“Now we have to find where Mom stashed our dolls.” Beryl tapped the handle end of her wand on the table. “I’m concerned. Those dolls are obviously spelled. To protect us? To help us find our own love matches?” She shrugged. “Add it to the list of things to do once we get Rémy sorted.”
I draped my arm over my eyes. “That list just keeps getting longer and longer.”
“I’m going to get back to what I was doing.” Alderose patted my shoulder. “Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”
“Sure,” I said. I felt around for Beryl and tugged on her arm. “I’m beginning to think this entire building’s hiding pockets of magic. Let’s go back to the third floor and work together.”
“I second that, Sissy. Let me grab my bag.”
Beryl and I were quiet on the way up. “You okay?” she asked.
I shrugged. “That was just weird. Weird and strange, and I want to do it again.”
“I think either me or Alderose should try it next time.”
“What if I tried it up here? Maybe I’d be able to see where Mom hid everything.”
“Clemmie, you were screaming.”
“But I have no memory of that.” I really didn’t. But the nervous energy coursing through my body wanted to do more, know more. Plus, I would bet Beryl had bought enough supplies to keep us all in hot chocolate for the rest of the day.
“Well, I sure do, and it was awful. It was like when you were a kid and you had nightmares and we could never get you to shake them.”
“Dad could.”
“Yeah, well, how many times do I have to remind you? Dad’s. Not. Here.”
“Have you even texted him?” I whispered.
“Every day.”
“And?” My sister’s silence answered my question. I switched topics. “Let’s tackle the matches that look completed. At least the ones that have phone numbers.”
Beryl chuffed. “Which is only about half of them. How in Goddess’s name did Mom communicate with her clients? Pigeon? Crystal ball?”
We paused at the landing before pushing open the door. “Probably,” I said. “Mom was loaded with magic. This building is loaded with magic. How and why she kept it from us are questions we may never hear answered.”
“Alabastair’s going to be back today, with Tía. She’s the most senior witch in the family, which also means she’ll be guiding our initiations, and I think it’s within our rights to ask her to tell us everything she knows.”
I’d forgotten about the upcoming ritual. I was on the verge of turning twenty-eight, and the next phase of my initiation into the mysteries of witchcraft would happen within twelve months of my birthday. Mom had overseen my last ceremony when I’d turned twenty-one.
Overcome—the moments I would be missing out on sharing with my mother were piling up—I shook out my hands, plunked my butt in the desk chair, and showed Beryl the drawer of hanging files.
“Let’s start with the mages.” I gathered the hefty stack and brought it over to the second large table, the one without drawers.
“Sissy.” Beryl rubbed the small of my back. “We’ll be there for your ritual, don’t you worry.”
“Thanks.” I pressed my knuckles to my eyes, concentrated on breathing, and opened the folder.
The topmost page was the client’s intake sheet. For comparison purposes, I pulled Rémy’s folder, removed everything inside, and spread out the pages. Mom’s notations were written in lavender ink. I went back to her desk and grabbed the notepad and pen I’d been using, along with the scrying bowl.
Mom was thorough. One page was the client’s genealogy chart, which they’d filled out and she’d expanded until the limbs of the family tree were filled going back four generations. There was also a work history, a list of magical specialties and subspecialties, and a page devoted to beings the client might have maimed, killed, cursed, banished, or left broken-hearted.
Rémy’s list was substantial enough to indicate he might have issues with anger management, which I found odd for a being whose element was water. Water drew me for its calming properties. I guessed Rémy liked to use it to advance his rage.
I resumed reading about a client whose love match had been successful. Time-wise, it appeared this client’s wish had been fulfilled within three months.
I waved my phone in Beryl’s direction and let her know I was calling an air mage my mother had paired with an eagle shifter. The mage, Irina, answered on the fourth ring. At least, I think it was her. Wind whistled past her phone’s mic.
“’Allo?”
“Is this Irina Sokalova?” I asked.
“Yes. Who is calling, please?”
“Clementine Brodeur, daughter of—”
“Moira! The miracle-maker!” More wind whistled past the microphone. I heard a muffled exclamation, followed by a breathy giggle. “Pardon me. My husband is giving me flying lessons. How may I help you, Clementine, daughter of Moira?”
“Is it safe for you to talk right now?”
“Good point. Let me land and I will call you right back.”
When my phone rang a few minutes later, the breathy Irina was replaced with a more serious tone as she offered her condolences on news of my mother’s passing. “I owe her my happiness,” Irina said. “Tell me how I might repay my debt.”
“My two sisters and I knew nothing about our mother’s work,” I began, “and we need all the help we can get re-creating the process she used to find love matches to fulfill her contracts.”
Irina hmmd. “I will tell you everything I can recall.”
An hour or so later, I knew more about my mother’s methods—and about mages. Irina’s recall was stellar. Where she proved most helpful was in her comments about the particular needs of elemental mages in regard to their ideal mate. “More than most other types of Magicals,” Irina stated, “mages must feel that what they have to offer—which is an ability to call upon and control one of the five elements—is essential to their partner’s happiness and survival. A mage paired with another mage is a recipe for a potential disaster. Power struggles will
