by Cate Lawley
Her phone rang, diverting her temporarily from the fact that her dad, nice as he may be, was always going to terrify any guy looking at her with impure thoughts. It was so unfair. She checked the caller ID: Dad. She swiped the ignore button then tapped a quick message: At a sleazy bar & striking out. So not speaking to you. See you for dinner tomorrow.
Her phone beeped with a reply. Excellent. No sex till you’re 40 or I’m dead. Love Dad
Zelda rolled her eyes. At this rate, her dad may get his wish. Which of course reminded her of the last real date she’d had. Sex, prom night—that was a natural progression, surely? She'd been seventeen, dressed in a gorgeous black strapless, and ready to party. But then her dad had waved around his scythe, turned on the glowy red eyes, and her prom date couldn't get away fast enough. She'd basically been dateless and dodging the whispers about her deranged father ever since.
This had to end. She needed a life. Her job was boring, her love life nonexistent, and her dad wasn’t budging an inch to help. She took another drink, looking for inspiration. If she could just convince him to lighten up…then inspiration hit. Uncle Bedivere. He wasn’t really her uncle, just her dad’s really good buddy. But Dad liked and respected him, maybe even enough to consider listening to reason. Grown women dated. It happened. If only she—or maybe Bedivere—could convince him of that, her life would dramatically improve. It would.
Chapter 2
“I have a job for you.” Bedivere’s voice echoed through Glenda’s home.
Glenda’s body jerked, and her heart stuttered. “Don’t do that! You scared the life out of me.” She glared at the mirror hanging in her living room.
“Apologies, but when you failed to respond I increased the signal strength.”
“Did you consider I might be seeking a small moment of privacy?” She uncurled herself from the sofa where she’d been reading and perched on the edge.
“You have company?”
Glenda tried not to smirk. No need for him to know she’d been wrapped up in a good book. “What was so urgent?”
The glass darkened in disapproval. He did not enjoy being ignored.
Glenda waited. Speculating on whether he’d show himself in the mirror was a bit juvenile, but she did wonder what it would take to get a visual.
Tiny pricks in the surface appeared. A sigh? “I have a job for you.”
“Imagine my surprise. You, of all people, have a need for predictive magic. Will wonders never cease?”
“I’ve never said math doesn’t have its uses, simply that it’s not always as reliable as you claim.” A grumbling noise darkened the glass surface and rippled across it. “Are you interested?”
Glenda pulled the belt of her robe tighter then fell back on the sofa cushions. “I’m on the edge of my seat. Tell me everything, darling.”
“The reaper’s daughter needs a date.”
And then Glenda really did move to the edge of her seat. “Oh, my. Tell me everything.”
Chapter 3
Zelda had that uncomfortable feeling she got right before a test or an interview. That sinking feeling that all was not going as it should, and that she was inches from failure. She needed more caffeine. Even if it made her jittery, she was still convinced caffeine made everything better. And she was at a coffee shop, so it was either another coffee or an overdose of carbs and fat via some artery-clogging pastry. Before she fetched a second latte, she checked her phone. She’d arrived five minutes early and it was ten after now. Where was the mysterious Glenda?
Bedivere had assured her this Glenda woman could help. According to him, she was some kind of matchmaking whiz. A seer, probably, though Uncle Bedivere hadn’t said. He had, however, made it sound like her help was a done deal, and yet the meeting Glenda had proposed felt like an interview. Zelda suspected that the matchmaking Glenda would quiz her, discover her parentage, and fly out the door. She glanced at her phone again: fifteen after. Or Glenda had already predicted the difficulties—something a seer surely could do—and was a no-show. It looked like the awesome power of Dad’s reputation had struck again.
As she studied the customers in a last last-ditch attempt to spot the elusive Glenda, a familiar face entered the shop. Ginger boy from the bar a few nights ago. He smiled when he saw her and gave her a friendly wave. She smiled in return because it was impossible not to. He was that kind of guy.
He approached her table wearing an easy smile. “Hey again.”
She almost wished she wasn’t meeting someone. He seemed nice enough. She gave herself a mental shake. No normals. She only had a few requirements left on her list, and that was a big one. A huge one. “Hey.” She hesitated for a split second before asking him to join her.
“Sure. Can I get you something?”
She tipped her full latte at him. “I’m good. Besides, don’t I owe you a drink?”
“Not at all. I’ll be right back.”
While her new red-headed friend fetched his drink, she decided it was just fine to have lunch with him, even if he was a normal. It wasn’t like she wanted to go out with him, or was crazy attracted to him or anything—so she wasn’t breaking any rules.
When he came back, he had a mug rather than a take-out cup. And she hadn’t noticed when he’d walked in, but he had a laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
He set his coffee on the table and his bag on the ground, and then stuck out his hand. “I’m Mark.”
“Zelda.” When she shook his hand, she couldn’t help noticing that he was one of those guys who had big hands but managed to neither squeeze her fingers lifeless nor make her feel like the fragile butterfly that she certainly wasn’t. It must be a bit of a trick, because so many guys couldn’t manage it. “You’re working?”
“That was the plan. This is a regular spot of mine.”
“I see.” Zelda had a niggling sense of unease. “How often is regular?”
“Three, maybe four times a week. But since you’re stalking me, I thought you knew that.”
“Cute. This is my first time here, but I’m not on stalking duty. Not today. I was supposed to meet…” Zelda hesitated just a beat. “My uncle’s friend.”
That had been amazingly not slick. It had been a while since she’d had a personal conversation with a normal. She wasn’t that close with her work colleagues.
“Since stalking is a serious crime, I’m glad to hear that. So, the uncle’s friend was a no-show?”
“Annoyingly. And she doesn’t have a cell.”
Mark cocked his head and generally looked like she’d just told him the earth was flat. “That’s a little crazy.”
“I know, right? Who doesn’t have a cell phone? Even...” She did it again. She’d almost blurted out “witches.” Seer, alchemist, wizard—those were her words. Witch was the broader and more accurate term for people with magic. The taboo word had been on the tip of her tongue. And this was why she didn’t date normals. Forget dating, she couldn’t even have a conversation with one.
“Sorry? Even what?”
Blue eyes. He had blue eyes. Not the startling, piercing kind. Not the pretty, jealousy-inducing kind. And not the kind she would probably normally notice. Grayish-blueish. And kind. Mark had kind eyes. And she was losing her mind. “Even an old lady. Not that I know how old she is. We haven’t actually met before, but she’s a friend of my uncle’s and he’s…ah, he’s old.” Her mind and her tongue needed to sync up soon, or she was going to be in trouble. A normal didn’t need to know she suspected Uncle Bedivere of living well beyond normal human years.
“That’s an epic fail: late to a first meeting.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, the only hint that he might possibly be laughing at her.
Thank goodness. Better he find her amusing than of questionable mental competency. She had to remind herself—that would be the result if she slipped. Witches, ancient uncles, and magic were no-go topics. How hard could that be to remember?
His eyes were still laughing.
“You’re hum
oring me, aren’t you?” Zelda asked, trying to cover for her long silence.
“A little bit. She probably got held up in traffic. I-35 can be unpredictable at any time of day.”
Zelda sighed—dramatically, of course—and lifted her chin a few degrees. “I’ll forgive her, if I must.” Then she dropped the drama and said in a more normal voice “Assuming she ever shows up.” After glancing at her phone, she added, “She’s about half an hour late.”
Mark pulled a card out of his bag and flipped it over. While he scribbled on the back, he said, “It looks like you’ve been stood up.” He handed the card to her. “I’ve got a project that’s due later today, so I have to get some work done. But I’d love to meet up for coffee sometime when you’re not stalking me and I don’t have a deadline.”
He was so self-assured, so easy-going. She knew she should say no. He didn’t make her pulse race—and, more importantly, he was a normal. But she found herself taking the card and, without analyzing the why or how, saying, “That sounds great.”
Chapter 4
Glenda removed her reading glasses and set them down next to the cash register. She’d flipped The Goode Witch’s sign to “Closed” a few minutes earlier, so she wasn’t concerned about a patron walking in. Out of habit, she double checked that no passers-by lingered near the shop windows where they might catch a glimmer of the coming magic show. All clear.
She flung her hands outward and spread her arms wide. As her hands swept through the air she pulled forth glowing, tumbling numbers that quickly organized themselves into an elaborate equation. In that brief moment, before the sparkling motion of the numbers slowed and finally stilled, she felt as if she was holding endless possibilities within her grasp. She let the pleasure of it roll through her.
She could work math magic without the visuals—but it simply wasn’t the same. There was a deep sense of satisfaction that came from seeing the physical representation of her magic. And, if she was honest with herself, a clarity that she never seemed to attain without the light show.
She settled into the feel of the numbers, and then she let them dance. Moving and tweaking, shifting only the smallest bit. She smiled.
Glenda swept the air clean, pulling the bright and shining equations back into herself.
It wasn’t often that she matched a couple who’d already met. But occasionally, when a moment—The Moment—was lost to first impressions, poor timing, or bad luck, Glenda had facilitated a re-do. Perhaps it was a little more complicated in Zelda’s case, but Glenda truly had done very little. She’d simply provided the girl with a second chance.
From what Glenda had seen in that gorgeously complex equation, the second-chance meeting she’d manufactured might just do the trick.
She picked up her glasses and perched them on her nose once again. Of course, a little nudge here, a little push there would certainly never go amiss.
Chapter 5
Zelda finished painting her left big toe and moved to her right foot. Her bathroom was tiny, but it was the perfect setup for painting her toenails. She could sit on the toilet seat and rest her feet on the edge of the tub. She turned her head toward her cell, propped up next to the sink. “I could use a new friend.”
“Uh-huh.” Static crackled as her best friend Kitty replied.
“You’re out of the country touring Europe. While you’re catching lice in youth hostels and straining your back carrying way too many pairs of shoes, I’m all alone in Austin.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You could at least pretend like you’re paying attention.”
“Oh, I am.”
“So you’re being judgmental. Please. You abandoned me here. All alone.”
“Whatever. Get a better job. It’s not like you enjoy making copies and getting your boss coffee. Find something that pays better, and you can come with next time.” Kitty made a quiet chuffing noise, her version of a snarky laugh. “Or you could ask your dad to foot the bill.”
“Like he’d ever lift a finger to help me leave the country. He’s insanely overprotective.”
“Only because you let him be. But we’ve had this conversation. You’re not quitting your job and you’re not standing up to your dad—so you’re stuck in Austin. Fill out a few job applications, and I might consider feeling sorry for you.”
Zelda finished her last toenail. “So what’s your issue with me cultivating a new friendship?”
“No issue—you’re just breaking your rules. You don’t have guy friends, and he’s a normal.” The crackling got worse. “Hey, I’m hitting a dead zone. Real quick—is this guy hot?”
That wasn’t a straightforward question. He had a certain appeal, sure. Hot? Hot implied physically fit. Hard to say, given the clothes she’d seen him in so far. Not squishy, more lean. Yeah, he looked fit. But that odd color of hair, kind of a gingery red. And the freckles…Zelda suddenly realized the crackling had died. The call had dropped.
Wasn’t cell service supposed to be great in Europe?
She blew on her toes, carefully capped the nail polish, and decided to heck with her rules. She could have a guy as a friend. She should tell him she wasn’t interested in anything else—it wasn’t fair to lead him on—but otherwise, why not? And he hadn’t seemed that interested, not in a romantic sense. She thought back to their first encounter. He’d hit on her, then reconsidered. Who did that? He was definitely not interested. Which was perfect. Because if they’re weren’t dating, her dad never had to know about him. And if he did find out she had a guy friend, big whoop, because friends meant no sex. No sex meant her dad would be down with him. Probably. At least chances were greatly improved her dad wouldn’t out himself with his glowy red eyes.
She texted Kitty, because no matter what her friend said or how she acted, she’d be curious to know whether Zelda was breaking her rules. In the five years they’d known each other, Zelda had never broken her rules.
Mark stays, as a friend. Zelda tapped send.
Less than thirty seconds had passed when she received a reply.
Right
Well, Kitty wasn’t here. Kitty wasn’t all by herself in the same boring old job, with the same boring old people. Kitty was out having adventures and fun. So Kitty could stuff it.
Later that evening, Zelda sat down to dinner with her dad. “I thought Uncle Bedivere was coming.”
“Some problem at work has him tied up. He’s locked himself in his office—”
“You mean his castle?”
Her dad raised an eyebrow. “His office-castle. He’ll be there until he has a solution. Could be a few days; could be more.”
“Didn’t you tell me he hid out in the castle for six months once?”
“That was an exceptional case. I doubt anything so dire has him occupied this time.” He speared a pork chop with his fork.
“The other thing I don’t get is how you can have more work in one day than any hundred reapers could reasonably finish, and yet you always make it home for dinner. But Uncle Bedivere is basically a manager, yet his work consumes him—and keeps him penned up at the castle for six-month stretches.”
“One time. And it was world-ending, evil-mastermind bad stuff, I’m sure. Do you want some of these carrots? I didn’t use any parsley this time.” He passed the carrots when she eagerly nodded. “The truth is that Bedivere’s work is his passion. My work is just work. It’s meaningful work, but I know when to clock out for the day.”
“Not even a hundred reapers could manage the amount of work you do; there’s just no way,” Zelda said around the bite of pork chop she’d just shoveled into her mouth.
“Really? With food in your mouth? You’re a heathen.” He closed his eyes, as if the sight of her had put him off his dinner. She knew better and, right on cue, two seconds later, he opened his eyes and said, “And you know there’s magic involved in reaping.”
“Yeah, I figured that one out a while ago, Dad. There’s only one reaper to separate the souls from the bodies of the tho
usands of people who die every day, but—as far as I know—there aren’t any tortured souls roaming around in rotting zombie bodies. I figured there was a magical advantage. Time manipulation? Cloning yourself?” Zelda tried for a casual look. “What’s the trick?”
“Couldn’t tell you when you were fifteen and I first took the job, and I can’t tell you now.” He gave her a gently chiding look. “That wasn’t even a good effort. Oh, and no, there shouldn’t be any zombies.”
“Shouldn’t be any zombies? That’s comforting. Speaking of shouldn’t: You shouldn’t keep what you do every day from your only daughter.” She smiled as a thought occurred. “You’re like Santa. You know, all those presents and all those kids and only one night. It’s a physical impossibility given the time constraints, but all the little kiddies get their gifts.”
“Santa.” Her dad seemed to consider the comparison. “Hmm. Sure. Maybe I am like Santa.”
Zelda raised her eyebrows. “Metaphorically, Dad. Because, you know, Santa isn’t actually real.”
“Oh? Are you sure?” He gave her one of those I-know-things-you-can’t-possibly-imagine smiles.
“Don’t start. I’m not taking the bait. When I was eight, maybe. And pass the potatoes; they look divine.”
Her dad passed a ceramic bowl piled high with creamy, whipped, buttery carbs. As she scooped a mountain of spudly goodness on her plate, she couldn’t resist asking, “How are you not horribly fat? I mean, seriously, Dad. You’re old. Your metabolism has to be creeping along at the speed of a decrepit tortoise.”
“I’m forty-seven, and you’re an ungrateful child. Who talks to their dad like that?”
Zelda laughed when she looked up to reply and saw him poking and pinching at his midsection, probably looking for the first signs of middle-age spread.
