Chapter One

Over the course of his career, Samson Phillips had fought dragons, battled evil wizards and led a team of Orcs in an epic war against the Troll King. He was considered the master of magic by many, had a bone deep respect for the craft and all it encompassed.

But as he strode up the sidewalk to the cleverly displayed windows banking the doors of Karma Café, he realized that this was the first time in his life that he’d gone to a trio of witches seeking help in awakening a princess.

Of course, his battles had all been in the books he wrote. This one was real life. He was looking forward to seeing how it played out.

He breathed deep the soft air as the fog rolled in off the San Francisco Bay and wrapped around him like a welcoming hug. Even though the ocean breeze carried a chill, the morning was still warmer than he was used to in the small town of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, but felt good.

Everything felt good, he decided, gauging the energy around him. Passersby smiled as they made their way down the crowded sidewalk. The sun beamed rays through air moistened by the sea as it shimmered over green hills. And his gut said he was making the right move.

Yeah. That was good energy.

Time to see what he could do with it.

He grasped the brass handle of the heavy oak door and stepped into the café. His senses immediately hit overload at the scent of yeast and sugar, spiced apples and cinnamon over a hint of something savory and mouthwatering.

Most of the dozen or so tables were taken, their curvy chairs holding patrons in everything from business suits to tie dye. Along the far wall was a glass case filled with every sort of baked delight imaginable.

And speaking of delights, there was one right there manning the cash register. Sam strode over with a wide grin, seriously thrilled to see the sloe eyed beauty. With her onyx curls pulled back from that perfect face so they fell like a cloak down her back, Anja Karmanski was a woman of beauty and power.

And a complete sweetheart.

They’d known each other since they were kids, and despite living on opposite coasts, had stayed friends all that time. Friends only, which he’d stopped regretting as soon as he realized in his late teens that for all of Anja’s good traits, she wasn’t the one for him.

That didn’t stop the quick stab of regret when she saw him. Those dark eyes widened with surprise before she sent him a stunning smile.

Someday, some man was going to be very lucky.

“Sam. What are you doing here?” she asked with a husky laugh and a glint in her eyes as she leaned over the counter to grab both of his hands in hers and pull him into a hug. Despite the countertop jabbing him in the gut, Sam held tight for a second. Then, leaning back, he gave her a wink.

“Didn’t your cards warn you that I was coming?”

“Not unless you’re the Ten of Wands,” she said, looking him up and down. “And no man who looks as good as you do could possibly be a struggle I’d want to see end.”

Sam smiled. He wasn’t a vain man, but he knew he wasn’t a troll. He’d gotten plenty of feedback over the years to know that while his gilded brown hair might go shaggy between cuts and his dark blue eyes tended to toward dreamy when he was working, the rest held enough appeal for the fairer sex to keep him entertained. At six-two and with a penchant for strength training as a cure to writer’s block, he stayed in shape.

“What brings you all the way to San Francisco, and more importantly, to our little café?” Anja asked again, squeezing the hands she still held. “My mother didn’t talk you into renting the room upstairs, did she?”

Uh oh. Sam didn’t know what it was about the room upstairs that put such a look of frustrated irritation in Anja’s eyes, but he was glad he was able to give an honest no.

“I haven’t talked with your mother in a while. Not since she attended the Samhain Ball in Coeur d’Alene. What was that? Like, five years ago?”

“Something like that,” Anja agreed, the irritation leaving her eyes, but not the curiosity.

“I’m here to help a friend. Or friends, as it were.” He looked around the café again, noting a few tables were emptying, a few customers were coming in. “Why don’t you join me in a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you all about it. Can you take a break?”

As if summoned by the question, Anja’s mother, Natalia, swept out of the kitchen.

“Anja, how are we doing with the tarts and dumplings? Your grandmother thinks we’ll run out,” the older woman said, her bracelets jangling as she checking the vividly patterned paisley scarf she’d wrapped as a headband to ensure no hair had strayed. Not that Sam could imagine anything disobeying Natalia Karmanski. She was a formidable woman, despite her heart of gold and generous smile.

A smile she was currently aiming his way.

“Well, hello. Are you a friend of Anja’s?” Then she blinked and that smile widened. “A friend, indeed. Samson Phillips, aren’t you a handsome sight.”

She came around the counter to give him a hug, chatting with him for a few minutes while Anja helped a pair of customers with a takeout order of an amazing looking quiche.

“Tell me, Samson, are you single still?” Natalia asked, shooting her daughter an arch look when the counter cleared of customers. At Sam’s nod, she patted his arm. “Now that’s a shame. A pure shame. I’ll do a reading and see what we can do about that. A man with as many gifts as you needs a wife and family to share them with.”

Natalia’s reading skills were legend. She had a fierce reputation for accuracy in both astrology and tarot. Which meant Sam wasn’t about to sit across from her. He didn’t want anyone peering into his future. Especially when that anyone obviously had an ulterior motive.

Thankfully, before he could find a polite refusal, Anja spoke up.

“C’mon, Sam. Let’s get out of here before she’s got you married and decides the perfect numerological names for your kids,” she said. “We’ll start with food. What would you like?”

After a grateful smile, Sam scanned the display.

“How about a slice of that quiche, coffee and a chance to say hello to your grandmother. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Perfect. We can combine the three, and I’ll serve you in the kitchen so you can chat with Gramma while you eat,” Anja suggested, gesturing with a heavily beringed hand for him to come behind the counter. By the time he came around, she’d filled a plate with a huge slice of quiche and Natalia had poured his coffee. Tray in hand, he followed Anja through the doors into the kitchen.

It was like stepping back in time. Herbs hung from the beams and a cauldron simmered over an open fire. The long wooden counter might be scarred, but it was scrubbed clean, as was the marble slab and stove tops. Scents filled the air, sweet and savory, rich and tasty.

“Gramma Odette? You have company.” Anja waited until the tiny sprite of a woman dried her hands and came out from behind the waist-high counter before tugging Sam forward. “You remember Sam Phillips?”

“Samson,” the older woman greeted, her dark eyes dancing as she crossed over to pull him into a hug. If Sam remembered correctly, he’d been around five years old the last time he’d seen her, but he felt right at home in Odette’s arms. At home enough to hug her back, the tight squeeze lifting her off the floor.

“You look great,” he declared when he set her gently down again. “Amazing, even.”

She really did. Her pewter streaked ebony hair was braided down her back, milk-smooth skin stretched over elegant bones and her dark eyes were clear and penetrating. It was easy to see how Anja would look in forty years.

And like her granddaughter, Odette, put him right at ease. Within minutes, Sam was settled on a stool, digging into the best quiche he’d ever tasted while the women surrounded him with friendly chatter.

“When Samson finishes, you will show him upstairs to the apartment,” Odette ordered her granddaughter.

“You’re staying here?” Anja asked, shooting Odette a surprised look. “In the apartment upstairs?”

“For a few days, yeah. I’m in California to help a friend on a project and needed a base of sorts.” Noting the look in her dark eyes, he asked, “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” she said in a tone that said it was anything but. “Tell me more about this friend and your project.”

“Her project, actually. Rose MacBriar, she’s a video game designer for Black Magic Games. I’m helping her with a storyline.”

“MacBriar?” The tightness left Anja’s eyes as she looked toward her grandmother again. “Is she related to Leah and Stephen from Coeur d’Alene? I remember their bookstore from my last visit. It was such a sweet combination of old and new, mundane and magical.”

“Their granddaughter,” he confirmed with a nod, scraping up enough quiche off his plate for one more bite. Savoring the buttery crust, he wondered if the ladies would take it as a compliment or if they’d think it bad manners if he licked the plate clean. “Damned good quiche.”

“You should have more,” Odette decided, sliding another tall piece of golden goodness on his plate. “Eat that, then you try my streusel. It’s just out of the oven and will melt on your tongue.”

“You talked me into it.” He took the time for another bite before addressing Anja again. “The bookstore was doing pretty well, but Leah fell last month and broke her hip. Stephen’s trying to run the store and take care of her, too. It’s wearing him down a little.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Anja said, her eyes clouded with concern. “Is there anyone who can give them a hand? Family? The Rose you’re here to work with, she’s their granddaughter, yes? Can she help? Just until they’re back on their feet? Or maybe their daughter?”

The quiche turned sour on his tongue, so Sam set down his fork.

“Rose has never actually met her grandparents. Effe, that’s her mom, she cut herself off from her family, from everyone in Coeur d’Alene, right after Rose was born. She’s not interested in anything to do with her family. Not their store, not their heritage.”

“And Rose?”

He met the question in Anja’s eyes, then slid his gaze to Odette. Her expression was serene, but her eyes went foggy with a vision beyond what the others could see.

Her tone low and her voice carrying the accent of her homeland, she chanted, “A beauty is Rose and she’ll have choices to make. A life to direct, or power awake. Tomorrow to seek or today to keep, she’ll open her heart or forever sleep.”

Sam took a deep breath, then nodded.

“That’s why I’m here. To help her out, and to see what choice she makes.”

Karma Café. A clever, and slightly worrisome, name. Who knew what they’d serve in a place built on the idea of cosmic earnings.

Rose MacBriar wondered what a plate of regrets and forgotten dreams would taste like. Or maybe this was her chance to nibble on a tastier treat.

Like Samson Phillips.

She ran a nervous hand over her smooth sweep of hair to ensure the long blonde curls were in place, then tugged at the rich blue of her sweater. The cashmere was soft under her fingers, and paired with pegged black slacks, seemed casually professional. She glanced at her reflection and wondered if she should have gone with the pink blouse instead?

To heck with a plate of regrets, she decided with a self-derisive roll of her eyes. She’d more likely starve searching for the confidence to stick with her decisions. One decision she was sure of, though, was that she was really looking forward to seeing Samson.

A shiver of excitement danced down her spine, but before she could open the door, her cellphone rang.

Nerves aside, she was tempted to ignore it. She really wanted to meet Sam face to face. But one glance at the readout and, trying to ignore the clench of nerves in her belly, she stepped away from the door and answered.

“Hello, Millicent.”

“Rose. What is your status?” The other woman asked, her tone jabbing like thorns down Rose’s spine.

“I’ll be in the office tomorrow. I can give you an in person update then.” An update, Rose thought, gritting her teeth. Something she’d never had to do in the previous five years she’d worked for Black Magic Games. Until Millicent Faire had taken over.

“Tomorrow isn’t good enough,” the other woman dismissed. “I swear, Rose, it’s like you’re asleep on the job. One would think that with a reputation like yours, I could count on a cutting edge game that would actually earn money instead of just a few useless awards.”

“You’ll have it,” Rose promised. She’d called in her secret weapon. She knew her visuals and design were top-notch, but she had to make sure the story was just as strong. She was good enough at world building, but with so much on the line, she needed better than good.

She needed the best.

Samson Phillips was the best.

And, lucky for her, he was willing to ride to the rescue and help her out.

“Don’t forget, Rose, I want something better than those flowery fairies with their silly little wands.”

Those flowery fairies had earned Black Magic a small fortune, launching the company from obscurity into the big leagues. Before Rose could point that out, Millicent continued outlining her expectations for the game.

By the time she was done, Rose’s mind was whirling with dread.

Her head throbbing with a million unvoiced objections, Rose ended the call without saying goodbye. Why was she doing this job again, she wondered. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have any other options.

But she did owe Black Magic Games, on a lot of levels. Founded by her father’s uncle, the company had given Rose her start and her mother a job when her father died. So no matter how much Rose might hate dealing with Millicent, honor demanded that she pay back what was due.

Because like karma, honor wasn’t something that she could ignore.