Spell Hath No Fury

by ReGina Welling

  "What does all this have to do with me," I asked. I'd been hoping to learn the greater purpose behind making matches. Seemed like Delta expected me to pull some nugget of truth out of her story that I just wasn't seeing.

  Delta sighed loudly and explained. "With every new Fate Weaver, the stain of humanity welled inside him, and his reaction was to make more matches. True love, kiss and all, grew out of his tainted soul.”

  “You say this like it’s a bad thing.” Outrage forced the words from me. “True love is what I’m all about. It’s what drives me, what drives the world. It’s beautiful and good. How can that be a bad thing?”

  Again, she looked at me like I was too simple to understand the concept. "Where the other gods watched from the outside, Cupid stepped in and created a shift in the duality. He meddled in people's fates and even though his intentions were good, his actions had to be balanced by the creation of opposing forces and now the human heart has become more than just a pivot point, it's a battleground."

  I think I got it now. "You're saying my father is at the heart of all the nasty things humans do to each other. He poked his finger into our love lives and stirred up a hornet's nest of reciprocal pain."

  “I’m not saying that at all. Love has softened many a warring heart, but it drives them, too. Along with loving comes fighting, and those who would unmake the universe figured that fact out quickly and perverted love to suit their own dark desires. The dichotomy evolved until you, and those like you became more important than ever.”

  Pat Benatar's voice echoed through my head.

  “Love really is a battlefield.” The Bow of Destiny chimed in with a convincing guitar lick. I smiled.

  “It is now, and not only because Fate Weavers came to be, but also because they instinctively picked up the gauntlet and ran into the fray. You made matches long before you knew it was in your blood to do so. When Cupid set the ball in motion, he had no idea it would turn into a behemoth and roll over him as well as the family he was so keen to perpetuate.”

  I felt, well, my emotions were so mixed up I wasn’t sure what I felt, so I fell silent for a moment and tuned in to sort them out.

  There was pride in providing a measure of protection to the world, chagrin for not having taken my job seriously enough. Trepidation because my very existence made me a target—and now some of my grandmother’s mutterings made sense—and over it all, a fierce sense of purpose. Plus a measure of annoyance that my father had been the architect of change that could make or break the world.

  I hadn’t been the one to set events in motion, but as a child of Cupid, as a Fate Weaver, and don’t forget I’m a Balefire, one of the most powerful witches of my generation, I would do my part going forward. You know...once I knew exactly what my part entailed. The rock ballad in my head changed to a stirring march.

  “Lexi, you realize this makes you a...”

  “...Target. Yeah, I got that already. For every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction. My fourth-grade teacher was fond of saying something like that. I have enemies, my matches are more important than I realized. I’m up to speed.” A mental image of my current nemesis rose in my head. “What can you tell me about Diana Diamond?”

  “Ah, that one. She’s trouble.”

  “Yeah, that I knew. I need more.”

  “Granddaughter of Psyche. Born into a Romany line known to be endowed with a strong level of psychic ability. Carries a deck of cards that...you know it would be easier just to show you.”

  Delta reached into a concealed pocket, pulled out a shiny, metallic stone and tossed it to me. Instinct guided my hand in snatching the rock from the air, and when it made contact, the vision rolled over me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “TRY THIS ONE.” AN APPLE-cheeked woman brushed a ripple of raven curls behind one ear and handed a deck of cards to a girl with the face of an angel while I watched from above. The vision felt full of import and breathless anticipation. “Do the cards speak to you, little one?”

  “The pictures are pretty, and I like the colors.” Eager to please, small fingers leafed through the Bosch Tarot, laid one card after another face up on the table. Like a series of old masters, each card of the Bosch deck had a painterly feel to it. Fine art.

  “But do they speak? Do you feel them in your bones?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “And these?” A Ryder deck replaced the Bosch, and I angled in for a closer look at the girl’s face. A young Diana concentrated, trying almost too hard to feel something and please the woman who patiently watched.

  “I'm sorry, Yaya. I’m trying very hard.”

  Mist washed the tableau away, replaced it with another. Older now, Diana opened brightly painted doors, furtively searched through the contents of a set of cabinets. Every so often, she glanced over one shoulder to make sure she was alone.

  Pulling a velvet bag with a drawstring closure from the inky depths, she returned to the table and dumped the contents into her hand. Runestones, polished by years of handling, bright with color, trickled across her palm to spill on the velvet cloth. After playing with them for a few minutes, Diana lost interest and returned to the cabinet to root around for another treasure.

  A carved wooden box yielded bones, smoothed to an ivory shine. Those held less appeal than the runes, and within minutes lay scattered on the table, abandoned.

  Back to the cupboards she went and threw open another door to rifle through the contents. Reaching into the farthest corner, she pulled out a parcel wrapped in soft black cloth and tied with a series of intricate knots. Her breath caught and so did mine as some powerful magic made itself known. The kind that sets the tiny bones in your ears to humming and vibrates the back of your tongue until you feel it in your throat.

  Sweeping aside the runes and bones, Diana lay the bundle on the table and poked at the knots with a gentle fingertip. I sensed anticipation tinged with wariness rising in the girl, but no hint of what I knew she would someday become.

  At her touch, the knots magically fell away. Wild magic rode a set of blank cards that lay on the table waiting to be touched and tamed and used for good or evil. The cards cared little for the purpose, only for the act of being played.

  Diana reached for the one on top, and without thinking too hard about it, I surged forward and laid an astral finger on the deck at the same time she touched it. The colorful image of the Fool formed, but whatever Diana saw or felt with that first touch, I never knew because I had been sucked into another place and time.

  Two women—sister goddesses, given the resemblance between them and the level of power they commanded—faced each other across a slab of gold-veined marble with a polished sheen.

  "It's your turn to deal, Aneris." One sister slid a deck of cards across the table.

  Picking up the deck, Aneris said, "Dealer's choice and I choose War." I knew the game, I'd played it with Terra once upon a time.

  The first sister grumbled. "I hate that game."

  "Too bad, Eris, you made the rules. Dealer's choice." And the game was on.

  I felt right at home watching Aneris and Eris squabble, though when the faeries fight, they don’t have the power to make and unmake destinies, so that’s a relief. You always think your situation is the worst and it never is.

  The trouble was, this game played out on the field of man. Now I knew where our history of going to war began.

  Each slap of the cards on the stone table sent another shockwave of war across the world until mighty Zeus seemed to have had enough. Eris pulled a king to cover Aneris’ nine of spades, but before she could play it, a bolt of lightning hit the center of the table and the game vanished in a cloud of ozone-scented air. The blast sent both sisters sprawling.

  Winged shoes hovering a few inches above the floor, Hermes appeared and said, “There was a consensus, and we’ve decided you’ve done enough damage with these.” He brandished the deck of cards. “I’ll be putting them someplace safe from the pair of you,
and you’re not to go looking for them.”

  The cards wrapped themselves in soft cloth, tied with twine, and Hermes dropped the familiar-looking bundle into a pouch he carried at his waist—the elevated version of a fanny pack. I imagined him bouncing down a runway in his flapping shoes and executing a flawless hip-shot model turn just for fun. Olympus faded to black, and then the vision opened again on an aerial view of a Romany Vardo wagon nestled in the corner of a small field.

  Hermes skimmed over the arched roof and came to a running stop just behind the rustic home decorated with brightly-painted scrolls and flower patterns around the windows and doors. A white goat pranced over to test his hand for edibles, and finding none, gave Hermes a friendly, but firm head-butt.

  “Hello, the house!” He called out and circled to put a foot on the first step.

  The top half of a Dutch door swung open, and a woman scowled through the opening. “I’m not going back, and I won’t let you take my Diana.”

  “I didn’t come here to take you or your daughter anywhere, Bianca.” At his assurance, Bianca’s attitude underwent a subtle change; she relaxed and turned on the charm.

  “Well then, why don’t you come inside, I’m sure we can find something that will make your trip worth the time.” Bianca arched her back, displayed her wares while her eyes raked over the tight-fitting leggings to linger on the part of his anatomy she found most interesting.

  Heated blood rose to stain Hermes’ face, and Bianca quirked a smile at the sight of the dull red skin.

  “I’ve just come to give you this, and it comes with a message from your mother.”

  The smile fell off Bianca’s face, but she took the parcel he offered.

  “Psyche asked me to give you her love and to tell you she trusts you to keep this safe.”

  Another woman, even another daughter of a living Goddess might have torn away the wrappings to see what was inside. Made of sterner stuff, Bianca turned and stowed the deck of cards in the back of the nearest cabinet. The action gave her time to compose her features.

  “Is that all? She didn’t send a message to Diana?”

  Hermes shrugged and turned away as the vision within a vision faded.

  In her next incarnation, Diana Diamond, poised on the brink of leaving adolescence, danced with a beautiful, raven-haired boy with an innocent face and a gentle smile. Love shone in the brightness of her eyes as he graced her with the shyest of kisses. The tender moment evoked the memory of my first kiss. All the wonder and flutter and thunder of hearts as his lips met mine. I sighed. Anyone would.

  While Diana fell headlong into young love, she used the stolen, goddess-touched Tarot cards to tell fortune after fortune with unparalleled accuracy. Folks came from miles around to hear their futures and her star continued to rise.

  Perhaps her young man feared what she might learn about him, for even the most shining youth has a shadowed side. But over time, another pretty lass caught his eye, one with simpler tastes. The callow boy could not find the words to let Diana down easy, so he said nothing at all.

  He loves me, he loves me not, Diana asked herself until the question was too hard to bear, so she pulled out the cards that had served her so well and did the unthinkable: she laid out a spread to tell her own future.

  The future is not set in stone—Gran jokes that her past once was, but that’s a different concept altogether—and no matter how good the telling, your fortune can change in an instant. Diana had come to think herself so infallible a prophet she was capable of predicting her own future.

  Whatever Diana saw turned her cold and hard as her namesake, she embraced the raw power, craved more, and burned her world to ashes. The cards absorbed every ounce of magic she poured into them, begged for more until, with a wicked smile on her face, she pulled out a penknife.

  The knife flashed silver when it scored the palm of her left hand, blood gathered like a row of scarlet beads along the shallow line. Darkness writhed as though it lived and breathed and waited for the moment that comes just before a soul takes its plunge—when everything is balanced on the edge.

  Triumphant, Diana squeezed her fist, held it high, and let the first drop fall.

  A sizzle at the point of impact, a tiny puff of smoke, and then a shrieking whirlwind of power tore Diana into little pieces that rode the tornado for a moment before coming back together again minus one very important part. Diana’s heart, her emotional center, held no light, no love. It was as black and dark as a moonless night.

  Dark heart. The term bounced around in my head the way a song does when it’s become an earworm that just won’t stop repeating. Dark heart.

  Darkest Heart.

  In case you were wondering, slapping your forehead in astral form hurts just the same as in the physical. I remembered hearing a story about the darkest heart when the earthbound angel Adriel and the faerie godmothers teamed up to release Vaeta from the underworld.

  If Diana was the Darkest Heart, she was more of an enemy than I’d bargained for. Not just a rival matchmaker, not just the bearer of a magical deck of Tarot cards powerful enough to override true love’s kiss, Diana Diamond was the granddaughter of Psyche herself. That gave her what—a quarter share of a blood tie to a mythic Goddess?

  A share, from what I’d seen, she’d been willing to do anything to strengthen. Bianca might not have wanted to embrace her heritage, but she’d raised a daughter who was only too happy to trade on the power of Olympus.

  Most people have an annoying neighbor for a worst enemy, but I get a slew of heartless, ticked off godlings who would like nothing more than to burn the world down and blow on the ashes. How did I get to be the one elected to fix this?

  Oh, that’s right. My father and his need to experience the human condition. Thanks, Dad.

  If I thought I'd seen all I needed to see, the director behind this little montage wasn't quite finished. The finale saw me back in my own body observing the cute couple I'd matched with the elevated fates.

  I found myself watching them, their heads huddled together over a table in a restaurant across town, and I wasn’t alone. Diana Diamond had joined me in the vision or astral projection or whatever the technical term was for what was happening.

  Judging by the look on her face as she stood across from me, she’d tuned into the intensity of their emotions as well. Her face was...um...not her face.

  Getting a peek under the mask proved Delta’s vision true; Diana was a powerful demigod and not the kind born of love or light or laughter, but a goddess of darkness and pain and infinite unhappiness.

  Endless shadows played peek-a-boo with her features, shifting to give me a glimpse of eyes burning black over lips pressed into a tight line of displeasure that bordered on pain. Focused on the couple, she gave no indication she was aware of my presence as the shadows shifted and obscured her face again.

  When a flare of pink drew my attention to the table and joy flooded over me, I forgot all about Diana. The sensation was so pure it played on my tattered, lovesick emotions and tweaked them to the point of pain.

  “This is...I can’t...I have to kiss you right now, or I think I might die.” He leaned in close, gave her a chance to turn away, but she bridged the gap and breathed into the kiss. Lips met softly, made promises without words, parted slightly then dived in again. A kiss to bind them for eternity—one that stole my breath away as theirs quickened with desire. Time stood still for a split second, then I felt the rumble of it starting back up again.

  And more, I felt hearts lift and sing in a world a little brighter than it had been before.

  Behold the power of love to beat back all that would seek to play one human against another until darkness overbalanced the light.

  The thing that was Diana’s true self howled behind its shadow mask; a sound of frustration and fury and pain so intense I almost felt sorry for it, for her. Almost.

  It’s not the absence of pain that marks a person as true of heart. Wickedness, as I’ve come to learn, lies
in the choices we make when faced with despair. Witches and gods might have more power than humans, but free will is the real battleground.

  The vision popped like a bubble.

  “And she’s back.” Delta juggled three knives, blades flashing in a mesmerizing arc. “What?” She said when she caught me staring. “I was bored.”

  “Most people just read a magazine.”

  “Most people would ask what you just saw."

  Looked like Delta wasn’t so different as she thought.

  I described the visions, asked a few questions to which Delta had no answers until her head perked up, and she cut me off mid-sentence.

  “Business. Gotta bail. Back when I can.” A whirl of black leather and she was gone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  IT IRRITATED ME TO no end that Delta just up and disappeared, once again leaving me with a myriad of questions and fewer answers than I’d have liked. For one thing, how had Diana gotten her true nature past me? A shield that strong was a handy trick to have up your sleeve, and one I’d make good use of myself.

  It was almost enough to make me forget about my own personal love issues. For just a few moments the pain, as it sometimes does in these situations, gave way to a pleasant numbness.

  The only problem was, while I was rolling around and reveling in its absence, the pain came crushing back to pull me further into its undertow. I pushed those feelings back and found enough calm to focus on figuring out my next step, and what my gut told me was that I might not have to look further than inside myself for the answers to my questions.

  Blessedly, the house had gone silent when I padded back downstairs, and I spared no precious seconds wondering what aligning of the stars had transpired to empty the place precisely when I needed no distraction.

  In the sanctum, I found a quiet corner I’d never seen before, lined with embroidered silk pillows and festooned with a canopy of chiffon from floor to ceiling. A perfect spot for meditation, the room knew exactly what I’d needed and offered it willingly. Being a witch? Coolest thing ever.