By Magic Alone

by Tracy Madison

  My legs weakened and I sank to the floor. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. It seemed I really had walked through the wardrobe. I just wish I’d known it was a one-way trip.

  The first two hours of my unexpected lockup passed in a smog of panic-induced activity. Every thirty minutes, I’d try my cell again. When that didn’t work—because it never did—I’d check the business phone for the always-nonexistent dial tone. After that, I’d return to the front door and give it a few hearty yanks. I even attempted cajoling the lock open with a straightened paper clip. Where was MacGyver when I needed him?

  Somewhere in the third hour, I considered heaving the desk chair through the front window and making a break for freedom by crawling over shards of jagged glass. I got as far as rolling the chair across the room before changing my mind. No one had pushed me into entering Magical Matchups. It felt wrong—so wrong—to damage someone’s property because I’d decided to do a foolhardy thing.

  I sat on the edge of the sofa with my arms crossed defensively over my chest. Likely, I’d gotten worked up for no real reason. What I’d experienced had to be nothing more than an adrenaline-based reaction to behaving out of character. All of this made sense, so I did my best to ignore my panic, to forget about my earlier fear, but remnants of both remained strong enough that I couldn’t relax. Probably not a bad thing, as it seemed far smarter and safer to be awake and alert when morning came.

  But somehow, as the hours progressed, my eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and my fixation with unexplained breezes, scents, and church-bell-like laughs drifted away. I closed my eyes with the promise that I’d sleep for only an hour. Maybe two.

  Waking up hurt.

  Pinpricks stabbed my neck from sleeping at an awkward angle, the achy soreness in my jaw told me I’d clenched it throughout the night, and the rest of my muscles were tight and tender. I stretched my legs out, lost in the disorientation of those initial seconds of wakefulness, unable to comprehend the warning signals my sluggish brain was firing off.

  My first conscious thought was that I’d fallen asleep in my living room. My second was that I smelled coffee. My third was how odd that was, because the timer on my coffeemaker had stopped functioning months ago and I’d yet to get around to replacing it. Had Kara or Leslie popped in while I slept?

  Maybe. They shared the apartment across the hall from mine, and we had copies of each other’s keys. I cracked one eye open and then the next. Sunlight streamed in the window, bouncing off the polished hardwood floor so that it shone in a glittery, gleaming way. Almost reminiscent of the surface of a lake on a hot, steamy day.

  My hazy brain latched onto that, and then a rush of images, sounds, scents, and feelings flooded in. My heart picked up speed, thumping wildly beneath my breastbone, waking me up as completely as if I stood beneath the full-stream blast of an icy-cold shower.

  I jumped up—fast—and pivoted, taking note of the coat slung over the desk chair. Someone else was here with me, but they . . . what? Hadn’t noticed me sleeping in the center of the room on their sofa? Had noticed but decided to let me get my beauty sleep while they brewed a pot of joe? I felt as if I had simultaneously become Goldilocks and the three bears.

  My gaze skittered to the front door. Every instinct screamed to rush out, get in my car, and drive away without a backward glance. But my legs defied my instincts and carried me across the floor, down the hallway, to an open door on the right. I was curious. Curious enough that it pushed me forward, outweighed my desire to run.

  I peered in and saw an empty break room that looked to be a miniature replica of a country kitchen. Fruit-laden wallpaper covered all four walls, a colorful backdrop to the bright red-checked dish towels folded neatly on the small, round table and the equally red coffeemaker, toaster, and small microwave perching on the butcher-block counter. I retreated a step. Acid sloshed in my stomach at the absurdity of the situation. I should’ve been awakened by a cop hauling me to my feet or, at the very least, a scream of surprise. But this was weird. Bordering on Twilight Zone weird.

  “There you are!” A way-too-chipper voice came from the other side of me, farther down the hall. “I was just on my way out to check on you. Ready for some coffee, dear? Oh, and I might have a few day-old pastries left in the cupboard, if you’re feeling hungry.”

  A petite elderly woman—most likely the mysterious Verda—slipped around me and entered the break room. She wore a dress of varying shades of purple so vivid that my eyes watered in defense, and her short, curly hair was the hue of a pale lemon. She stopped in the middle of the room and stared at me inquisitively with light blue eyes. “Coffee?”

  I ignored the impulse to wrap my arms around myself and returned her stare. In most scenarios, one could expect a specific type of response from another person. We were in a ridiculously peculiar situation, and this woman was not behaving in any sort of a predictable manner. It threw me, confused me, and sent another wave of apprehension through my body.

  Perhaps that was her intent? Maybe her goal was to delay me until I was cuffed and tossed in the back of some cop car? I couldn’t rule it out.

  Keeping my voice steady, I asked, “Are the police on their way?”

  Her frail shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug, as if amused by my question. She opened a cupboard door, bringing out a white rectangular box labeled with the name A TASTE OF MAGIC. “Ah, yes. Here they are,” she said. She lifted the lid before setting the box on the table. “There are several left. My granddaughter, Elizabeth, owns a lovely little bakery in Highland Park.”

  “I’m not hungry.” I took a few more backward steps and measured the distance between me and the front door. Was it open? Even more to the point: could I make it?

  “Oh, dear. Listen to me! I haven’t even introduced myself.” She approached me with a lopsided smile and twinkling eyes. Holding out her hand she said, “I’m Verda.”

  Without thinking, I placed my hand in hers. “I’m Julia,” I said, and instantly wished I’d made up a name. Or given her my middle name. Or my mother’s. Yeah, definitely my mother’s.

  Tipping her head to the right, Verda appraised me. “Yes, you look like a Julia. Let’s sit down and get acquainted. I’m so very excited you’re here!”

  What? “Excited?”

  “Well, of course I am! I’ve been waiting months for you to show. When Miranda told me this morning—” Verda shook her head. “Never mind that for now. Why don’t you help yourself to some coffee and a pastry while I get my tea started?”

  Okay, I didn’t know which question to ask first. Why was Verda excited to meet me? Why had she been waiting for me? Who was Miranda, and what did she have to do with my being here? See? Way too many questions. And why wasn’t Verda asking me any? Deciding again that this was too weird to deal with—especially in yesterday’s clothes—I went with “I should probably leave. I . . . I have to get to work.”

  All good humor left Verda’s face. She wrinkled her nose. “Nonsense. It’s not every day I find a strange woman sleeping on my couch.” She leveraged her hands on her hips. “You can spend a few minutes talking with me, or I can contact the authorities. What will it be?”

  Ha. I figured she meant to scare me into staying, but her words had the opposite effect. I understood this response. I liked the logic of this response. And that bolstered my sagging comfort level. After all, I knew how to behave when logic ruled.

  “Coffee it is,” I said. “But I need to make a phone call first. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to freshen up.”

  The tension eased. Verda gave me another once-over and, apparently deciding I’d spoken the truth, smiled. “The restroom is across the hall. Do what you need to do, dear. I’ll be right here.”

  In the ten minutes that followed, I washed my face and brushed my hair. I checked my cell phone and found it functioning—how odd was that?—and called Introductions. It was Thursday, which meant my part-time assistant would be in shortly. I left her a message that I�
�d be delayed a few hours. Now, I was seated across from Verda at her itty-bitty table with a cup of coffee. And a pastry. She’d insisted.

  Verda sipped her tea while she watched me. I had the nagging suspicion that she was sizing me up and determining my worth. That was okay. I was doing the same with her. Besides, if sitting here kept her from calling the cops, I’d sit all day. A long minute passed, maybe two. She set her cup down hard enough that tea splashed over the edge.

  “Why did you come here?” she asked.

  “I . . . um . . . Two of my friends are clients of yours. They’ve said a lot of positive things about you. And about Magical Matchups.” So far so good. “I came by last night to see what all the fuss was about. The door was open and I came in, but no one was here. When I tried to leave, I couldn’t open the door.” Wow, I hadn’t lied. Kudos to me.

  I assumed Verda would press for more details, but she didn’t. Instead, a pleased expression flashed over her. “Did anything else occur that might be considered odd?”

  I wasn’t about to mention the laugh, the breeze, or the aroma of an invisible rose garden. In the bright light of day, I was more than willing to chalk the prior night’s episodes up to nothing more than panic. “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” An all-knowing glimmer brightened her eyes. “You must have been frightened. Why didn’t you phone for help?”

  “Um . . . my cell wasn’t getting a signal last night.”

  “You should have used my phone.”

  “I tried.” I chuckled humorlessly. “Your phone didn’t work, either.”

  “Ah, I see.” Verda leaned forward and clasped my hand with one of hers. Normally, I don’t like being touched by people I don’t know that well, but for some reason this didn’t bother me. “That’s an odd occurrence, wouldn’t you say?”

  I refused to give any additional credence to my wild imagination or the spaz attack that followed. I wanted to understand why Verda seemed pleased to see me, and what in the hell she’d meant about waiting for me to show. “It was just one of those things,” I said. “But you didn’t seem surprised to find me here.”

  “I wasn’t. As I said, I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Did Kara and Leslie tell you about me?” That made sense. Either that, or—just as I’d predicted—Verda had done her research and knew exactly who I was: her competition.

  “No, Julia.” She sighed in a dramatic manner. “I opened this business because of you.”

  “Wh-What?” I wagged my head to the side. “You did what?”

  “You heard me correctly. I opened Magical Matchups because of you.” Verda’s chin gave a slight tremble. “Well, I didn’t know your name and I didn’t know what you looked like, but I knew that I needed Magical Matchups to find you.” She clapped her hands together. “And here you are!”

  “Yes . . . here I am. But, I’m sorry, do I know you? Do you know my parents?” The absurd thought that maybe they were behind this, that they were somehow in cahoots with Verda, had me sitting up straighter. Was this their way of pushing Introductions toward failure, so I’d have no choice but to go work for my father? The calmness I’d been hanging on to for dear life whipped away in a burst of annoyance. “Did my parents set this up?”

  Verda blinked several times. “Now, there’s no need to look so jumpy. I don’t know your parents. I opened Magical Matchups because you are the ideal mate for my grandson. It is critical that I bring you two together.”

  Okay, this woman? Certifiably nuts. What Kara and Leslie pegged for magical was actually insanity. I stood. “I’ve heard enough. I shouldn’t have walked in here last night. I’m sorry I did. But—”

  A male voice, one that made my skin itch with something I couldn’t identify, came from the front room. “Grandma? Where are you? I came as soon as you called.”

  “Oh, goodie, he’s here! I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” Verda pushed her chair away from the table and pulled herself up. “We’re back here. Come join us!”

  “Who’s here?” I asked, even as my intuition told me to keep my mouth shut.

  “Why, your soul mate, of course.”

  My soul mate? I ranked the possibility of soul mates at about the same place I ranked romantic love—down there at the bottom. I opened my mouth to put a stop to this nonsense, but snapped it shut when a man sauntered into the break room. Not just any man, though. No, I couldn’t be that lucky. It was Scot. Leslie’s Scot. Well, her ex.

  He looked just as delicious as I remembered. Around six one, maybe six two, he had the athletic body of a man who’d earned his muscles the old-fashioned way: playing and working hard. His short, almost black hair tousled around his strong, boldly angled face held the barest hint of a wave. He wore dark blue work denim, a thick flannel shirt, and heavy boots. Every ounce of Scot Raymond, from head to toe, screamed tough, sexy, masculine.

  I wheezed out a breath and stared in shocked silence. Verda thought Scot was my soul mate? Impossible. I started to say so, but she spoke first.

  “Julia, I’d like you to meet my grandson, Mr. Scot Raymond.” Verda beamed at the two of us as if we’d just announced she’d won the lottery. “Scot, this is the woman you’re going to marry. Isn’t she lovely?”

  Scot leaned against the wall. He looked at me in an appraising way that sent chills trickling over my skin. “Is that so?”

  “Yes! Isn’t this exciting?” Verda stood on her tiptoes to give her grandson a kiss on his cheek. “I told you I would find her, and here she is!”

  Scot wrapped his arm around Verda’s shoulders and pulled her close for a hug. She couldn’t see his face, but I could. Irritation sparked in his dark brown eyes. He was mad? At me? What the hell for?

  “How did you two find each other?” he asked, his voice calm.

  “Oh, Julia found me. She was asleep on the couch this morning when I arrived.” Verda stepped out of his embrace. “Should I leave you two alone so you can get to know each other a bit better?” She winked. “In private?”

  “No! That’s not necessary!” I nearly screeched. But hey, at least I’d found my voice. “I really should be going.”

  “Actually, I think a few minutes to talk in private is a great idea,” Scot said, easily overriding me. “Thanks, Grandma.”

  Verda clapped her hands. “This is so wonderful! I’ll be in the other room. Let me know when you’re done.”

  She slipped out the door. The second she was gone, Scot’s body language changed. Tension rippled through him, heavy and fierce. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop. Now.”

  “Game?” Confusion seeped in. “I’m not playing a game, Scot. I have no idea why your grandmother thinks—”

  “I’m going to say this once and only once. Leave her alone, Julia.”

  He stepped forward, allowing his gaze to slip along the length of my body before resting on my face. His intensity shook me. And his scent . . . dear God, how had I forgotten the smell of Scot Raymond? Sunshine and trees. Autumn leaves and winter snow. It was as if Mother Nature had kissed Scot’s skin, and I had the sudden craving to bury my nose in his neck.

  A craving which I, of course, ignored. “Wh-What?”

  Tiny crinkles around his eyes deepened. For a brief second, a flash of something flickered over him. Interest? Hunger? His face went passive before I could define it. “Whatever you did to put these romantic ideas about us in her head, you need to get them out.”

  I gripped my hands into fists. You know, so I wouldn’t smack him. “You think I want to date you, so I came here and convinced your grandmother—when I didn’t even know she was your grandmother—that we’re soul mates? If you knew me at all, you’d know—”

  “I know you well enough.”

  “Well enough for what?” I fired back, at a complete loss. I mean, did he really think I was so hot for him I’d waltz in here with some story about us being soul mates? And manipulate Verda? “I have no desire to date you, Scot.” I lifted my chin. �
�None at all.”

  My statement took him by surprise. He stepped backward, blinked, and said, “Good. Then we’re on the same page, because you’re the last woman I’d want to become involved with.” His eyes narrowed. “She’s coming back. We need to fix this.”

  “Fix what? Just tell your grandmother—”

  Verda stuck her head in. “Instead of getting to know each other here, why don’t you two go out for breakfast?”

  Scot, who was now standing behind Verda, shook his head and mouthed, “Fix this.”

  I glared at him. “You’ve been so sweet, Verda, but there’s no need for that. Scot and I aren’t . . . right for each other. There’s no spark!” Lie. Huge, fat lie. “So, thanks for everything, but I need to take off.”

  The light in Verda’s eyes dimmed. “Why, you’ve barely just met. Don’t be so hasty, dear. I’m very sure that you two are meant to have a future.”

  Scot coughed. Oh, was he going to help? Nice of him.

  “Julia’s right, Grandma,” he said quietly. “I love you, and I know we have a . . . deal, but in this instance I think your instincts are off. Trust me on this. And I’d love to stay and explain more, but I’m late for a job. We’ll have to talk about this later.”

  With that, he gave her a quick, tight hug, turned on his heel, and left me alone with his grandmother. The rat! Who did he think he was? If I ever saw him again, I was so going to kill him. Well, if his scent didn’t do me in first.

  Even so, the second he disappeared, my heart grew a little heavier. There was a minute there, just one, where the thought of being cosmically connected to Scot hadn’t seemed so out-there. I know, dumb. But it was a damn good thing I didn’t believe in romantic love, fairy tales, or sex appeal leading to anything more than a night of toe-curling sex, or I might have been disappointed.