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

25. Magnolia

IT’S NOT JUST one woman at the door. It’s four. It’s a Golden Girls episode come to life, and I am fairly certain I have never had more fun in my life. The women are hilarious, clearly having lost all manner of caring what anyone thinks and so comfortable with themselves and each other that there is truly no telling what will come out of their mouths.

Listening to them is fascinating. Wanda tells me of her husband Robert, who she met outside the radio station in 1939 in Yazoo, Mississippi, where he was a radio musician. Catherine’s husband was a pilot in World War II while she worked on Liberty ships in Richmond, California. Sharon taught elementary school. Rosanna was a nurse, never married, and I catch on pretty quickly that she’s not here for William.

The women stay for a short time, relatively speaking, before departing. “We didn’t know you’d have visitors today!” Catherine says. “We’ll see you later this week at bingo.”

William walks the quartet to the door before disappearing into his room for a moment. I look at Riggs. “You gonna be a ladies’ man like that when you’re old? Head full of hair, bright eyes, incorrigible flirt?”

Riggs chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m already a silver fox, babe. Guess we’ll have to see if I outlive you,” he teases.

I swat at him even as my heart squeezes at the promises embedded in his words. Does he mean them? The warmth in my chest burns hot at the thought of him and I growing old together, sitting on the porch and holding hands while we watch the sunset, followed quickly by the cold dread of the curse’s threat.

When William comes back out, he shoos Riggs outside to “check the drainage pipes,” which Riggs and I both know is completely ridiculous. He leaves anyway, and I prepare for what I assume is going to be a “my son is a wonderful man” speech.

“Riggs says you’re a witch,” William says without preamble.

Choking on air, my cheeks heat as my eyes widen.

The old man chuckles and hands me the glass of lemonade I’d been drinking. As I gather myself back together and take a sip, he continues, “You do a poor job of hiding your emotions, but I bet you know that.”

I set the glass down and consider him. The woman I was a month ago would have lied. Now, I breathe through the sudden pounding of my heart. It shouldn’t matter that his dad knows, and it doesn’t. Not really. What’s surprising is how worried I am that William won’t want me around his son.

Exhaling, I try to channel some of Wanda, Catherine, Sharon, and Rosanna’s energy. Their air of not caring, or at least not letting other people’s emotions and feelings be something that they feel responsible for. “Yes, I am.”

He smiles. “My grandmother was a witch.”

The surprise rushes through me like a lightning bolt. “What? Really?”

William shrugs his bony shoulders. “Riggs doesn’t know—hell, my own wife didn’t know—but yes. She was my paternal grandmother, and she got what little magic she had from her father’s side.”

“Not very powerful, then,” I surmise. A witch’s power is determined by her mother, always. Men were only carriers of the magic, unable to wield in any capacity. So their offspring are always less powerful, unless they conceive with another witch. Magic is absolutely hereditary, and how strong one’s magic is depends entirely on their bloodline.

“Correct. My dad, of course, had nothing. And Riggs and I have a whole bunch of nothing.”

“Where was your grandmother from?”

“Louisiana.”

I grin. “Old magic, then. You sure you’re not carrying anything, William?”

He chuckles. “My grandmother’s stories were always almost too fantastic to believe. Tales of wielding magic in the bayou, talking alligators, you name it, she wove a story about it. And believe me, I tried so hard to wield magic. Was convinced that I’d be the male to change the rule. Because why not?”

“And did you?” I ask, even though I know what the answer is going to be.

“Of course not. Was a real disappointment when I finally accepted it.”

I reach over and pat his knee. “Happens all the time.”

“Right.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell Riggs? It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“This is going to sound terrible to you, but telling him simply never seemed pertinent. No one talked about it in my family once my grandmother passed, so it seemed rather moot.” He rubs his chin and goes quiet for a minute, his gaze unfocused. “Now that he’s met you, it’s time I told him.”

My silly heart flops over, ridiculously happy at the news. I take another sip of my lemonade. “Well, maybe all this is why he was so accepting of me in the first place. He took it awfully well.”

“Doesn’t surprise me at all.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black velvet pouch. “My grandmother gave this to me before she died. Said one day I’d know exactly what to do with it. Meeting you, I finally do.” He unties the pouch and pulls out a stone.

When he holds it out to me, I gasp. “Is that?—”

“It is,” William confirms, tilting the object toward me. “A veilstone.”

Time seems to slow and warp. Beautifully simple in its resting form, the stone is round and nearly egg-shaped, milky-white yet almost translucent, with hints of faint rainbow-colored streaks darting through it. To the untrained eye, it looks like moonstone. Show it to a witch, and she’ll know exactly what it is. Always.

“Do you know how few of them there are?” I say, still not reaching for it, even though I swear it’s reaching for me, its energy pulsing steadily toward me.

“Take it.”

I shake my head. “I—I can’t. It’s not my family’s. I’m not even supposed to touch it.”

William studies me, his eyes such a familiar blue that it’s like looking at Riggs in three decades’ time. “Do you know why my grandmother gave this to me?”

“There had to have been other witches in the family?—”

“There weren’t,” he interrupts me. “She was the last, and knew it. She was absolutely certain that I’d meet a witch worthy of receiving this stone.”

“You don’t understand,” I insist. “Veilstones are precious. Tied to certain families and bloodlines. My family has never?—”

“Magnolia,” he says gently.

Rubbing my hands on my skirt, I focus on the polkadots and try to calm the way my body is reacting. Waves of terror and excitement take turns washing over me, and the combination is both heady and nauseating. I bend over and stick my head between my legs, murmuring, “Sorry. I don’t feel very well.”

“I understand. I still need to finish the story.”

I take a few breaths, then sit back up. “What about Riggs?”

“Is legitimately doing things outside. He knows I had something for you, but doesn’t know what. Now, can I finish?” His eyes sparkle with mischief.

I swallow, my gaze darting to the veilstone and back. It’s mesmerizing, and the more I look at it, the more visible the energy pulsing around it becomes. A low hum of electricity begins to run through me. “Yes.”

“My grandmother was adamant that I’d meet a witch. I admit, I was beginning to think she was full of it. Yet here I am, eighty years old, finally meeting you. She told me that the witch wouldn’t be the love of my life but of someone else close to me. That her eyes would be the color of caramel and freshly turned earth, and that she would refuse the veilstone at first. But that it was imperative she receive it.” He pauses. “You, my dear, are that witch.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to bear what’s in front of me. How am I supposed to take this veilstone? I’ve never seen one in person. And to know that William has had one for decades, sitting in a velvet pouch just waiting on…on me, is knowledge I’m not sure I’m ready to accept.

Distantly, the front door opens and closes, and within moments I catch the cedar scent of Riggs. I feel his hands on my shoulders, heavy and sturdy, and the touch grounds me. Reminds me that taking something this powerful isn’t about me. It’s about my family. About Riggs, and even William. I owe it to the Universe—no, to myself—to take it. If I am to step into the power I know I possess, then I can’t shun the gifts that are quite literally in front of my face. Besides, it’s a veilstone, and who says no to a veilstone? No one.

Resigned, I open my eyes. “Okay.”

William beams. “Good.” He extends his hand, offering the veilstone to me.

“Could you—” I hesitate. The scared part of me wants to ask William to put it back in its velvet bag, and then have Riggs carry it until I can get back to my house and family. Every other part of me knows I need to accept it from him, or the veilstone won’t recognize me as its new owner. “Can we stand?”

Riggs comes around to help his father stand, looking between the two of us with about a hundred questions written on his face. “I’m good with whatever is happening here,” he says, “but I’d really love to have a clue before something happens.”

William huffs out a dry laugh. “It’s a long story, son.”

“I’d still like to know,” Riggs insists as William straightens and keeps his hold on Riggs.

“Your great-grandmother was a witch, the last in our family. She entrusted me with a magical stone and told me to give it to Magnolia.”

Riggs’s eyes widen. “We’ve got witches in our family?”

“Not anymore. Magnolia can explain it later.” William chuckles at the expression on his son’s face. “I’m getting tired, and I’d really like to give this stone to your girlfriend.”

Riggs turns to me, his gaze serious. “Are you okay?”

I shake my arms out. “I will be. This is…” I struggle to put it into words, so I finally go with, “This is a really big deal. What your father is giving to me is very rare, and likely very powerful.”

With his free hand, Riggs reaches for mine and squeezes it. “I believe in you, Magnolia. You’ve got this.”

I blink back the sudden emotion that swells in my throat and threatens tears. His words are simple, but they mean so much. “Thank you.”

“So will you just take the damn rock already?” William asks.

I burst out laughing. “No,” I smile and look around. “I really do need to get into the right headspace. Gather around the coffee table. William, put the veilstone in the middle of the table. Let’s all hold hands.”

Riggs wiggles his eyebrows. “Ooh, do we get to be a part of a ritual?”

I roll my eyes. “No. No men allowed, remember?” I tease.

“Really sexist, don’t you think, Pops? No warlocks to speak of?”

I make a face. “Warlocks aren’t even a thing.”

“Mages? Wizards? Sorcerers?”

“You’re reaching. Women only. Sorry, babe,” I laugh as I watch his face fall. “Look,” I soothe. “This isn’t a ritual, but it’s important and you’re helping.”

That seems to make him feel better. We all clasp hands as I close my eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply. I pull all my focus, all my intention, into the room, envisioning the three of us forming a circle of light around the veilstone, wrapping the stone in layers of protection and woven with rays of sunlight and moonlight. I feel the warm, strong grip of Riggs on my right, and the dry, lighter touch of William to my left. My chest warms with energy, and I breathe deeper to welcome it. I’m acting on pure instinct now, and I let the Universe take over.

The temperature in the room rises and a small wind blows. No one speaks, and when I open my eyes, my gaze goes straight to the veilstone.

The pale, milky-white stone glows like the full harvest moon, a corona of light pushing out from it, pulsing with energy.

My voice is low when I speak. “William, please take the veilstone in your left hand.”

The old man obeys, his grip on my hand growing tight as he uses me for balance. As he picks up the stone, he gasps. “It’s hot,” he says, his voice full of wonder.

“William, what was your grandmother’s name?”

“Eugenia Aryton,” he answers.

The light around the veilstone pulses, sending out a rainbow of energy that broadens and expands, filling the circle before moving through us and disappearing.

“Whoa,” Riggs whispers.

I send a thank you to Eugenia and feel an answering wind in response. She’s here with us, having left a part of herself in the stone like all those to have possessed it before her, but I know to keep that part to myself. I turn my attention back to William, who stares at the veilstone in silent awe.

“Am I the witch you wish to give this veilstone to?”

He jerks his attention to me and nods gravely.

My lips tip up. “I think you should say it out loud.”

William clears his throat. “Y-yes. I, William Finlay, wish to give you this veilstone, which I have kept safe at my grandmother Eugenia Aryton’s request. It is yours.”

I can’t help my smile at his effort to be so formal. “Thank you.”

Riggs squeezes my hand, and I look at him. He is surrounded by a deep red and orange aura, and it has nothing to do with the veilstone. Wordlessly he mouths, “I love you.”

The love that swells in my heart is almost too much, and it nearly overtakes me. “I love you, too,” I mouth back. Gulping air, I force myself to focus back on transferring the veilstone. “Ready?” I ask William.

“I am.”

Keeping my left hand clasped with William’s, I release Riggs and hold my hand out for the stone. He places it in my palm.

A crack of energy pulses in the room, sending a miniature lightning bolt through the air between us.

“Holy shit,” Riggs yelps.

I don’t pay him any attention. I can’t. I’m being electrocuted. Energy crackles through me, sending spikes of flaming heat down my arms and legs and into my fingers and toes. My head tingles as I fight to keep my attention on the veilstone as it pulls all the light from the room into it. Shadows darken the surrounding space, and all I can do is let the veilstone continue. Light pours into the rock, heating it and my palm to an almost unbearable temperature. I maintain my hold, and in moments, the room goes utterly dark.

A millisecond later, bright light shoots out of the veilstone, pulsing in wave after rainbow-hued wave as it expands out and around us, bathing the room in a warm glow before dissipating and leaving the room as it was. Inside my palm, the now-cooled stone rests. I lift it higher for inspection, and there, moving through the center among the translucent lines of rainbow, is a new line of bright white.