The Tracker's Mate: Sunderverse (Mate Tracker Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  Of course, the same went for all other factions. Mages or the Fae could have killed Blake, too. Maybe they’d done it to start a war between vampires and werewolves. It would be a clever move for sure.

  Geez, what a clusterfuck!

  I still kept wishing it had been a terrible April Fools joke. Yesterday was April 1st, after all, but that body was very real.

  Gah! I shook my head. I had to stop thinking about last night. I had work to do. I checked the time on my phone. It was 8:00 AM. Rosalina would be here at any moment.

  I continued riffling through files in one of her desk drawers.

  Our agency was located in The Hill, a well-known Italian-American neighborhood west of downtown St. Louis. Rosalina and I grew up in the area, and we loved having our business here. Our small office was one of many on the block, a two-story narrow building with identical others on either side. On the corner, to our right, the office space stood vacant. To our left followed a dog groomer, an ice cream parlor, and the dry cleaners that took half my paycheck. Across the street, there was a coffee shop and a pizzeria I loved.

  Our first floor was a long rectangular room, which we had divided into three sections: the reception with Rosalina’s desk and a small sitting area, my office for private customer meetings, and a compact alcove for potion-making.

  One wall sported exposed brick, and the other displayed cool black-and-white photographs from local artists, all depicting couples doing romantic things like kissing, walking down the beach, getting married. You know... stuff to get people in a “mating” mood.

  But la pièce de résistance hung straight ahead, an illustration of a modern cupid, a badass chick with pink hair and a crossbow, flying over clouds while aiming for the kill. I had commissioned it, and if the image showed a resemblance to me, it was merely coincidental.

  Upstairs, a loft area served as my home. Nothing but a bed and a small bathroom, but much better than the homeless shelters I used to haunt.

  The bell over the front door chimed. I swiveled the chair to find Rosalina holding our customary cups of coffee.

  “Good morning, moonshine.” She set my cup on the desk and blinked down at me, purple circles under her eyes. “I couldn’t sleep one drop. I’ll need about six of these today.” She saluted me with her Venti cup.

  “Same here.” I saluted back and took a sip.

  “What a clusterfuck, huh?”

  “You read my thoughts!”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it, though. I need to cleanse my mind, get rid of all that bad juju. Can I help you find something?” She raised an eyebrow, glancing over my shoulder at the drawer I’d been abusing.

  “Yeah,” I said apologetically. “I was trying to find Celina Morelli’s file.” In the chaos that ensued after “the reveal,” we never got a chance to meet her last night.

  “I moved the new clients to the other cabinet, remember?”

  Rosalina set her coffee and purse down and removed her long coat. Underneath, she wore a black pencil skirt and crisp white shirt with a wide collar. She looked like a bank executive or lawyer, which was an excellent front for the kind of clients we needed to attract. She had applied her makeup to perfection. She loved watching YouTube videos on the subject, and it paid off. Though she looked just as gorgeous without makeup. Men always hit on her wherever she went, and she had no shortage of dates. I’d offered to find her a mate more than once, but she always refused, saying she wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. Whereas I wanted nothing more than to find a mate so I could feel something again, so I could convince myself that Jake had been a mistake instead of the one who got away.

  I tapped a fist against my hard head. “I remember now. Sorry, it’s been a hell of a week and last night laid the cherry on top.”

  “No worries, girl. I got ya.” She sashayed toward the tall wooden cabinet and procured the file in ten seconds flat. Damn, she was efficient.

  “She’ll be here at 9:30,” I said. “She called earlier to reschedule.”

  “I’ll update the agenda.” She batted her falsies at me, subtly asking me to vacate her space.

  I stood and picked up my yummy Venti. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  I was about to enter my office when Rosalina snapped her fingers.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. The space next door,” she tipped her head towards the right wall, “someone rented it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  The place had been vacant for the last six months. When the last tenant left—a grouchy lawyer who gave us the evil eye every time he saw us—we jumped for joy. But then, we started worrying the new tenant might be worse. What if the new renter didn’t approve of what we did and accused us of witchcraft? Not that witchcraft was illegal if you weren’t hurting anyone. But things were going too well for any kind of monkey wrench to land in the agency’s machinery.

  “Well, spill! Who is it?” I demanded.

  “I’ve no idea. Joey told me, but he had no details.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Great. For someone who works in a coffee shop, he certainly needs to improve his gossiping skills.” Joey worked at Cup o’ Java across the street.

  “I told him the same thing,” Rosalina quipped.

  “Let’s hope they’re nice.” I shrugged. “I’ll check on the potion ingredients to make sure I have everything for Morelli. Let me know when she gets in.”

  “Roger that.”

  I walked into my office, reviewing the file. Celina Morelli was thirty-three years old, the daughter of a wealthy financier. She was a Stale—a regular human with no supernatural skills—as opposed to a Skew, which was what they called anyone else. She had been engaged twice but hadn’t tied the knot on either occasion, which could only mean those men hadn’t been her true mates.

  A close friend sent her after we found the love of his life. Despite the reference, Celina was full of skepticism, but when I was done with her, she would be a believer. It was hard to argue with results.

  I heaved a sigh. If only I could use my powers on myself.

  I walked across my ten-by-ten office. My desk stood in the far corner, a large print of a cuddly puppy hanging above it. His eyes were soulful and put my customers in the right soft-hearted, love-sick mood. At the back of the room, I opened the narrow door to the potions alcove and entered.

  A sturdy work table, its surface smooth from years of use, sat against the wall. An equally ancient cupboard stood to the right. It had open shelves at the top and rows of tiny drawers at the bottom. The table and cupboard had belonged to my mother, and before that to my Nonna. I had inherited more than my skills from them.

  I checked the shelves. Pixie dust, seven-continent cloudmist, windblown mint leaves, volcanic ash... they were all there. Though soon I would have to replenish my stash of Pixie dust.

  A series of bangs on the wall next to my cupboard startled me. Someone was hammering on the other side. I stared at the wall, hands on my hips. So the new tenant was already here and making a racket during business hours, no less.

  Great!

  The hammering went on for about a minute, then stopped. I waited for it to begin again, but it didn’t. Good. I couldn’t talk to customers like that. If it started again, I would have to go next door to shove their hammer where they couldn’t find it anymore.

  I went back to my desk and spent the rest of the hour reviewing Celina’s file and making a few phone calls. Images of Foster’s hanging body flashed before my eyes, unbidden. I couldn’t get them out of my head, nor the foreboding that something bad would happen.

  “Are you all right?” Rosalina asked from the door.

  I glanced up, lifting my head from steepled fingers. “Oh, I’m fine, just thinking about last night.”

  “I’ve been doing the same, but it’s time to look sharp. Ms. Morelli’s here.”

  “Already?” I rose from the chair, shook myself, and straightened my knee-length dress. “
Bring her in.”

  “You have to nail this one, Toni,” she reminded me.

  I nodded. “I will. I will.”

  If I found Celina Morelli’s mate, it would open a world of possibilities for Rosalina and me. I couldn’t fail.

  Chapter 3

  I smiled as Celina Morelli walked into my office. She wore a tight red dress that fit her like someone had poured it over her. Her black hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and her lips matched the shade of her outfit. She was tall and slender and wore black heels that helped accentuate shapely calves that must be the courtesy of some hot private trainer.

  Oh, to have that kind of time and money. Maybe one day.

  “Ms. Morelli.” We shook hands over my desk.

  “Please, I’ve already told you to call me Celina.”

  “Sit, Celina.” I indicated the chair across from mine as I sat back.

  She placed her small purse on my desk and took a seat, crossing her long legs prissy-like. Celina topped six feet with her two-inch heels and probably looked like a freaking goddess when she strutted down the sidewalk. I tried to picture her mate. I imagined him tall, dark, and handsome. But even if he resembled a bald orangutan, once I found him, she would have no choice but to fall desperately in love with him.

  I got giddy just thinking about it.

  God, I love my job.

  Nothing like getting paid to hook up lonely people.

  I laid my hand on top of the manila folder in front of me. For the sake of time and clarity, I didn’t like dancing around the issue. I always spoke to my customers as candidly as possible.

  “I have reviewed your file and thoroughly understand your frustration with the dating scene. You’ve had a certain number of relationships that must have been heartbreaking.”

  Celina inhaled sharply, lifting her chin to appear aloof. It was common among failed lovers to act as if they were above heartache, but I was good at recognizing the signs. This woman had been hurt. Deeply. I had inferred it from her file, and now I could see it on her face.

  I’d seen the same strained look in the mirror many times. Who said young people lacked experience?

  “Nothing I can’t manage,” she said.

  “I don’t doubt it. You seem like a strong woman.”

  This was common too, pretending one could finger-plug the heart leaks while taking on the entire world.

  I’d done the same after Jake. I didn’t tell Mom he’d left me, and when she found out, I pretended it was no big deal, even though, on the inside, I was wrecked. When the rent money he had left ran out, I was too proud to go back home, so I stayed on the streets, homeless, doing odd jobs that barely paid for food. That was when I met Rosalina. She helped me pull myself back together, and with her friendship, made me realize my worth. I didn’t deserve what Jake did to me. But I’d learned my lesson. I would never give my heart so freely again.

  So yeah, I knew all about strong façades, but Celina didn’t fool me.

  “I’m afraid,” I said, “that even though it may be uncomfortable, you will have to open up in order to get what we need.”

  “Your partner warned me about this.” Celina seemed on the verge of rolling her eyes, though she confined her annoyance to a slow blink. “Are tears really necessary?”

  I opened my drawer, took out a vial, uncapped it, and handed it over. “I’m afraid so.”

  She took it with distaste. “I despise crying. It ruins my makeup”

  “I can turn around if you’d like.” I pushed a box of tissues in her direction and started swiveling my chair toward the back wall.

  “No need. Let’s get this over with.”

  I stopped the chair and offered her a sympathetic smile.

  “My latest romantic debacle happened a year ago,” she began. “I was deeply in love with him. We’d been dating for almost a year when he proposed. I was ecstatic. We set a date for a month later because we couldn’t wait. We even moved in together.”

  Celina’s voice broke, and she stopped to swallow. Tears were already pooling in her eyes, wavering in place, and though she knew we needed to fill the vial, she fought them.

  “The night before the wedding,” she continued, “he went to stay with a friend, so we wouldn’t see each other until we got to the church.” Her chin quivered. “I haven’t seen him since. His friend showed up instead to let me know the groom wasn’t coming. Apparently, that morning my ex ran into someone from his past, a Fae girlfriend he hadn’t seen in years. It took them an hour to reconnect and discover they were still in love.”

  The tears finally spilled. She had forgotten about the vial, and I had to urge her to lift it to her face. She quickly placed it in the path of her tears and filled it halfway in a few seconds.

  “Thank you, Celina. I can tell your tears are heartfelt. They are exactly what I need.”

  She handed the vial back, then dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I don’t love him anymore,” she said once she was tear-free.

  “Of course not. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  “It still hurts, though. The rejection.”

  Damn, I knew about that, too. Why hadn’t I been enough? I still asked myself that question when I felt shitty.

  “I can’t guarantee I’ll find your mate,” I said, “but I assure you, if I do, you’ll never feel this way again, and that hurt that still lingers will completely disappear.”

  She gave me a weak smile that informed me she didn’t believe a word I was saying. She wanted to, but she’d come to make her friend happy more than anything else.

  “How long will it take?” she asked.

  I capped the vial and whirled it around, observing its contents against the light. “At least two weeks.”

  Celina made a face that revealed her impatience with the whole affair.

  “It’s not an easy process.” That was an understatement, but I kept the details to myself. Few knew the toll that playing Cupid took on me. Good thing I charged for it now.

  After digging into her purse, Celina came up with an envelope and slid it across the desk. “Half now, half later.”

  “Oh, no. We agreed. No payment until I find your mate.”

  It was a risk we were willing to take for the sake of increasing the agency’s reputation. Running a mate tracking agency wasn’t for the faint of heart or the lean of cash. With so many swindlers out there, no one paid for tracking services upfront. They wanted results first.

  In the beginning, we couldn’t get anyone to put down a two-dollar deposit, so we took jobs on consignment, our contracts stating that payment would come only if we found a mate. Needless to say, the first couple of months in business were a bitch. We even got an eviction letter from the landlord because we couldn’t make rent and paying the business loan came first. Luckily, we struck gold by finding the mate of a stubborn neighborhood bachelor. When the news got around, everyone and their toothless, troll grandma started calling, and the terms of our contract improved in our favor. There was only one problem... they still wanted our services for cheap.

  In Celina Morelli’s case, however, we’d decided not to charge anything upfront. We wanted her to have nothing but good things to say about us, no matter the outcome. If we succeeded, our client pool would change. Guaranteed. People like Celina Morelli would pay more for the same service, which was exactly what we needed to do more than simply stay afloat. My skills created a bottleneck. I couldn’t take on many clients because the tracking trance kicked my butt every time. Also because it didn’t give an exact location, which meant a little detective work was needed afterward.

  “I know what we agreed,” Celina said. “But please take it. It’s not much more than I’ve paid my therapist, and I think this one session has been more productive than the many I’ve had with him.”

  “Thank you. It means a lot to Rosalina and me.”

  “It’s only fair. Thank you for rescheduling.”

  “No problem.” I smiled.

  “It’s horrible what hap
pened last night, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I still can’t get the images out of my head.”

  “Poor Stephen. I hope they find him soon.” She stood and hung the purse from her shoulder.

  “Wait? What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you know?” she frowned. “Stephen Erickson was kidnapped a week ago. His bodyguard’s murder was a threat to his father.”

  Chapter 4

  After Celina Morelli left, I handed the envelope with her check to my partner.

  “What is this?” Rosalina asked.

  “Early Christmas,” I said, though my tone sounded more like “early funeral services.”

  “Holy Niñito Jesus!” She stared at the check. “Fifteen thousand dollars. I thought she wasn’t going to pay unless you found her a guy.”

  I slumped on the chair across her desk.

  “Why so gloomy? This helps you complete the down payment for your new place. No more sleeping upstairs.” She pointed toward the loft.

  I’d been saving to buy a condo in Compton Heights. A move-in-ready two bedroom, one and a half bath unit with walnut-colored hardwoods, beamed ceilings, and a cute balcony. The payment helped fulfill that dream, but at the moment, I found it difficult to get excited.

  “It’s Stephen Erickson,” I said.

  “What about him?”

  “Celina just told me he’s been kidnapped, and his bodyguard’s murder was some sort of threat.”

  She pressed a hand to her mouth, her green eyes shooting wide open. “Oh, that’s awful. Are you all right?”

  Nope, not by a Fae country mile. Man, the news had stirred a nasty cauldron of feelings I thought I’d sealed shut.

  “That must have been why Ulfen gave me a strange look when I asked where Stephen was.” I paused for a moment, thinking. “Maybe... maybe I should talk to him.”

  Rosalina shot to her feet. “No way! You’re not doing that, Toni. You’re not getting mixed up in that type of stuff again. You’ve come a long way, and you promised yourself.”