Karaoke Chemistry: A Witchy Small Town Romcom (Sacred River Book 2)

5. Magnolia

“INEED TO make it stop.”

Clementine startles, a dropper in one hand and a test tube in another. She scowls at me, a rogue dark curl falling out of her bun. “Hello to you, too.”

I shut the greenhouse door behind me and make my way to the workbench that doubles as her laboratory. Like me, Clementine takes a more scientific approach to our gifts. “Making more Elysian Blossom essence?” The flower itself is one that only our family can grow, and after first getting the plant to grow any time so she could extract its essence, earlier this year Clementine figured out the original love potion our family was once known for.

She shakes her head. “Working on something else for Mom and Aspen. Why—you got someone you want to use it on?” she jokes.

“The opposite.”

She snorts. “Yeah, right.”

Okay, I deserved that. Of all my sisters, I’m the one usually fading into the background, never making waves, never causing any kind of real issue. Still: ouch.

Picking up on the pinprick of hurt she delivered, Clementine sets everything down and faces me. “Sorry. Is there a new kid in town who’s got the hots for teacher?”

Annoyance flares, and I cross my arms. “Keep it up and none of your teas will be safe.”

She snickers. “You’re never subtle, and I always know when you’ve tried. Besides, I’m the one who discovered the antidote to Mom’s truth tea, and I’m the youngest!”

I roll my eyes. “Because you were the only one Mom needed to use it on.” Untrue. But why let that get in the way of a good story?

“Fine. I need to check on something—walk and talk?”

I follow her outside. We live on five acres of land, and Sacred River runs right through it. Our family was here long before an official town was, and while we could fill plenty of gaps in the local history, we’ve not bothered. Today, most of our land sits on the east side of the river, but we keep a patch on the west to grow very specific plants that need to be over there. Growing up, the scientist in me couldn’t stand the reasons that Mom gave to my incessant need to understand. The plants could easily grow on the east, yes, but then they wouldn’t work. Work how? I’d pressed. To which she’d answer, “Work.”

Even now, at forty, I still want to know more, but that’s not how it goes. The land, the river, the plants, the giant willow tree beneath which so many spells must be intoned…it all just works. Best not to look too hard at the Universe. She prefers her mysteries, and no amount of chemistry experiments will get her to reveal what she wants hidden. And I’ve grown to accept that, to know when I’m beaten.

Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop fighting this new issue. Not yet. I need the Universe to drop whatever this is with me and Riggs. That kiss was…well, it was a problem. A big one. The way it felt to have him so close, to stand on the precipice and want so desperately to let myself pitch into the abyss, was terrifying—maybe more than the prospect of hurting the ones I love with my singing. It’s been over a week since that kiss happened, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve dreamed about it; only in the dreams I open my mouth and let him all the way in, and his arms wrap around me as he pulls me flush against him. I’ve stopped the dreams before they go any farther than that, waking up in sweat-soaked sheets and tingling with need.

And those damn sparks. I may be the sister that no one pays much attention to, but I’ve had a handful of lovers, and never, so help me never, have the sparks shown up. I know what those mean, and since I’m not in a mind to maim or kill Riggs Finlay, here we are.

I skipped karaoke last night, and I’ve been off-kilter all day. I need to sing. I know I do.

Clementine leads me to the river and to the patch of thistle growing there. As she bends to gather it, she wordlessly asks me to grab the mushrooms on the oak tree. I smile, glad I picked up the canvas tote on our way out of the greenhouse, and pick my way through the wildflowers.

Plucking the chanterelles off the tree, I begin. “His name is Riggs Finlay. He’s the new principal. There’s…history between us. I need him to forget it.”

“Forget what, exactly?”

“All of it.”

“You know that I’m not the best one to ask, right?”

I look around the tree to where she’s crouched. The diamond of her engagement ring glints in the sun, and I take a moment to marvel at how the baby of the family has managed to find love. It’s not something that seems to come easily to us. “I know. But you’re the one I trust.”

“You’re not telling me everything.” She straightens to her full height, which isn’t very high at all, and attempts a glare.

“Of course I’m not,” I admit. “And I’m not going to. So please don’t ask questions I can’t answer.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Won’t.”

“Then I can’t help you.”

“What? You have to help me.” I stop picking the mushrooms and walk back to her. “We’re sisters. It’s your duty.”

She snorts a laugh and turns away, not bothering to make eye contact. I follow her over to a copse of blueberry bushes, and without a word, we begin to pick the ripe ones and drop them into the small basket she produces from her tote. Speaking isn’t necessary. I’ve made my request, she’s said no, and that’s it.

Except really, it’s not. She’ll come around. Or she won’t. Either way, I’m not telling her the real reason I need her help. She is the very last person who I’d admit it to, and the burn on her arm will never let me forget why.

A pair of cardinals pace us from the oak trees above, watching and chirping to each other. I wonder what it’s like to have a mate for life, and honestly, I can’t imagine it. To have someone you know is there for you, and who knows your every move and loves you for it regardless. Clementine whistles back to them, and they have a whole conversation as we pick, the sun beating down on us. I swallow hard, forcing down the urge to sing at the birds as my heart twists in on itself.

I should have grabbed one of the many hats lying around the property or at least put on some sunscreen. My skin burns and prickles beneath the sun’s intensity, something that none of my sisters ever seem to have a problem with. I make a note to research which plants have skin-protection properties, and in the meantime, I already know that I’ll be grabbing a pinch of the aloe plant that resides in a corner of the greenhouse. It’s too hot to pull my hair out of its ponytail, but I do it anyway, both grateful for and irritated by the way it immediately sticks to my neck and shoulders.

Finally, with our totes full of mushrooms, flowers, leaves, and a basket full of blueberries, we turn in the direction of the house. Jasmine, one of the twins and the new owner of the town’s best breakfast and lunch spot, has already promised she’ll make us a pie if we bring her the berries.

“You have a secret,” Clementine says as we pick our way through the sunflowers. She snips the heads off a few and puts them in her bag.

I don’t bother answering. It’s obvious.

“Where do you go on Thursdays?”

I stumble, then catch myself. “Thursdays?”

“Pretty much every Thursday you go somewhere. Your energy is different when you get back, too. Friday Magnolia is not the same as Saturday through Thursday Magnolia.”

My mind whirls. Is that true? Or maybe Clementine is the only one who’s noticed. “I’m not answering that question.”

She huffs, clearly not buying it. “First, it’s something with this guy Riggs. Then, you avoid answering about Thursdays. I hate secrets, Mags. Hate them. So unless you tell me everything, then you need to find another sister. Or fix it yourself.”

I can’t fix it myself. That’s not how it works, and she knows it. The only way these kinds of spells work is with a sister. Not that I’ve ever done one, either as the primary or the base. I push down the hurt that none of my sisters have asked me to help with a spell and turn my attention back to Clementine. “There’s nothing to tell.”

She whirls on me, practically vibrating. “Bull. This whole family keeps their secrets, and I’m tired of it. Maybe if I were like Juniper and could see more than what’s right in my face, I wouldn’t have this problem, but I can’t, so I do.”

I jerk my head back as realization punches into me. “Wait a minute. You’re the one with a secret.”

Her face flushes, and she turns back, picking up the pace now that we’re in the clearing.

I bolt after her, my footsteps soft in the lush grass. “Clem. Tell me! Clearly I’m good with secrets—I won’t tell you mine! Clementine!”

She turns around, walking backward as she speaks. “You will if you’re asked directly, Mags. We know that. It’s spelled into you.”

I throw my hands wide. “That’s nothing I can help! Just tell me. Please!” I beg, still following her.

She says nothing, and my heart knots itself again. For as close as we used to be, she’s got Quinton now, and it’s never been more clear that he’s the one who gets her secrets.