Leather pants ought to come with warning labels.
An itchy tag reading: These pants will make you sweat and do nothing at all to increase your self-esteem might have made me choose my outfit for the night more wisely.
Instead, heat and friction produced a sheen of sweat that made my thighs chafe against the unforgiving hide, and I sent up a quick apology to the poor animal who had given up their skin so I could try to feel more comfortable in my own.
Magic coiled inside me like an adder waiting for a juicy mouse as I slid into and tried to blend with the crowd. Port Day festival transformed a six-block by six-block square ranging from the harbor all the way to the city center into one giant party. Foot traffic clogged streets lined with food stands serving everything from deep-fried ice cream sandwiches to fish and chips. Dozens of artisans hawked their wares, pulling both the willing and the uninterested into the depths of their tents with the promise of treasures untold.
I passed by a makeshift stage where music, heavy on drums and bass, settled into my breastbone like a curse and enticed my heartbeat to a primitive rhythm. At least I was dressed halfway appropriately for this section of the venue.
The air smelled of booze, a jumble of different foods, warm bodies, and desire. No, not the sexual kind, get your mind out of the gutter.
Okay, maybe there was an element of sexual tension, but I also sensed plenty of people looking for a love that lasts. That group was in luck because it’s my job to make soul mates happen.
I’m Lexi Balefire. Witch. Matchmaker. Keeper of the Balefire Flame. Daughter of Cupid. A lot of titles to carry, but I try to make it work. Oh, and let’s not forget Fate Weaver—whatever that means. I’m still trying to figure it out, myself.
A restless hunger to ply my trade burned in me like a dark fire as I made my way through the crowd. So many matches, so little time.
What I do doesn’t require an algorithm for counting points of compatibility; it’s both simpler and more complex than basic math. Before Awakening to my full complement of witch magic, I ran my business on a combination of instinct and the matchmaker’s version of an internal GPS connected to my gut. Depending on the strength of the signal, I could pinpoint the location of a client’s perfect match to within a few feet. I guess you could call me a divining rod for love.
In the weeks since my Awakening on Beltane, my process had changed significantly.
First of all, I no longer needed to get acquainted with clients before knowing exactly where to find their perfect match. I had always enjoyed the part of my job where information filtered in by bits and pieces as my clients talked a blue streak. Discovering the nuances of personalities helped create a connection between myself and the people I helped—one I missed now that its absence left me struggling to feel engaged.
Since there was no one to ask—save for my half-brother, Jett, who hated me with a fiery passion (his input would most definitely fall into the “unhelpful” category)—I could only speculate that my witch magic impacted whatever love mojo I’d inherited from my father’s side of the family. Finding out my dad was Cupid (yes, that Cupid), and that Cupid plus witch equaled Fate Weaver had answered fewer questions than it raised.
My heritage did explain my affinity for lovers, so that was a boon. The rest—the change in how my matchmaking skills worked—was not.
This day, though, the sweet desire to be helpful had given way to something slightly darker, more urgent. Something almost strong enough to be called a compulsion. I needed to be in control; to pluck the strings that turn a chance meeting into a fated encounter.
Port Day festival was one of Port Harbor’s biggest yearly events and my all-time personal favorite. What’s not to love? There’s good food, dancing in the streets, great art, and best of all, a ton of people to watch. And to match.
The thread of giddy power coursing through my veins drove me among the crowd, into McGinty’s pub where I intended to use a back exit that would drop me near the corner of Ballast and Westmoreland—that much closer to where my boyfriend was slated to play a set in half an hour. Plenty of time to do my matchmaking thing along the way.
On my way through the dark din of the pub, I grabbed the low back of a barstool and gave it a spin. The cute blond, who had been flirting with the brooding man to her left, now faced her one and only—the shy guy to her right. A kick to the leg of his chair pulled his attention away from the glass cradled in his hands. Their eyes met, and the match was a done deal.
“We’ll be back in ten,” the lead singer announced into the ringing silence left behind when the band stopped playing, and I corralled a thirty-something man with an earnest face before he could follow the wrong woman outside.
Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at his astonished expression, I covered by saying, “I can’t believe how long it’s been. You should have kept in touch.” By the time he figured out we’d never met before, I’d maneuvered him across the floor and right into a knot of women waiting for their turn in the ladies room.
“Oh my God, it’s like a crazy reunion.” Keeping hold of the guy, I slung an arm around his perfect match. “How have you been? You two know each other, right?”
“I…uh…” He stammered.
I shoved the pair together while focusing my attention vaguely across the room.
“Hey, there’s Sally, gotta run. You two catch up, I’m sure you have a lot to talk about,” I said brightly, then raised my voice to no one, “Hey! Sally. Wait for me.” I hurried out the back door, leaving the astonished beginnings of another match behind me.
Exiting McGinty’s and zigging right, I made up a quick and dirty spell to make the middle-aged man ahead of me poke a bystander in the ribs. The sudden shock caused a chain reaction through the crowd.
While Mr. Poker went on his merry way, the innocent pokee jumped and stepped on the foot of the woman standing just behind him. She yelped in surprise and careened into the support pole holding up the canopy of a pottery maker’s tent. It wobbled just enough to slip sideways and slap against the back of the man standing on the other side, who lurched into the street just as his perfect match happened by.
Boom. I gave myself a mental high five for using magic for good.
Three matches in a row. A decent result, but not enough to tame the fidgety spirit still pulling my feet through the streets. I needed to find more, do more, bring more love into the world.
A force stronger than the intuition I’d relied on to make my business successful drove me forward. I hated the feeling of not being in perfect control and yet I craved the burst of adrenaline-like energy that came each time match met match.
Despite my best intentions, I felt myself becoming hooked on the seductive power of changing fates with almost no effort and the festival provided plenty of willing fodder. With each match, the craving grew.
Around the next corner, Mackintosh Clark stood near the stage he would occupy in a few short minutes. Our relationship was still new enough that the mere sight of him gave me the flutters. It might have been his rock star good looks—blond hair long enough to curl around a chiseled chin, hands that knew their way across a set of guitar strings—and a woman’s body. We exchanged a hug made awkward by the Gibson slung over his back and a kiss that lifted the top of my head to send it soaring.
“Are you going to stick around for my first set?”
The restless need to keep moving decided the answer for me. “I’ll catch the second, if that’s okay. There are so many matches here tonight it’s an adrenaline rush.” Gentle hands cupped my flushed face as Kin dropped a kiss on my nose. He leaned close to keep his next words for my ears only.
“Be careful, okay. Jett’s probably hanging around if there’s this much romantic energy in the air.”
Having sworn to undo my life’s work, my half-brother used his Cupid-given affinity to break apart couples before they could exchange true love’s kiss, and I wondered if today’s driving need to make matches had anything to do with his unmaking them. I hadn’t seen him around, but after our last meeting I doubted he’d have the guts to face me.
“I’m on high alert. Don’t worry; I can handle Jett.” I gave Kin another kiss and walked away.
A woman possessed, I moved through the crowded street like a wraith. As though they sensed a higher purpose, people drifted out of my way as I ghosted among them, putting two more couples together with no regret for the dates they might have left behind. Those unfortunates would get their matches in due time.
No thought was spared for the ephemeral nature of the pairings, either. When a person visited FootSwept Matchmaking, my place of business, they could pretty much count on a happily ever after. That was my job, my credo, and I followed through until I was sure the couplings would stick. Due diligence went out the window today in favor of the happily right now.
Something about that bothered me, but not enough to stop. Or enough to think about the odds of having so many lonely hearts in such close proximity. Even crowded into a relatively small geographical area, there was usually much more distance between matches. What was up with that?
Logic should have warned me the chances were about as good as winning the lottery twice in the same day.
Logic was asleep at the wheel.
Otherwise, it would have been ringing the hinky bell in my brain long before that niggling feeling of being watched began to lift the hairs on the back of my neck.
The list of people interested enough in my actions to spend time spying on me only included two other names besides Jett’s, and neither with the best intentions. My arch-enemy Serena hadn’t the subtlety to pull off a surveillance mission on her own, and wherever she went, Jett followed. Or maybe it was the other way around—I didn’t care enough about either of them to waste time trying to figure out the nuances of their relationship.
Then there was my mother, Sylvana Balefire. My innocent mother who’d been cut down in the prime of her life by my wicked grandmother. Or so I’d been led to believe.
Still, her intentions fell into the category of undefinable. Long-absent from my life for reasons I couldn’t fathom, she’d popped up just long enough to disguise herself as a friendly shop owner, give me the key I needed to gain my full level of power, and then disappear again.
Poof.
The only thing missing was a cloud of purple smoke and any sort of explanation for why she had bothered coming back at all if she never meant to stay.
She had to know I’d eventually figure out her deception, and she should have been the one to tell me about my father. Instead, I’d learned about him from Jett during a showdown after he’d used Serena to cast a soul curse on my boyfriend. His bombshell explained a few things while leaving even larger gaps in my knowledge of my own family. Gaps my mother could likely fill if only she would come back around.
My inner Cupid rose up again and washed all other thoughts away. There were matches here, and it was my job to make them. You know what they say about ambition—it’s blind, and I was living proof.
Every couple I put together fed the craving for more and more and still more. I knew I should stop while I still could, but I liked the rush too much. I liked it right up until the balance tipped and I knew I was about to tip over the edge of losing control.
Almost running, I dodged down a side street less clogged with bodies than the rest; the pull so strong I couldn’t stop. I reached the outer edge of the festival, the sounds of music and laughter becoming quieter with each step. I heard the argument escalate before I found them. Jett’s fingerprints were everywhere; if I didn’t have a mess to clean up, I could have followed it straight to him and ended his reign of terror before he even laid eyes on me.
But I did have work to do, so I focused my attention on the couple in front of me. Honestly, I can’t even tell you what either one looked like, but my nose filled with the stench of ill intentions and I had to take action, so I stepped into the middle of the fight.
Kids, don’t try this at home.
Two things happened at once. The first was that their fury turned on me, and the second shocked me even more. It shouldn’t have, though: this wasn’t the first time a couple’s life played out before my eyes in a powerful vision.
Not a still life in three dimensions, but a living, breathing representation of me standing behind the man and woman mid-fight, and I couldn’t help noticing the back of my hair needed a trim. I resisted the temptation to reach out and see if I could touch the solid-looking figure because there was no scenario where the results wouldn’t freak me out.
What if I did and the dream me flinched? Or if my hand went right through my body? Or even worse, what if I touched myself in the vision and the real me could feel it. Nope, not doing any of that.
Keeping my hands to myself I circled around so I could see my face, and that freaked me out more than touching myself would have. Shut up; I know how it sounds.
My eyes were lit with pink fire. Pink. And I was holding a bow and arrow in my hands. Okeydoke. Take me to the funny farm, because I’ve lost it. Me holding a bow and arrow would be like a baby trying to drive a race car. Not safe, not smart, and not effective.
Still, there I was, clutching the thing in my hand like I knew how to use it. Alternate universe much? The weapon seemed to be made of golden smoke and roiling shadow, its barb a heart-shaped tip.
I’m telling you, I almost peed my pants when my dream-self lifted that bow and nocked the arrow, because as she did she cocked an eyebrow at me.
A pounding heart and wobbly knees greeted me when my focus snapped back to the present and to the couple who’d been fighting so bitterly only moments before. Cute couple. I would have put them together myself if one or the other had asked for my help. And I would have felt good about doing it because every shred of my intuition insisted they were meant for one another. That this man and this woman, together, would make true love’s kiss.
The bow and arrow from my vision had to be symbolic of my father’s blood running through my veins, because no one in their right mind would turn me loose on the world with such a weapon. On a good day, my athletic skills are limited to running in heels.
I was not the hunter/gatherer type. Well, I might have hunted the shoe sales and gathered people together, but I don’t really think that counts. Handing me a pointy object? No. Just no.
The dream or vision popped like a bubble, leaving me in the same place I’d been before it happened, right in the middle of an impending breakup. In other words, with my nose stuck in someone else’s business.
Don’t ask how I did it because I’m not even sure myself. The best way I can describe it is that Lexi moved aside and something else, something much larger than myself took over. Cold fire rushed through me to burn Jett’s mark to a cinder, then to ash to waft away on the wind. The fight was over, the couple coming out of it like they’d been sleepwalking.
My job was done, but I couldn’t pull back the fire. I needed help. I needed Kin. Turning, I raced back the way I had come.
Like a leviathan stirring in the deep, the power built inside me to the point of pain. My ears popped, then roared with sound and, certain everyone around me must be feeling the same pressure, I cringed. The crowd continued to party, unaffected. Dancing, drinking, eating, and shopping. Nausea dragged my stomach into my throat, weakened my knees.
Dizzy, I stumbled into a crowded pub where it seemed like the bathroom was moving away from me at a faster pace than I could walk. Stumbling forward, I smacked into a wall of tattooed arm and T-shirt clad chest.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” I shouted over the ringing in my ears.
“Are you okay?” T-shirt’s companion, all teased hair and raccoon-dark makeup, grabbed my arm in a helpful gesture. “Had a few too many, Honey? Here, let Delta help you.” The woman slung an arm around my waist and practically carried me toward the door marked Chicks.
“Thank you.” My voice sounded tonelessly loud in the muffled quiet of the ladies room. “I just felt all funny for a minute; it’s passing now.” Marshaling my strength, I focused tightly on making my way to the sink with as close to a normal walk as I could muster. Water hitting porcelain rang through my head like thunder, but I managed to splash wet coolness on my face and felt marginally better for it.
When I lifted my head, I caught Delta’s intense gaze in the mirror. The way she looked at me seemed to hold a little more concern than most people might feel about someone they met during a chance encounter in a bar.
“You’re pale,” Delta stated the obvious as I studied my face in the mirror over the sink. My eyes glittered oddly, at least two shades darker than their usual bright emerald green, and she was right, my skin looked pasty. Clucking quietly to herself, Delta pulled a blue bandanna from some hidden pocket, flipped the tap to warm water, and ran the cloth under the stream. Before I could protest, she cupped my chin gently and began to wipe at my cheeks.
Tingling heat, the kind I recognized from long experience of living among the Fae, rose from the point of contact and I knew Delta carried more than simple human blood. She was a supernatural of some type.
“What’s your name, honey?”
“Lexi Balefire,” I managed to stammer, and searched her eyes for signs of recognition. For all I knew, my mother had come to me in disguise again.
“Is there someone I can call for you? A friend, or maybe you have family nearby. I’m sure I’ve heard the name Balefire from somewhere. Are you related to Sylvana Balefire?” Something stronger than simple curiosity put a gleam in her eye and she leaned forward as she waited for me to answer.
Hearing that name coming from a stranger roused my suspicions and I searched her face for signs of familiarity. Not that I knew what to look for anyway. Burned out of all the family photos, my mother’s true face was a mystery to me.
But she was good at putting on the glamour, since none of the witches at Beltane recognized her when she showed up as Athena. It still twisted my guts that she’d come back from the dead and chosen not to reveal herself to me.
“She was my mother, but she’s long dead.” I’ll give her credit—if Delta really was Sylvana, her face betrayed nothing. Not even the slightest raise of an eyebrow.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Why don’t you let me take you home?”
“Listen, my boyfriend’s playing in…” I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the time. An hour ago. “A few minutes,” I lied. While I’d become lost in the matchmaking thrall, Kin had played his second set, and I’d missed it.
Several text messages from him attested to the fact that he’d noticed my absence. The final one in the series included a terse message that one of the acts had bailed, he’d been tapped to play the third set, and could I please answer this time.
“I’m just going to head over there. Thanks, really, for all your kindness.”
With a single backward glance, she left me to the relative calm of the restroom, and I wobbled into a stall to sit for a moment and take stock of my condition.
The churning in my gut reminded me of stumbling off one of the big coasters when my faerie godmothers treated me to a day at Six Flags for my eleventh birthday. Motion sickness blended with a heady dose of adrenaline and made more potent by two kinds of strong magic turned my senses inside out.
“Breathe, Lexi. Slow and easy.” I might have spoken out loud. In a moment, I was back to normal—or whatever passes for normal in my world, anyway.
Not trusting myself to the crowd again, I texted Kin that I was feeling a little under the weather and I’d see him later.
I blame television for most of my misconceptions about being a witch. Didn’t Samantha wrinkle her nose and translocate herself to wherever she needed to be? Wouldn’t that be convenient? I’d planned on riding home with Kin, and since that wasn’t happening, I now faced a long walk back to my office where I’d left my scooter.
With no other option, I dodged down one of my patented shortcuts.
“Hello again, Miss Balefire.” I recognized the gritty tones and tingle of power with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Delta.
“Are you following me?” I asked the first question that came to mind even though it rated a big, fat ten on the dumb-question scale.
“I need to talk to you in private, Miss Balefire. Make it easy on yourself and come with me.” Gone was the fluffy quality from the bathroom, shed like a second skin to reveal a feral face and the honed body of a predator. Didn’t jive with the bad movie dialog, and I wondered if she was about to make me choose between the red pill and the blue one.
“And if I don’t?” What would she do when four angry faeries showed up? All I had to do was send out the distress signal. Not that I planned to do that; I’m a pretty powerful witch and half a God besides. Even under the weather, I should still be able to hold my own.
Talon-tipped fingers tightened around my bicep in response. She’d moved so fast I hadn’t even seen a blur. I countered with a loosening curse that was meant for releasing knots, not for making someone let go of your arm. What can I say? I’m powerful but inexperienced.
Delta let out a strangled sound, and I yanked my arm away. Her fingers dangled like wet noodles, and the look she gave me was pure fury, but I didn’t waste a lot of time waiting for her to regroup.
I bolted before the shock wore off and heard her voice faintly behind me. “You didn’t have to do that; I only wanted to talk. You can’t hide forever, Lexi Balefire.”
Ignoring that for the load of horse manure it probably was, I gained a decent lead before I heard the pounding of her feet. If I haven’t said it before, this is my town and I know her like no one else. A few well-planned turns and I increased my pace enough to make a strategic dash through the back door of Sinful and turn the lock behind me.
Very few people are familiar enough with Port Harbor’s infrastructure to know about the warren-like system running through the oldest sections of town. According to what little documentation there is, the connections served as a way to move people and valuables to safety should the town be invaded by pirates. Scoff if you will; it was a hazard, apparently, of being a harbor town.
These days, most of the exits are locked or closed off to preserve privacy, but you can still get from Sinful to one of the suspended walkways crossing over Main Street and letting out into The Commons, an urban version of a mini-mall.
From there, I went up another level, cut through a second walkway, and came out in the next building down from my office at FootSwept Matchmaking. With every step the phrase why me reverberated in my head. Did getting my magic amount to slapping a giant Kick Me sign on my back? First, my half-brother declares war on my business, and now this. I’m a nice person. I help people find love. Why are crazy supernaturals trying to burn down my life?
I had no answers to any of those questions by the time I navigated two basements and made my way back to my office where I peeked out the windows to ensure the coast was clear. I fired up the scooter parked in my vestibule and rode home, leaving Delta still searching for me somewhere in the city.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but people who only want to talk to you rarely leave finger-shaped bruises on your arm.
