Chapter 1
Sage
The meteorologist looked intothe camera and scratched the back of his head. His normally chipper tone was thick with confusion. “Well folks, what can I say? Mother Nature can be unpredictable, and the storm we experienced earlier today came out of nowhere.” He coughed and cleared his throat, then scraped a hand over his paisley tie. “It’s been a wild November so far with record snow totals.”
I winced as a chart of historical data filled the screen and waved away the approaching waiter so I could keep watching the news on my phone. The man veered to the next table with his giant tray of shrimp, making my stomach growl in protest. Unfortunately, the shrimp had to wait.
This was bad.Real bad.Graphs didn’t lie. But the unusual forecast wasn’t proof the accumulating snow was my fault. There were plenty of reasons for the sudden storm and none of them had to do with my family’s magic. Though I had to admit, if you paired our history with past weather trends, that graph would be awful telling.
The most recent event can be traced back to my cousin Tif. She claimed responsibility for a seasonal drought following her cursed journey through the wonders of online dating. Her experience gave new meaning to the term dry spell.
There have been other occurrences with various relatives—a hail storm here, and a windstorm there. However, it all started with a torrential rainstorm after my great-grandmother was accused of using witchcraft during the highly competitive flower show at her hometown’s spring festival.
She literally rained on their parade.
Not intentionally, of course. The weather manifested itself based on her emotions. Which was why I suspected the surprise snowstorm blanketing the city was a coincidence.
Because I wasfine.
No, not just fine,fantastic.
After years of hustling, I was one of the top agents at my office, dedicated to granting holiday miracles and seasonal wonders. Think festive matchmaking and the oddly frequent need to save Christmas—an epidemic, if you asked me—but it made for good job security.
So far, I’d saved historical landmarks from evil conglomerates, planned my share of holiday festivals, and even saved a reindeer.No, it wasn’t one of Santa’s, but the ones in the zoo are waiting for their shot.
Thanks to my high completion rate and the secret intel I’d gathered from the office rumor mill, tonight, I would become the youngest agent to receive corporate’s most coveted award: Agent of the Year.
Assuming no one questioned my last case. And possibly the one before that. The reviews were still out on those.
But again, I wasfine.
I mean fantastic.
“Here’s your drink!” My best friend Delia singsonged as she shimmied over to our table carrying a stemmed glass filled with red wine and a frosty cocktail.
I closed the weather forecast on my phone and forced a smile before I collected my glass of wine. Soft music and the hum of conversation flowed around us in the whimsically decorated lounge. The party planning committee had outdone themselves this year.
Twinkling lights were strung throughout the room, giving off a magical glow, while colorful faux leaves hung from invisible wire as if falling from above. In the corner, a fountain spilled sticky caramel alongside a tray of apple spears, and next to it, a massive charcuterie board had been ravaged.
Somewhere, the shrimp cocktail guy still roamed.
Tonight’s party was the kickoff to the agency’s busy season. Even though our main headquarters was based in the city, many of us were spread out, working remotely, or constantly on travel. This was a chance to gather, be rewarded for our hard work, and allow us to let off some steam before we delved into our latest cases.
No—I would not be hitting the dance floor. I was still living with the vivid memory of my first kickoff party. A fever dream of too many shots and a cringeworthy attempt at the Macarenathat led to a wardrobe malfunction thanks to an overzealous hip shake.
The video evidence I’d had erased. Memories, those lasted forever.
Delia leaned her elbows against our high-top table and sipped her cocktail through a tiny straw. She eyed my phone before I tucked it out of view.
“Are you watching the weather again? At a party? I hate to break it to you, but the guy from the news is going to get fired unless you figure out how to stop the snow. It’s the third storm this week.” Delia smirked. “Have you tried unclenching?”
“I don’t need to unclench,” I said through ironically clenched teeth. Relaxing my jaw, I plucked a bacon-wrapped scallop from my appetizer plate and chewed, letting the savory bite distract me from Delia’s unsolicited attempt at humor. My gaze slid to the bank of windows, granting a panoramic view of the city. Flurries from the earlier storm still floated in the air. “Thatis not because of me.”
Delia shrugged. “I’m not convinced. My psychic said your aura felt off when we saw her last week. She said, and I quote, ‘A storm is coming, and you can’t run from it.’ That is seriously cryptic.”
“It’s called a cold reading, Del! It’s a high-probability guess. The “storm” could be anything. I’m never letting you drag me to another fortune teller,” I grumbled.
The last thing I needed was mystical wisdom. The woman had taken one look at me and acted as if my presumptive weather curse might be catchy. I’d been temptedto fake a sneeze on her crystal ball, but I didn’t want to get my best friend banned from future readings.
