By Magic Alone (35 page)

“Thank you, Universe,” I muttered as I stripped off my
clothes. In two weeks, I’d gained a world of knowledge and had come up empty-handed. I had nothing that I wanted. “Thanks for showing me how little I knew about everything, teasing me with what could be, and then ripping it all away.”

I turned the shower on full blast. I was done moping. I was done with self-pity. Maybe I couldn’t have Scot, but I could sure as hell get some questions answered, and I could sure as hell do something with my life that gave me pleasure. And it wasn’t Introductions, and it wasn’t working at my father’s firm. Of course, I didn’t have a clue as to what this mystery profession might be, but I’d figure it out. And someday, if I were absurdly lucky, I’d meet another man who would turn my knees to Jell-O. A man I would love, who would love me, and Scot would become nothing but a distant memory.

Tears ran down my cheeks, mingling with the hot spray of the shower. I’d spoken strong words, but who was I trying to fool? No one could replace Scot. He’d never be a distant memory, and if my wish worked, and if Leslie and I somehow managed to remain friends, he’d still be in my life . . . as
her
man. And I’d have no choice but to learn to live with that.

I went to work two hours early on Thursday. Ignoring work for three days because of heartache was stupid and self-indulgent. It didn’t matter that I’d made a decision about Introductions; I still had responsibilities there. Diane deserved a little notice before she was out of a job. I also had clients to inform, plans to make, and an office to empty.

I began the day by drafting a letter to my clients, explaining that Introductions would be closing its doors within thirty days. Within the letter, I included my apologies, the offer of a full refund for anyone who’d joined Introductions in the past two months, and a glowing recommendation for Magical
Matchups. This, sadly, took a lot less time than it should have. I simply didn’t have that many active clients left.

I posted a similar letter to the company Web site, added date limitations to the current client profiles, and disabled the new-client section altogether. The lease for my office didn’t expire for several months; I jotted a note to call the building’s management company to see if we could work something out. I made a list of other accounts I needed to cancel, whom I owed money, and who still owed me money.

All of these steps should have been difficult. But other than a twinge of regret at saying good-bye to something I’d worked so hard at, it was strangely easy. Of course, almost anything would have seemed easy in comparison to saying good-bye to Scot.

Finally, I wrote a letter of reference for Diane. This was hard. She had stuck by me, had put her trust in me, and now she was going to be out of a job. I called her into my office as soon as she arrived and gave her the news. She took it better than I expected. We agreed she’d stick around for at least two weeks, but if she didn’t find something else in that time frame, she’d stay until the end. I added two weeks of severance to the money I owed her. It wasn’t enough, but it was all I could manage.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted but motivated. Now I just had to come up with a plan for after Introductions closed. Preferably something that didn’t include moving in with my parents. Or traveling the country with them in their RV. Something to do with food, I was thinking. I hadn’t decided exactly what, but I figured that would come to me sooner or later.

That night, worn out from my up and down emotions and the day’s activities, I dropped into sleep easily. Almost instantly. I dreamed of a woman with long, luxurious dark hair. She had
ruby red lips, pale white skin, and deep brown eyes. Colors and light rippled around her, reminding me of a crystal prism hanging in a window, turning the sunlight into a rainbow. In my dream she hovered beside my bed, her mouth moving frantically as if she were talking to me, telling me something of extreme importance, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hear her voice or make out her words.

I woke with a gasp. Clammy sweat coated my skin, and the scent of roses lingered in the air. I sat up, turned on the bedside lamp, and searched the room. No one was with me. Or at least no one I could see when awake. I rubbed my arms, trying to chase away the chill, trying to calm the crazy beat of my heart. Both were impossible.

Under the cover of sleep, in the guise of a dream, I’d come face-to-face with Miranda, Scot’s great-great-great-grandmother’s ghost. I was as sure of that as I was of the power of the journal. But what had she wanted? What had she tried to tell me?

“Miranda,” I said in a loud and clear voice. “I’m not afraid. You’re welcome to be here. If there is something you want me to know, please come back. Please try again.”

I waited and watched, wondered and hoped. But she didn’t miraculously appear before me, and after a while the scent of roses disappeared. I was alone again.

With a sigh, I hugged a pillow to my chest, breathed slowly in and out, and concentrated on relaxing every muscle in my body. Maybe Miranda needed me to be asleep to show herself. Maybe our connection was stronger then. I didn’t know, but it was worth a shot. I desperately wanted to hear what she had to say.

The next day, I yawned and rubbed my eyes while staring at nothing out my office window. Miranda hadn’t delivered an encore performance. Though maybe that was because I hadn’t
fallen into a deep sleep again. Or maybe my dream had been just that—a dream. I probably hadn’t really seen Miranda. In all likelihood, I was looking so hard for signs that my subconscious gave me one.

Especially since the woman in my dream resembled Elizabeth and Alice. She had the same dark hair and eyes as both women, though her willowy frame reminded me more of Alice than Elizabeth. Still, if my brain wanted to conjure Miranda, then who else would she look like than her great-great-great-granddaughters?

But even if Miranda hadn’t tried to connect with me through my dream, she had been in my room. The roses were not figments of my imagination. I was sure of that.

I pushed away the hope of what a visit from Miranda might mean. The facts hadn’t changed. Scot and I weren’t real—on his end of the equation, anyway. On some level, he’d recognized that, and I had no choice but to respect his decision.

Swiveling in my chair, I returned my attention to my computer monitor. I was still trying to narrow down what I would do when Introductions closed. So far, besides the vague decision of finding a food-related career, the only thing I knew was that I had no desire to run a business. I wanted to go to work, do something I enjoyed, and clock out at the end of the day and come home.

The business line rang. Diane was at the post office, mailing my end-of-the-company letters, so I picked up. “Introductions,” I said. “This is Julia.”

“Julia! This is Zita Hildebrandt.”

Ack. I’d never checked in with Zita or Darryl about their second date. “I was just about to call you,” I lied. “To see how your date with Darryl went.”

“Well, that’s why I’m calling,” Zita said, her tone hesitant.

“It’s okay, Zita,” I said, thinking of Jameson. “Sometimes
what looks good on paper is anything but good in real life. I shouldn’t have pushed you to go out with Darryl again. If it isn’t right, it isn’t right.”

“That’s just it. I’m glad you pushed. We . . . ah . . . had a terrific time. Just not with each other. I like Darryl, and he was definitely more relaxed, but we don’t zing, you know?” Zita rushed on to explain that she’d set up a double date, hoping that another couple would help Darryl relax. She’d brought a friend of hers, and Darryl had brought a friend of his. “We were totally with the wrong people.”

I blinked in confusion and tried to keep up. “Wait a minute, Zita. You’re telling me that you and Darryl’s friend hit it off, and Darryl and your friend—”

“Yes! Through Darryl, who you matched me with, I found a guy I really like. We have a ton in common, too. He’s a single father, completely devoted to his daughter, and I . . . I looked into his eyes and something clicked. So I wanted to thank you for setting me up with Darryl.”

I laughed at the absurdity of the situation. My matchmaking skills—for the past year, at least—were crap, but somehow two of my clients were walking away happy. I’d take it. “I’m glad for you, but no thanks are necessary. This was your doing.”

“It
is
because of you! Fate led me to Introductions. You led me to Darryl. And Darryl led me to Adam,” Zita said. “But I think I’m done with Introductions for now. I want to see what happens with Adam before going out with anyone else.”

“It’s funny you say that.” I explained that Introductions was closing its doors. We talked for a few minutes before I wished Zita luck and disconnected the call.

Fate again. Only for Zita, it had worked in her favor. I went through my chain of fate once more and came up with the same answer, the one that had led me to cast the wish for Leslie and Scot. But if that were the case, then why would I
have fallen so hard and fast? I looked at all the pieces and parts again, trying to find a loophole that would give credence to my hope, to the love I felt for Scot.

Introductions failing led me to Kara and Leslie for help. That led me to Magical Matchups, which brought me to Verda, who led me to Scot, which then led me back to Leslie and her feelings for him. So yeah, this, as much as I wished otherwise, seemed to be about Scot and Leslie. The trail was solid.

“That’s that. Stop obsessing.” Easier said than done, but I tried. Really, I did. But something sat there on the edge of my consciousness, distracting me from everything else I needed to do.

Shortly after two o’clock, I gave up all pretenses of work, told Diane we were closing for the day, and took off. I drove aimlessly for a while, my brain still attempting to work out the impossible. I knew the answer I wanted to reach, but couldn’t get there. Two plus two doesn’t equal five, no matter how often you add the numbers. The answer is four. The answer is
always
four.

“But I want it to be five.” I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I need it to be five. Why can’t the freaking answer be five?”

I blinked against tears. No more crying. I’d had enough of crying. Instead of giving in to my urge to go home and crawl into bed to sob like a love-struck teenager, I aimed my car toward my parents’ house.

I used my key to let myself in. My mother was in her office with a large map spread out on her antique desk. I didn’t see Dad, but it was a little early for him to be home.

“This is a surprise, Julia,” my mother said, glancing up from the map to see me hovering in her doorway. “Did we have plans I forgot about?”

“No, Mom. I . . . didn’t mean to interrupt. Do you have a minute to talk?”

She tilted her head to the side and appraised me. I wondered what she saw, if my misery was written on my face and in my body language. “Of course I do. Would you like some tea? I can have Rosalie—”

I started crying then. Loud, engulfing sobs that shook my body. She froze, shocked by my sudden show of emotion. In two beats of my heart, she was up and to me, urgently patting me down. As if she were a cop searching for a concealed weapon.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Her hands stilled on my arms. “Are you hurt?”

“No . . . yes . . . Not like you mean, but yes.” Another sob wrenched out from a raw place deep within. “Yes, I’m hurt. And afraid. And confused.” I hiccupped. “And angry. I have just about every emotion going here, Mom.”

Understanding and concern coated her expression. “I see. Well then, darling, let’s get you calm so you can tell me what’s going on.”

I let her lead me to the small sofa in her office. We sat down and she patted my knee, a small, uncomfortable action meant to offer me comfort. I laughed through my sobs. The magic hadn’t changed her so much after all. She raised her eyebrow in question.

“I’m in love,” I said, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did. “With a man I can’t be with. With a man I shouldn’t even love.”

“Scot?” she guessed, handing me a tissue. I nodded and blew my nose. “Why can’t you be with him? He isn’t married, is he?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then tell me what it is like.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Why can’t you and Scot be together?”

In a halting voice, I told her as much of the story as I could. Meaning, everything except for magic and ghosts. I even admitted how I’d entered Magical Matchups in my desperation to find a fix for Introductions. By the time I was done, I felt calmer than I had for days. I shrugged. “So you can see how impossible this is. I probably don’t love him, right? I mean, you’re the one who told me never to trust my heart.”

A startled expression flitted over her. “When did I tell you that?”

“When I was twelve and Ricky Luca broke mine.” God, it was so long ago, she probably didn’t even remember.

She surprised me.

“Oh, that? Honey, you were just a baby. I wanted you to focus on your schoolwork, on being a girl and enjoying your friends. Love is such a sticky thing.” She shook her head. “I hated seeing you so upset when you had your entire life in front of you. And I guess I wasn’t ready to see you grow up. Falling for a boy was a sure sign you weren’t my little girl anymore.”

Confusion welled inside. “So I
should
trust my heart?”

“There isn’t a yes or no answer, my dear.”

“Great. That helps a lot,” I said in a semisarcastic tone. “How do I know if I love him or not? And why did it take me so long to feel this way about someone?”

“Oh, you love him all right. You’re a perfectionist, Julia. It doesn’t surprise me at all that you waited for the right man to sweep you off your feet.” Mom squeezed my hand in both of hers. “The question is, what are you going to do about it now?”

“Leave him alone. There is nothing else I can do.” She snorted in a very unladylike way. “Scot walked away from me, Mom.”

“Then you need to find out why. He has feelings for you. Your father and I both saw that clear as day. We were quite impressed by him.”

Well, yeah. That was when my spell had been going strong. “I don’t think he does. I think he . . . got carried away by spending the weekend together.”