Soulmated

by Shaila Patel

  I snorted. Like I’d let the two of them ever meet up.

  More importantly, what was I going to be telling my parents about Lucky? I didn’t want the pressure from Da.

  Mum brought a small box into the kitchen, kissing the top of my head as she passed. “So, darling, how was your first day?” she asked, setting the box on the counter.

  “Grand.”

  “Did you meet the potential candidate?”

  I let out a small laugh. She hated using the word target. “That I did.”

  Mum smiled. “Lovely, darling. And her name?”

  “Luck—Laxshmi Kapadia. She lives not two doors down, on the other side of Mrs. Robertson.”

  Mum pulled some magnets from the box and put them onto the fridge. She’d acquired a collection over the years, one from everywhere we’d lived and visited. “Did you get to spend some time with her then?”

  “Some.” Lucky’s smile at the end of the day flashed across my mind, and I barely kept myself from grinning.

  She turned to me just as I masked my expression. “And? What are your impressions?”

  I thought of Lucky’s legs and had to stop myself from rubbing my neck. I blocked my emotions from Mum most of the time, so she’d analyze my body language like it was the key to the universe.

  “Don’t have any yet—” Damn. She’d take that as no more than an invitation to pry, to be sure. With each target, I’d always come home with something to say.

  She’s quiet, but I’ll get her to talking.

  She’s an easy one to talk to—and she’s got potential enough.

  She’s a nervous one, but I’ll get her to relax.

  I probably said more than most guys would tell their mums, but this quest of mine made the bloody situation a bit different than normal dating.

  I’d been excited about it in the beginning, giving each of the targets a hand-carved gift. Woodworking was a hobby Great-Granddad O’Connor and I had shared. It’d been naive of me to think the gift would mark some important moment. By the time we reached Memphis, carving one had become a chore. I did it anyhow.

  And damn if I wasn’t already imagining what I’d be carving for Lucky.

  Mum raised an eyebrow and took a long look at me, giving me the I-really-want-to-read-you glance I knew all too well. She sighed and put a kettle on to boil. Thank God.

  “Is she an empath yet?” she asked.

  “No, she wasn’t sensing my blocking her.”

  Two things had to happen for Lucky to become a full empath. First, she had to sense emotions, which she seemed to be doing a fair bit of already. Second, she had to be able to sense another empath’s mental block. I’d be testing Lucky as much as possible to see if she had the gifts to make such a leap.

  “What of her potential then?” Mum asked.

  Good. A safe topic. “You’ll love this—it’s off the charts.”

  Mum raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

  She headed into the front room, brought back one of her spiral research notebooks and settled herself into the chair beside me. Her specialty was studying empaths, and we’d been rating the targets’ empathic potential from the beginning. Back then, she’d call me her little grad student. I pushed my bread crumbs around the plate, waiting for her to finish jotting down her notes. When she was ready, I described the three times Lucky had read me, telling Mum the last emotion was optimism instead of the hope I’d felt. Anything to sound like less of a sap.

  “And how would you rate the last one, darling?”

  “Clear ten. She was plucking the feeling right out of my head when I hadn’t even got around to acknowledging it myself.” That was a lie. I’d known it was there, buried under six years of wasted time.

  Mum wagged her pen at me. “That is impressive. She definitely shows more promise than the others. Your father did say she’d be a strong empath.”

  “Yeah, but that’s after we’ve joined and become soulmated,” I said. “And has Da come any closer to finding out what the hell this joining is meant to be?” I pushed back my chair and crossed my arms. It probably meant sex, which was fine by me, but the parents weren’t so convinced as of yet.

  She frowned. “Watch your language. Laxshmi couldn’t become a strong empath if she didn’t have a high EQ potential to begin with, now could she?” She got up and began steeping her tea.

  Years ago, Mum had developed the test to determine an empath’s empathic quotient, like an IQ test. It made her a big deal in the empath community.

  I stared out the kitchen window. The view of our neighbor’s chain-link fence and his tangled garden hose reminded me how much I missed the views from home. Home. I thought about Lucky and what had happened at the lockers before lunch. I’d only meant to taunt her when I crowded close, but her scent had been overwhelming. It caught me off guard and took me back to my summers in Ireland, where I’d hang about in the meadows behind our home, laughing, talking, and having a grand old hooley with the cousins.

  The neighbor’s air-conditioning unit whirled on, and I slumped in my chair.

  Lucky’s scent seemed close, like she was right in front of me, and that made me think on her eyes and those long, dark lashes of hers. They were so inviting. I’d almost leaned in to kiss her, but then she’d freaked and banged her head on the lockers. The urge to touch and comfort would’ve won its way with me had she not slipped out of my grasp. I couldn’t lose control like that again. How could I be focusing on the job while acting like a lovesick puppy at the same time?

  The smell of Darjeeling filled the kitchen and drew me out of my daydream.

  “Your father and I still haven’t discovered what the joining entails, but we don’t suspect it will be a simple process. He’s working on it every day, however. We think we know what it is not, but if it is sex, well … then … you’ll have to wait until you both are married.” Mum sat with her teapot, cup, and saucer and gave me the all-too-familiar look that threatened she’d drag me to confession if necessary.

  Was she bloody serious?

  “What is she like?” She poured herself some tea.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face. I knew she’d find her way back to finding out more. I had to be giving her something, or I’d not hear the end of the matter.

  “I could see dating her, I suppose.” I shrugged.

  Mum raised her eyebrows. “That’s new, isn’t it? I’m happy for you, darling. I would like for you to have a normal relationship for once.” She took a sip of her tea. “Is she pretty?”

  I thought of her eyes and my face warmed. I looked down a tad too late.

  Mum laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

  “Jaysus, Mum. Can you not understand I don’t want to talk to my mother about this?” What was I meant to tell her? That Lucky was topping with an eleven out of ten on my rating scale?

  “Come now and out with it. Tell me about her.”

  “Fine. She projects. She’ll send out several feelings all at once in a blast almost. It was … actually entertaining.”

  “She projects? Already? Interesting.” She took another sip and then gasped, narrowing her eyes at me. “Liam, you weren’t projecting on her to push her, were you?”

  Shite. I looked at the checkerboard pattern the grout lines made with the tile floor and scratched the side of my head.

  She clinked her cup down onto the saucer. “Liam Whelan, did you or did you not?”

  “A bit, all right?” I raised my hands. “I’ll not be waiting a year like in Memphis to find out if she’s my soul mate, so I pushed a little, tested her, and I was right to do so.”

  “You know how I feel about that. I don’t like manipulating a non-empath.”

  “I know and I’m sorry enough for it. But no worries. No manipulation was involved. And she handled my projections, she did. No harm done. She even embarrassed me later, giving me back some of me own—in a good way, of course.” I tried to hide a smile.

 
She shook her head, but she was fighting a smile too. “Is she in any of your classes?”

  “Two of them.”

  “Which ones?”

  “History and calculus.”

  She pushed a wavy lock of her blond hair out of her face. “Those are your AP classes, are they not?”

  Mum and Da loved nothing more than to match each target with descriptions from his visions. Comparing Lucky to those bleedin’ visions didn’t feel right—Lucky was just … Lucky. For once, I was wishing they’d leave me be. “She’s smart as a whip. Isn’t that what the old man always says? Should I be sending out wedding invites now?”

  “Liam, why are you acting like this?”

  “You’re the shrink, yeah? You’ll be telling me, won’t you?”

  Her brow furrowed. She finished her tea and rose to wash her cup, taking my plate with her. Even though I wasn’t trying to read her, I was sensing her disappointment. She hated when I didn’t respect what she did. Well, bloody hell and damn me hide.

  I went up to her and rested my chin on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mum.”

  She turned off the faucet and leaned her head against mine. “You know I’m on your side. I love you.”

  I took a deep breath and caved. “Fine enough. Yes, Lucky’s beautiful and brilliant.”

  She turned to me, her eyes wide. “You call her Lucky? Tell me more about her, or I’ll die of curiosity.”

  Jaysus, why had I ever opened my trap? “Sorry you don’t have a girl, Mum.”

  Straightening, she pursed her lips. “Nonsense.” She dried her hands and turned to face me. “Did you learn anything about her family? Does she have siblings? What does she want to do with her life?”

  And I’d thought Shiney’s interrogation had been bad.

  I answered as many of Mum’s questions as I could, but for the most part, I was clueless. Each one kept reminding me how little I knew about Lucky. Several dozen rapid-fire questions later, I was ready to gouge out my eyes. I groaned, realizing Da would be worse.

  “Mum! Like I’d said before, I didn’t ask. Are you done now with your inquisition?”

  “Liam Whelan, this could be important. We didn’t uproot ourselves time and again for the last six years only for you to shut yourself off like this. My shrinky powers—as you call them—are telling me you took a shine to her. So, yes, I would like to know more about her.” She sounded stern, but her eyes were soft. “This time next year, she could very well be my daughter-in-law.”

  Whoa. “Next year? For Christ’s sake, can you not cut me some slack here? I’m not doing all of this to get myself shackled at eighteen.” I stormed out of the kitchen, kicking a chair out of my way. This conversation had gone on long enough.

  She followed after me. “Liam, don’t you dare take the Lord’s name in vain in this house. I’ve taught you better.”

  I grabbed my bag, ran upstairs, and slammed my bedroom door. Thankfully, she stayed downstairs.

  I blared the stereo, looping “Crash Into Me” on repeat, and lay back on my bed. It was a live recording, and with my eyes closed, I imagined I was at the concert. When he sang the line Lucky had quoted, I felt my cheeks stretch into a smile.

  Could Lucky be The One?

  She was different—real. She could flirt too. Who the hell had ever made me blush before? Once she relaxed, she was a right bit of fun. The line she’d laid on me at lunch had almost made me piss my pants. “If that gets you through the rest of your day, sure.” I couldn’t wait to see what she’d be like tomorrow.

  But I’d have to be careful.

  Sejal had been promising at first too. What if Lucky turned out like Sejal? What if she was another brilliant display of fireworks that fizzled out in time?

  Glancing at the clock, I wondered how Ciarán would be keeping himself. Was it too early to be telling him about Lucky? Yeah, probably. I already knew what he’d say. He’d say something about the novelty wearing off and the targets being so useless that not even the tide would take them out. I could always count on him being crass.

  But if Lucky wasn’t my soul mate, what was I going to do? Screw the search and stay behind to date her for no better reason than my liking her? Or keep searching until I graduated? I covered my face with a pillow and groaned.

  If Lucky was The One, I wanted to start living my life—return home to Ireland, go to university, and start heading up the estate. But even with Lucky there with me, I surely couldn’t see myself in love, starting up a family, and all that shite. Not yet, anyhow. Empath politics was out of the question as well. Uncle Nigel could keep holding those reins, as far as I was concerned.

  I got up, cracked open my physics book, and began doing my schoolwork. Two hours later, Mum called me down for supper. Da had brought take-out Chinese, and Mum was setting it up in the dining room, now that all the boxes were off the oak table. It was the one room downstairs with enough uninterrupted wall space to hang all the family photos. Between Granddad Whelan’s family manor in Waterford, Great-Granddad O’Connor’s estate outside of Dublin, and Granddad O’Connor’s estate in Wales, we had more family reunions crammed into each summer than most did in a decade, and we had the pictures to prove the fact of it. That was the life waiting for me.

  Da’s questions about Lucky would surely make the meal a nightmare. If I’d not been so damned hungry, I’d have skipped the whole bloody supper.

  He came out of the kitchen drying his hands on one of Mum’s dainty towels. “So what’s the story? Have you met the target then?”

  My attention jerked to Mum who was putting serving spoons in the take-out. She hasn’t told him. For the first time ever, she’d left it up to me.

  “No, not yet.” The lie came out as easily as my smile. Would Mum rat on me? She wouldn’t look my way, so I assumed she was right enough with me not telling Da anything for now. For once, he’d not be plaguing me by going on and on about my soul mate. I rolled my shoulders, not realizing how tense they’d been. Or had I been tense because I didn’t want to be thinking of Lucky as a target?

  “No worries. It’ll be happening soon enough.” He sat down to eat but stared off for a moment. “Yes, it must. It must.” He rubbed his stubble. “Pass the soy sauce, if you’ll be so kind?” He doused his food and cleared his throat. “Moira, love, an email came in today.” He shoved some noodles in his mouth.

  “From?”

  He swallowed and took a swig of his Guinness. “The Elders.”

  She put down the container of sesame chicken and stared at Da.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, looking from one to the other. The tension felt like the humidity outside.

  Mum went back to serving herself chicken, and Da’s mind was closed off to me as usual. I slapped down my chopsticks. “I’m not a child, for Christ’s sake. So will someone please be telling me what the hell is going on?”

  “Liam, language! How many—?”

  “Leave him be, love,” Da said. “One of their ministers will be flying into Charlotte. They’re wanting a meeting with me.”

  “When?” she asked, her fork suspended midair. It looked like she was holding her breath.

  He wiped his mouth. “Sunday.”

  “I’m coming with,” I said.

  Mum shook her head. “You most certainly will not. Tell him, Patrick. Pass me the beef, please.”

  “Mum—”

  She clenched her hands together, as if in prayer. “Liam, the testing was different. You have no experience with this brand of politics, and I’ll not have you dragged into anything. You will allow your father to handle this.”

  “If this concerns me, I will be going along,” I said.

  Da cleared his throat. “Let him, Moira.” He averted his eyes and shrugged. “They may not be coming about the visions.” He sounded as if he were convincing himself. “If they are … well, we have time yet, we do.”

  Time?

  Mum distracted me with an empathic warning that
felt like hot water scalding my skin. Her intention was clear—my little lie to Da could backfire.

  We normally blocked our own emotions as a rule, unless we had to project an emotion to send a message. To accept messages from those closest to us, we kept our minds open, but only in one direction—to accept incoming calls.

  “Of course, that’s what they’re coming for, Patrick. If the top-ranking members in the Line of Ascension think Liam—soulmated or not—is a threat to their positions, I’ve no doubt they’ll try to silence him or manipulate him for their own gain. The Elders are not getting any younger. If one of them should pass soon, Liam could get caught up in a feeding frenzy to rival those sharks you’re so fond of on the telly. He’s not ready for that.”

  I didn’t know if I should be upset at Mum’s lack of faith in me or if I should just be thankful she didn’t want me in politics.

  Mum’s lineage came from one of the five original royal empath houses of Ireland—only four of which were still around. Since we didn’t follow the rules of primogeniture, once Great-Granddad O’Connor had passed, the Elders had scheduled the test to determine the strongest empath in our family. Those of us over eighteen had taken part in it. I beat out all the eligible cousins, along with granddad, Mum, and both of her brothers, Nigel and Henry.

  As the new clan head, getting my arse dragged into empath politics would come about sooner or later. Empaths could live to be well over 120 years, and I’d been hoping it’d be much much later before I’d have more to do with the Council. Besides, with Uncle Nigel taking our family’s seat in the Council, there’d be no need to be rushing into anything. I could spend years at university getting several degrees before I even began taking up my clan’s duties.

  Da shrugged one shoulder as if he couldn’t be worried, but the tightness in his face told a story otherwise. No doubt, he was trying to keep Mum from fretting. “Pass me the rice, son.”