The problem was, the couples involved. Their magics were evolving and changing almost too fast for Alma to keep up. And they insisted upon having minds of their own, stubborn cusses.
Making her job twice as hard of late was this ridiculous plot by a yet unidentified number of idiot deities and their power hungry off-spring to take over the Earthly Plane and rule it.
With the deities dabbling in so many destinies, Alma exploited opportunities where she could, but sometimes trying to wrest control away from whatever path some asshole God was trying to bring to fruition was bordering on the almost impossible.
More and more of late her matchmaking interference was proving riskier and riskier. Where once she was pulling on the strings to produce little interaction moments to lay a solid foundation for a future love. Now every interaction was high stakes, with both extremely dangerous mental and physical risks involved.
The consequences if she wasn’t at the top of her game, always keeping her eye on the paths, it was starting to take a toll. Long days. Sleepless nights. But what choice did she have, with deities in the mix actively working against her? Love’s path had never been more fraught or trickier. Too many close calls where disaster or death could have resulted. And too many innocents getting caught up in the crossfire.
Alma wasn’t immune to guilt, it was far from one of her favourite emotions, but she experienced it upon occasion. And it was completely justified right now. She’d allowed Riordan’s crush on Nico to go on far too long. But it had seemed harmless, and once the girl saw Nico and Gigi together, how right they were, the crush should have snuffed out of existence. Except that twisted bitch Hathor had sensed an opportunity and dug her nails in.
Now Riordan had a much harder path in front of her than was necessary. Rumours and suspicion would always surround her. There would always be lingering doubts regarding where her loyalties lay. Riordan would have to work twice as hard as the other Enforcer apprentices to prove herself.
And then there was Flynn. A semi-immortal Warrior. A beloved of his Goddess. Alma had already had Maat in here tearing strips off her. Neither of their magic giving a hint of where he might be. Although thankfully they were both in agreement that he was alive. Whether he would stay that way, only time would tell.
Alma closed her eyes, sinking into her magic. Trying to determine for the hundredth time whether extending an invitation to move here to the three Handmaidens of Fate was a good idea. Annoyingly, anything related to the sisters was hazy and out of focus. Just the occasional little twinkling blip, representing possible milestones in their futures. Whether the sisters would prove useful in routing out the leaders of the deity Cabal and help quash the whole silly plot remained to be seen. Alma unable to eradicate the small niggling fear that their mere existence in the Sanctuary would only bring even more enemies to their doorstep.
Absently she created a file for each of the sisters. Hmmm, and their cousin. Those hazy little twinkling blips meant matchmaking would be required at some future date, and Alma did like to be ready.
Smothering a yawn, Alma sent an emoji picture of a car to Darcy, letting her Great-Niece know she was ready to be driven home. If her reluctant matchmaking apprentice kept blowing up Alma’s cars, the least she could do was act as her personal driver until her replacement vehicle arrived.
It amused Alma greatly, for someone who loathed the machinations of matchmaking as much as Darcy claimed, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from pulling on the strings of those around her and creating matches. Hmmm, though this was the second time she’d used the ‘your man might be ill/dying’ scenario to force a confrontation. Of course pointing that out to Darcy would only fire up her petulance and rebellion. No, thebest way to up Darcy’s game was to congratulate her, but subtly hint that only with time and maturity would Darcy’s skillset ever be anywhere close to Alma’s own complicated and virtuoso match ups.
That should goose Darcy’s competitive nature. Making a mental note to ring her car insurance company first thing tomorrow and have her new car covered from the moment its wheels touched down on Australian soil. Better to be safe than sorry.
Alma’s phone beeped. Heavens, she only read the first sentence before hurriedly deleting Darcy’s reply and the accompanying photos. That was way too much gory information, and separated body parts for this late in the evening.
Getting to her feet Alma gathered a few files to take home. A little light reading might help her doze off in that big lonely bed of hers. Grabbing her bag. Checking her hair, running a quick comb through it, flicking up the ends. Smoothing down her creamy silk wrap dress, that fell to her knees. For some reason her gaze locking onto her wedding band. It had been twenty five years since Mason passed on suddenly, without any warning. She missed him, every day, but time had worn off the sharp edges of her grief.
Returning to the Southern Sanctuary, taking up the mantle of matchmaker again, had been a smart move. Keeping busy, focusing upon others, getting to know the family again, it had provided Alma with a distraction from her grief, and what do you know, those invisible raw wounds that had ripped through her at losing Mason had some time over the past three years completely mended themselves.
She would always grieve for Mason and what they had. But she had a wonderful, incredibly busy and fulfilling life now.
Gathering her things, Alma left her office, walking down the corridor, texting Hamilton, wondering if he was available todrive her home. No answer. And all the offices and the reception desk were deserted as she passed by. Perhaps she could pop upstairs and see if there was anyone doing late research at the Library who might be willing to volunteer their services. These shoes, though they made her legs look fantastic, were not made for walking.
Closing the High Council office door Alma halted abruptly, her path blocked by an exceedingly broad chest, clad in a dark grey uniform. “Thom.” Alma’s heart slowing gradually as the surprise at his sudden appearance wore off.
She sidestepped, and the annoying obstacle sidestepped also, continuing to block her way. And why was he smiling like that? The man was way too cheerful for an ex-Enforcer, currently employed as the Head of Security here at the High Council Building. A position he took up thirteen years ago following a nasty gorgon bite that left him with territorial tendencies he couldn’t seem to shake. Not that he couldn’t leave the building. Rumours often reached Alma’s ears of him dancing the night away at a family party. And he’d already been kind enough to drive her home once previously when her car refused to start for some mysterious reason.
“I hear you need a ride.” Jingling his keys. Dark grey eyes sparkling with friendly amusement.
“I don’t want to be a bother. I’m sure there’s someone in the Library imminently about to head home I can catch a lift with.”
“Alma, it’s almost one in the morning. Everyone’s either gone or they’re in the zone and here pulling an all-nighter. Come on. My car’s in the rear parking lot.” He turned and led the way. For such a wide muscular man he moved surprisingly lightly on his feet. Trailing along behind him, she frantically tried to understand why he made her feel a little unsettled. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but there was something arresting about his square jaw, long straight nose and that easy broad smile of his.He looked like a man who would spend a lot of time outdoors. For some reason she could picture him chopping wood, like one of those exceedingly fit mountain men, who owned a log cabin and wore nothing but flannel shirts and old, worn, tight jeans.
Stepping outside Alma was beyond grateful for the cool Autumnal night air, it was exactly the wake up call she needed. She had no business picturing Thom, or any man for that matter, in tight jeans and chopping wood. Too many late nights working and missing too many meals, that’s what her problem was. There was no other explanation. Why, Thom was a good fifty years younger than her own one hundred and thirteen years young. She might look like an elegant and very well maintained sixty year old woman, but there was a lifetime of experience separating them.
Still, for some reason she felt the need to be ultra careful as she slid into the passenger seat, Thom having opened the door for her. It was vitally important for some reason that she not touch him, all her instincts flaring in warning. And Alma always listened to her instincts.
“Sorry.” He smiled again, settling into the driver’s seat, hurriedly turning down the volume of the radio as French jazz music filled the car the moment he started the engine. “I usually keep it loud to block out the sound of my own humming.”
Alma laughed, amused. “I can’t hold a tune either.”
“That’s a relief.” They exited the carpark, Thom driving them around the empty square, glancing at Alma briefly.
“Oh?”
“To discover there’s something theVelvet Tankis not good at. That’s valuable rumour currency to have at my disposal.”
