“Good.” Mary smiled. “Then you’re ready to hear our plan.”
“Plan? What on earth are you talking about? Plan for what?”
“Emma, dear, we’ve decided this for your own good.” Mary beamed at her. “The group voted and the decision is made.”
Mary looked around the table at her companions, and most heads bobbed up and down.
“We’ve decided to help you find a man.”
Words failed her. Emma stared from one grinning face to the next.
“Now wait just a damn minute.” Deena crossed her arms and glared at her friends. “I told you this is the dumbest idea you’ve had lately, so don’t count me in on the ‘we’ bull crap. Not every woman needs a man in her life to ask permission on when she can take a piss or whatever else she wants to do.”
Mary patted the angular woman’s hand. “Whatever you say, honey, but not everyone is as independent as you.”
“What makes you think Emma’s not? I’ve lived my life the way I want for seventy-one years, and if that’s the path she chooses, leave her be.” Deena’s gaze scanned the group and her stare dared anyone to challenge her. “Anyway, you don’t need a man to lead a full life. That’s my say on the matter.”
“She’s still bitter about Sam Jenkins. He broke off their engagement you know,” someone whispered loud enough for Emma to hear.
“You’d think after fifty years, she’d be over it.”
The last remark came from Barb.
“Humph.” Deena pushed her chair back and stood. “I’ve lost my appetite. Good night, ladies.”
Emma stared at the bowl of soup placed in front of her by a waiter.
Maybe if I throw my face into it and breathe deeply, I can drown.
Regret that her magical attempt to summon a man hadn’t worked surged through her. If it had, she wouldn’t be here. Spending the next few weeks with just about anyone seemed preferable to this job assignment.
Chapter Three
Time alone—a commodity Emma relished with this group. The feisty women were a handful, and some of them never shut up—always game to share their thoughts, ideas and opinions. Especially when it came to their tour director and the way she needed to run her life or their tour. Thank heavens for today’s free time. Her Golden Oldies were determined to shop until they dropped, and given the frail appearance of a couple of them, that could happen at any moment.
Finished with her reports and phone call to the home office, Emma sat back, stretched, and thought about what to do with actual “me” time.
Hmmm, maybe pay a last visit to the Royal Mile and treat myself to a nice lunch at one of the pubs. That’s a great way to say a temporary goodbye to a city that hasn’t seen the last of me. If Cori hasn’t conjured up a new love interest with her determination to get in touch with her other self, she can come along for my return visit.
The thought of her roommate hovered over a pot of magical brew as she threw in snails and puppy dog tails still amused Emma. Then again, it wasn’t Cori who’d recited a chant over a lighted candle for true love. Sometimes, Emma wondered if living with the ditz for so long had brought out her own hidden blond roots.
She stepped outside. Thankful the sun had returned, she decided against the bus and hiked toward the number one tourist destination in Edinburgh. Dubbed the Royal Mile, the street stretched from the imposing Edinburgh castle perched atop the hill down to Holyrood Palace, the Queen’s official residence in Scotland.
The pub she’d decided on was around the corner. Emma stepped out of the side street that dumped onto the Royal Mile to see several of the tour group enter the destination she had in mind.
Damn, double damn.
She’d try a different one. Another lecture on what was missing from her life or what she needed to do to get a man wasn’t high on her list. She only made it a few steps when she spied two other women from her group. Grateful for all the alleyways—or closes, as the locals called them—leading off the main road, she darted down the nearest one.
A lot of the alleyways had little hidden shops where she could kill time until the pair moved on. Emma cast a glance over her shoulder. Crap. The two now stood at the alley entrance, engrossed in conversation. She walked faster in the hope she’d find a shop to slip into.
An old woman stepped out of a doorway. “Psst. Over here, dearie.” The bent-over crone held the door open and waved for Emma to come in.
God, another “dearie.” I may as well add that to the name on my driver’s license when I get home.
She looked over her shoulder. Crap. Her flock had decided to migrate her way. A few minutes spent listening to this old lady’s tale would be easier than being subjected to ones she’d heard before and would hear a dozen times more over the next couple of weeks. After all, the elderly woman looked frail enough that a strong breeze would blow her away, so what harm could she do?
Emma hurried through the doorway into a plain room furnished with only a few pieces of furniture. A round table had two chairs placed across from each other and seemed to be the focal point. A distressed cabinet against one wall held what appeared to be jars of lotions and potions, along with several crystals that hung from cup holders.
“I been waiting for ye, love. What took ye so long?”
Huh? Okay, maybe this is a worse than being discovered by the Golden Oldies.
Emma’s heart drummed against her chest at the sound that followed her entry. She was now locked in a room—oh, yeah, she heard the door lock when it snapped closed behind her—with a wacky old woman who declared she’d been waiting for her. At least her name had changed to “love” instead of “dearie.”
“Waiting for me? Really?” Emma forced a smile.
The snow-covered head bobbed up and down as the escaped strands of hair waved in spider web fashion.
“Yes. Ye. I’ve been waiting since ye used the chant and burned the candle.”
Goosebumps marched down Emma’s spine. “I’m sorry. You must have me confused with someone else.” She needed to go to the bathroom and glanced around the small room. Why did her kidneys kick into overdrive when she got nervous? If she focused on the need to find a toilet, maybe the creepy-crawly sensation running across the back of her neck would go away.
“Come. Come. Sit down.” The old woman motioned toward the chair nearest to Emma. “I heard yer call when ye tried the spell. My crystal ball showed me all.”
A chair is a good idea.
Not only was Emma scared spit-less, but her knees didn’t want to lock. Her legs had turned to cooked spaghetti, which made it difficult to stand. What should she say to the crazy old bat? Her thoughts froze, her mind unable to function.
“I hear ye, lovey. This be coming as a shock to ye. But not to worry. DooNell is here to take care of ye.” The woman sat down in the other chair and waved her hand across the glass ball on the table in front of her. “Aye. DooNell knows who yer mate will be but finds it best not to share all the secrets with ye.” She cast a sly snaggle-toothed grin across the space at Emma. “Listen carefully.” Gnarled fingers reached out and grasped the hand Emma had laid on the table. “Ye must listen carefully, do ye understand?”
Given the fact she couldn’t understand half of what the old woman said with the heavy dialect, she had no idea what the hag wanted. It seemed nutty old ladies were her destiny, each one more whacked out than the last.
Okay, probably best to placate the old biddy.
Emma nodded.
A satisfied smile played around the hag’s thin lips and the spidery-veined hands released their hold on Emma’s. “Good. I knew ye were a smart girl when I heard the call.” The bent-over crone eased out of her chair and shuffled over to the cabinet. She plundered through several drawers and mumbled to herself. “Ah-ha. Found it. I knew it was here. The old eyes don’t see as well as they used to.” Huffing and puffing, she made her way back to the table with her hands full.
“Here, take this.” She placed a fat white candle on the table.
“Light it at midnight, and then read this.” A scrap of paper appeared next to the candle. “And then blow this dust across the flame.” A small packet of white powder lay on the other side of the candle.
Emma eyed the powder suspiciously. Great, not only did she fall into the lair of a lunatic, but one who pushed drugs too. Life just couldn’t get much better than the last few days. Should she take the white substance? What if the bag did contain drugs? A drug bust would really put the frosting on the cake. She could see the headlines now—Tour Director Busted as Mule. “Thank you, but I’m sure I don’t need these items.” Determined to get the hell out, Emma jumped to her feet.
A claw reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Trust me, dearie. Ye need them more than ye know.”
Wonderful. She was back to “dearie” again. If she didn’t take the offered gifts, she’d have to fight the old woman to get to the door, and her hold was surprisingly strong for someone who appeared so frail. What the hell? She’d take them and toss them in the first trashcan she came across. “Er, thank you. I think.” Emma’s attempt at a smile wasn’t too successful.
Her new friend didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, ye’ll thank me all right.” A dry cackle sounded from the thin throat. “I will tell ye that yer special man will have many powers, but never let him intimidate you because of this. Ye are his equal on many levels.” DooNell’s patted Emma’s cheek. “Oh, almost forgot. Make sure you say the chant three times.”
Yeah, right. “Okay. Well, thanks again.” Emma shoved the items into her bag and hurried to the door.
Once outside, she took a quick glance at her watch and gasped. Good grief, the time had flown while she was with the loony hag. Did she have a sign on her forehead blinking “all nuts welcome here” or something?
Back at the hotel, she dealt with the questions, demands, and issues her job required and escaped to her room. Tonight was a double-dose aspirin night to treat the headache that threatened to explode the top of her head off.
After she committed to memory the times and stops for the bus on their first day out of Edinburgh, Emma set aside the next day’s itinerary. Done. The digital glow from the clock on the bedside table showed almost midnight. She slipped into her nightgown and closed the window to block the traffic sounds and the cool night air on her way to the four-poster bed.
Under the light down comforter, she stretched her tired muscles and closed her eyes. Sleep eluded her as she remembered the afternoon run-in with the crazy lady. Her thoughts turned to the items still in her purse.
Damn.
She’d been in such a rush to get back to the hotel, she’d forgotten to toss them in the trash.
With a sigh of frustration, Emma threw back the covers, padded over to her bag, and dug through it until she located the collection. Of course, every one of the items was at the very bottom. She started back to bed, but a niggling thought pushed her to give the old woman’s instructions a try. “I’m as crazy as the old crone.”
She flopped down on the side of the bed and glanced at the clock. “What the hell? If I don’t do it, my mind is going to play ‘what if’ all night, and I need sleep.”
Emma set the large white candle on the desk and located the matches the hotel placed in the ashtray on her nightstand. The flame sputtered and then sprang into a pretty orange glow. She unrolled the paper and held it under the light of the candle. “Dust. Better have the dust ready.” A giggle escaped and she sounded insane, even to herself.
“Okay, here goes.” Thank goodness the print was large enough she didn’t have to fish around for her reading glasses. “Here goes nothing…again.” She took a deep breath.
“Love is need, love is joy,
love is desire, love fulfils.
Sumba dee mo aaa nu.
Sumba dee mo aaa nu.
Sumba dee mo aaa nu.
Bring a soul mate to me.”
Emma paused after completing the chant the first time.
What the hell? This is the same chant I did in Denver from that damn charms book.
She shrugged and forged ahead to finish the instructions the old woman had given. The lamp on the table flicked out. A strong gust of wind from what had been a closed window snuffed out the candle and pitched the room into darkness. Familiar chills marched down Emma’s spine.
The full moon hung low in the night sky, casting a pearly sheen on all it touched. DooNell watched and waited for the sign she hoped would come. A breezed whispered through the trees and caressed her cheek, telling all.
“Aaa, so it is done.” A sense of elation surged through her, and she grinned.
The woman Emma had done as instructed and cast the spell the hag had given her when they met. Soon the magic would bring the American and Ian, grandson of Fae Royalty and immortal gods, together.
The hag leaned against a post on her front porch and worried her bottom lip with her longest tooth. Yes, magic would bring the two together, but would love bloom from such a connection? DooNell knew the meeting of a pair did not always result in love, even when The Powers determined it to be. When love occurred, it depended on the couple involved. The melding of two hearts into one love was beyond magic.
With a sigh, the old woman heaved her bent body forward and went into the cottage. Best rest while she could. This situation required close watching. It still bothered her to tamper with the lives that crossed into so many realms. Things were much easier when she only had to deal with the land and weather. An occasional dabble into the love life of a Fae couple or perhaps a pair of mortals was a pleasant change, but who was she to question the wisdom of Powers far greater? They were the ones who directed all things.
She fretted on how to break the news to Oberon that his only grandson was destined to be affected by this magic. A shudder ran through her. DooNell recalled his strong reaction to his daughter marrying a deity from another realm. This connection of his grandson to a woman the Powers had informed her was only part mortal stood to produce fireworks.
Frustration at his inability to concentrate put Ian in a foul mood. “What the hell is wrong with me?” The blank computer screen didn’t respond, and he resisted the urge to pick up the device and pitch it out the window. It wasn’t the computer’s fault, but his own, that his latest book was going nowhere.
Ian rubbed a hand across the spider crawl across the back of his neck. Bloody hell. The sensation had occurred as long as he could remember anytime one of his grandfathers made an unannounced appearance.
“Grandfather?” He turned his swivel chair to confront the new arrival and almost groaned out loud. “Or should I say, Grandfathers?” Great. The Powers saw fit to bless him with a visit from Odin and Oberon, two of the three immortals who knew how to create the most trouble in his life. The bright side to the situation was that his grandmother, Aphrodite, wasn’t with them. And thank the universe, his mother and father weren’t here either. When they were around, a visit from the Big Os usually ended up in an argument with one, if not both, of his parents.
“Why am I blessed with the honor of this surprise?” He looked at the tall, large-boned, blond male who stared back intently with his one good eye. At least the old boy had turned down the light in the magical eye, and Ian didn’t have the need to search for his sunglasses.
“We’re happy to see you too, grandson.” The shorter white-haired member of the duo said. “Do we always need a reason to visit our favorite heir?”
Ian didn’t try to choke back the snort of disbelief. “Favorite? For you this may be so, as I’m your only grandchild. For this one”— he focused his attention on Odin—“I’m not so sure favorite is the correct word. There are many who feel they have claim to the honor.” As far as he knew, Oberon had remained faithful to Tanna, the faerie queen, and if not, he didn’t want to know about it.
Odin was a completely different story. The old god’s fling with Aphrodite resulted in the birth of Ian’s father and a pissed off wife back in Asgard. The Goddess of Love was only the tip of the ice
berg. The Nordic god didn’t know how to keep it in his pants when in the presence of female company in any world. Ian didn’t doubt any number of the immortal’s numerous human encounters had resulted in an offspring.
Odin sauntered over to the liquor cabinet and surveyed its contents. He selected a whisky to his liking and poured a stiff shot into one of the available glasses. “We haven’t seen you for a while, grandson. You don’t make demands on our time as your parents did when they lived in this realm.” Throwing back the scotch in one gulp, he let out a satisfied, “Aaah,” and wiped the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth. “They always wanted us to work some bit of magic for their poor mortals, especially your mother.” The God of Wisdom scratched his head. “Never could understand how my son can stay married to such a demanding female.”
The Faerie King elbowed Odin aside and poured himself a liberal amount of scotch. He sniffed the glass before he took a sip. “Watch how you talk about my daughter, Nord. I don’t consider your son the top prize of the fair, either.”
If Ian didn’t bring a detour to the road this conversation started down, the two immortals would soon be into a shouting match. Each grumbled over things about their own offspring they didn’t appreciate but wouldn’t tolerate anyone else bad-mouthing them. “This all sounds good and well, but you still haven’t told me why you dropped in…together.”
“Nothing special.” Oberon handed a glass of whisky to Ian.
“Right. Nothing special.” Odin shrugged. “I paid a visit to Oberon, and as we talked, the conversation got around to the subject of you—and your lack of a mate. Thought we’d drop by and see what you’ve accomplished in that area.”
Nosey, as always.
Ian took a deep breath and counted to ten. If it were possible, the Big Os would give him an ulcer. He loved them both dearly, but at times, they were a pain in the ass. Still, the visitor could be worse—his mother. Now she was a major pain in his ass.
Beyond Magic (Magical Love Book 1) Page 4