A Match Made in Spell (Fate Weaver Book 1)

by ReGina Welling

  "All right, all right, already. I'll let you out, silly." I opened the door and he bolted halfway down the hall, then back, entwining himself between my legs and running on ahead again. That niggling feeling from before returned, but with a sudden intensity that made my eyes pop open in surprise. This seemed too familiar, and I could distinctly remember Salem acting the same way, though I couldn't pinpoint when, exactly.

  I followed the visceral pull that had begun to build in my belly, the same one that guided me toward other people's soul mates, and wound up in the parlor, where Salem was perched in front of the fireplace, gazing at me expectantly.

  "What is it?" I asked as if he might answer. When he didn't, I crouched down next to him, and as I got close to the grate the Balefire flame began to grow. Salem yowled once more and rubbed against my legs again. Suddenly, I remembered my dream from the other night and, without thinking, plunged my hand straight into the fire and felt it close around the mysterious handle.

  I looked down at my hand, which should have been scorched to the bone, and wasn't even surprised to see it completely intact. Wondering briefly if I was still dreaming, I gave the handle a tug and immediately heard a loud thud emanate from the space behind the chimney. I stood up and watched in amazement as the wall began to shake and the entire fireplace rotated, creating an opening large enough for me to walk through. Salem darted in and disappeared into the darkness. I followed, my heart pounding in my chest. My hands shook in time to the frantic beat, and my pulse tapped out the tattoo in my ears. If someone had said boo, I probably would have passed out.

  It shouldn't have surprised me that an entire room could have been hidden here the whole time, even considering that Evian's bedroom was positioned on the other side of the fireplace, but I still couldn't contain my disbelief. I jumped at the sound of the wall closing behind me, and squinted as the dim light from the Balefire radiated from the fireplace that was now facing into the secret room. As I spun around to survey my surroundings, I wondered if the parlor now featured a blank wall where the hearth had been moments ago.

  What I saw when my eyes finally adjusted to the firelight left no doubt in my mind that I had just taken a giant step on the path to awakening my power. Sticking my hand in a magical fire was only the beginning. When my heart set to pounding again, it was with anticipation as much as fear.

  An elevated, circular stone platform dominated the center of the room, spanning at least ten feet in diameter. A basic pentacle, one of the most recognized and frequently misunderstood emblems of witchcraft, took up the entire sphere. The five points of the star were spaced equidistant around a thick border meant to denote the link between the elements of earth, air, fire, water, and spirit, and I knew this had been where my family had practiced the craft for generations. But that wasn't even the most impressive thing about the space.

  A glass dome roofed the area above the dais, providing a clear view of the moon and stars overhead. Across from my position at the entrance, I spied a wrought iron spiral staircase leading to an upper balcony lined with shelf after shelf of old, leather-bound volumes. Everything I could have ever wanted to know about witchcraft, hiding in a room of wonders behind the fireplace that held the very Balefire which I was bound to tend. Talk about irony.

  The outer edge of the room was broken into sections, and I wandered through each one while Salem trotted along at my heels. One alcove featured an alchemy station, vial after vial of viscous liquids, strange ingredients, and a series of pipes and burners I couldn't even begin to understand. I examined several of the bottles lining the shelves around the space, passing over some of the more normal ingredients--the perfectly preserved lavender blossoms and the pastel pink rose petal dust--and wrinkled my nose at others. What any white witch would need with spider legs and toad eyes I can't fathom, but the jar of dehydrated turkey gizzards was what really sent me over the edge. I decided to reexamine this particular cache another time.

  Further into the dark depths of the room, another area held a waist-high, heavy wooden table covered with partitioned boxes filled with every kind of gem and crystal imaginable. More boxes hung on the walls, displaying the biggest, most impressive members of the collection. I recognized many, dredging up the names of the more common, such as moonstone and lapis with ease, and somehow pulling the term shungite from my memory as I handled a small, shiny black stone.

  It would take me weeks, months, or even years to pick through the treasures surrounding me, and it wouldn't matter in the least if I didn't figure out how to move forward and harness my power. The answer was close, I could tell, so I reluctantly abandoned a shelf full of runes and tarot cards positioned next to a table with a very large, clear quartz crystal gazing ball and returned to the center of the main space.

  How had I missed the large pedestal positioned in the middle of the carved pentacle? Or the big leather-bound book laying open on top of it?

  Trembling, I placed one bare foot on top of the dais and held my breath, waiting to be flung from the platform, an unworthy, powerless mortal. When that didn't happen I nearly ran to the pedestal and fingered the yellowed pages of the ancient volume I was sure was my family's Grimoire.

  Now, some witches call this type of book a Book of Shadows, or a Book of Magic; some are handed down through the generations, and others are created by solitary witches for their own use. They've all got to start somewhere, right? Magic evolves just as any other science or art would, and any witch worth her ritual salt knows well enough to keep hers a secret from everyone other than her nearest and dearest. I couldn't help thinking greedily that there must be some pretty interesting spells in this one for my family to have erected an entire secret lair to protect the thing.

  Except that when I looked closer, I found that all of the pages were blank. Of course; I had been given too much, too fast. Why would my luck change now? Angry, I flipped the book over. There was no title or author, only the likeness of a tree embossed on the cover--a tree with a flame where the leaves should have been. Immediately, I recognized the symbol; heck, I looked at it nearly every day, except that there, on a pendant hanging around the neck of my grandmother's statue, it was carved into stone rather than leather.

  My hand fluttered to my own throat, almost instinctively, and I fingered the pendant that had, in a matter of days, become a treasured object. At that exact second Salem, careening out from beneath a brocade settee near the fireplace, ran straight in between my feet and knocked me to the floor. As my fist closed around the necklace I felt the same sharp jab I had the other night in the bathtub, and then the warm dampness of a smear of blood against my palm. Scurrying to my feet, I suddenly knew what I needed to do; my own blood had opened the door for me to See, so it only stood to reason that my own blood would activate the book.

  I took a deep breath, placed my hand on the cover of the volume, and sent up a silent prayer. I heard a buzzing noise then everything went black.

  Chapter Twelve

  I woke up on the floor, my head cocked at an uncomfortable angle, and the edge of the dais digging into my hip. Seconds passed while I tried to remember where I was and I had to blink several times to bring my unfamiliar surroundings into focus. Like an image from a dream, the Balefire washed cleansing flame against the hearthstones. Brighter, stronger than I had ever seen before, the flickering tongues snapped and crackled.

  Memories slid back in layer after layer. The spell had worked. Not like I expected, but then I hadn't really known what to expect. Presumably, most initiate witches already have access to their Book of Shadows when it comes time to awaken their powers, which meant that part of the spell hadn't been added to the list. Finding this place--my family's sanctum--was the last piece of the puzzle.

  "What the hell just happened?" I asked aloud, and nearly peed my pants when a deep, velvety voice behind me purred, "You've finally been Awakened."

  I spun around, my hair whipping in an arc across my back, and stared at the striking man draped languidly over the chaise
lounge where Salem was sitting when everything went wonky. His skin was black as night and smooth as silk; in complete contrast to the shock of pure white hair dangling over one eye. The other, a vibrant shade of blue, sparkled with a mischievous glint that looked oddly familiar--I would have giggled had I known just how accurate that description was.

  "Who the hell are you?" I revised my previous question, mouth agape, wondering how anyone could have gotten into the room behind me and not caring how rude I sounded. How long had I been passed out, anyway?

  The man rose with catlike grace and perched on the edge of the chair, flicking the hair from his forehead to expose the other eye, this one bright emerald green, and raised one eyebrow.

  "Salem?" I sputtered, feeling my blood pressure start to rise.

  He trotted over to me and looked me square in the face, then grinned from ear to ear. "Well, you got one right."

  "But how? What? Wait, what's going on here? You're human? This whole time?"

  "Not entirely. I'm your familiar--I assume you know what that means?"

  Of course I had heard of a familiar; every modern day portrayal of a witch includes a cat as a companion, and I had heard tell of witches and wizards who could talk to animals--but I had never been told of a cat who turned into a man. Just one of the many secrets I hadn't been privy to all these years. It felt as though the short end of the proverbial stick had been crammed up my butt.

  "So you've been in my bedroom, listening to me whine and cry all these years? That's a little creepy, you know. You could have given me some kind of signal or something, couldn't you?"

  Salem sighed, and rolled his eyes. "I've been waiting for you to access your magic. Took you long enough, didn't it? But, no matter, you've finally Awakened, and I'm going to help you learn to use your new powers."

  "So you were there when I was crying because Bobby Nash dumped me right before the prom? And when I lost my virginity to that punk rocker dude with the squirrel tattoo and went through every dirty detail with Flix?"

  My face blushed pink. "And you've seen me naked."

  Some part of my brain screamed that this was a ludicrous conversation to be having with my cat, but somehow it didn't bother me as much as it should have. I was giddy with the sensation of magic in my veins but hadn't quite grasped the concept of that yet, and so was focusing on Salem instead. I had always thought he was nearly human, and now I could chalk it up to witchy intuition. Nobody needed to know that wasn't entirely true.

  "First of all, ew. I am a cat, not a man, so you can relax. This form simply allows me to communicate and assist you more easily. Secondly, your life isn't as fantastically scintillating as you might think. Do you know how may angst-filled teenage conversations I have suffered through? And yet I have still tried to steer you in the right direction."

  I weaved a little and let Human Salem guide me over to sit next to him. His skin was warm to the touch, and satin smooth, and I could see where his lush cat coat had come from. Or maybe it worked the opposite way. A cloud of dust puffed out of the couch as I settled in, and I waved it away with a flick of my hand. It went up in a momentary shower of sparks, then flickered out and disappeared. Whoa, did I really do that?

  "Of all the witches I've guided through all of my lives, you've taken the longest to find your path. Now, will you accept my help or do you want to keep imagining all the things I might know about you? I'm happy to answer any questions you have for me, but you've got to start thinking that maybe it's a good thing I know you better than anyone else does."

  "So, you'll answer any question I want to ask?"

  "That's my purpose, yes. What would you like to know?"

  About a thousand thoughts whirled around my head; Why had it taken so long for the spell to work? What was I supposed to do next? Did he know the Easter Bunny? I latched onto one of the more inconsequential ones that kept ricocheting off the sides of my skull.

  "What do you mean, all your lives? And how many witches have you...helped?"

  "Well, see, cats have nine lives..." he began, rolling his eyes skyward.

  "Don't get persnickety with me; how am I supposed to know that's true?"

  He shot me a glance, complete with raised eyebrow, that prompted me to shut my mouth and so, gritting my teeth as I did, I motioned for him to go on.

  "I have been familiar to eight witches before coming into your service, which means you are my final charge. My life--lives--coincide with the life of the witch I'm currently serving. When you die, I will die also, and I will not return. So please, if you've enjoyed my company at all, try not to meet your death too soon."

  "No pressure or anything! Wait, so how long have you lived over all of your lives? I know witches age slower than other people, but that hasn't seemed to affect me. And what will happen after you die?" I was bursting with wonder at this point and had already lined up another six or seven questions to grill Salem with, figuring I'd save the most loaded ones for later.

  Salem licked his lips in a decidedly catlike manner and continued calmly. "Even witches age normally up to a certain point, and I don't know what happens after we die any more than you do. Is there a heaven for beings like me? I certainly hope so. I have lived 675 years over eight lifetimes. And you--"

  "Hold on," I did some quick division and cast an inquisitive glance at Salem, who refused to meet my gaze, "that's an average of only about 80 years per witch--I wouldn't call that an extended lifetime. Soleil used to tell me tales about witches who lived a thousand years...or were those just bedtime stories?"

  He stuck his nose in the air and his eyes settled on a point just above my head. "Your godmother told the truth, but not all witches survive that long. There is no normal, which shouldn't come as much of a shock to you. Everything you do comes back to you threefold--I am aware that you know that saying, but I'm not sure if you fully understand what it means. That phrase typically goes hand in hand with harm none, do what ye will. At least, that's how our kind chooses to put it."

  "Of course I understand what that means; it's not exclusive to witches. Nearly everyone in the world agrees that you reap what you sow."

  "Right, but humans have control over very little energy compared to the amount a witch can wield. How she treats herself and others, what she puts into the world, how she formulates and realizes her intention--all of those things require different kinds of energy. You have already learned that intention plays a more substantial role in magic than you ever thought. The energy a witch can harness not only comes from, but also contributes to her life source, and the nature of that energy--may it be pain and vengeance or love and healing--dictates what kind of life she leads. It's a circular pattern."

  "That makes it sound like my lifespan is dependent upon whether I'm a good witch or a bad witch. Maybe that's why my mother and grandmother both died so young--because they were evil."

  "Alexis, I know you are hoping I have some information about what happened to them, but the sad truth is that I don't. I was in service to a witch on the other side of the world before I was born here, for you. But I will tell you that it's not as cut and dried as all that. Everyone--human, fae, witch, demon, familiar--we all have good and bad in us. Now, there are witches who send what we would term "evil" out into the world and who manage to outrun karma; they might stay alive for centuries, but their souls turn dark. There are others who put out only good intentions and still manage to be relieved of the mortal coil before their time. But most fall somewhere in the middle; it's not about reward and consequence--it's about being affected by what you create. Now I have known you for quite some time, and I can say with certainty that the people who created you had more than enough good in them to have turned the tide another way. It's up to you to decide what kind of life you're going to lead now; what kind of intention you're going to put into the world because it doesn't matter what happened before. You can choose a different path."

  "Does this all mean that you've been familiar to witches who...were on the receiving end of
some bad karma?"

  Salem sighed. "Most of my companions could have made better choices, yes."

  "What happened to them?" I was beginning to wonder why he was being so cagey.

  "If you must know, some of them were killed during battles for power and one of them got hit by a bus. And a couple were...blown up." He refused to meet my gaze.

  "What do you mean, blown up?"

  "Spells go wrong, things happen. Enough bad mojo and KABOOM! But don't worry, I'm sure that won't happen to you."

  "Great, that makes me feel so much better," I said, going for offhand and carefree and failing miserably. Then I promptly burst into tears. Salem wrapped his arms around me and let me cry on his shoulder, making a soothing noise that resembled a purr while stroking his cheek against my head in an oddly comforting way.

  A few minutes passed before I pulled it together enough to sniffle my way back to normal. The crying jag had worked wonders in making me feel well enough to further explore my surroundings. Mostly, now that I had a snowball's chance in the underworld of making something happen, I wanted to try out my new magic.

  The Grimoire should have something simple to try, so leaving Salem still curled up on the couch, I approached what I now realized was a raised casting circle. None of the photos in books or the ones I had found online had ever shown anything quite like this one. The pentacle was etched deeply enough into the granite circle that I wondered if it was meant to hold something. Oil or water, maybe, depending on what a spell required. A vision of a dark figure in the center with fire filling the five-pointed star flitted through my mind and I shivered with a sense of dread.

  "What are you doing?" Salem drawled from behind me.

  "Just looking. I thought I might..."

  "I know what you want to do, and I don't blame you after all this time. Start with something simple." He padded over to one of the shelves and pulled out a stubby beeswax candle. "Light this."