Cursed Luck, Book 1

by Kelley Armstrong

  “And I’m Kennedy. I just wasn’t expecting a package here.”

  After that, she understandably requires ID, which I show and sign for the envelope. It is indeed to me, at Vanessa’s address, with a very narrow delivery window.

  Huh.

  I rip open the seal and pull out a greeting card. It’s a generic Congratulations! card with a cartoon cat throwing confetti.

  Inside, scrawling script says: “Congrats on passing your college entrance exam! Please await further instructions on the admission process. Course selection begins soon.” Signed, “your dear great-great-great-great-great granny M.”

  “Huh,” I say, aloud this time. “That’s . . . disconcerting.”

  “What’s disconcerting?”

  I turn to see Connolly walking toward me. I wave the card and share it with him.

  “Do I even want to know what she means?” I say.

  “Probably not. But I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to say good-bye before we all take off.”

  And here it is. The moment of truth, when I’ll know where he stands, what this is between us.

  The answer, apparently, is nothing. Because that’s what he says. Nothing. Oh, he talks, meaningless banalities about how much he enjoyed working with me. It’s the sort of thing you say to someone you’ve been paired with on a project. Not what you say to someone you carried from a burning building.

  Rian warned me about this. I thought he was wrong. I was special, after all. Connolly was different around me—that’s why Rian came to plead his case. Surely, Connolly wouldn’t just walk away.

  But that’s exactly what he’s going to do, and when I see it coming, I see the truth of my own words to Rian.

  If he can walk away, maybe he should.

  Or is that my own bruised ego talking? I know Connolly feels more. I didn’t need Rian to say so, though that should be all the extra confirmation I require.

  Connolly finishes his platitudes, and I know he’s ready to go. I need to say something, however simple. Maybe joke about whether he wants me to delete his number.

  What if he says yes?

  He’s glancing toward the house, pivoting in that direction—

  “Oh,” he says, turning back sharply. “I almost forgot about your shop. The insurance and the police report. I can help you through that. We should be able to get you up and running in a few days.”

  “My lease ends next month, and I just emailed to say I’m not renewing. I’m moving back to Unstable and opening a shop there.”

  “You’re moving . . . ?” Hands shoved into his pockets again. “Yes, of course. I knew you weren’t happy in Boston, and this scare with your sisters would have only strengthened your ties to home. Plus, given the damage to your stock, it’s the logical time to make the move, so . . .” He clears his throat. “Yes, completely understandable.”

  A beat pause. “However, my offer stands. Regardless of where you end up, there’s still an insurance claim to process. I would be happy to help with that. Unless you’d prefer I didn’t.” A faint smile. “I’m sure you’re quite sick of me by now.”

  “Never. And I would love your help with the claim.”

  He brightens. “Excellent. With the move, you’ll want the claim handled expediently. The delayed police report might prove a slight bump, but I can get you past all that as painlessly as possible. After all, you did save my life.”

  “Uh, no, pretty sure that was Jonathan and Marius.”

  “You dragged me out of a burning house.”

  “Because you collapsed from carrying me through that burning house.” I lift my hands. “Don’t argue. You owe me nothing. I will, however, greedily accept any help offered. Also, you’d mentioned the idea of me expanding my business. I’m not quite ready to go international, but I wouldn’t mind using some goodwill I built with Vanessa and Marius to grow my business. I could use your help navigating the gray market.” I finger the envelope, hoping I don’t look as nervous as I feel. “You did mention you’d be willing to do that . . .”

  “Absolutely. It’s an excellent idea. I’ve had thoughts on that—what you could do with a business like yours. In fact, I’ve been seeking investment opportunities . . .” He catches my look. “Or I could just offer my expertise if that’s preferable. However, if any capital investment is required, my terms would be better than any bank’s.” He catches my look, and the corners of his mouth quirk. “Sorry. I’ll stop that. If you need it, you will let me know. For now, may I suggest we arrange a time to talk about it?”

  “Sure. Yes. Let’s do that.” Oh God, I sound like an overeager puppy, don’t I? “I mean, I’m sure your schedule will be very busy—and mine will be, too, with moving arrangements—so we should firm up a time to talk.”

  “Is tomorrow too soon?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Coffee then? I do believe I owe you a coffee.” A smile my way. “And a cut-up brownie.”

  I laugh. “I might hold you to that. I do like my brownies cut up.”

  “Then let me suggest this little place I like, not far from your shop, on the other side of the Common. It’s off the tourist path and has—in my opinion—the best coffee in Boston. Would ten tomorrow morning be too early? I could pick you up . . .”

  He continues talking, one hand deftly guiding me deeper into the gardens. We walk, and we talk, making plans for the future.

  Is it exactly the sort of future I’d hoped for where Connolly is concerned?

  Maybe. At least in the short term. Rian may have hoped for a different resolution, but Connolly and I aren’t there yet. It’s like watching an action movie where the couple trade a few sparks amidst the danger, only to declare their undying love in the final scene.

  I understand the constraints of a two-hour script, but I’m not really a fan of insta-love. I prefer the endings where the two former strangers make plans to stay in touch, maybe take on a joint project. I can peer into the future and give them an eventual happily-ever-after.

  A week ago, I don’t think I’d have been okay with this. I’d have wanted more than a coffee “date” to discuss business. But I need to be more careful now with the curse inside me. When it comes to romance, there’s no more leaping before I look—not if I care about someone. And I care about Connolly.

  I need to take this slow and allow for the chance that maybe it shouldn’t ever be more than friendship. I’ll figure it out. Be sure first. The important thing is that Connolly isn’t walking out of my life. He found his doorway back in, and he leapt at it. That’s all I need . . . at least for now.

  Coming Next

  I hope you enjoyed Cursed Luck! The story doesn’t end there. Book two—High Jinx—will be out in 2022. Watch my website for details!

  * * *

  There will be a Cursed Luck series novella coming even sooner. It’s Memorial Day weekend in Unstable, and Kennedy has invited Aiden and Rian. She’s also invited Vanessa, who narrates the story. There’s nothing Vanessa likes more than matchmaking, and the three Bennett sisters are ripe for her skills. Goddess of Summer Love will be out July 1, 2021 as part of an anthology, Hex on the Beach, also containing novellas by Jeaniene Frost and Melissa Marr. Turn the page to read the first chapter!

  Goddess of Summer Love

  I do not know how I became the goddess of love. Oh, I understand the “goddess” part. I am immortal, and I possess certain powers, and in ancient Greece, “deity” was the only language they had to describe us. We were lucky to be born in that world. A monotheistic culture has far different words for such a thing, as Denny—Dionysus—discovered when he had a little too much too drink in Inquisition-era Spain and started showing off his powers. Marius—Ares—had to ride to his big brother’s rescue, roping me into it because Athene decided a little pyre-burning might teach Denny to hold his liquor. Yes, Athene still goes by Athene, and dear Lord do not spell it Athena. She once snuck a chisel into the British Museum to fix a statue. />
  No, I understand why the appellation of goddess. It’s the “love” part I’ve never quite fathomed. Goddess of beauty, yes, and that is no show of ego. I know how I look, and if Fate had given me some say in the matter, I would have denied that particular gift. I suppose “love” arises from that. What else is a beautiful woman good for?

  My powers have nothing to do with love. Or sex, though I am very fond of it, and rather good at it, as one might certainly hope to be after three thousand years of practice. No, I lack any powers of love or sex or fertility, and yet one can even find twenty-first century sects that worship me in hopes of receiving those blessings.

  I have no dominion there, and so after centuries of confusion, I did the only thing I could. I slammed down my banner and claimed the territory for myself. Aphrodite aka Venus aka Vanessa. Patron deity of lovers. Matchmaker extraordinaire.

  And I am about to do what I do best.

  Marius arrives to the soft blip of the security panel as he lets himself in. He doesn’t call for me. Doesn’t ask where I am. He strides straight through to my dressing room as if by homing beacon. We have been friends since we were children, lovers since we were adults, and even if we are currently “on a break”—as we have been too many times to count—he is first in my life, and I am in his. As he says, “Venus and Mars, planets with the entire earth between them sometimes, but still always within each other’s sight.”

  He doesn’t say hello. We are far past pleasantries. He walks in, and I don’t turn from the mirror, but I do watch him enter through it. I will never be past that.

  Marius looks in his forties. We all do. Our immortality took hold as we passed our youth and settled into early middle age, which is a very comfortable place to inhabit. He is handsome, of course. Athletic, of course. Confident and self-possessed. He is Ares, after all. God of War. But every statue leaves out the best of him. The easy-going charm and the kindness. Most of all, the kindness.

  He walks up behind me, looking at me in the mirror. Dark blond hair curls over his forehead. Beard stubble signifies he is taking the long weekend off. Chinos, a golf-shirt and loafers.

  “You’re look very corporate,” I say.

  “Don’t worry. I have my Hawaiian shirt in the car.” He catches my look and grins, showing perfect teeth. “Hawaiian shirt. Deck shorts. Sandals. With socks of course. Memorial Day appropriate attire.”

  “I love the corporate look,” I say.

  “I thought you might. And I see we’re still trying to pick an outfit.”

  His gaze moves to the clothing hanging from every surface of the room.

  “You do realize it’s a small-town festival, right, Vess? Not a black-tie affair.”

  “I would prefer a black-tie affair. Then I would know exactly what to wear. This requires subtlety. Kennedy invited us as her guests, to celebrate the opening of her new shop, and I need to blend. Blend.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  I shoot him a glare.

  He tilts his head. “Wait. Did you say Kennedy invited us? Pretty sure you invited us. In fact, I’m pretty sure the whole opening-gala weekend was your idea. You played fairy godmother, getting her new shop ready in time, everything moved from Boston to take advantage of the long weekend crowds, and oh, why don’t we make a grand opening of it, invite Aiden for the weekend, yes, what a lovely idea that has absolutely nothing to do with matchmaking.” He looks at me. “Please, please tell me it has nothing to do with matchmaking.”

  “It is the perfect weekend to open her shop. The start of the summer season in a tourist town. The timing was tight, so I helped make it happen.”

  He motions sprinkling fairy dust.

  “I am old,” I say. “Excruciatingly old, and entitled to my whims and notions. I had a notion to help Kennedy, in partial payment for all the help she gave us.”

  “I noticed you dodged the matchmaking question.”

  “Kennedy and Aiden make a perfect couple. They just need a nudge.”

  He sighs and lowers himself into a chair. “They’ve only known each other for two weeks.”

  “And at this rate, it’ll be two years before either makes a move. I am accelerating the schedule. They’re mortal, after all. They don’t have the luxury of time. However, that is far from the only reason we’re going to Unstable. I do want to help with the grand opening, and I do have other plans. Other work to do.”

  His eyes narrow. “Other matchmaking?”

  “Jonathan and Ani.”

  He groans.

  “What?” I say. “You complain that I haven’t given Kennedy and Aiden time. Jonathan and Ani have been friends since childhood. They have had time. Now they need help.”

  “Also Rian and Hope, I presume?” he says, naming Aiden’s brother and Kennedy’s younger sister.

  I snatch up a dress from a chair. “Certainly not. They don’t suit, and I have every intention of making sure that particular match doesn’t happen. She’s a child. He’s the emotional equivalent of one.”

  “She’s twenty. He’s a twenty-four year old in need of some maturity, but I see promise there.”

  “Of course you do, because he’s your hundred-times-great-grandson. If you want promise, you have Aiden. Rian needs a swift kick in the rear.” I pull on the dress. “Thankfully, he is out of the country, so that is one less problem to worry about.”

  I slap on my accessories, turn and strike a pose. I’m wearing an unflattering brown sundress and equally unflattering glasses with my hair pinned up.

  “What do you think?” I say.

  “Sexy librarian. I like it.”

  I scowl and switch to a pencil skirt and linen blazer, leaving the glasses and hair.

  “Hot for teacher?” he says.

  A hard glare, and I try outfit number three, a linen pantsuit.

  “Mmm, speaking of corporate.” He waggles his brows. “Can I be the misbehaving new hire, lady boss?”

  I sigh and slump into the other chair. He riffles through one of my closets and pulls out a simple but elegant sundress. Then he removes my glasses, sets them aside and unpins my hair before handing me the dress.

  “Be yourself, Vess. No one expects anything else.” He pauses. “If you do want to change up anything, may I make a suggestion?”

  “Please.”

  “Don’t play matchmaker this weekend.”

  “I am the goddess of love,” I say. “This is what I do. I have a plan. They are all very keen on mysteries, so I have one to bring them closer together.”

  He winces. “Please don’t tell me you’ve invented a fake mystery for them to solve.”

  “Of course not. They aren’t children. I’m bringing them an actual local mystery . . . with a few extra clues.”

  “Clues you planted?”

  “Red herrings. Just a sprinkle.”

  “Here’s a thought. Give them the mystery, minus the fake clues, and skip the matchmaking. They’re all adults. Let them work it out, if it’s meant to be.”

  He catches my expression and throws up his hands. “I tried. No one can say I did not try.”

  I kiss his cheek. “You did. It was a lovely effort, and I appreciate it so much that I will let you be my plus-one at the weddings.”

  He sighs, deeper, and returns to his chair.

  About the Author

  Kelley Armstrong believes experience is the best teacher, though she’s been told this shouldn’t apply to writing her murder scenes. To craft her books, she has studied aikido, archery and fencing. She sucks at all of them. She has also crawled through very shallow cave systems and climbed half a mountain before chickening out. She is however an expert coffee drinker and a true connoisseur of chocolate-chip cookies.

  Visit her online:

  www.KelleyArmstrong.com

  mail@kelleyarmstrong.com

 

 

  reading books on Archive.