"And in other news, Charles Clayton, best-selling author of The Defense self-help series will be touring southeastern Idaho as part of his National book tour."

  I glared at the television. Or maybe I just needed to have a chat with my secretary.

  ****

  Al and I got to work before Désirée Norma-Sue, my redneck fairy secretary. She's not a great believer in arriving on time. At all.

  I'm not a great believer in asking someone to change. We all are who we are. And fairies have never been known for their timeliness.

  I think it's the sparkles. And glitter.

  Fairies make their own, of course, but have you noticed how prevalent glitter and sparkly things are in today's society? It's on everything. Balls. Cards. Clothing. Cupcakes.

  It's everywhere. And fairies can't resist it.

  They have to explore and check it out.

  It takes them twice as long to get anywhere.

  I don't have a problem with it. Like I said, I don't believe in asking someone to change. Besides I love sparkles and glitter.

  I dispersed my protection spell and unlocked the front door to Love Required, my matchmaking business.

  I service both the human and the HC community.

  I'm a total romantic and I believe strongly in the power of love despite being cursed to Fail in Love myself.

  Ironic, huh?

  It used to make me want to cackle. My way of saying, “I spit in the face of thee to the curse.”

  Mwah, mwah, mwah.

  Now it just makes me spitting mad.

  I'm a cursed to Fail in Love witch in love with the King of Demons who is tied to hell by his sin and will eventually have to leave me and break my heart into a million, gazillion pieces.

  Next time you think you have it bad, just think of me. You'll feel better.

  In the past, at this point, I'd usually think how much worse can it get?

  But I've learned a few things: 1) My trials have made me stronger. I've got some backbone to me now. 2) I've found solutions to some very serious problems lately which means hope is not lost. Hiding perhaps, but not entirely lost. 3) Anytime you ask a question like that, it's a given you are not going to like the answer. So just don't ask.

  My front door opened into a small reception area complete with a desk for whenever Désirée Norma-Sue showed up and two scarlet upholstered chairs.

  Until Désirée arrived, and after-hours, I used my answering machine. It was an older model and somewhat large. Désirée had covered it in adhesive jewels shortly after I'd hired her. Now, when I wanted to listen to any messages, I hit the large, square pink rhinestone. The blue one deleted them.

  I still wasn't sure what the green one did. Or the purple one. The jewels covered up all the instructions on my answering machine.

  The red light was blinking, but I decided to ignore it for the moment. I'd arrived a little early. I'd been getting to work early for the past couple of weeks so I could do some research on Morgause and Ash's sin. I truly have been working on both of our issues. I just haven't had any luck. There is a ridiculous amount of information online. Sifting through it all takes time.

  Two offices branched out from my reception area. One for the humans and one for the HC. They were both painted a lovely Cabernet and held a desk and two wing chairs.

  In the human only office, I'd hung pictures of the human couples I'd matched.

  On the walls in the HC office, I had black and white pictures of werewolves, gargoyles and gryphons taken by my aunt as well as my coven's symbol painted in a rich, shimmery gold. The symbol for our coven is the True Lover's knot. I know. I know. The total irony, right?

  Mwah, mwah, mwah.

  I cackle in the face of thee as well.

  The wing chairs in both offices are upholstered in red silk, embellished with various black spell symbols for truth, love and money. The spells tend to work better on the humans, but I'll do whatever it takes to find the perfect match for someone. Regardless of their background. Or their sometimes less than flattering view of myself.

  Those truth spells work really well.

  Behind my desk in the HC office are two paintings of Greek and Norse mythology. Well, humans call it mythology. The HC call them history. And a couple of clients called two of the figures in the paintings Aunty and Uncle.

  We walked into my HC office. Despite the overwhelming amount of snubs I receive from the HC, I still associate myself more with them.

  I don't have any human friends, unless you count the owner of the Italian restaurant down the street. I have him on my speed dial.

  But our relationship is mostly limited to to-go orders. And head rubs for Al. Come to think of it, the owner spends more of his time petting Al than talking to me when we pick up our dinners.

  I did have a friend once who was human. Except he died and then turned into a zombie and then he really did die. And didn't come back.

  So I guess you could say all of my friends belong to the HC community. All six of them.

  I sat down behind my desk. It was my mother's. It's scarred and scratched and I love it. It's one of the few things I have of hers. My mom died seven years ago. They say time heals all wounds. I don't know who the hell "they" are, but I can tell you they got it wrong. I have a hole in my heart that just won't heal. It's jagged around the edges and empty inside. And whenever I think about my mom, it aches.

  How emptiness can ache I don't know, but it does. The sweetest, loving-est, most painful ache you can ever imagine. It's a part of me now. It always will be.

  "I'm going to check out the rest of the office," Al said as he headed out. He's a stickler for my safety. Recently Désirée Norma-Sue's psychotic ex-fiancé managed to break into my business despite both the industrial door locks and my protection spells.

  He used black magic. I hate black magic. It's just plain bad. So I appreciated Al's thoroughness. And his strong sense of smell.

  The phone rang.

  "Hey, Chicky." It was Morgan. She's at the top of my six HC friends list.

  She's my best friend. Dead, un-dead or otherwise.

  She's my UDBF. Un-Dead Best Friend.

  Morgan is a vampire. Technically she's my UDBFF, but Morgan is immortal and I'm mortal so to be truly technical we can't be BFFs.

  Morgan is also Morgana Le Fay, previous witch and seductress of ancient lore, current vampire, amazing friend and also my aunt. She's my great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great–Okay, let's just assume there were thirty plus or minus greats here–aunt. Morgan also informed me she'd kick my ass if I called her my great, great, great, great, great–you get the picture– aunt ever again.

  I haven't. And frankly that had more to do with trying to say all those greats than Morgan's threat. She's my UDBF. She'd never kick my ass.

  "Hey, Morgan." I glanced at my wall clock. "Everything all right?"

  It was just after eleven in the morning. Morgan's not a day vampire. But then again, how many of them truly are? Plus, she hates UVBGone. She only uses it on special occasions.

  "Fine. Just wondering what your plans are for Friday night?"

  I clenched my teeth and told myself to be strong.

  "No, Morgan. I'm not going to do it."

  "You don't even know what it is."

  "If it has anything to do with Karaoke and beer, I'm out."

  I used to think I had certain standards and that I would maintain those standards even under the influence of several bottles of beer. I was wrong.

  "You'll love this bar. I promise."

  I was now paying for my mistake. To the tune of one video that now had over a million hits. I didn't even know I knew all the words to "We Are Family." Although some words were not as clear as others. After all, both Morgan and I had consumed a lot of beer that night.

  "No."

  "Please. They don't allow anyone to record the karaoke at this bar."

  "NO."

  "You know, you used to be more adventuresome."

  "Yes, well, all of the comments about you were very flattering." Morgan's a size two with gorgeous red curls, perfect ivory skin and vivid green eyes. She's got Sigourney Weaver and everyone else beat hands down.

  I'm a chubby, cursed, half-bred witch with dirty brown curls that have a mind all of their own. Like Medusa's snakes. But my curls are simply curls and they refuse to respond to hair products or my magic. They can't even turn anyone to stone.

  We might be best friends, but put us together on a stage, side by side, singing at the top of our lungs and I'm the one who's going to suffer by comparison.

  People–both human and non–can be very hurtful with their comments.

  I'd even added a booty shake at the end.

  Apparently, my booty in motion looks like jello in a bowl being driven over the roughest road imaginable. One extremely rude commenter claimed there were lumps in my jello.

  Ash has assured me he likes my jello, lumps and all.

  I've been going with Ash's opinion and I've locked myself out of the video feed.

  Morgan also found out the rude commenter's address and we threw tomatoes at his house and let the air out of his ugly pickup one night.

  Like I said, she's my UDBF.

  With an unfortunate addiction to Karaoke.

  "You have to ignore the haters, Kate. You can't let them get to you."

  I believe in love. Not hate. I've also been ostracized my entire life because of who and what I am. I've built up my walls and I can pretend that rude and mean comments don't bother me. But they do.

  "Morgan, I love you. I truly do. I'd do anything for you, except karaoke." Morgan sighed heavily on the other end of the phone. "Why don't you ask Drake to go with you?"

  Drake is Morgan's vampire significant other. They were lovers way back when. And I do mean way back–the early 500s. They sort of lost touch over the centuries and reconnected just recently. Isn't love grand?

  "Drake doesn't like karaoke."

  "What about Désirée Norma-Sue?" My secretary is about a size two as well. Tiny with elfin curves and an outrageous sense of style. Morgan and Désirée would look great together on stage.

  "She and Phil are madly in love and inseparable these days."

  I knew that. They were crazy about each other. They also both loved Karaoke. "And?"

  "Phil almost caused a riot when we went out last weekend. They had to call the police. He's been banned from all the bars in the area."

  Phil sounds like Barry White. His version of "Can't Get Enough of Your Love" has eight times as many hits as my video with Morgan. Phil is also a gargoyle and rather rotund. No one has made any comments about his jello.

  Most of the comments regarding his video have to do with Al. He sang back up. I'm surrounded by karaoke fans. Luckily most people think we photo shopped the video to make Al look like he's singing.

  And then Morgan started up a Twitter account for Al after the video went viral. He has over a million followers. And they all love him. Not a single hater in the group.

  My Chihuahua gets more love than I do.

  I'm not kidding. Honestly, on your worst day ever, just think of me.

  And yet, I really do feel as if I'm rockin' it these days. Maybe I'm delusional. But then again, maybe I do rock it. Jello lumps and all.

  I cackle in the face of thee haters as well.

  Mwah, mwah, mwah.

  "A riot? And now he's banned?" I asked.

  It's not that I thought my UDBF was lying. We live in a small town, surrounded by other small towns. I didn't think we had enough people between the three towns combined to actually create a riot.

  "Well, the fire chief showed up and Phil's fan club included one plus one too many."

  "We have fire codes?" I knew we had them of course. I'm a cursed witch. Not a stupid one. And rules are rules after all. I just didn't think anyone in our town of Dominion would enforce them. I thought the proprietors would be more excited about the business than the fire codes.

  "Yep. Chapter four, section eight of the something something or other." Morgan huffed. "I didn't stick around to listen. They unplugged the karaoke machine."

  I was surprised Morgan hadn't attacked. A good pair of fangs beats a water hose any day.

  "The fire chief was posing with Phil when I left."

  I stifled a sigh. Really, what was it about karaoke? I just didn't see the appeal.

  "And now Phil is banned?" I had to repeat the question. It didn't make sense.

  Morgan made a sort of growling sound. "Yep. The sheriff waited until after the fire chief got his autograph to tell Phil he was banned. And then he wrote him a ticket."

  What? Morgan had to be making this up.

  "He wrote him a ticket for what exactly?"

  "Phil was charged with disturbing the peace. His fans got tickets for aiding and abetting."

  I was tempted to laugh.

  Now it made a weird sort of sense. There had been an article in the newspaper about a feud between the mayor and the sheriff and either a need for an increase in tickets–and the resulting revenue–or a decrease in tickets–along with a friendly social media campaign–depending upon whose side you were on. I couldn't remember the details, but it looked like Phil and his groupies had just become a point made.

  "I'm not kidding, Kate." Morgan scolded me. "This is serious."

  It was. I couldn't argue with her there. A friend in trouble with the law was serious business. But karaoke tickets still made me laugh.

  Morgan lowered her voice to her super confidential tone. "I can't find anyone to go sing karaoke with me on Friday night at all."

  I sighed. Heavily. "I'll think about it. I'm not promising anything, but I will think about it."

  Maybe I could cast a spell to ensure the "no videotaping" policy actually worked.

  UDBFs. The things we will consider doing for them.

  3. A Nymph Walked In.

  I was still trying to decipher the appeal of karaoke when the bell rang over the front door.

  Désirée hadn't made it in yet, so I got up and hurried out of my HC office and into the waiting room. I reached it at the same time Al did.

  We both stopped dead in our tracks.

  She was breathtakingly gorgeous. Literally. I forgot to breathe for a moment as I stared at her.

  She stood maybe five feet tall. And tiny. I'm an average height witch, but I felt like Bigfoot's cousin next to her. It wasn't just her height–or lack thereof–or her size zero waist. I'm used to being the heavy witch around both Désirée and Morgan.

  But there was something else about her. An air of almost fragility. Which seemed somewhat odd. She didn't appear sickly or in ill health. In fact, she sort of radiated vibrancy and sexiness. And she wasn't injured. She strode forward on two small but perfectly healthy legs. I couldn't even see a bruise anywhere on her body at all.

  Yet, at the same time, there was something about her that made me want to put my arm around her and protect her. From everything. Ex-boyfriends. Scam artists. Rain.

  When my aunt had first given Al to me as a puppy, all my protective instincts had rushed to the front. He'd weighed less than a pound. An itty-bitty ball of fur. I'd carried him around for the first few months until the hitman had appeared and demanded I put him down.

  I felt like that now. I wanted to pick her up and tuck her into my pocket and keep her cuddled and safe. And warm.

  Definitely warm. It might be almost hot outside, but her dress was more suited to the tropics than Idaho in the fall.

  Made of turquoise chiffon with spaghetti straps and a handkerchief hemline, it fluttered and twirled and swayed around her as she walked, which made it appear as if she floated in the air rather than walked on the ground.

  And there wasn't a lot of material to flutter and twirl, so I was extra impressed that what little there was could create such an impact.

  "Heya, Doll."

  I snatched Al up, shocked and horrified and wondering what I could possibly do to pretend his deep, husky voice had come from my mouth, when I realized he was right.

  I'd been so taken with her appearance of lightness and grace and sex that it hadn't sunk in yet it wasn't an effect.

  She was a nymph.

  From her silky white blonde curls and violet eyes, right down to her dainty little ankles.

  I'd bet my wand on it.

  And since when did Al call a stranger Doll? That was my name.

  "Why hello." The blonde nymph tilted her head as she smiled at Al. The motion caused her soft curls to cascade over her shoulder.

  "How ya doin'?"

  I almost dropped Al. I'd never heard him seriously flirt with anyone but me before. A casual compliment here or there, sure. Al was a total ladies’ man. He loved women. Young, old, human, non. It didn't matter. He could be shameless at times. It was part of his charm.

  But he was never serious. It was more reflex for him.

  There was nothing casual or offhand about his tone of voice now.

  Al was utterly smitten.

  I was kind of irked.

  I had my own demon lord and it would never work between Al and myself anyways, but I'd never had to share his attention or his affection.

  Except with Bigfoot. But I still think that was deliberate. Al wanted to make me jealous.

  I wasn't sure he even knew I was in the same room, much less holding him at the moment, he was so totally focused on the nymph.

  "Hi. I'm Kate Storm." I casually shifted Al to my other side as I held out my hand. "I own Love Required. What can I do for you?"

  She smiled, ignored my hand and reached out to Al instead. "You are gorgeous."

  I felt Al's deep inhale. "I gotta say, you ain't so bad yourself, Doll."

  I wanted to put my hand over his bulging brown eyes. 1) The nymph had just inhaled herself. Her waist might be tiny, but her breasts were not. And the deep inhale threatened to push them right out of her dress. 2) I was starting to move beyond irked and into irritated. With a definite smattering of jealousy. I didn't like him calling her Doll and I didn't like him looking at her.

  "Oh. My. God." The nymph placed her hand over her heaving breasts. "You're Bad Ass Al, aren't you?"

 

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