Creative Matchmaker (The Inscrutable Paris Beaufont Book 6)

by Sarah Noffke

  “Right,” he replied. “Good thinking. Yes, the lab will enable me to help you with more things.”

  Paris sighed. “What kinds of things?”

  “You know, fighting bad guys. Saving the world. Recovering love. Whatever you need, Paris. I’m here to help.”

  She straightened her leather jacket. “Well, I’m not sure about all that. I have my parents back. The love meter is recovering, and Agent Ruby is on the run. Hopefully, he doesn’t cause any more problems for FGA.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Faraday cautioned.

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, he’s going to be out for revenge now,” Faraday explained. “You ruined him. You proved he was at the FLEA jail. Then you recommended they test the heart-shaped ruby he left behind. It connected him to all the spells he tried to plant on Agent Topaz, most importantly that he stole his pocket watch and used it to create the potion that murdered Agent Opal.

  “Not to mention that Agent Ruby killed a man to cover his tracks. That’s the sign of a desperate man. Do you think he’ll go away now that Saint Valentine knows who he is?”

  Paris paused, tension constricting her throat for a moment. “Good point. So you don’t think we’ve seen the last of Agent Ruby then?”

  “Not by a long shot.” Faraday hopped off the dresser to the windowsill. “Which is why I’ll get to work on things to help.”

  “You don’t know what to help with yet.” Paris made for the door, the smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee downstairs leading the way.

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Faraday stated with confidence. “I’ll let my creativity lead the way. Often when I do, I find solutions before I know which problem they’re for.”

  Paris regarded the squirrel, noticing the renewed sense of confidence he wore well. “Well, I like the idea of finding answers before problems. Maybe you can offer some before one of my exams tomorrow. I’ve never been good at tests.”

  “I draw the line at cheating,” Faraday said sternly. “I’ll help you save the world. I’ll help you recover your parents from another dimension. I won’t aid you in getting a score you don’t deserve on an exam.”

  Paris rolled her eyes and put her hand on the doorknob. “Oh, that’s where your moral code lies. Good to know. If something is off-limits, you’re there. I don’t have any socks without holes, and you don’t lose sleep on that one. But your moral compass points in the right direction when it comes to helping me pass Magical Cooking.”

  “Cheating at passing,” he corrected. “Yes. There’s nothing more important than learning academics on your own. I'm doing you no favors by assisting you with bypassing the requirements.”

  “Well, then, I better get down to breakfast to grill Chef Ash on what will be on the exam since you’ll be of zero help.” She glanced skeptically at the squirrel.

  “Grill…Chef Ash! Ha!”

  Paris chuckled. “What are you going to do today?”

  “Explore. I hear that the Bewilder Forest is quite a strange sight as it’s regrowing. There are new species of plants and animals.”

  Paris tensed. “Yeah, my strange hybrid blood made for some unique stuff.”

  “You say that as if it’s a problem.”

  “Well, you try having an entire forest regrowing thanks to your blood and changing the landscape of an entire college.”

  He sighed, looking out the window at the Enchanted Grounds of Happily Ever After College. “As if I could be so lucky.”

  “You’re so weird,” she joked.

  “You too,” he retorted.

  “Well, try not to get into trouble with your exploring.” Paris opened the door.

  He nodded. “You too, Pare. Although I realize I’m asking a lot.”

  She grinned over her shoulder. “You’re definitely asking too much. See you later.”

  “Later.” Faraday hopped out the open window and scurried toward the brand-new forest, grown from the blood of a magician and a fairy with a tiny bit of demon.

  Chapter Three

  Chef Ash was giving Hemingway a skeptical glare when Paris sat with her full plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and an English muffin.

  “I think hash browns are better with ketchup, not mustard.” Chef Ash tucked his trademark pencil behind his ear.

  “I think that I get to eat my hash browns the way I like.” Hemingway squirted a fine line of yellow mustard over his food.

  “You’re doing that to get under my skin.” Chef Ash leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

  “Despite your propensity toward self-absorption,” Hemingway began, picking up his fork. “I rarely do anything to get a rise out of you. I have better things to do with my time.”

  “Everything okay?” Paris raised an eyebrow at the two, not having seen them bickering like that before.

  Chef Ash sighed dramatically. “Hemingway is ruining his food with mustard.”

  “I’m trying something new,” Hemingway countered, taking a bite of his hash brown doused in yellow mustard before puckering his lips with disapproval. “Yeah, that’s not so good.”

  “I told you.” Chef Ash threw his head back.

  “I’ll tell you what ruins things,” Christine remarked, entering the conversation in a conspiratorial whisper. She leaned forward as if she was about to relay a great secret. “People everywhere seem to think it’s okay to wear mustard yellow. I see it everywhere. They think it’s a warm, autumn color. First off, it’s not autumn. Second, even if it were, no one looks good in mustard yellow. How can we make this stop?”

  She turned to Paris. “You know important people. Can you get Mother Nature to put a swift halt to this? My eyes can’t take it.”

  Paris laughed. “I think Mama Jamba has better things to do. I’m sorry, I think you’ll have to ignore such fashion faux pas’.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Christine replied. “You don’t even care when you see people wearing overalls as if it isn’t the biggest fashion crime ever to happen. What next? Are we all going to go around wearing baggy jumpsuits as though we borrowed clothes from a toddler? Is that really where we’re heading!”

  Paris’ eyes widened. “You’re really charged on this subject. Might I suggest you lay off the coffee?”

  “Your suggestion has been noted.” Christine grabbed her mug of black coffee as though Paris might steal it and swallowed a big gulp.

  “Right, so no crazy going on here then,” Paris said in a sing-song voice. “Did I not get the extra kick in my Wheaties this morning? What’s going on with everyone?”

  Hemingway’s eyes connected with hers and he nodded, leaning forward. “The others, if you know what I mean, seem a little on edge this morning.”

  By “others,” she believed he was referring to the fairies. They did seem to be more emotional than usual. More easily put off, whereas people like Chef Ash were usually cool even under pressure.

  “Speaking of food.” Paris tried to change the subject. “I hoped that you, Chef Ash, could give me a heads-up on the exam tomorrow. Like, what should I focus on studying?”

  His fork clattered to the table when he deliberately dropped it. “I wish I could. I don’t know what’s on the exam.”

  “How?” Penny asked. Paris realized that she’d been there all along, hanging back as usual. “It’s your class.”

  “It’s complicated.” Chef Ash retrieved his fork and speared it into his eggs as if they did something rude to him.

  “Complicated how?” Hemingway asked.

  “Complicated as in I don’t want to talk about it,” Chef Ash replied. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Paris pushed her plate away, suddenly not hungry, having to deal with all the competing emotions. “Is something wrong?”

  “Everything,” Chef Ash replied, not at all his usual chipper self.

  “Can I help?” Paris asked.

  He shook his head. “You have enough on your plate.”

  “I don’t,” Paris stated.
“I mean, Agent Ruby is gone. Faraday is back. Phones are fixed. My parents are about to reenter the world, and I get to be open about them with everyone else.”

  “Yeah, you’re, like, the coolest,” Christine gushed. “Start at the beginning and tell me every detail of what happened at the FLEA jail again. I can’t believe you apprehended that rascal.”

  Paris shook her head. “I didn’t. He got away after he assaulted my uncle.”

  “Who isn’t a fairy,” Penny asked for confirmation.

  Paris nodded. “Yeah, and he had to step down as a detective for FLEA. Since I didn’t apprehend Agent Ruby, he’s out there doing who knows what. The deceitful fairy.”

  “I’m sure he’s trying to get as far from Happily Ever After College and FGA as possible,” Chef Ash offered. “I mean, he’s a wanted fugitive. Saint Valentine will have every agent searching for him now.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Paris said under her breath.

  Catching her response, Hemingway perked up. “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, it’s something Faraday said,” Paris answered.

  “Oh, he’s my hero,” Christine exclaimed, clasping her hands to her chest as if they were talking about a rock star. “You can get him to sign my bra, right?”

  “I don’t think so,” Paris replied before glancing at Hemingway. “He said something that makes me think a dangerous man such as Agent Ruby, who has nothing to lose, might be in the position to do something even more drastic than before.”

  “Even more drastic than killing a man?” Penny’s fear was evident in her voice.

  Paris nodded. “Exactly. It makes sense. He was willing to do so much to get power. Since that failed and he had to flee, well, who knows what he’ll do now.”

  “Or maybe he’ll want his freedom,” Chef Ash stated. “You blew his cover, and he was going to do all that before to keep things hidden. Now he has nothing to gain.”

  “Yeah, but isn’t a person like that the most dangerous?” Hemingway countered.

  Paris nodded, Hemingway’s words mirroring her thoughts. “Yeah, I think we’re better off not discounting Agent Ruby yet. We should keep our eyes open.”

  “Oh, you're such a magician,” Christine remarked. “Your type is always so paranoid.”

  “Magicians are rational,” Hemingway countered. “They're simply more skeptical and guarded. It’s not such a bad thing.”

  Paris offered him a grateful smile over her muffin as she took a bite. Knowing that secretly he was a magician made her appreciate the line he had to ride, like Uncle John. He understood the different parts of her that didn’t operate like fairies. They were all emotions and feelings, whereas magicians were more practical in their approach. More calculated.

  “Well, whatever.” Christine pushed up from the table. “I wish I was a magician today because there’s something wrong in the cosmos affecting fairies. I feel like Mercury is in retrograde, my mood ring is black, and I’m as emotional as a teenager. I’d cut someone to have your rational, even-keeled blood at this point.”

  Paris glanced around the dining room, noticing how many of the students seemed overly emotional. Many were ranting, crying, or seemed distraught in different ways. She had no idea what was going on at the college, but there was a problem brewing with the fairies. A problem that wasn’t affecting her as a halfling or Hemingway as a magician. A problem that Paris needed to investigate.

  Chapter Four

  If Paris didn’t already suspect that things at Happily Ever After College were off, she would have immediately jumped to that conclusion when she entered her Art of Love class. The vibe felt more like she was entering a funeral parlor than a session where they learned about love through literature, film, and art.

  “Did everyone forget to take their antidepressants?” Paris asked Christine when she took her seat at the front of the class.

  Her friend wiped a tear from her wet eyes and pointed at the movie projection playing on silent at the front of the room. “Did you watch our assignment?”

  Paris glanced at the image of a man and a woman, her arms outstretched, and their faces held up to the wind as they stood at the bow of a ship cutting through choppy waters. “Titanic? Yeah, I watched it. Is that why everyone is crying?”

  “He died!” Christine exclaimed, offense written on her face as if it was Paris’ fault that Jack, Leonardo DiCaprio’s character died.

  Headmistress Willow Starr strode into the classroom, her eyes full of curiosity about the exclamation and all the tearful students. “What’s going on?” She looked around.

  “Oh, everyone lost their meds and are overreacting,” Paris replied casually, looking from the fairy godmother to the projection.

  “Some of us have hearts that break when romance fails!” Becky Montgomery said through a throat full of sobs.

  “This is about the film you all were assigned to watch?” Willow asked, obviously as confused as Paris and thankfully not as emotional as the other fairies in the classroom. “You’re all upset about Titanic?”

  “They didn’t end up together!” Becky wailed, sounding like she was getting worked up.

  Paris had seen the film. It was good. Touching. Heartwarming. Yes, a little sad, but that wasn’t the point, she felt. Now she thought the fairies had all missed the real message in the film. She turned halfway in her seat to look at the crying students behind her and the headmistress now at the front of the classroom.

  “Sometimes romance isn’t about happily ever afters,” Paris began, earning a gasp from many. She continued over the whispers of protest. “Sometimes, it’s about the journey and not about two people ending up together.”

  “How can you say that when you attend a college called Happily Ever After?” Becky challenged.

  Paris sighed. “That’s a name. A sentiment. Yes, we want our Cinderellas and Prince Charmings to end up together and have a lifetime of love. That’s a goal. We also need to want to create love for the sake of people having it, even if for only a little while. It’s like the old phrase that it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

  “That’s atrocious!” Becky complained. “Another reason that a magician is unfit to be a fairy godmother.”

  “Actually, Paris is exactly right,” Willow stated, cutting into the argument diplomatically as she strode forward, her blue gown swaying back and forth. “Maybe under past administrations, we only taught examples where love lasted through the decades. However, our current Saint Valentine has been flirting with new curricula and likes the idea of us studying romances of all types. There’s much we can learn if we don’t confine ourselves to the traditional stories of love.”

  She gave Becky a pointed look, a rare bit of defiance in the usually peaceful fairy godmother’s eyes. “Paris will make an excellent fairy godmother because she's a halfling and has a unique perspective.” She turned her attention to her. “Please, Paris, share your thoughts on the movie. I’d like to hear them.”

  “Well,” Paris began, drawing out the word. “Even though Jack dies, his story is about sacrifice and passion. We learn that real love is worth the risk. We learn that we should never settle if our heart isn’t in it. We also learn that there are no guarantees in this life. So you have to love with your entire heart and be grateful if true love bestows itself upon you, even for a short time.

  “Wouldn’t we all rather be blessed with the type of love that gives you butterflies and makes you feel high for a fleeting moment than given an unfulfilling relationship for a lifetime? I, for one, think a romance like in the movie inspires more love than an arranged marriage full of the customs of two stuffy aristocrats.”

  “Again, you're vying for us to match commoners,” Becky scoffed.

  Paris turned, leveling her gaze at her. “Yes, I think our efforts should focus on creating love for all people regardless of their financial status or lineage. I dare say that I think we should match people based on what feeds their soul. Maybe that means finding t
heir Prince Charming or their Cinderella or a friend or a passion that’s unrelated to a person at all. Love shouldn’t only be about romance. Love is about so much more, and we’ve confined ourselves for too long.”

  Becky laughed rudely at Paris. “What you’re talking about will never happen. FGA would never waste our time with such ridiculous missions.”

  “Not presently,” Headmistress Willow stated. “However, I think that a more progressive movement is upon us. What Paris has mentioned isn’t a bad idea. It’s radical though, and FGA doesn’t move fast when it comes to such things.”

  “For good reason,” Becky replied. “The board would never approve it.”

  “We shall see,” Willow said in a sing-song voice, a hint of something in her voice. “Tomorrow’s exam will be in essay form. I expect to see a thorough understanding of the complexity of love as presented through various art forms.” She paused, lowered her chin, and sighed. “Yes, Rebecca?”

  Paris turned her head, noticing that Becky the Bully was waving.

  “Mother says the board is requiring you to abide by strict student learning outcome guidelines for the exams,” Becky said in a haughty voice.

  “They have made their recommendations but can’t overrule Saint Valentine,” Willow replied in a clipped tone, her usual unending patience finally waning.

  “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before that’s not true,” Becky stated in a snide tone.

  “Saint Valentine, who has had to deal with many conflicts within FGA due to this Agent Ruby mess, is not concerned with the board or their recommendations, Rebecca. I’m not sure where you get your information, but I will remind you that your job is as a student here and not a faculty member, a board member for FGA, or anyone else of authority over the college. If I were you, I’d concern myself with your exams tomorrow, which will follow my standards and not those of the board.”