Love Spell (27 page)

Lindsay shook her head quickly, helped Altimus off her, and sat on a small bench lining the wall, hoping Fey wouldn’t notice the new seating. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just that I… It’s not what I expected.”

“What? Did you expect me to meditate until his name suddenly popped into my mind? I’m pushing seventy-five (and I’m not too bad looking for it, I might add). Don’t expect me to be able to magically remember people from more than three minutes ago, let alone three years.

“By the way, what was your name again?”

“Lindsay. Sullivan.”

“Right. I’ll log your information in a minute. Here’s my card. Now let’s bring up this ‘acquaintance’ first.” Fey hammered the name into the computer, typing with secretary-level speed. She clicked a few things, and then rotated the swiveling screen so Lindsay could see it.

“That him? Hunky blond with eyes to die for? Made a wish about finding love, though I don’t know why he’d need it with a face like that.”

Yes, that was Clint. Fey had photographed him against the same backdrop Lindsay had now. Despite the poor lighting, his face was remarkably easy to see. Lindsay gazed longingly at him for a long time, savoring every last detail from the relaxed waves of hair, past those eyes, all the way down to his firm, square chin.

“Stop drooling, Lena,” Fey said. “You’ll make the linoleum wet. Altimus doesn’t do well on slick surfaces.”

Altimus noised his agreement.

“Yes, that’s him,” Lindsay responded, nodding at the picture. “And my name is Lindsay.”

“That’s nice. So. Is he your wish? You want this stud to come galloping into your apartment and save you from being dateless on weekends?”

Lindsay flinched. “I am
not
dateless on weekends. Okay, well… yes, actually I am. But that’s by choice. And you’ll excuse me if I say that’s not really any of your concern.”

Fey waved it away. “So are you going to wish this man-candy into your life, or not?”

Lindsay wrinkled her nose. “First, I’m perfectly fine with who I am, and how I live. I don’t need a man to take care of me. Second, even if I
did
want a man, what makes you think I’d only care about a handsome face?”

“His tush is pretty tight, too. Mmm.”

Lindsay ignored the shock of the statement. “Never mind him. I’d like to know at least a little more about how these wishes work before going ahead with anything. And who even said I wanted a wish in the first place?”

Fey got up, walked to the side door, and looked out at the sky. “Star light, star bright,” she began.

Lindsay sucked in a breath. “You mean… you heard that?”

“Of course I didn’t hear that. Our dispatch group did. They called in the report, and sent me out to deal with it. I was the closest agent, so they had me make a little detour from my planned trip to Vegas. Three weeks in Sin City! Woo! ‘Did I hear that?’ What? Do you think I’m some kind of creepy spy? By the way,” Fey stage-whispered, “you really shouldn’t eat on your balcony. Or in public, for that matter. You chew like a cow.”

Lindsay stood abruptly. “I don’t have to take this.” She strode to the door but a bony hand caught her elbow before she could quite reach the stairs.

“You know you’re running from him.”

Lindsay jerked her elbow free, and glared at her senior. “No, actually I’m
walking
away from egregious and uncalled-for insults. Not to mention this… smell.”

“And you used to be such a nice, sweet girl, too.”

“Leave me alone,” Lindsay retorted. “It’s well past midnight, and I’m not about to lose sleep so that someone can harass me and make me ride their pet goat. I’m done here.” She stepped out the door.

“Even if I could get you Clint?”

Lindsay froze, and sighed. “I already told you, I’m not interested. Mister Christopherson was a failed client in a failed venture in a failed past.”

“Which is why your heart is still locked away in his cupboard?”

“He doesn’t have my heart,” Lindsay whispered. She knew the lie wouldn’t pass. “I really think I’d better go. Magic isn’t my thing.” Lindsay stepped down the stairs.

“You’d never admit that in court, at least,” Fey said. Lindsay was surprised to find that her hostess had exited with her, and was matching her stride for stride. “And you know that you’re clueless and searching. That’s why you made that star wish tonight.”

Lindsay whirled on Fey. “You’re not going to let this drop, are you?”

“Hey, it’s your fault I’m here, missy. Otherwise, I’d already be at the craps tables at Caesar’s. But you’re right. You don’t need him. He hurt you bad, especially when he sucked face with that Fed. He forfeited his chance for happiness. He deserves her. Though, I wonder if I could find him a second time…”

Could it be true? Was there a chance that Clint might actually be
unhappy
with the more attractive federal agent? But who cared? Why should
she
? And yet…

Lindsay glared at the gypsy for good measure. “Fine. Let’s get this done and you’re welcome to be on your way to Vegas. They’d probably even give you your own show.”

A short while later, Lindsay was standing in the middle of the RV dressed like a clown princess. Fey had insisted that Lindsay wear a cheap plastic necklace and a rainbow wig, and had then been photographed for Fey’s records. (Lindsay thought the picture was disgusting, and she had argued with Fey for at least five minutes trying to get it removed; Fey compromised by taking the shot from a different angle instead, and without using a flash.)

“Is this really necessary?” Lindsay muttered, impatiently adjusting the wig.

“Absolutely. Channeling wishes is easier when I’m in a good mood, and that’s more likely to happen when the wisher amuses me. Now be quiet while I explain how this works.”

Lindsay frowned, but complied.

“Rule one: wishes can’t directly cause bodily harm, death or force someone against their will.”

“Excuse me,” Lindsay said, “but that’s exactly what Clint’s wish was about.”

“Sometimes wishes go wrong.”

“That’s your excuse?” Lindsay asked in exasperation. “‘Something went wrong,’ and suddenly I’m completely out of my mind just because I tapped him once? You ruin not only my, but who knows how many other women’s lives and then say, ‘Something went wrong’? You’re going to have to do better than that, Fey.”

Fey half shrugged. “He didn’t properly qualify his wish. His fault. What he wanted was to be loved, but he went the old King Midas route to get it.”

“Midas turned everything he touched to gold,” Lindsay replied. “How was that not forcing people?”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. Midas was a fable. Your friend isn’t. His wish couldn’t force anyone to do anything they didn’t want to. It wouldn’t have worked if it had.”

“Do you have
any
idea how much I wanted to just… to just
own
him?” Lindsay huffed. “To do… stuff… that would make my parents blush, any time I thought of him after that first touch? Do you have any idea how much harder it got every time we made contact after that? I had to flee across two state lines to stop myself from doing something I’m certain I would have regretted. How can you say that wasn’t forced?”

“Did you do it?”

Lindsay screwed up her face. “Do what?”

“Any of it. And was it good?”

“Absolutely not! I mean, no, I didn’t do it. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to more than words can say.”

Fey grinned wickedly. “See? You weren’t forced.”

“I don’t see how—”

“Think about it, dear. I can tell you’re a sharp one. Rule two: there’s a price for everything. You want your wish to work? You need to part with something of value to you. The greater the personal value, the stronger the wish.”

“So this is a scam?”

Fey wagged a finger. “Clint. Was that fake?”

“I take your point,” Lindsay said sourly. “What did he pay?”

Fey shook her head. “Can’t tell you. It’d violate the privacy policy. But it wasn’t money. Rule three: no time travel stuff. That gets messy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Better to leave it alone altogether. Let’s say people change when they try it. Not good for the sanity.” Fey rapped a fist on her own head. “Trust me on that one.”

“That would explain a few things, wouldn’t it?”

“Rule four!
One wish only
per customer! That means no wishing for more wishes, or two or three-part wishes or any of that bull. Keep it simple, keep it clear. Otherwise, you end up like stud muffin.

“By the way,” Fey said in a conspiratorial tone, “is he still available?”

Lindsay rolled her eyes. “Any more rules?”

“Only if you want me to add some.”

“Any guarantees?”

“You won’t die. I think.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“Take it or leave it. Now, that wish. Are you ready to make it?”

“I’m not sure,” Lindsay said.

“I know you had one in mind earlier. Out with it.”

Lindsay frowned, and focused on the task. Of all the things she could ask for, what did she
really
want—assuming this wish business worked in the first place? Her first thought was rejected—would she really waste such a treasure on a life plan when she could hire a life coach for a few hundred, or get a self-help book for the price of a good meal? She should know—she had several such books. What about success? No, she was already well on her way to that. Material goods seemed so shallow. Money? No. Men? Maybe? No. But then, what
did
she want, and what was she willing to pay for it? That brought her right back to the same realization she’d had earlier—that she really didn’t know where she was going.

That thought was more than a little disquieting. So she settled on her wish.

But what to give in exchange? Even the act of making such a request was an admission of defeat, a ringing acknowledgment that everything she’d worked for, everything she’d become was a sham. She’d spent so much trying to break the yoke of being under someone else’s rules that to go back to that—even for a husband—was failure. And yet, was all that worth the emptiness she felt? What could she really part with to pay for the kind of purpose and clarity she sought?

The answer hit her in a wave of epiphany.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

“Do what?” Fey asked.

“Pay for my wish.”

Fey smiled wryly. “I knew you’d figure it out sooner or later. Alright, now go have a seat, and concentrate on your wish. I’ll take care of all the mumbo-jumbo business over here.”

Lindsay did as she was asked, and squeezed her eyes shut. Images of dreams long forgotten flashed through her mind, and her six-year-old self cavorted through her thoughts. Lindsay watched the girl laugh and play and dream of marrying the most wonderful prince in all the land, and becoming queen. The idea was so juvenile, and yet Lindsay couldn’t help admire the simple clarity of her girlhood plan. What did all of this mean? Lindsay shut her eyes tighter, and waited for whatever was supposed to happen.

Nothing.

Lindsay heard Fey muttering something, and making tapping noises that sounded too much like… typing?

She cracked one eye open to see Fey banging away on her laptop. “Um, what are you doing?”

Fey didn’t even glance up. “Blogging. And once I’m done with this, I’m going to beat my old record at Sudoku.”

Lindsay opened both her eyes. “Wait, aren’t you supposed to be doing all the ‘mumbo-jumbo’ stuff for my wish?”

Fey’s eyes flicked up to meet the attorney’s. “I already did. I sent the e-mail to Dispatch while you were taking your nap.”

“I wasn’t napping. I was concentrating.”

“Orange juice makers don’t close their eyes to make concentrate.”

Lindsay cocked a brow. “I think that’s the single most random response I’ve ever heard. And if you’re not going to take any of this seriously, then I think I was right to walk out the first time.” Lindsay got to her feet, and maneuvered around Fey’s animal. “I can’t believe I let you humiliate me for this long.”

“You could be a little nicer yourself,” Fey retorted.

Lindsay’s jaw and fists clenched. “You are a piece of work, Fey. Do you know that?”

Fey shrugged. “You’ve got your wish. Don’t forget to leave the necklace, and especially the wig—it’s the only one of its kind I have. Oh, and don’t let Altimus out when you leave. I’ve already chased him once tonight.”

Lindsay harrumphed, and stormed out of the bus, ensuring (with a resounding slam) that the door was perfectly secure enough to contain the rogue farm animal.

“Thank you for visiting Aunt Fey’s Roadside Wishouse.” Fey’s voice sounded from a window. “Sleep well, and remember to tell all of your friends about us. Goodnight.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Despite the interruption, Lindsay slept peacefully that night. The new day started on an excellent note, and everything fell into order just as it should. She prepared her briefs, read through her notes from ongoing cases, and examined her daily calendar.

Then she got the e-mail.

Ms. Fuller’s missive was simple: “Please see me in my office at once.”

Lindsay’s heart was hammering as she knocked on the senior partner’s door. She told herself it was from the fact that she’d all but sprinted to the woman’s office. Deftly straightening her clothes and hair, she set her face in “professional but friendly” mode, and waited for a response.

“Come,” a woman’s voice said through the door.

Lindsay stepped in, leaving the door open should she need an easy escape route. Ms. Fuller’s office had more books than the local library, each arranged alphabetically, by subject, and then by color. The deep purple Berber and drawn, crimson curtains did little to lighten Lindsay’s mood; the stained-glass table lamps were no help either.

Despite the fact that attorney Caroline Fuller barely topped five-three, the woman dominated an oak desk the size of Lindsay’s nicer car. Tidy stacks of documents spread across the mirror-finished surface were, along with a computer and a red vase with irises, the only real touch of femininity in the room. Lindsay searched for visual cues about Fuller’s mood, but realized at once why her superior had earned the nickname “Poker Face.”