COLEL (Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. Series Book 5)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  How could she explain leaving town during the blizzard? “I can’t tell you because, well, then I’d have to kill you.” That was a common phrase used by humans, wasn’t it? But would he go for it?

  “Lady, you’re—you’re…”

  “What?”

  “You’re trouble,” he said curtly.

  “Trouble?” I’m a goddess. And a very helpful one.

  “Yes. The worst kind—ugly on the inside. Only thinks of themselves.”

  What the holy hopping hell? “Well—well, you’re a dick! Who speaks to a woman like that, anyway, huh? And, for the record, I didn’t ask anyone to come looking for me.”

  “People who are lost in a snowstorm after crashing their cars aren’t generally the most reliable communicators. Thus the goddamned concept of a rescue!” he bellowed.

  Wow. He was pissed. Really, genuinely fuming. His overreaction definitely means he cares. The challenge was getting him to see it. Something was happening between them, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

  “Like I said, Rys, I’m sorry. I had no idea anyone was out looking for me. There was no malicious intent on my part, and as you can see—or hear—whatever—I am fine. Please thank everyone who was concerned and suffered the elements to save me. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you or them, then just say the—”

  “How about you come in person and thank Henry Moore, who just had his toe amputated? Or his wife, who’s in critical care from hypothermia?”

  Jesus. “How long were they out there looking for me?”

  “They weren’t. I was,” he barked. “Their truck got stuck in the snow because I was out looking for you. They decided to try to make it home on foot.”

  Oh, jeez. “I’m so sorry. I have a doctor—a friend of mine. I can send her to have a look. She’s spectacular with fingers and toes. She does the most miraculous things with them.” Wait. That sounded kind of kinky. Or creepy. Depending on one’s tastes. “I meant to say that she’s good with injuries of that sort.”

  “They already have a good doctor. And wherever you are right now, stay there. I don’t want you here.”

  Wha-why? Why so rude? I am going to… She grabbed hold of her anger and reeled it back. Okay. Okay… Breathe… As unpleasant as this moment felt, they were making progress. Arguments always had bigger meanings.

  It suddenly struck her as odd that this mortal male, hunky as he might be, riled her up so easily. That was not her usual reaction.

  Could this be further proof that they were connected in some strange cosmic way? Could this be the reason he’d dropped everything to search for her?

  She ran her hands through her long blonde hair. This situation is never going to move off center if I don’t push. It was time to be a brave goddess. It was time to lay her cards on the table and let the pieces land where they may.

  “Rys, I have no other way to say this—at least, nothing that will make sense to you—but I think I was brought to Crested Butte for a reason. And that reason is you.” She closed her eyes, wincing with the discomfort of exposing her emotions.

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  Whattheminkypatties?

  Hold on. Take a moment. Don’t react. “Before you do that… You seem like a bighearted man. You care about your community, you work hard to help others, and I can tell from the few interactions I’ve had with the people who know you that you’re well liked. So would I be correct in stating that you don’t generally behave like an enormous dickhead to strangers? Especially women?”

  “What can I say; there’s an exception for everything.”

  “No. Nooo… Not everything. For example, I hate being tickled. It’s truly the worst possible torture I can imagine.” Even worse than being burned alive or drawn and quartered. And she’d had that pleasure several times. Back in the Dark Ages, humans were the worst. One little whiff of something supernatural and you were declared a witch.

  “Well,” he lowered his gruff voice an octave, making her toes tingle, “maybe you’ve never been tickled the right way. Or by the right person.”

  Oh dear gods. It sounded like he was offering, that he might enjoy doing it to her. I suddenly want to be tickled so badly. “All right. Um…kicking puppies. It’s never okay to kick puppies.”

  “Fine. I’ll give you that.”

  Ha! I won! The puppy analogy gets ’em every time. “Glad we can agree on something. And now, I challenge you to be brave enough, man enough, strong enough—”

  “Get on with your point.”

  Pushy, pushy. “I believe that your behavior with me is the exception, that you’re usually caring—but strong! Strong and manly!” she added, not wanting to threaten his masculinity, a fragile thing to bee sure. “And there’s a deeper meaning as to why I stir such rash emotions within you.”

  “You’re right. I want you gone from my town. My house would be nice, too.”

  Ouch… That hurt. She regrouped, refusing to be drawn into another bickering match. She was far too strong a woman to let him push her away, which was exactly what he was doing. I think? “All right. I understand that I repulse you—”

  “I never said repulse. I said gone.”

  “Fine. Gone. But have you stopped to ask yourself why?”

  “A person doesn’t have to smell a rose and analyze the scent to know if they like it or not.”

  Okay, strange florist analogy, but… “I’m not a rose, Rys. I’m a woman you just met. You know nothing about me other than I like bees, dress funny—in your opinion—I’ve rented your mansion, and I’m a poor driver in bad weather conditions. But you don’t know me, yet you hate me. Doesn’t this strike you as odd? Even a little?”

  “I don’t hate you, but what’s your point?”

  She couldn’t imagine a more awkward situation with a man, or a more uncomfortable moment than this. But she had to be brave. Her role wasn’t to cower to her emotions, no matter how painful. She was a goddess, brought to this earth to help others and do good. For whatever reason, the Universe had decided to test her with this impossible man and this impossible situation.

  Colel cleared her throat. “I think you’re my mate.”

  “Mate?”

  Speak modern human, wudja, Colel? “Sorry, I meant soul mate. I’ve never met anyone who’s drawn me in like you. And by that, I am specifically referring to the fact that I still want to look at you, get to know you, and possibly lick your manhood—including the sack—despite the fact you’ve acted like a total beast.” Colel listened as Rys apparently choked on something. “Hello? Rys? Are you all right?”

  Several moments passed before the hacking subsided. “Now I’m not sure if I want to wash your mouth out with soap or file a restraining order.”

  That was his response to her heartfelt declaration?

  “Fine. You know what, buddy? You can lick your own manhood, then. Because clearly I was mistaken about you. I mean, here I am, dedicating every moment of my existence to helping this world stay afloat and thrive, committing every ounce of my being to creatures that most people wouldn’t think twice about if they saw them drowning in a swimming pool. But you’re mocking me? Because I decided to be honest with you? Well, well…you can just fuck the hell—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She exhaled with an angry whoosh, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “What?”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. I realize now that you were trying to be sincere, in your own very eccentric way, and it caught me off guard. Especially the sack-licking part.”

  Colel blinked rapidly, feeling her heart beat a little faster. “Does this mean you agree with me, that your reactions might mean something, something you don’t want to admit?”

  A long, looooong pause ensued.

  “Rys? You still there?”

  “Yeah. Still here.”

  Good. “So…?”

  “Maybe my reactions are unusual. And maybe it’s because I am the sort of man who likes con
trol. You make me feel very…”

  Wild and crazy? Horny? Like doing bee-themed decoupage?

  “Uncomfortable,” he added. “And not entirely in a bad way.”

  So he did have feelings for her! Feelings he couldn’t control. Woo-hoo! Colel’s heart did little summersaults. Knowing that this man might be her forever-someone gave her the urge to squeal at the top of her lungs. It made her want to dance and sing and make some new togas! She’d waited seventy thousand years to find Mr. Right, and now her dream might be coming true.

  Quick. Hang up before he says something to ruin the moment.

  “Thank you for your honesty, Rys. I actually have to go now, but I’ll call you back soon. Oh, and…is there anything your town needs? Anything I can do to show my gratitude to everyone for trying to save me? Just say the word.”

  “Our school’s roof caved in, so if you’d like to donate a few dollars to the GoFundMe.”

  A few dollars? Pfft! That school would be rebuilt, fully equipped, and the envy of the entire country.

  “Consider it done. Gotta go.” She ended the call and smiled up at the plastered ceiling. This is good. This is really good.

  Of course, nothing in this world was worth having if you weren’t willing to fight for it. But for the first time ever, she had something more to fight for than her bees. This time, it was her happiness.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Like a mad hermit, Zac had stayed hidden in the hall closet with the lights off for the past week. Part of him was afraid if he went back out there, he would see Tula again.

  But she is dead. That wasn’t real. That wasn’t real. And no amount of wishing could bring her back. But what truly terrified him was the possibility of going out there and never seeing her again. His heart needed her back, but his mind kept telling him that it was impossible. Unless…unless…she’s a ghost?

  But those didn’t exist. Not really. Not like in the movies where a person’s form remained intact, able to speak and feel and pop in and out of rooms. A person’s spirit was more of an energy field. What he’d seen in his bedroom had been solid. Complete with a shadow, a voice, and everything. He had even been able to smell her sweet floral scent wafting in the room.

  Then poof. Gone.

  He ran his hands through his dark hair. “I’m going nuts. I know I am.”

  “Zac, are you in there?” Knock, knock, knock!

  “Jesus!” Zac jumped.

  “Gods, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing in the closet?” Tula asked.

  This isn’t happening. “Go away!” he yelled through the door.

  “My, aren’t you a sourpuss this morning,” she said in that sweet voice he’d come to know and adore.

  She’s dead. “Go away! You’re not real.”

  “Mr. Zac, that’s just mean-spirited. I know you’re a big bad deity and all, and I’m just a little old human, but that doesn’t make me less real than you.”

  What is happening? Is Minky playing a trick on me? Has my human shell malfunctioned? It had been a while since he’d refreshed it. But I feel fine. Other than a dead human, the love of my existence, standing on the other side of this door.

  Hold on. Maybe she’s—she’s a fake. An actress. That’s what’s happening. Yes, yes. LA was full of actors.

  “Cimil put you up to this, didn’t she?” he barked. “She somehow escaped that oil drum, and now she’s taking her revenge.”

  “Mr. Zac? What the h-e-double-toothpicks are you squawking about in there? I haven’t seen Cimil since before she made me go to that weird merman island—so much testosterone in one place isn’t natural. By the way, how did I get here after we made our escape in that dinghy? Last thing I remember was shivering my tushy off and you making me dance.”

  Zac blinked. “What was the song?”

  “Ummm…there wasn’t any. You told me to listen to your heartbeat.”

  Zac felt his stomach crash to the floor. “Tula?” He jerked the door open. “Is it really you?”

  She nodded with a glowing smile. “Of course, silly. Who else would it be?”

  Zac stood speechless, staring down at the petite, five-foot woman with long blonde pigtails. Her big blue eyes were wide and filled with warmth and innocence. She is so lovely. So enchanting. She wore a light pink dress that reminded him of a trash bag, essentially a shapeless sack. So hot. Part of him wanted to grab her by the waist and maul her mouth with his lips. The other part of him simply couldn’t accept what his eyes were showing him.

  “How? How is this possible?” he asked, his hands shaking with the need to feel her smooth silky skin against his fingertips. Everything about this woman fired him up.

  “Zac, what are you talking about?”

  “How are you here?”

  “Didn’t I just ask you that question?” She frowned with confusion.

  She had. And apparently, she had no recollection of dying.

  “Dear gods.” His mind reeled, reaching for a way to make sense of this. The last time he’d seen Tula alive was on that small boat. He’d heard her heart stop after she froze to death. A few hours later, a merman found them and returned them to the island. Once there, Tula’s body had been taken. Where? He didn’t know. But he assumed she’d been placed somewhere cold for safekeeping while Zac pleaded his case with Roen and attempted to explain how Cimil had been behind a series of very violent incidents, including one involving himself.

  Then, after taking an oath to do everything in his power to see that Cimil would be dealt with and punished, Zac boarded one of Roen’s private jets back to LA. Tula had been kept near him, wrapped in some strange ceremonial merman linen with symbols painted over it—fish, sea creatures, and whatnot. The rest was history. Zac arrived to the summit, already in progress, to bring Cimil to justice. Tula, whom he’d laid across the table to show the gods that she was truly dead, then disappeared.

  Minky. She has to know what’s going on. But where is that creature?

  Zac looked down at Tula, her blue eyes now filled with fear. What do I tell her?

  The truth. I must tell her the truth. Wait. No. What if telling her she’s dead messes with everything? The mind was a powerful thing. Perhaps Tula was only here because she willed it, because she didn’t know she’d died.

  “Mr. Zac, are you going to answer me or not? Because I don’t recall ever seeing you look so pale, and it’s really making me nervous.”

  His skin was usually a wonderful shade of olive. It complemented his dark features and deific turquoise eyes.

  “The thing is, Tula,” he scratched his chin, “I, uh…don’t know how to say this without sounding weirdly happy about it, but I think you’re a…” He paused one more time. He didn’t want to risk losing her again, but there was no way to keep the truth from her either.

  “Stop with the drama.” She swiped her hand over his arm, but instead of making contact, her fingers passed right through him.

  She screamed.

  He gasped. She’d gone right through him. This can’t be happening. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Frantic, she started trying to swat him again. “What’s going on, Zac?”

  “We can’t have sex. Not like this.” Gods fucking dammit.

  “Zac! Why can’t I touch you? What’s the matter with you?” she asked, ignoring his harsh revelation.

  He scratched the back of his head, trying to puzzle out why she couldn’t touch him.

  “Zac! Answer me!” she yelled.

  “Oh, my apologies. You died on the ocean. I feel terrible about it,” he said distractedly. “Worse than terrible. I think my heart shriveled up into a tiny raisin.”

  “I’m sorry…did you just say I died?”

  He nodded. “The worst day of my entire existence, Tula. And now you’re back, I don’t know how, but the fact I cannot make physical contact with you only draws my suspicion.”

  This is the Universe’s doing. One of her epic brain twisters. Seriously, she had been beco
ming more and more vicious these days.

  “No, no, no. What did I do to deserve this?” Tula walked over to his waterbed and sat. Oddly, the edges of her pink dress fell to her sides and rested on the bed, but the bed itself didn’t slosh or move or anything. “Cimil said something to me, and at the time I chalked it up as just one of her many whimsical riddles. She said, ‘Tula, don’t you worry. If you’re ever toast, I’ll make a new slice of bread for you. Just as long as the toaster hasn’t popped.’”

  “Excellent. That makes no sense,” Zac said.

  Tula shrugged. “Then she said something about an insurance policy and how important I was to mankind.”

  Hmmm… Zac stared for a long moment, trying to translate the story from Cimilese to rational language. All right, toast means dead. As in, “You’re toast.” So if Cimil had said she’d found a way to make a new slice, then…then… Well, who knew? Cimil had worked with the Maaskab priests for centuries, helping them develop their dark arts. It was part of Cimil’s dichotomy—always looking for ways to create chaos and misery while saving the world at the same time. She always pretended she wasn’t doing anything on purpose, but Cimil always saw the world in terms of events. She could take the millions of choices people made on a daily basis, add them all up, and predict the outcome. And that was without using her powers.

  When equipped with the full force of her abilities, which at present had been suspended as part of her banishment here on earth, Cimil could listen to the voices of the dead, who existed in another plane where time ceased to exist. Past, present, future. The dead were all there together. Cimil could sift through billions of conversations and foresee the future.

  So, given that, then Cimil likely knew the mermen would throw her to the bottom of the ocean and Tula would die.

  Zac rubbed his chin. “Cimil told me, repeatedly, that you were critical to mankind’s survival.”

  “She said the same thing about herself,” Tula pointed out. “Ad nauseum.”

  “That’s it.” He snapped his fingers. “You’re her insurance plan. She knew she’d be entombed. Or barreled. Not sure what to call it. But she foresaw you dying and that she’d be the only one who could bring you back.”