Tiny Glitches: A Magical Contemporary Romance (10 page)

“They are, but this whole thing is a mess, and the sooner we can get it straightened out, the better. God, the back of that Suburban . . . I don’t think we’re ever going to get it clean.”

“It will all look better in the morning,” Sofie said. “There’s no sense in you rushing home tonight when I’ve got a perfectly good spare bedroom. And Eva can stay in the guesthouse, like always.” She raised a hand to cut Hudson off when he started to protest. “Plus, tomorrow you can have a professional detailer tackle that mess.”

Hudson looked at me, raising his eyebrows in silent question.

“I’m more than happy to spend the night and start fresh tomorrow. But I have a change of clothes here and you don’t,” I said, giving him an out.

He glanced at his wristwatch—thankfully mechanical, not digital—then at me. Finally, he shrugged. “Starting tomorrow does sound better. Today has been a massive string of bad luck. I’m afraid if I get into another car—Kyoko present or not—the damn thing will break down, too.” The cherub disappeared. Twin bananas hung from his shoulders, each dripping rotten slices down his chest. I tried not to stare.

“Your day wasn’t all bad, was it?” Sofie asked.

I did a mental eye roll. I didn’t need to look to know her finger puppets were back. “The day did begin with your artwork being stolen,” I said, hoping to distract her and bypass any awkwardness.

“Exactly! Isn’t that fabulous?”

“No, it’s not. Art you made—pieces you spent time and money on and were planning to sell—was taken by an imbecile. Where’s the good in that?”

“I told you, Eva. Artists wait a lifetime to become famous enough to be forged or stolen and sold in some seedy black-market transaction. In my twenty-five-year career, this is
the
best
thing that has ever happened to me.” Sofie got up and grabbed several pieces of paper from the edge of the kitchen island. “This is a list of people who called today to interview me for local papers and magazines,” she said, handing me a paper with five names on it. “This is a list of the national presses picking up the story.” Three more names. “Two art blogs and an auction house blog have requested interviews, too. And”—she paused before presenting the final paper with a flourish—“this is the list of sales I made online today.” Twelve names and addresses filled the paper.

I fanned the pages. “Really? Just today?” A good month’s online sales meant two prints or maybe an original. Most of Sofie’s work was commission-based, with sales at gallery shows augmenting her income.

“Just today. And the hits on my site are . . . Well, I won’t bore you with the details, but they’ve been fantastic. I also made two appointments for commissioned work, and one is an office that wants at least five pieces.”

Grinning, Sofie plopped back into her seat. She raised her half-full glass to us. “A toast: To whoever stole my paintings, may they be as blessed as I am.” We clinked glasses and I sipped my margarita.

People amazed me. My aunt oozed talent. Her artwork had shown around the world, a testament to her talent and her dedication to making a name for herself in the art community. But it took a thief to bring her to the attention of the general public. Some unknown individual had proclaimed they valued S. Sterling’s artwork enough to risk imprisonment to obtain it, and now everyone else jumped on the same bandwagon, afraid to miss out.

Shaking my head, I began to clear the dishes. Hudson immediately rose to help. Together we filled the dishwasher and wiped down the kitchen. We worked together easily, like we’d shared domestic chores all our lives. He didn’t talk, and I was content to say nothing. Even this camaraderie was seductive. Plus, what’s not sexy about a man who pitches in with chores without hesitation? Hudson had the manners of a modern-day gentleman. The damn man was making it difficult to maintain my distance, even with Jenny’s threat looming in the back of my mind.

Sofie swooped in as we finished, shooing us out of the kitchen before Hudson could attempt to start the dishwasher. It wouldn’t have complied, having died over an hour earlier. She pulled frozen cream puffs from the freezer, arranged them on a platter, and drizzled stove-warmed hot fudge over the top. I uncorked a caramel-colored dessert wine and poured three slender glasses for us. Hudson made minimal protests about Sofie going to too much trouble, but she assured him it was no less than she would have done if she’d been home alone. It was the truth, too. My aunt had taught me early on to enjoy the simple pleasures in life.

We settled into cushy chairs in the living room, and Sofie switched on the gas fireplace to disguise the fact that the living room lights were out of commission. I sat with my feet tucked under me and savored a partially thawed cream puff.

“You have a beautiful home,” Hudson said after the silence had settled around us. “It’s very inviting.”

“That’s all Eva.” A large wolf appeared at Sofie’s feet, curled up against the front of the couch, but I eyed the fairy wand resting in her right hand with more trepidation. Black wood with a sculpted white quartz handle and tipped with blunt silver, the wand was one step up from finger puppets. Sofie had decided to influence Hudson based on the divinations she saw.

“She’s positively gifted when it comes to interior design,” my aunt continued. “And I’ve never met a more talented feng shui consultant. If I were left to my own devices, the walls would have art, but everything else would be a mishmash. And I know for a fact that Bernie wouldn’t be in my life.” Sofie pointed to a picture on the mantel of her and Bernie kissing.

Bernie was Sofie’s boyfriend of eight months. They’d met after we’d removed the enormous watercolor of a lonely woman from Sofie’s romance and relationship bagua and replaced it with a painting of two intertwined trees. I’d done a few enhancements in the relationship sections of each room—a matched pair of swan salt and pepper shakers for the kitchen, a candle with two wicks for the front room, a full-leafed plant in her studio—and Sofie had purchased new bedsheets with the intention of sharing them with someone special. A month later, Sofie met Bernie through a mutual friend, and they’d been dating happily since.

“So you think that because the things in your house were placed a certain way, it brought you romance?” Hudson asked. The bananas were back, rotten cores and all.

“Oh, definitely, though that’s rather simplistic. You explain, Eva.”

It had been at Sofie’s urging that I’d tried my hand at feng shui as a teenager. We’d already discovered I had more decorating skills than Sofie, and I liked doing it a great deal more. Plus, Sofie’s suggestion had been motivated as much by love as desperation. As graduation loomed ever closer, I’d grown increasingly despondent. While my friends raced toward futures of endless opportunity, I trudged toward adulthood, dread hobbling every step. Living and working in the “real world” meant battering myself against a culture in which my biological curse fated me to fail time after time. Traditional schooling had already set up the pattern, and the life beyond my seventeen-year-old tunnel vision had looked downright depressing.

“You only get one life, baby girl,” Sofie had told me, rubbing my back while I sobbed my despair into a pillow. “If you don’t make sure you’re having fun while you live it, no one else will.” She had placed a book on feng shui in my hands. “You’re happiest when you’re puttering around here. Start there.”

It had been the best advice of my life. After reading the slim volume, I knew I’d found my calling. The ancient art form of feng shui originated before electricity and was largely based around energy movement and intention. Even better, unlike my gift, the invisible powers of feng shui could be channeled into a fulfilling career.

Nine years later, I had absorbed everything I could about feng shui, and I was still in love with it. I could talk feng shui for hours, but only to people who were interested.

“Hudson doesn’t believe in feng shui, Sofie. It’s okay.”

“No, I’d like you to explain it,” Hudson said.

I took a sip of wine to give myself a moment to collect my thoughts. Hudson was an electronics guy, which meant he was a science guy. I tried to put it in terms he would understand. “Everything you see is one of two things,” I said, “energy or matter. Right?” Hudson nodded. “You interact with the objects, or matter, in your house daily, and these interactions can positively or negatively affect your energy. If your house isn’t supporting you, you might feel depressed or apathetic instead of joyful or energized. Whether you intend to or not, you’re going to carry this energy with you wherever you go. To follow the analogy, you’re far less likely to find the love of your life if you’re moping about. But if you change your energy by changing the objects in your home, then you can change the way you interact with the world and the way the world interacts with you.”

“So, what, by putting a plant on my doorstep, I’ll suddenly find the love of my life because it changed my energy?” Hudson asked.

“No. Not exactly. Just like there are rules to the way the world works—the laws of physics and all that—there are some guiding rules to feng shui. The plant would probably help your career more than anything.” I had pamphlets to help my clients understand the guiding principles of feng shui, but I didn’t think Hudson wanted to read the literature. “I think the best way to understand it is this: Feng shui has strong roots in common sense. You’d be surprised how often people forget it when decorating. They don’t have enough light in a room; they crowd furniture or plants near the door; they clutter their garages with so much junk they can’t fit their vehicle. All these little and big annoyances add up. They block your chi, which—”

“Don’t get too technical, Eva,” Sofie interrupted. She turned to Hudson. “Eva does magic, my dear. She’s trying to dress it down with science and mundane terminology, but it comes down to magic. She can enter a space and tell you what you need to change to make it feel better. She can walk through a person’s house and know things about them their shrinks don’t, just from their environment.”

“You’re making it sound too wishy-washy,” I said, knowing she’d cost me whatever credence I’d gained with Hudson.

“I guess I’ll have to take this house as proof that whatever you do with feng shui, it works,” Hudson said diplomatically.

“You could always hire Eva to feng shui your home.”

“I don’t know about that. I rather like my bachelor pad. And my life.”

* * *

I left the light on when I went to bed. The lamp would last at least an hour in my relaxed state, but I knew I wouldn’t have to wait that long. I had barely cracked open
I’m a Stranger Here Myself
when I heard the side door open. The door led directly to the bathroom along a tiled hallway, ideal for wet swimmers. I listened for the click of Dali’s toenails, but it was only Sofie who peeked into the studio-style bedroom.

“Where’s Dali?” I asked.

“Bunking down with his new best friend. They’re curled together on his blanket, neither of them really fitting. I wanted to take a picture, but since we’re not supposed to have Kyoko . . .”

I sat up and propped a pillow behind me. Sofie settled on top of the covers beside me and did the same. She had changed into lightweight flannel pants and a short-sleeve baggy shirt sporting a
Starry Night
print. Her feet were bare, and her toenails were adorned with lavender polish.

“Jenny knows about the curse?”

“She figured it out. She threatened to tell people—newspapers, scientists—if I didn’t help her.” My voice quavered. Saying it aloud made it sound even worse.

Sofie took my hand and squeezed it. “Does she really want Kyoko back?”

“Yes. Definitely. She seemed scared, but not scared about having Kyoko. I think something else had her spooked.”

“Good.”

“I don’t know how we’re going to find her,” I said. “Hudson may have coworkers who can look, but . . . but what if they fail? What am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing. She found you once; she’ll find you again. If you can’t find her, patience will sort this all out.”

“What’s to stop her from telling people even if I do everything she asks?”

“Nothing.” Sofie smiled. “But she’s known for ten years, and she hasn’t said anything, so I don’t think she’s going to go blabbing now. You did the right thing. It’s not going to hurt anyone for us to watch Kyoko for a few days.”

“And if we learn something awful about her and can’t give Kyoko back, what then?”

“Then we face whatever happens. Between your mom, your nana, and me, we won’t let anything happen to you.”

But if Jenny convinced someone, anyone, to examine my curse seriously, I wouldn’t be the only one under scrutiny. They’d want to know where I got this ability, and how. They’d check my family first. The thought of reporters or scientists nosing around Sofie or Nana Nevie made my head hurt. Around my mother—the thought sent a chill down my spine. If I ruined her career, I didn’t think it’d matter if scientists commandeered my life; she would make it a living hell first.

“All the what-ifs in the world are not going to change a thing, so I suggest you spend your energy more wisely. Speaking of which, I got Hudson all tucked in.”

I laughed even as I spied the finger puppets. I considered picking my book back up, but my curiosity about what she’d seen on Hudson stayed my hand.

“Spit it out. What did you see?”