Fury rose in me while I methodically searched every nook and cranny of the room for something that might trigger the latent power inside me. My family history might be shrouded in intrigue and scandal, but one thing the Beltane fire-seekers agreed on was that my bloodline had produced the most powerful witches of every generation. Every generation except for mine.
How humiliating.
Chapter Three
I love what I do. It's a great job on the best of days. Today, however, wasn't shaping up to be one of those.
It all started with a phone call before I'd had my second cup of coffee, and now I was running, literally, to the office to deal with a panicked former client.
It's a fifteen-minute walk to work, one that I enjoy in all seasons because I don't like to drive. Today, however, I almost wished I had grabbed a ride from Flix, in his leather-covered convertible sports car that was completely ludicrous considering he could flit across town in half a second. What I wouldn't give for the ability to teleport, but even full-blown witches didn't have that type of power. Now, it was hotter than Hades--unseasonably hot--and my blouse was sticking to my armpits in a most unattractive way. I was flapping my arms to air them out as I approached the office, and was surprised to find I had an audience.
Harry, the former client who had filled my voice mailbox before breakfast, shuffled back and forth on the front steps with wild-eyed panic written all over his face, and I was grateful he was too preoccupied to notice my unladylike behavior.
"Lemon doesn't love me anymore and you need to do something about it." Way to build suspense.
"Calm down and come inside. We'll sort this out." I put on my most soothing tone. Harry had been one of my more difficult clients to match. It wasn't anything about his looks--he was actually a handsome guy--it was his name that put women off. That and the fact that he liked to introduce himself James Bond style.
Tart. Harry Tart.
It didn't have quite the same ring to it.
I got him settled into a chair, plied him with coffee--decaf, he didn't need to be any more keyed up than he already was--and let him pour out the whole story.
"She says I'm imagining things, but I'm not. Something is off with her. Way off."
"Could it be nothing more than a case of wedding jitters?" It wasn't every day you found a woman willing to saddle herself with the name Lemon Tart for the rest of her life. Maybe Lemon was having second thoughts.
"It's more than that. She's giddy over the wedding one minute, and then the next I feel like she's got one foot out the door. You said we were soul mates. You used the word destiny. I love her, Lexi. You have to help me." It all spilled out of him in a flood of pain and accusation.
This kind of thing rarely happens with the couples I put together. I have an inch-thick scrapbook of wedding photos to prove it's not just an ego thing; when I make a match, it pretty much stays made. Who am I to question why? All relationships have their ups and downs, but true soul mates have what it takes to weather any storm. Fortunately, troubleshooting those hurdles is not usually my department.
"Isn't she supposed to be picking out the wedding favors this afternoon?" Lemon's addiction to social media went well beyond the fanatical. Every step of her march toward wedded bliss had been recorded in infinite detail over half a dozen websites and a shared calendar. I knew her schedule as well as my own. Most of her friends probably did. "If it will make you feel better, I'll stop over there and talk to her. We'll see if we can get to the bottom of this." I patted him on the arm and he grasped my hand like a drowning man.
"Please. I love her." Simple honesty. Misery poured off the man in waves. I offered a few more soothing platitudes and sent him out the door just as Mona Katz was on her way in. A glance at his expression took a little shine off her smile.
"Everything okay? He didn't look like a happy customer." The new haircut had done its job. I noted the change in Mona's posture, the tilt of her head, and the way her gaze remained steady. A flowing maxi skirt and basic tank looked comfortable and natural on her petite frame, and she had elevated the look with a couple of bangle bracelets, a turquoise necklace and matching earrings, and a cropped denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up.
"Some people need to take the rocky path to love. It's nothing to worry about. Are you ready to meet some men?"
Another huge lesson from my first few months in the biz: people need the show. Mona's perfect match was three, maybe four blocks north of here at this very minute. We could walk out that door and my gut would lead me to straight to him. A done deal.
One that would backfire on me six ways to Sunday. Anything that comes too easily inspires doubt and so, while I planned to let my gut take me to her soul mate, it would be with a few stops along the way.
"Now? I thought we were going to just..." Mona flapped one hand and pressed the other to her heart. "Look through something, I guess. Like photos or profiles." A common misconception. "I didn't wear my date outfit!"
"Trust me." This was quickly becoming a catch phrase for me. "My methods might seem unorthodox, but I get results. We're going for a casual, happy hour drink, and you look gorgeous. If you didn't, I'd offer you another trip in there," I jabbed a thumb in the direction of the closet door, "but it's completely unnecessary."
"Okay," she replied on a choked breath.
"Relax, Mona. Finding love should be fun. If it isn't, we're not doing it right. We're just going to make one or two stops along the way." I practically dragged her out the door.
***
Impeccable timing let us bump into Lemon on her way out of one of my favorite specialty sweet shops. It would have been hard to miss her; I knew Lemon had decided long ago to embrace her off-beat moniker, and the bright yellow pantsuit she wore was the exact same shade as the drops of sweet and tart candy that bore her name.
Even more impeccable timing let me rescue a box of wedding favor samples before they hit the ground. "I'll carry this one for you. Where are you parked? This is Mona, by the way. She's a new client. Mona, Lemon."
I met Lemon's harried expression with a cheerful smile as I looked around for her car. Bridezilla on steroids, Lemon scorned the very idea of hiring a wedding planner. "Mind if I take a peek?" Not waiting for an answer, I popped the box of favors open and tried to hold back an amused snort.
"Nice to meet you, Mona. You're in great hands with this one; she introduced me to my Harry and now look at us." Her expression turned sickly sweet for a moment and then she snapped back to attention. "You get it, right?" Lemon asked, referring to the contents of the box. "It's not too much is it?"
Painstakingly crafted candies in the shape of a lemon tart were a cute way to give a nod to the funny coincidence of her new moniker.
"They're uniquely you." My seeming approval opened the floodgates. Lemon gushed about how perfectly everything was coming together while she wrestled in her bag for car keys and popped the trunk lock.
"Just put that right here next to the napkins." The back of Lemon's minivan looked like a bridal expo gone mad. This wasn't the vehicle of a woman who had lackluster feelings about her upcoming nuptials. "Don't you just love them?" Lemon pulled open the box to show me her choice of wedding colors. Half the napkins were a delicate yellow, the rest a charcoal gray; all were printed with the date and an image of the bride and groom's faces gazing sweetly at each other. I recognized it from the engagement photos that had been plastered over her social media for the past couple of months.
At my nod of encouragement, she started pulling more boxes out to show me their contents. Crystal wine glasses engraved with the date and the same photo motif, candle holders for the tables, and what looked like a five-pound bag of glitter I didn't even want to know what she planned to do with.
I looked closely at her face. Shining eyes and a mile-wide smile didn't track with the way Harry described her recent demeanor. This was a woman deeply in love and looking forward to her big day, not one who had a foot out the door.
"I take i
t all is well, and you're not getting cold feet?" I asked, feeling for the emotion behind it rather than just watching her reaction. I can always tell when someone isn't being honest with me--it's great as long as they're not saying they like my hair or my outfit when the warning bells go off.
Lemon laughed easily. "Of course not; I couldn't be happier than if the wedding fairy came along and offered to pay for the whole shebang." Her words rang true; I couldn't figure out what Harry's problem was. Maybe the stress of a big-budget wedding was taking a toll on him. Either way, I'd have to save it for another day.
"See you soon, Lemon. Don't wear yourself out."
She snorted and rolled her eyes, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll try."
***
Mona talked a blue streak while we picked our way through several blocks of tiny shops and quaint restaurants in one of the trendier, almost hidden areas within the city, and I tuned back in just as she was extrapolating on the qualities she'd like in her perfect match.
"...hope he wants to have kids soon; I'm nearly twenty-five, which is most of the way to thirty, and I don't want to be raising kids until I'm in my sixties. He's got to love to travel, and know how to ride a horse, and be able to bake." I tuned back out.
People always thought they were going to get a person who fulfilled every detail of their fantasy, but that wasn't usually the case. In fact, it seemed to me the old adage of opposites attract was more accurate; the give and take make those relationships much more interesting, and people tend to get less bored than when they settle for an identical version of themselves.
"Here, this is our stop." I pointed to an old, hulking stone building fitted with a set of antique stained glass windows; The Coffer was an old bank that had been converted into a pub, and one of my own favorite haunts. "Our goal is to get you comfortable meeting new people and learn a bit more about what you're looking for. Your job, for tonight, is to judge. I need to know what your first impressions are, and what you like and don't like. I can find all the qualities you want on paper rolled into about a dozen different packages, and none of them would be the right person for you. It's about more than that, and today we're going to suss out what goes in the "necessary" column, and what goes in the "would be nice" column. Does that make sense?"
"Yes, I suppose so. I'm ready, let's do this."
I led her past the crowd milling around out front. Instead, we walked up to a side entrance labeled "Deliveries Only" and flashed a smile at the man with the rubber stamp, who I had matched to his wife almost by accident a couple of years ago before I really knew how to use my gift.
Mona looked nervously at the muscled bouncer and back at me. "He's a teddy bear underneath," I told her under my breath.
"She's with me, Carl" I raised my voice over the din, tossed him a wink, and slipped inside, Mona on my heels.
"Wow, this place is great, I've never been here before," Mona exclaimed, taking in the atmosphere. An expansive, mahogany bar dominated one whole side of the space, centered around the original vault that had once housed the prized possessions of many of the city's richest residents. Now, its only treasure was enough alcohol to drown a whale. Cozy booths illuminated by real candles were nestled here and there throughout the rest of the space, reducing the overall seating capacity, but offering enough space to allow for a private conversation.
"It's a personal favorite; most of the patrons here are regulars, and we like that it's a hole in the wall. Literally. So don't spread around my secret hangout, okay?" I smiled at Mona conspiratorially and received another wide grin in response.
"I won't. So what now?" She tugged nervously on her necklace.
"Now we grab a drink and take a peek at the goods," I ordered us each a cocktail--virgin for me--and we settled into two seats at the end of the bar to survey the room. "You tell me if you see anyone interesting."
Mona made an effort at nonchalance as she looked around the place. I followed her gaze. "Socks and sandals guy, big no; the blond guy in the middle of that group is really handsome, but he's covered in football paraphernalia, so that means no Sunday brunches; and the one at the other end of the bar is cute but he's with another woman." She threw her hands up in a gesture of frustration. I smiled to myself and launched into my well-rehearsed speech for picky clients.
"See, you've just negated everyone in here with one glance. What if that football guy loves Sunday brunch and is content to DVR his games. What if he turns you on to football and it becomes your new Sunday ritual? Maybe he teaches your kids to play ball and coaches their pee-wee team? Perhaps the woman at the end of the bar is that guy's sister--wait, no, definitely not, or at least I hope it's not. So he's out, but maybe socks and sandals guy is amazing in every other way, and only needs a bit of fashion advice. Or you cold learn to live with that little flaw, in exchange for him overlooking some habit of yours that you're not willing to compromise on. The point is, you never know, and you're not going to love every single thing about your mate--nobody does, believe me. If you did, you'd be bored inside of a year. Look, that guy who just came in--he's cute, and he's heading this way. Be open-minded." I hissed the last part at her under my breath.
I watched as an attractive man dressed in khaki pants and a blue and white button-down shirt approached the bar, his gaze drawn to Mona's in a double-take. I watched her smile and send a flirtatious glance at him from beneath lowered lashes. Mona breathed into a cute giggle as he asked for her name and what she did for a living, and then I tuned out, knowing that even though it wouldn't work out, the experience Mona gained would be well worth the effort.
My job is a double-edged sword. Sure, I get to help people come out of their shells, encourage them to open their hearts and recognize love, and get to watch them ride off into the sunset together. All before going home alone, to cuddle with my cat. Sometimes, it really puts a run in my proverbial pantyhose.
Chapter Four
I was just passing Taste of India and deciding if an order of tandoori chicken was in my future when someone called out my name.
"Lexi Balefire." I knew what vile creature stood behind me before I even turned around.
"Serena Swampgrass. I thought I detected the scent of dog shampoo and regret." Loathing dripped from my tongue.
"That's Snodgrass." The L'Oréal blond drew herself up to full height, which brought her up to my chin level, and her beady little eyes snapped fire at me while I stared her down.
"What do you want, Serena? Are you looking for your perfect match? I could take you to the reptile cage at the zoo and let you pick out just the right snake. Only don't eat any live mice in front of me, I might throw up on your shoes, or maybe inside that hunk of plastic with the knockoff Gucci label you call a handbag."
Red-faced and spitting, my (almost) lifelong enemy ignored the sidelong glances from patrons leaving the restaurant while she treated me to a killing look.
"You'll rue the day, Miss High and Mighty." Rue the day? Who says that? I honestly have no idea what I ever did to piss her off for life. We've been like oil and water since our grade school days when Serena suddenly stopped being my best friend. Maybe it's because I'm taller, or maybe she's just mean down to the bone. More likely, she decided my limited magical abilities weren't up to snuff; there are more snobs than you'd expect among witches.
Clenching my hands at my sides, I stifled the desire to yank her hair out by the roots and prove just how dark they actually were.
"Run along home before it's too dark to find that rock you live under. There's nothing for you here but more trouble." I kept my tone even. Instead of leaving, she moved closer.
"Get away from me, Swampgrass. I'm warning you."
"Or you'll what? Turn me into a frog? You'd need magic for that, and we both know you don't have enough to light a candle, much less keep the Balefire going. Come Beltane, I'll become the new keeper, and everyone will know you for what you are: a complete null. Your name will be mud. Literally. Lexi Mud. I like the sound of that." As if she hadn
't spent the last decade spreading stories about my family's sordid past throughout the supernatural community. Without her blackballing me, I might have found at least one witch friend with guts enough to ignore my history. Bitch.
A frown wrinkled my forehead. What on earth was the daft wench prattling on about?
"Ah. I see you had no idea." Serena leaned toward me with a vicious smile on her smug face. "No one with so little knowledge of her own heritage should be in charge of the sacred fire."
Tending the Balefire was more than a job in my family. It was a calling--a birthright handed down from generation to generation.
"Let me enlighten you." Tossing her head back, Serena talked down to me in a condescending manner. "The window opens for a witch to Awaken on her fourteenth birthday." Well, duh. Of course, I knew that. "And it closes on her twenty-fifth."
My heart lurched toward my shoes. Time was running out. And I'd had no forewarning.
Serena echoed that thought. "Your time is almost up and when you fail to Awaken, the Balefire will pass to the next closest witch in town. That would be me."
And now I knew why Serena had chosen to live within such a short distance from my house. All this time she'd been waiting for me to fail, and I'd had no idea.
With a barely concealed effort, I wiped the shocked look off my face and hissed, "Don't start sweeping your chimney just yet." It was a lame comeback that fed into Serena's triumph almost as much as when I brushed past her and got an elbow to my ribcage. She made it look like an accident, but I knew better.
Acid washed into my stomach in a bitter flood of anxiety. If Serena was right, I stood to lose the final legacy from my dysfunctional family dynasty. For about a second, I felt a profound sense of relief. Maybe it was better to let it go. All of it. The family name, the responsibility, the history.
A Match Made in Spell (Fate Weaver Book 1) Page 3