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

6. Magnolia

I’M SHAKING. LITERALLY shaking with the need to sing, and as Carol presses the mic into my hand with a sincere look of worry, I force a smile at her. “I’m okay,” I assure her. “I promise.” At least, I will be.

She’s not buying it. “Are you sure you should even?—”

“Absolutely.” I cut her off. It’s the only thing I’m certain of.

Three weeks I’ve gone without singing, not so much as even humming, and my body is in rebellion. It started with just a little headache. Then it was heartburn. Then, let’s just say I was making a lot of trips to the bathroom. It’s steadily gotten worse, and no amount of my mom’s or sisters’ special tea blends have been able to keep the symptoms away. Would it help if I told them what was going on? Probably. Do I have plans to tell them? Absolutely not.

It all came to a head last night when I tried to make a tea blend. I got sick. And not just a little sick, either. Juniper and Jasmine had to stay up half the night with me because my fever was so high I was hallucinating. Jasmine made me a soup, and because she’s Jasmine, the soup fixed me right up.

Except for the part where the flowers in the magnolia tree spelled the word SING, in capital letters, every time I looked outside, the white of the petals luminescent in the full moon’s light.

When Riggs texted me and said he wouldn’t be here tonight, I nearly crumpled to the floor in relief. My first thought had been to wonder how he got my number, then I remembered: he’s the freaking principal, and of course he can find my number very easily. The relief at knowing I could come and sing without having to fight my body’s every instinct to wrap itself up in and around him was palpable.

The opening strains of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” come through the speakers, and it feels like stepping under a waterfall. Energy pulses through me, and I swear I can almost see the aura of bright white around me. This is what you’re supposed to do, the voice whispers to me.

I know. And yet, I can’t. Singing around those I love might hurt them, and I’m not willing to take that chance. I’ve learned my lesson, over and over.

Still, the looks on the faces in the audience are clear. They’re happy and light, basking in the glow of my energy. I can actually see it flowing out of me, wrapping around them in stunning hues of bright pink and yellow. When we get to the chorus, I gesture for everyone to sing with me, and the air explodes with purple glitter. It’s beautiful, and I drink it in, cooling from the inside out, my chest finally at ease, my body humming happily.

Carol winks at me as I hand the mic back. “Beautiful.”

“Thank you—I needed that.”

“Clearly. You gonna go again?”

I’m answering before she finishes the question. “If I can, definitely.”

“With the way you looked up there and how the crowd responded, of course you can.” She opens her arms for a hug, and I step into it, reveling in the feeling of peace and contentment it brings.

Carol has been a constant the entire twenty years I’ve been here. I’d been driving past the bar on summer break from college, singing in the car because I knew it was safe, and saw the sign advertising karaoke. It became my place on breaks from school, and I’ve never looked back. I don’t know what she does outside of this; I’ve kept my distance and my heart from her.

I know I should have sung in the car these past weeks. Believe me: I tried. Every time a song came on the car radio, the words wouldn’t come. I’d open my mouth, and nothing. My body knows what it needs, and refuses to give it to me.

Grabbing a whiskey from the bartender, I relax into the night. After another hour, Carol calls me back up, and as I approach, she leans into me. “I’m thinking it’s time for ‘Sweet Caroline’—good?”

I grin. “For you? Anytime.”

I step onto the tiny dais and launch into the Neil Diamond classic, hamming it up for the crowd and getting everyone involved with some perfectly timed hand movements. I’m in my element, crooning and swaying, enjoying the give and take with the crowd as we all smile and sing together, and as we hit the final chorus, a familiar face emerges from the crowd.

Ava.

Ava, who is looking at me in utter confusion, and who is also completely riveted.

A delighted smile breaks across her face, and I choke out a cough and nearly drop the microphone. This is bad. This is so bad. I manage to recover and keep us going to the end, then sprint out of the spotlight and practically shove the mic into Carol’s hand.

“Seven? You all right, hon?” Her voice is low, the huskiness of it warm and concerned.

“I’m…fine,” I gasp, then whirl away. I need to leave. Immediately.

“Magnolia!” Ava’s voice trails me as I speed away. “Mags?”

I don’t stop. I grab my purse off the bar, unable to remember if I paid and not caring, and slam outside.

I’m halfway across the gravel parking lot when Ava’s exasperated voice carries over to me. “Magnolia Rowan, I know that’s you!”

Nope. No. Not happening.

I speed-walk to my Fiat and wrench the door open, getting in and starting the car. Throwing the car in reverse, I’m about to punch the gas when Ava appears in my rear-view mirror.

“Woman, what the hell is wrong with you?”

I roll the window down and yell. “Go away, Ava!”

She whacks the back of the car. “No!”

“Please! I need you to leave and forget this ever happened.”

Whack.“No! There’s no reason for this! Why are you running away? It’s just karaoke and holy shit, your voice is incredible! Who knew Neil Diamond could sound so good?”

“It’s not hard, and please, Ava.” I poke my head out and around. “Please move.”

“Magnolia.” Ava is beyond pissed, and her dark brown eyes sear into me as she says, “Put the car in park, get out, and talk to me.”

Beaten, I do as she says, frantically trying to come up with a story that’s not a lie. I slump against the car, refusing to look at her.

“I have so many questions,” Ava says.

I don’t speak.

She sighs. “Fine. Did she call you Seven in there? Why are you dressed like this? You never do, and damn, you’re hot. Why haven’t you talked about singing? Was this the first time you’ve been here? Why aren’t you looking at me?” She growls that last part and pokes my chest, her copper skin mottled with anger.

“Ow,” I whine.

“Speak.”

A giant boulder is on my chest. I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t. “Take your questions back. And leave. But have someone else drive you. And be careful for, like, the next week.”

Her brows slam together. “What in the hell are you talking about, Mags? Or is it Seven?” She crosses her arms.

“Could you please just trust me?” I plead.

She scoffs. “Trust you? No. Not when it seems like you’ve been hiding something for who knows how long. I thought we were friends. Best friends! What is all this?” Her chin wobbles as she waves her hand at me, then she sniffs hard.

My throat tightens. “I…”

A crunch of gravel has us both turning. Standing there is every bit the kind of tall, dark, and handsome man that Ava likes. His gaze is trained on Ava, kind, assessing. “Everything okay here?”

The blood drains from my face. She was here on a date. A date that I didn’t know about. How could she not have told me? The hypocrisy slams into me, unrelenting as a tornado. I swallow hard and try to clear the knot of emotion that refuses to budge.

Ava smiles softly at him, then turns her attention back to me. I can read her like a book, and she’s heartbroken.

She heard me sing. What if something happens to her? “Be careful,” I manage to say.

She blinks and thins her lips. “Whatever.” Then she turns away.

She threads her arm through the man’s, and I know I’ll face her soon enough. In the meantime, all I can do is murmur a plea to the Universe to keep her safe.

When I get home,clad once more in a maxi skirt and tee, the kitchen is packed. Mom, Willow, Aspen, and twins Juniper and Jasmine are all there, sitting around the table that isn’t big enough to hold all of us but does so anyway. Clementine is noticeably absent; she and Quinton have their own place in a corner of the property. That doesn’t automatically mean she’s never here, only that we don’t see her as much as we used to. It’s hard to get my head wrapped around that, despite Quinton having been in our collective lives since February.

Juniper’s eyes narrow as they settle on me. “Where’ve you been?”

The twins are a full decade younger than me, but it’s never stopped Juniper from wielding her gift like a champion. Immediately, I envision a filament of shimmering cloth dropping over my mind and gathering my thoughts close, clearing my mind of Ava and singing entirely. I know all my sisters’ gifts, and it’s second nature to counteract them; keeping my secret from all of them has meant a near-constant use of counteractive activity. I half wonder if that’s why my wishes don’t work—all my energy is poured into fear.

Mom looks up from pouring a cup of tea. “Sit. Join us.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re testing a new blend,” Aspen says.

I slide into the chair that’s appeared and lift a delicate, toile-patterned cup to my nose. Rule number one for living in the Rowan house: never, ever, drink the tea without smelling it first. And woe betide the person who can’t smell the ingredients that spell trouble.

Inhaling, I catch hints of mint, rosemary, lemon, and dandelion. Perfectly normal ingredients for a tea. Too normal, in fact. I sniff again. “What am I missing?”

Jasmine peers closely at me. “You don’t smell it?”

I shake my head. “Did you make it?”

Jasmine blushes, the color making her normally hazel eyes turn blue. “I did.”

The grin that spreads across my face matches the rest of the family. Jasmine hasn’t made a blend in years—not since she accidentally blinded Juniper for twenty-four hours back when they were teenagers. She was so scared that the blindness was permanent that she’d sworn tea-blending off after that. Never mind that it was due to the wish she’d blended into the mix and not the mix itself.

That’s rule number two: a Rowan woman’s wish is more than a wish. Much, much more.

“So what’s the ingredient?” I ask.

“Jasmine.”

I arch a brow. Using the ingredient one is named after tends to make whatever is being made much more potent, and that usually applies first and foremost to the scent. I smell it again, and there, just beyond the larger notes, is the sweet fragrance. “Found it!” I say. When I realize everyone is watching me, I set the cup down without taking a sip. “And have all of you tried it?”

All their eyes slide away.

I sigh. “Mom.” She’s not always the ringleader, but in this case, I bet she is.

When Mom looks back at me, her gaze is unapologetic. “Clementine is keeping a secret. You’re closest to her. We just want to know what it is.”

My mouth pops open and then hinges shut again. I was right. And so was Clementine, because as sure as she’d have told me, my sisters would have forced it out of me. I fight the frustration down and focus on what’s most important: “Jasmine, the first blend you put together in fifteen years and it was a truth tea? Seriously?”

Her blush is deeper now. “To be fair, we all drank it.”

“Learned all kinds of…tea,” Juniper says, snickering as she takes a sip from her own cup.

Everyone else laughs, but I’m not sold. I push the cup back to the center of the table. “I know she has a secret. She hasn’t told me what it is. And for the record, you could have just asked me. We all know that.”

Aspen lifts her chin high, defiant and resolutely unapologetic as always. I love her, but one day, my older sister will get what she deserves, and I can’t wait for the chaos.

“Aren’t you proud of Jasmine?” Juniper asks, clearly trying to keep the peace like always.

I stand, done with the conversation and ready to be alone with my thoughts. “Very proud.” I press a kiss to the top of Jasmine’s head between the two dark auburn buns she’s pulled it into.

“Sure you don’t want a nightcap?” Jasmine calls.

I ignore the laughter that follows.

It isn’t until I’m in my bed, the room stuffy in the early July heat, that I allow thoughts of Ava to return. And with those thoughts comes a layer of thick, suffocating guilt. Aside from my sisters, she is my oldest and truest friend. Losing her would crush me. For the first time, I think that not telling someone my secret might crush me, too.

What if I told her? The idea is so foreign that I sit up in bed, gasping in the humid air.

Could I do it? Confess my inability to sing around the people I love?

A rush of something awfully close to hope flares inside me, bright and tingling. I grab my phone with shaking hands and blink back the tears that threaten. Even if I’m not ready to spill everything, I need to know she’s unharmed from hearing me earlier tonight.

Magnolia

Are you okay?

Her reply is immediate.

Ava

Oh, are we talking now?

Magnolia

Seriously. Are you okay? Like, physically?

Ava

*eye roll emoji* Of course I am. I’m about to be even better when I let this tall glass of water kiss me. I’ll talk to you later.

Also, you are not even remotely off the hook.

I click off my phone, breathing a little easier in the dark.