A Touch of Fate

By Elizabeth Anne Myrick

When I signed up for Fated—supposedly the best app for online paranormal dating—I had no idea being a Seer would make it so hard to envision a future with my matches.

Like this vampire. His fangs sprout over his bottom lip as he licks away a speck of spaghetti sauce. “My mother always said one ought to wait a quarter hour before resuming activities.”

I roll my eyes. This is the third mention of his long-dead mother. Three mentions too many.

“So, Cassandra.” He folds his napkin.

“It’s Cassie, actually,” I correct him again. Why did I agree to dinner? I remember his profile… 167 years old, taxidermist, loves evening walks and chamomile tea at sunrise. He’s got dreamy blue eyes—probably why I said yes. His name is something very eighteenth-century vampiric, but I draw a blank.

“Have I mentioned my mother’s esteemed black pudding?”

I sigh and brush my fingers through my hair. For a Seer, my dating track record is abysmal. My powers make it worse. A touch reveals a single moment of the future—not much help. When I met this vampire—Vlad! That’s his name!—I shook his hand and Saw him drinking tea in a dark living room.

Not exactly a bright and shining future.

Vlad fiddles with his fork, and dread wriggles into my stomach. I stand, hoping to escape before he confesses undying love or some other horror. “I should—”

“This has been a pleasant evening,” he interrupts. “Perhaps we might dine again on Sunday?”

I sink back into my booth, stabbing the last bite of lasagna with my fork as I search for a polite excuse.

“More water?” The waiter reappears, eyes crinkled.

I glare up at him. Titus, according to his name badge, is getting far too much amusement out of my predicament.

I push my glass to the edge of the table. Droplets mist my wrist as he pours. “Any dessert tonight?”

“No, thank—”

“Raspberry sponge cake, please,” Vlad says, smiling at me. “My mother made excellent sponge cakes. Though, she wouldn’t approve of sharing it with a girl whose ankles are bare.”

I cross my legs and tug my jean skirt a stubborn inch lower, glaring at the waiter. He bites his lip as if to hold back a laugh.

***

“Back for Valentine’s Day, huh?” Titus grins as he hands me a menu. I notice the paper hearts and plastic roses on the table and groan.

“I didn’t realize.” It’s been two weeks since my disastrous date with Vlad. “Are you always here?”

“Nah, I just sync my schedule with yours. So, who’s tonight? The vampire again? Wizard? A ghost, maybe?”

I squint up at him, but he looks like an ordinary human with curly brown hair and a gap between his front teeth. “Werewolf, actually.”

“Nice.” Titus bobs his head and fills my water glass. “My cousins are half-harpy. Silvestra showed me her Fated matches once. That guy you went out with… what was it, two dates ago? The shapeshifter… Evan, I think. Silvestra matched with him before.”

Evan did not ask me a single question about myself, though he’d been more than eager to talk about his adventures as an eagle.

So. Many. Fishing stories.

“Sorry I’m late!” My date slips into the opposite booth. Jonnathan—with a double n, I recall—doesn’t match the chin-shots of a wild beard and checkered shirt he posted on his profile. Instead, his hair is back in a tidy bun. His shoulders fill out his button-up shirt, but I wouldn’t dare call them “hulking.” No… I’d say “well-toned.” Quite nice, actually.

I pretend to browse the menu, though I’ll order my usual lasagna, even if it is heart-shaped for the holiday. Maybe that means something, meeting Jonnathan on Valentine’s Day. Peeking over the edge of the menu, I watch his pale green eyes scan the selections. The skin around his mouth is pinched with smile lines.

“Alfredo for me. No chicken,” he says, passing Titus the menu. He settles in the booth, slinging one arm over the back of his seat. “So, Cassie, right? Your profile says you’re a reader. Any favorite books?”

My heart thumps. After all this time… could finding the right match be this easy?

By the time Titus brings our meals, my mouth is dry from talking. Jonnathan twirls a noodle around his fork. “Try a bite?” he offers.

I reach for the fork, touching my fingers to his wrist to See a snippet of his future. The colors are muted, so it must be at least ten years from now.

Jonnathan is at the front of a church, dressed in a suit. I focus on the vision… on the bride… on the seashells in the girl’s dark hair.

A mermaid. Ugh.

“I just don’t see it working out,” I say dully at the end of the night. I stay in the booth after he leaves, my half-eaten lasagna growing cold.

Titus picks up Jonnathan’s empty plate. “Same time next week?” he jokes.

“I don’t know. It’s getting a little tiresome.” When I pass my plate to him, his thumb brushes against my palm.

My vision sparks—Titus, a few years older, with a toddler hoisted into the air.

A blonde toddler. With my hair.

I gasp, hands slapping the tabletop.

Titus drops the plate with a clatter. “Are you okay?”

“I…” I look up, finding his warm brown eyes, his tousle of dark hair, his freckled face lined with concern. “Yeah. Same time next week. Only… I don’t have a date.”

I let the sentence hang, fingernails digging into my palms. Titus stares—too long.

“I should—” I fumble for my purse, eyes on the ground. I’m halfway to the door before Titus catches me.

He grins, nervously. “There’s this Greek restaurant around the corner… if you want.”

My heart leaps, and I don’t bother to hide my smile. “I love Greek.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elizabeth Anne Myrick was born in Missouri, grew her imagination along the rim of Kenya’s Rift Valley, and spent her early adulthood exploring the beauty of Germany’s Black Forest. An avid fan of fairy tales, iced coffee, and rain on a tin roof, she writes stories of hope sprinkled with magic. She lives in Kansas City with three roommates, two dogs, and one severely overworked vacuum cleaner.

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