By Magic Alone

by Tracy Madison

  I unfolded the paper quickly, before doubt could set in. When the drawing was open fully, I stared, trying to make sense of what I saw. “This looks like a family portrait.”

  “Yes,” Alice said. She leaned in closer and pointed. “I’m here with Ethan and Rose. Look how beautiful she is! Elizabeth and Nate are over here, with a toddler on his lap.” I didn’t have to see Alice’s face to know she was grinning. “Chloe and Ben . . . and look, they have two babies. Joe is standing in the back, with his arm around a woman I haven’t met yet. This . . . this is Sheridan, Chloe’s sister. I don’t know who the teenage girl with her is, but she kind of looks like Chloe, doesn’t she?”

  I’d stopped listening. I found what I wanted to see. “Not necessarily absolute, huh?”

  “Not necessarily. No. But you’re here, Julia. With Scot and a son, just like Grandma said. He looks to be about three, wouldn’t you say? It’s so hard to tell.” Alice’s finger ran across the page to the other side. “My parents are over here, and Mom is holding another baby. Maybe mine and Ethan’s. Maybe yours and Scot’s. I don’t know. But you’re here.” She laughed. “And so are a whole lot of children. I can’t wait to meet them all.”

  “I don’t see Verda,” I said softly. “She’s not here.”

  “No, she isn’t.” Alice’s voice caught. “But this is what? At least four years from now, maybe five. I guess it isn’t a surprise, but I would’ve liked to see her here. We look happy, though. All of us.”

  “Yeah, we do.” Ridiculously happy, even. “Thank you for sharing this with me.” Tears clouded my vision. I sat up straight and turned my head, away from Alice. “Can I keep this? Even if only to make a copy?”

  That way, if I’d already changed this future, if this day was now out of my reach, I’d have a visual reminder of what could have been.

  “Of course you can. I already have a copy. This one is for you.” Alice’s hand brushed across my shoulders. “I’m going to go inside now, before they all wonder what I’m doing out here. But in case you want to go in search of my brother, I wrote his address on the back. It’s actually my old place, and before that, it was Grandma’s. I wasn’t sure if you’d been there or not.”

  I hadn’t, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I thanked her again. When she was out of the car, I drove up the road a bit before pulling over. So I could stare at Alice’s sketch of me, my son, and—I had to assume—my husband.

  I punched Scot’s address into my GPS. I wanted this future, and I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for it happen. After hearing me out, if Scot didn’t want the same future, I’d deal with it. But damn me if I wasn’t going to try.

  Chapter Twenty

  I found Scot’s condo easily enough, but unfortunately he wasn’t home. I had all of this pent-up energy building inside, and the thought of leaving without seeing him, without talking to him, seemed impossible.

  So I didn’t leave. Instead, I sat in my car and waited. I stared at Alice’s drawing for a while and then stared at Scot’s door for a while. I did this repeatedly, my emotions fluctuating from happiness and hope to the crazy need to do something. Anything.

  I picked up my cell phone and considered my options. I could call him, tell him I was here, that we needed to talk, and that I’d wait until he got home. But that felt a little stalkerish. I was also afraid that given the option, he’d find a reason not to see me. So, no. I’d wait for a while longer. If he didn’t show, I’d visit again. He had to return home at some point.

  Another hour passed without any sign of Scot, and I was beginning to draw furtive glances from the woman who lived next door. Probably it was best to leave before the police arrived.

  With nowhere else to go, I headed for home. I told myself the entire way that everything would work out fine. That trusting my heart meant all good things. That Scot and I would realize the future Alice’s magic had shown her. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. As far as I knew, at this very second, Scot and Leslie were talking about their future. I wasn’t being overdramatic, either. I was being realistic. My action—my wish for Leslie and Scot—might have been enough to change the fates of us all.

  Sadness struck. I let the possibility sink in for just a minute. Any longer would have been too much to bear. If such a thing happened, I’d wish them well and go about seeking whatever else the universe had in store. I didn’t regret anything. I couldn’t. Without Verda, I might never have seen the love my parents shared. I might never have experienced that type of love for myself. I might never have understood. And that made everything—no matter the outcome—worthwhile.

  “No regrets,” I whispered as I parked my car. “No matter what. No regrets.”

  I stopped outside of my apartment and looked at Kara and Leslie’s door. I hadn’t seen or talked with Leslie since the horrible conversation we’d had in her bedroom, mostly because I’d been caught between fear of what she might say about Scot and worry that I’d lost a friend. I missed her. I also owed her an apology.

  Rather than letting myself in, I knocked. You know, just in case she was curled up with Scot. Or, um, doing other things. That was something I most definitely did not need to walk in on.

  Less than a minute later, the door opened. Leslie’s eyes were red. From crying or lack of sleep, I couldn’t tell.

  “Hey, Les. Are you okay?”

  She sneezed, and her gaze darted across the hall to my apartment. “What are you doing here, Julia?”

  Ah. She had a cold. “I miss you,” I said, hoping that being simple and direct would put us on the right path. “And I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. You didn’t deserve to see . . . well, what you saw.”

  Something unknown glittered in the tawny depths of her eyes. Anger? I didn’t think so. Worry? Maybe. She sighed. “I’m sorry, too. I was a bitch. And our friendship is important to me. I . . . Did you just get home?”

  “Yeah. Can I come in?” She hesitated for a millisecond but stepped to the side so I could pass. “Is Kara here? I haven’t seen her around the past few days.”

  Leslie shuffled to the couch and pulled her blanket up and around her. A box of tissues sat on the end table, along with a gigantic bottle of water and a bag of throat lozenges. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose before answering. “Kara’s hardly ever here. She’s with Brett all of the time.”

  I took the chair across from her. “So that’s going well?”

  “Exceedingly well. I bet they’ll be living together within the year.”

  Wow. Good for Kara. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. “Is he a pomegranate?”

  Leslie grinned. “No clue. But he’s nice and he treats her well.” She gave me a long, searching look. “Scot’s a pomegranate.”

  I blinked. Okay, ready or not, we were having this conversation. “Yes. I think so, anyway. He’s . . . um . . . pretty incredible.”

  Leslie unwrapped a throat lozenge and popped it in her mouth. She offered me one, but I shook my head. Today I wasn’t pretending to have a cold.

  “I screwed up,” she said, her gaze sliding to the side of me. “I . . . I did something I’m not proud of, and—”

  “Are you talking about your one-night stand?” I interjected. “Because if so, that’s . . . well, it isn’t my business.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m talking about. Yes, that was a huge screwup. Classic Leslie, right?” She twisted the lozenge wrapper in her fingers. She released a slow breath. “He liked you first, Julia.”

  “Wh-what?” I heard her but didn’t understand.

  Now she lifted her chin so our eyes could meet. “Scot. He liked you first. I never told you that. But . . . um . . . Scot thought you knew.”

  I reminded myself to take in air. Then I reminded myself to stay calm. “Explain. I’m . . . You’ve lost me. I didn’t even meet Scot until you introduced us. So how could he have liked me first?”

  She answered my question with one of her own. “How did I meet Scot?”

  “He said he sent a drink
to your table.”

  “Yes. But the drink was for you, not me,” Leslie said. “We were all at O’Halloran’s together. You, Kara, and me. You left before us. Scot sent the drink to you, but you’d already left by the time the waiter brought it over. I took the drink to Scot, told him you said thanks but no thanks, and we started talking.” The admission poured out of her, as if she were afraid that if she didn’t come clean fast, she wouldn’t at all. “So you see, Julia, I wasn’t that surprised to see you two kiss.”

  Oh. Oh, wow. Men never bought me drinks. Well, men who weren’t clouded by an enchantment. But Scot had? Without a spell. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She swallowed heavily. “It was wrong. But I really liked him. And you didn’t seem interested in dating at all. So I figured it wouldn’t matter to you.”

  So many pieces clicked into place. This is what Scot wanted me to know, what he’d tried to share with me in Las Vegas. And oh, God. He thought I’d rebuffed him. But I hadn’t. Would I have? I didn’t know, but I’d have liked the opportunity to find out.

  Something else came to me. “Did you purposely tell him things about me that you knew he wouldn’t like?”

  “Not on purpose, no. But Kara’s right. I lied to him about me.” Leslie angled her arms over her chest. “Scot and I only worked because I lied. He . . . he’s not right for me. I don’t know why I fixated on him so hard.”

  “I see. When did you figure this out, Leslie?”

  “I don’t know. Over the weekend, I guess. I felt horrible about what I said to you. And Kara and I had a long heart-to-heart, and that cleared things up more,” Leslie said. “Scot and I talked, too. You should know that.”

  “When?” I demanded. “When did you guys talk?”

  “Today. This morning, actually. We’re on the same page, in case you’re wondering.” She blinked several times. “So . . . um . . . how angry are you?”

  “I’m not angry that you and Scot talked. As to the rest . . . I haven’t decided yet.” Wait. Maybe I had. “That was a really crappy thing to do, Leslie. We’re friends. I’ve been walking around with all of this guilt inside because of how I feel for Scot. I tried to ignore my feelings out of respect for you.” Um. Well. “That didn’t work so well, though,” I admitted in a rush.

  “Be angry. You have the right. But eventually, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  I sighed in frustration. “Of course I will. We both made mistakes.” Then what she said hit me. “Wait . . . you said both of you are on the same page? Meaning . . .”

  “Well, I should say I’m finally on his page.” Her face split into a wide smile as she realized my confusion. “The friendship page, Julia.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, that’s really great news. I have to go.” I stood. “We’ll talk more about this later, but we’re still friends. No, Leslie. We’re family.”

  My hand was on the doorknob when she said, “Where are you going?”

  “To Scot’s. I hope he’s home by now.”

  “Uh-uh. He isn’t,” she said quickly. “He, uh, told me had a ton of errands to run. He didn’t expect to be home until later tonight. So going there now is a waste of time. Go home, Julia. Try him tomorrow.”

  Ugh. Well, hell. I’d waited this long, what were a few more hours? “I could stay here with you. Maybe watch a movie?”

  “I’m going to sleep.” In a firm voice, she said, “Go home.”

  “All right. I hope you feel better. And . . . when you’re ready to date again, let me know. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Yes, I still thought Jameson and Leslie might be good together.

  This perked her up. “Really? Tell me more.”

  “He’s an attorney, Les. His name is Jameson Parkington, and he’s a really great guy.” I told her about him, hitting on every one of her five qualifications. The longer I spoke, the less ill she appeared. I finished by sharing the story of how he almost put one over on me with his Harold Johnson prank.

  “He likes practical jokes, huh?” I saw the wheels turning in her head. “Feel like getting a little revenge?” she asked.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Maybe I could . . . ah . . . dress rather provocatively and knock on his door one night.” Leslie winked. “Tell him that I’m a friend of an associate who is aware of his propensity for household objects and sent me over as a gift.”

  I laughed in a mixture of shock and delight. “And then, at the right moment, you could drop Harold’s name. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  A mischievous smile curved Leslie’s lips. “With your permission. It might be fun, and you definitely have to get him back. Besides, I owe you.”

  I gave it another three seconds of thought and nodded. “I’ll get his address from my folks and pass it along. I can probably even find out his schedule, so you can plan it out better.” I laughed again. “God, I’d love to see the look on his face when you show up.”

  Leslie yawned, but the twinkle in her eyes remained. “We’ll go over all the details later. But right now . . .” She nodded toward the door.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. You need to sleep.” I gave her a little wave and let myself out.

  Leslie, Jameson, and the upcoming practical joke disappeared from my mind the second I entered my apartment. Anxiety pooled in my gut. How in the hell was I going to get through the next several hours? I wanted to talk to Scot now. Not later. I took off my coat and deposited it, along with my purse, on the dining-room table. My stomach grumbled with hunger, which was sort of a shocker. How could I be hungry at a time like this? But I was, so I went to the kitchen . . . where I stopped. Every muscle in my body froze. My jaw dropped open. A million little shivers cascaded over me.

  “H-How?”

  “Hey, beautiful,” Scot said in his low, husky voice. He was in the kitchen. My kitchen. “Leslie let me in. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t. Mind, that is.” Okay, now that he was here with me, my tongue refused to function properly. And wow, he looked so good. Tall, strong, handsome. Too good to be real. Like an oasis in the middle of a desert. “You’re not a mirage, are you?”

  “I am definitely not a mirage.” Three steps carried him to me. He brought his hands to my face, one on either side, and brushed his thumbs beneath my eyes. A ragged-sounding sigh pushed from his lungs. “You look bruised here. Did I do this to you?”

  “I haven’t slept well.” My body swayed from his touch, from the reality of his presence. All the words I wanted—needed—to say gathered on my tongue, but voicing them seemed impossible. He might stop touching me if I did. Instead, I said, “I’m surprised you’re here.”

  “Good surprised or bad?” he asked.

  “Depends on why you’re here.”

  “That depends on if you’ll forgive me.” His fingers spread into my hair. Warmth suffused my body inch by delicious inch.

  “I probably will,” I assured him. “But you hurt me.”

  “I know.” And in those two tiny words, I heard his pain at causing mine. “But I was trying to protect you. I thought—”

  “I know. Part of it, anyway.” I cupped his cheek with my hand. “I paid a visit to Alice today. Well, not just her. Verda, Elizabeth, and Chloe were there, too.”

  The muscle in his cheek flinched against my palm. “They promised to stay out of this.”

  “Oh, they were very careful in keeping their promises. I had to guess most of what I know. But Scot, those brownies didn’t do anything to me. I hadn’t even eaten one until after we got home from the airport.” I breathed in his scent, and somehow, that gave me courage. “I dabbled a bit in magic, myself.” In as concise a manner as I could, I explained about the journal, the wishes I’d cast, and how I’d worried that his desire for me had been because of a spell. “I hope that’s not true, but you need to know it’s possible.”

  He stared at me, into my soul, with his rich, dark chocolate eyes. I tried to read the emotions I saw there, tried to discern his expression, but both escap
ed me.

  “No, Julia. I thought you were beautiful from the second I saw you.”

  Relief eased some of the suffocating pressure sitting on my chest. So far, so good. “Leslie told me how you two really met, so I hoped that was the case.”

  “I’m glad that came from her.” A quick flash of humor darted over him. “So, my grandmother gave you a magical journal. That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. You know about Miranda and you know about the magic. What else?”

  “Nothing, really.” Okay, that wasn’t completely true, but I wanted to hear the rest before showing him Alice’s drawing. And it didn’t feel right—in any way whatsoever—mentioning what Alice had said about Verda. “But I’d like to know all of it, Scot.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” He stepped away from me and dropped his hands, and I missed him immediately. “Come on. Let’s sit down for this.”

  I didn’t argue, just followed him to the living room. Once we were settled on the sofa, I said, “You’re kind of scaring me here. Is this so bad, I have to be sitting to hear it?”

  “Not bad.” Scot’s shoulders stiffened. “But I’m not sure how you’ll react. Hell, I didn’t react well when I first heard the story.” He swore under his breath. “There isn’t an easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. My grandmother believes that you are my soul mate. She also believes that you and I are going to have three sons.”

  “I know all of this, Scot.”

  “Supposedly, there are going to be more daughters born into the family.”

  I thought of the picture and nodded. “And Miranda’s magic is a gift, passed from daughter to daughter. Not to the sons. Correct?”

  “Yup.” Scot ran his hand over his jaw. “But my grandmother is positive that the magic is growing and changing with each new generation. And she believes that the future women in our family will struggle with the power, and that some of them could lose their way.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “She dreamed of a . . . well, a prophecy, I guess. For lack of a better word. And that prophecy showed her that our sons will create some type of a stabilizing balance for the magic. A grounding for the power.” He swore again, shaking his head. “I’m not explaining this well. But this is why my grandmother has been so focused on finding my soul mate.”