The Tracker's Mate: Sunderverse (Mate Tracker Book 1), Ingrid Seymour [red white royal blue TXT] 📗

To our left followed a dog groomer, an ice cream parlor, and the dry cleaners that took half my paycheck. Across the street, there was a coffee shop and a pizzeria I loved.

Our first floor was a long rectangular room, which we had divided into three sections: the reception with Rosalina’s desk and a small sitting area, my office for private customer meetings, and a compact alcove for potion-making.

One wall sported exposed brick, and the other displayed cool black-and-white photographs from local artists, all depicting couples doing romantic things like kissing, walking down the beach, getting married. You know... stuff to get people in a “mating” mood.

But la pièce de résistance hung straight ahead, an illustration of a modern cupid, a badass chick with pink hair and a crossbow, flying over clouds while aiming for the kill. I had commissioned it, and if the image showed a resemblance to me, it was merely coincidental.

Upstairs, a loft area served as my home. Nothing but a bed and a small bathroom, but much better than the homeless shelters I used to haunt.

The bell over the front door chimed. I swiveled the chair to find Rosalina holding our customary cups of coffee.

“Good morning, moonshine.” She set my cup on the desk and blinked down at me, purple circles under her eyes. “I couldn’t sleep one drop. I’ll need about six of these today.” She saluted me with her Venti cup.

“Same here.” I saluted back and took a sip.

“What a clusterfuck, huh?”

“You read my thoughts!”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it, though. I need to cleanse my mind, get rid of all that bad juju. Can I help you find something?” She raised an eyebrow, glancing over my shoulder at the drawer I’d been abusing.

“Yeah,” I said apologetically. “I was trying to find Celina Morelli’s file.” In the chaos that ensued after “the reveal,” we never got a chance to meet her last night.

“I moved the new clients to the other cabinet, remember?”

Rosalina set her coffee and purse down and removed her long coat. Underneath, she wore a black pencil skirt and crisp white shirt with a wide collar. She looked like a bank executive or lawyer, which was an excellent front for the kind of clients we needed to attract. She had applied her makeup to perfection. She loved watching YouTube videos on the subject, and it paid off. Though she looked just as gorgeous without makeup. Men always hit on her wherever she went, and she had no shortage of dates. I’d offered to find her a mate more than once, but she always refused, saying she wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. Whereas I wanted nothing more than to find a mate so I could feel something again, so I could convince myself that Jake had been a mistake instead of the one who got away.

I tapped a fist against my hard head. “I remember now. Sorry, it’s been a hell of a week and last night laid the cherry on top.”

“No worries, girl. I got ya.” She sashayed toward the tall wooden cabinet and procured the file in ten seconds flat. Damn, she was efficient.

“She’ll be here at 9:30,” I said. “She called earlier to reschedule.”

“I’ll update the agenda.” She batted her falsies at me, subtly asking me to vacate her space.

I stood and picked up my yummy Venti. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Mm-hmm.”

I was about to enter my office when Rosalina snapped her fingers.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. The space next door,” she tipped her head towards the right wall, “someone rented it.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

The place had been vacant for the last six months. When the last tenant left—a grouchy lawyer who gave us the evil eye every time he saw us—we jumped for joy. But then, we started worrying the new tenant might be worse. What if the new renter didn’t approve of what we did and accused us of witchcraft? Not that witchcraft was illegal if you weren’t hurting anyone. But things were going too well for any kind of monkey wrench to land in the agency’s machinery.

“Well, spill! Who is it?” I demanded.

“I’ve no idea. Joey told me, but he had no details.”

I rolled my eyes. “Great. For someone who works in a coffee shop, he certainly needs to improve his gossiping skills.” Joey worked at Cup o’ Java across the street.

“I told him the same thing,” Rosalina quipped.

“Let’s hope they’re nice.” I shrugged. “I’ll check on the potion ingredients to make sure I have everything for Morelli. Let me know when she gets in.”

“Roger that.”

I walked into my office, reviewing the file. Celina Morelli was thirty-three years old, the daughter of a wealthy financier. She was a Stale—a regular human with no supernatural skills—as opposed to a Skew, which was what they called anyone else. She had been engaged twice but hadn’t tied the knot on either occasion, which could only mean those men hadn’t been her true mates.

A close friend sent her after we found the love of his life. Despite the reference, Celina was full of skepticism, but when I was done with her, she would be a believer. It was hard to argue with results.

I heaved a sigh. If only I could use my powers on myself.

I walked across my ten-by-ten office. My desk stood in the far corner, a large print of a cuddly puppy hanging above it. His eyes were soulful and put my customers in the right soft-hearted, love-sick mood. At the back of the room, I opened the narrow door to the potions alcove and entered.

A sturdy work table, its surface smooth from years of use, sat against the wall. An equally ancient cupboard stood to the right. It had open shelves at the top and rows of tiny drawers at the bottom. The table and cupboard had belonged to my mother, and before that to my Nonna. I had inherited more than my skills from them.

I checked the shelves. Pixie dust, seven-continent cloudmist, windblown