By Magic Alone Page 4

“We explained all of this to her last Wednesday,” my mother said in an aside, mixing herself another drink. “And she agreed to attend a few of our social functions.”

  “Yes, I did,” I agreed. “But I didn’t realize you were going to start fixing me up again.” I mentally replayed the conversation and shook my head. “No. You did not mention you wanted me to date Jameson.” God, I didn’t think they had, anyway. “You did mention that he’s single and might be interested in the services Introductions offers. So when he phoned, I assumed there was a miscommunication.”

  “And that’s why you turned him down?” my mother said.

  “Yes. But we set up an appointment for him to come into the office to go over his profile. He’s probably filling it out now! And he wasn’t upset in the slightest, so I don’t understand why you two are.”

  “Because William and Delia are upset. They have it in their heads that you believe you are somehow better than their son. This isn’t a good situation for any of us,” Mom said. “If you didn’t want to date Jameson, it would have been far easier if you told us that last week. When we would have been able to do some damage control.”

  Oh, God. I couldn’t argue with her. One: chances were low I’d win. Two: well, sometimes I spaced out during these dinners. As much as I hated to admit it, the possibility existed that I had agreed to this, even if I didn’t remember. “So, what do you want me to do?”

  My mother swooped in and sat next to me on the sofa. “Perhaps you could phone Jameson tomorrow and apologize.”

  “Sure. That’s easy enough.” He’d probably think I was a freak, but so what?

  Squeezing my hand tightly, she smiled. “And?”

  Yep. I’d have to go out on at least one date. “Yes, Mother. I’ll accept his invitation.”

  “Thank you, Julia,” my father said as Mom drew me into one of her stiff hugs. “This will help ease the awkwardness.”

  “Now, about your business,” my mother said, backing out of the embrace. “Didn’t you say last week that you had a plan you were putting into motion?”

  I nodded. Hopefully, she wouldn’t ask about the plan.

  “Good! We can put off any further business discussion for another month or so. We’ll give this plan of yours a chance to work.” Mom pulled herself upright. “Let’s eat. You’ll be pleased to know I instructed the chef to prepare a second main course tonight.”

  Ha. I knew the lamb was a bad sign. If I’d refused to call Jameson Parkington, the second main course wouldn’t have made an appearance, and Introductions definitely would have been in the line of fire for the next couple of hours. So yeah, as much as I didn’t relish the thought of dating anyone right now, going out with Jameson was well worth the effort.

  Hey, I had to find the silver lining wherever I could. That’s just the way it was on Wednesdays.

  I pulled my ten-year-old Volvo—a college graduation gift from my parents—to a stop and turned the ignition off. The rest of dinner had been filled with nonconfrontational chatter, for which I was grateful. But by the time the maid cleared the last dish, I was less than perky. All I wanted was to go home and take a long, hot bubble bath.

  But I hadn’t gone home. Instead, I found myself driving aimlessly, somehow ending up on the street in front of Magical Matchups. I knew where the business was, of course, as my curiosity had gotten the better of me and I’d done several drive-bys over the last month, but I hadn’t planned on swinging by tonight.

  I stared at the darkened windows, wondering again what went on inside that compelled my friends to believe they could find romance-novel love. From the exterior, it appeared a normal business. There were no sparkles, flashing lights, or magic wands anywhere in sight. Truth be told, it looked fairly basic. There weren’t any signs on the windows that boasted false promises of a Disney fairy-tale ending if you walked in and signed on the dotted line. Heck, there weren’t any large signs at all. Just a simple storefront with the name of the business printed on a tiny placard above the door.

  Yet beyond that door existed some ingredient that my business didn’t have. I needed to know what it was. I needed to understand how this company that hadn’t even existed five months ago was beating my veteran company into the ground.

  It shouldn’t have been possible. From the day I opened Introductions, I’d done everything by the book. I hadn’t waded in without weighing the odds, and I hadn’t spent one cent of my money or my parents’ without knowing the risks. My business plan was solid. The first year, I hadn’t expected to make a profit—and I was right. But I hadn’t lost money, either. The second year brought increased publicity, more clients, and the slight profit I’d predicted. But now, it didn’t seem to matter how many hours I worked or how solid my business plan was. Even my success with matching couples had waned, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. Failure loomed.

  I grasped the steering wheel tightly with both hands and tried to do what I always did: ignore the dread climbing through me. Only it didn’t work. The truth I’d been avoiding washed in: I didn’t have one iota of a clue of how to fix this. Even worse, I was beginning to believe that I couldn’t.

  My gaze fell on Magical Matchups again, and the urge to discover its secrets had me unclasping my seat belt and stepping from the car before I fully realized what I was doing. The chilly November night air touched my cheek, whispered down my neck, made me shiver as I crossed the street.

  My steps faltered as I neared the door. This was nuts! What did I think I was going to do—play MacGyver, use a bobby pin to break in and rummage through Verda’s desk? Okay, if I even knew how to open a locked door using a hairpin, then that might have been a course of action worth considering, but not without proper planning, and certainly not without a lookout.

  Panicked laughter gurgled from my throat. As if the properly raised daughter of Gregory and Susanna would ever break the law. Though on second thought, the look on my mother’s face might be worth jail time. If nothing else, it would give her socialite friends something to talk about.

  My heart started fluttering like crazy. The portion of my brain that remained clear thinking and sane urged me to retreat to my car. I gulped in a lungful of air, because it seemed I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my body, and then slowly walked by the store. When I reached the shop next to Magical Matchups, I paused as if I’d gotten lost, turned around, and retraced my steps.

  I probably did this a half dozen times before I found the courage to do what I really wanted. Stopping just to the right of the front door, I glanced over my shoulder to be sure I didn’t have an audience, and then I framed my eyes with my hands and peered in.

  My breath caught. Tendrils of a soft, whispery light gave the business a strange, ethereal glow that made me shiver again. Large, darkened shadows stretched across the floor, accentuating the furnishings in such a way that they almost appeared to be living and breathing entities. It was as if . . . I shook my head, annoyed by the image that had burst into my mind: one of a little girl stepping into a wardrobe and exiting into an entirely new world.

  I blamed Kara and Leslie and all the talk of fairy tales, but even so, the image persisted. Craning my neck to the right, I tried to make out what actual objects were, so I could lessen the otherworldly feeling I had going on. One by one, I mentally attached names to the furnishings—couch, chair, desk, table, more chairs—until finally, the strange, tingling sensation lightened. But it didn’t go away completely, and the urge to escape to my car crawled over me once again.

  I almost let the urge control me, but I focused harder on the room and on the details I could see. Leaving now, even though there was nothing I could do here, would be paramount to admitting that Magical Matchups had some sort of hold over me, that this place was stronger and better than Introductions. Yeah, I know. My thought process made zero sense and wasn’t rational in the slightest. But somehow, at that moment, holding my ground seemed of upmost importance.

  “See? Just a normal room with normal stuff. Certainly no
thing to get all worked up over. There are no boogeymen, talking lions, or anything else that is out of the ordinary,” I whispered. Just as I used to do when I was a child and believed there were ghosts and monsters lurking in my closet. Unfortunately, my self-assurances didn’t work any better now than they had then.

  Exasperated with myself and with this stupid game I was playing—I mean, what was I trying to prove, exactly?—I dropped my hands and backed away from the window. I glanced down the street again, noting that a few pedestrians were ambling my way. Without processing why, I grabbed the door handle, twisted, and pushed. The door creaked, as if the hinges were rusty and old, and slid open.

  Open? Was someone in there?

  I waited for a voice to call out, for an alarm to go off, something that would announce my unlawful action, but everything remained eerily quiet. Tipping my head to the left, I gauged the distance between me and the pedestrians. They were nearly to me, and while they had no clue that I wasn’t supposed to be doing what I was doing, I had the irrational fear that they did know. My skin itched with the desire to enter, to leave this world for the one on the other side of the wardrobe. How dumb was that?

  “Hello?” I called into the darkened room. “Is anyone there?”

  Nothing but silence came back to me, so I . . . well, I acted completely out of character. I stepped into the lobby of Magical Matchups.

  Chapter Three

  The door swung shut with a soft thud. Blood rushed through my body, echoing in my ears like crashing waves. I shivered. The faint scent of flowers prickled my nose. Roses, perhaps, but I couldn’t be sure. I took one step forward, and then another. Was I truly alone?

  It seemed I was, but you get a certain sense when someone else is sharing space with you. I had that sense. Anticipation mixed with nerves tiptoed down my spine, leaving a trail of icy goose bumps on my skin. Knowing my luck, a burglar had broken in minutes before I’d arrived and was now hanging out in back, waiting with a tire iron in his hands.

  But that . . . Well, it didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel alone, but I didn’t feel anything malevolent, either. I took another hesitant step and called out again. “Hello?”

  Silence.

  Who left their business empty and unlocked? A slight tightening in the back of my throat forced a swallow. If this were my place and I had this feeling, I’d hightail out of there fast and have the police do a walk-through. But this wasn’t my place. I wasn’t supposed to be here. And that left me with two choices: leave and possibly save myself from injury, death, or at the very least arrest; or pray that I was as alone as it seemed and sate my desire for information.

  I knew I should leave. That was the right, the legal, thing to do. But something compelled me to stay. And hey, I’d already walked through the freaking wardrobe, right? Why not look around Narnia a little? Maybe, if nothing else, I would find an introduction packet to the matchmaking company’s services. Even that would be more than I had now. It might be enough to help save my business.

  The thought pushed me forward. I took another step and then stopped so I could gather my bearings. A large, ornately styled desk stood sentry against the back wall. If Verda ran Magical Matchups in any sort of a predictable manner, that desk would have brochures, price lists, and other basic information for folks who walked in without an appointment. That desk was my target.

  I moved toward it silently, pretending I was on a covert mission. The flutter of butterflies in my chest swirled and bobbed and my stomach dipped. Not so much out of fear as incredulity that I hadn’t yet succumbed to the voice of reason, the one that sounded a hell of a lot like my mother commanding me to leave.

  I rounded the desk to the other side. Again, the sensation of not being alone pressed around me, stronger than before. Sweat beaded on my forehead and the tightening in my throat worsened. I glanced across the dark room, expecting to see someone staring back at me, but other than shadows, furniture, and that weird, whispery light, nothing met my eyes.

  Inhaling a long, slow breath to ease my nervous shudders, I focused on the surface of the desk. There was a telephone, one of those all-in-one computers with a massive monitor, a memo pad opened to a blank page, a stapler, and one lone pen. I cursed in frustration. Of course Verda would be a neat freak. Of course she wouldn’t leave anything telling out in the open.

  I gave serious consideration to powering up the PC but decided against it. For one, the computer was likely password protected. For two, e-rifling would take far too long. Besides which, taking that step, as idiotic as it might sound, seemed one too many toward the dark side.

  “Think, Julia,” I said. “Find the intro pack and get out of here.”

  A hip-high wooden file cabinet abutted the desk. I tugged on the top drawer. Locked, naturally. Going on instinct, I shoved the chair out of the way and pulled open the middle desk drawer. Maybe the file-cabinet key was stored there. Clear-wrapped candies, various pens and pencils, and a few other odds and ends rolled to the front, the sound erupting into the silent room as if a zillion and one miniexplosives had gone off.

  I paused and held my breath, ready to run. But the next minute ticked by without anyone confronting me, so I exhaled a sigh and tried to shake off my creepy-crawlies.

  What in the hell was I doing? Who did this sort of crap? If all I was after was something that Magical Matchups probably gave to anyone who walked in off the street, that was easy enough to get my hands on. I’d come back during normal business hours and pretend to be a potential, nameless client. It wouldn’t be hard at all.

  Decision made, if praying I wouldn’t regret it later, I turned to leave. I was ready—more than—to reenter the normal world. The heady aroma of a garden wove in then, soaking the air with such weight, such volume, that I would’ve sworn bouquets of full-on blossoming flowers surrounded me. Roses, actually. I was sure of that now.

  My nose twitched, itched, and I sneezed. My eyes watered from the now-overpowering scent. Prickles of awareness cascaded over my skin. The feeling of another presence became more potent than ever. My heart rate doubled then tripled in a matter of seconds. I tried to force my legs to move, but they refused to cooperate.

  “Hello?” I said in a shaky voice. “I found the door unlocked. I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in.”

  Soft laughter, reminiscent of Sunday church bells, danced through the room, followed by a faint stirring of air that touched my cheeks, ruffled my hair. I’d been afraid before. Who hasn’t? But I’d never truly, to the depths of my soul, been as scared as this.

  I tried to run again, but found that my legs remained frozen. Probably by fear. Maybe by something else. I reached into my purse, grappling for my cell phone, intending to call for help before . . . before what? Roses and a church-bell laugh did me in?

  Um. Yeah. Hell yeah, even. Where was the damn phone?

  Giving up my search, I gathered every bit of strength I had and surged my body forward. My legs came unglued. I rushed toward the door. My heart galloped and sweat poured down my face. Out, I thought, get out. Now. My body complied—hell, I’d probably never moved so fast in my life. But I rammed smack into the arm of the sofa, my legs buckled, and I fell face-first over the edge onto the cushions in an ungainly heap.

  Before I pulled myself up, a gentle, warm breeze floated around me, filling me with a surge of calmness that somehow, in some way, knocked my fear down a notch. But that didn’t mean I wanted to stay. Uh-uh. I struggled to my feet and thrust myself toward the door.

  No one tried to stop me, a voice didn’t holler out from behind, but the scent of roses remained just as strong, just as overwhelming. I made it to the door, saw my car through the window, and my panic dropped another level. But wow, was I happy to be leaving. I grasped the doorknob and pulled.

  The door didn’t budge. I twisted the lock to the right and then the left, thinking that maybe the door had locked automatically behind me when I’d entered. That didn’t work either.

  “What the hell?” I pu
lled, twisted, and then—as a last desperate move—pushed with all of my might. Nothing. Had the lock somehow gotten jammed? Maybe. Probably. A fresh bout of panic clouded my thinking. This . . . this was bad. Really, really bad.

  I paced the area in front of the door, eyeing my car across the street as if it were an oasis in the middle of a desert, trying to figure out how I was going to get out of this mess.

  “Calm down. There is always a way,” I said. “Think this through.” The sound of my voice brought one rational thought: maybe there was a back exit? Yes! Of course there was. Fire laws and all that stuff. I took off across the room and down the hall. It took all of two minutes to discover that if another exit existed, it was behind one of the locked doors off of the hallway. The only door I’d been able to open was the one to the restroom. Lucky me and my bladder.

  “Suck it up, Julia. Time to call for reinforcements.” I rummaged through my purse until I found my cell phone. I hated the thought of calling the police, but I didn’t see how anyone else would be able to get me out of here. It wasn’t as if I even knew Verda’s home number, let alone had it on speed dial. Though maybe Kara and Leslie did.

  Relieved I might have an out, even if it was embarrassing, I dialed Leslie’s cell number and hit the send button. The call didn’t go through.

  I tried Kara’s. That call didn’t connect, either. Fear returned as I tried dialing my parents, and then Leslie and Kara again. Still nothing. I stared at the backlit display, proof that the battery had power, and gave it one more go without success. Maybe it was broken. Maybe Magical Matchups was somehow located in a dead zone. Regardless, the phone was not going to be my salvation.

  “Great. Just friggin’ great,” I said, shoving it back into my purse.

  More annoyed than wigged-out now, I tried to use the Magical Matchups phone. But there wasn’t—surprise, surprise—a dial tone. Another light breeze wafted through the room, redolent of roses. I clutched the edge of the desk as a series of tremors whipped through me. The ridiculous notion that I was supposed to be here overtook all other thoughts, followed by the feeling that I was meant to experience whatever the hell was going on, and that I was not going to be able to leave until . . . well, until what, I didn’t know.