in on the undercurrent of indecision in which I was currently mired.

  Sighing because it was the first time I'd had a concerned family member with dating experience to dump my drama on, I said, “It's Kin. You know this is my only real relationship, like, ever, right?”

  “He's a lovely man, dear. Gentle and patient, and he's taken much in stride given all that comes with loving a Balefire witch. You shared true love's kiss, so what’s your worry?”

  “True love’s kiss isn’t the answer to everything.” I wiggled in my seat a bit, “Do you think long distance relationships ever work out?”

  “Well, I think it’s silly to say something never works out. We know how much life can change—sometimes in a split second—don’t we? Assuming you can’t weather the storm is just setting yourself up for failure in my book. You can do whatever you set your mind to, and things are different nowadays. Technology has made “long distance” a relative term. Why do you ask? Is Kin going somewhere?”

  Clara would never be one of those people who struggled with technology. She could do things with a computer that I'd never attempt, and she'd only been warm and breathing for a matter of weeks.

  “He’s been offered a spot on tour, and it might lead to something more—at the very least some work composing, which is what he really wants to do. And he’s asked me to go with him, but of course, I can’t. I have responsibilities here; my family, my business, and obviously the Balefire. With all these messes to clean up, it’s just not feasible.” I tried to keep the touch of sadness out of my voice, but there was no getting anything past Clara Balefire. "We might be soul mates, but there are no guarantees he'll return."

  “I can’t imagine what your mother told you about her father, but the truth is we weren’t soul mates. I reckon you’d know more about that than I do, and someday I might have you work your magic on my love life. What I do know is that there was a time my daddy couldn't find work here and he took a job away from home. It nearly broke my mother in half. Of course, she worried about him, but it was more that she couldn’t bear to lose one second with him considering he was human and their time was limited to begin with. But if it’s more than that—if your heart wants to fly free, then this isn’t strictly about Kin. It’s about your own future, which I’m guessing feels a bit uncertain right about now.”

  I thought about Clara’s statement for a long moment. “I love living here, and I love my duties as Keeper of the Flame. But I love Kin, too.” I replied simply. These were the facts that were pulling my life apart. Seems like I couldn't catch a break.

  The creak of my grandmother's rocking chair was the only sound apart from the crackling of the Balefire until she finally spoke.

  “I know how difficult it’s been for you, Alexis, with the pressure to keep this flame lit when you had no idea how to Awaken your magic. I prayed to every goddess I could think of while I was stuck inside that stone; asked for guidance and received little in return. I should have been there for you. Should have taught you what you needed to know and trained you to handle whatever life threw at you. If going away with Kin is what you want to do, then you should go.”

  “I don’t know what I want yet, but you’re right. I need to figure it out, and soon.”

  “There’s no rush dear; you take your time. I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Twenty

  ALL THE STUFF WITH Matthew and Emily kept bringing the issue of parenting to mind, and I knew I had a difficult task ahead of me. I needed to go talk to the last person in the world I wanted to see.

  It’s not as though I didn’t know the witch community could be brutal to their own. After all, I’d spent my entire life branded a wicked Balefire witch, and the ones who believed strongly enough in that truth had been more than willing to continue throwing my family name under the bus even with definitive proof that Clara hadn’t killed anyone.

  I also couldn’t deny Calypso Snodgrass had done her level best to further tarnish my family’s legacy, but I’d come to realize, after my last run-in with her daughter, Serena, that she was just as lousy a mother as she was a high priestess. It didn’t sit well for me to feel sorry for someone I’d long considered an arch-nemesis, but at a distant point in the past, Serena had been my best friend.

  Now, she was carrying my half-brother’s child, and about to become a single mother. I doubted Calypso had provided any support before her disappearance, and I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be pregnant and completely alone. With guilt from how I’d treated Serena over the years keeping me company, I slowly walked the three blocks to her house. All the way there, an internal battle raged. Should I knock on the door or just keep going?

  I spent some time examining the front hedge, which had clearly borne the brunt of whatever love Serena’s mother did have locked inside her shriveled heart, and realized just in time that walking up to a witch’s front door uninvited might not be the best idea I’d ever had.

  Witch senses burning, I placed a hand out in front of me to feel for the protective enchantment’s energy signature. Nothing; not even a tingle, as I slowly stepped forward and braced myself for a magical onslaught. Feeling watched, I reached for the doorbell.

  Directing my intention to harm none out through my index finger, I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the button. A sharp zap similar to what you’d feel after shuffling your feet over shag carpet and then touching something metal prompted me to take a step back, but then the door creaked slowly open, and I finally let go of the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  “Come in, Lexi Balefire.” I heard Serena’s thin voice call out from somewhere beyond the threshold. Talk about walking into enemy territory. On the edge between fight or flight, I reminded myself that coming here had been my idea, and crept into the living room where Serena was curled up on an armchair.

  I’d never seen her look so drawn. Dark circles ringed Serena’s sunken eyes, and her pointed nose and thin lips were lost in a sea of paste-white skin. She pulled an ancient-looking checkered afghan up to her chin and glared at me from behind limp blond hair that had begun to show mousy roots. I wondered why she didn’t just glamour it back to rights.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, holding my hands up in a gesture meant to indicate I’d come in peace.

  “Do I look all right to you?” She tried to snap, but her voice lacked the strength to make the words bite with poisonous intent. Serena really was in a low place if she couldn’t keep up our ongoing verbal sparring match. “What do you want? You couldn’t possibly have come here out of genuine concern.”

  I sighed and took a seat even though she hadn’t offered me one. My choices were the tattered La-Z-Boy I knew to belong to Serena’s father or the contrasting Victorian armchair that was probably Calypso’s favorite spot.

  “All you’re doing is proving to me that you’ve never known me as well as you think you do. As counterintuitive as it may seem, I actually do care about you.” I fired back, realizing that my words were truer than I’d even guessed. “We were friends once, after all.”

&
nbsp; “Yeah, until you stabbed me in the back.”

  “I’d call getting rid of my good-for-nothing brother a favor rather than a betrayal.” This conversation was taking the turn I’d hoped it wouldn’t. I’d come here to mend fences, and now I was going to have to tear through a brick wall. I supposed I couldn’t blame her for seizing the opportunity to pelt me with lame insults. You don’t hate someone with the fervor Serena has always reserved for me without putting plenty of mental strength behind the action.

  Serena fixed me with a gaze I couldn’t decipher, and we stared at each other for a moment before she finally spat, “That was you stabbing me in the front. I’m talking about when we were kids. You’ve always been rotten, ever since I got invited to Jennifer Johnson’s birthday party and you didn’t. I heard you tell her I didn’t even like her, and that I thought her unicorn theme was stupid, and she made my life a living hell until we graduated.”

  Was she freaking kidding me? “That’s not what happened at all. You wouldn’t even talk to me after you Awakened. I wasn’t witch enough to be your friend.”

  “No, that’s not it at all.” I think we regressed back to our thirteen-year-old selves for a moment as I contemplated replying with an is too.

  I decided to be the bigger person for once in our sordid history. “Look, I’m sorry for whatever I said to hurt you back then. I really am. I remember always feeling like the odd girl out, and you were the only one I could be honest with. You think it was easy for me to make friends with four faerie godmothers living at my house? I could have had the best birthday party in the universe, but no one would come. And then you abandoned me too.”

  Wow, it felt good to get that off my chest. My ire toward Serena had always been born from the pain of betrayal, and now that I’d said what I needed to say it deflated like a balloon. I thought I detected a measure of softness in her eyes as she took in my apology, but she hadn’t enough emotional strength to let it spread.