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

30. Magnolia

ICOME TO consciousness slowly. Voices murmur in hushed, worried tones. My sisters. My mother. Riggs.

What happened? I can’t remember anything, and it’s too much effort to open my eyes just yet. Judging by the smells and sounds, I’m on the couch at home. I take deep breaths, trying to rally myself. A shadow blocks what little light I sense from behind my eyelids, and a warm palm comes to rest on my forehead, the weight of it grounding and comforting as always. Riggs.

“I think she’s coming around.”

“Dim the lights,” comes Willow’s voice.

Someone snaps their fingers and near-darkness seems to descend.

“Show off,” I croak as I manage to open my eyes.

Aspen scoffs, and her worry is a palpable taste in my mouth. “Shut up,” she chides softly, kneeling in front of me. “How are you?”

I try to sit up, and a wave of nausea rolls over me. “Not good,” I answer, cradling my stomach. “What happened?”

“We were kind of hoping you could tell us,” Clementine prods, standing between Juniper and Jasmine.

“Give her some water.” Mom steps forward and hands the glass to Aspen, who holds it while Riggs helps me rise up on my elbows. I extend my hand for the glass, but I’m so shaky that Aspen helps me bring it to my lips. When I’m finished, I lay back with a sigh.

“I can feel all of you staring at me.” I close my eyes again.

“They’re worried.” Riggs’s cedar scent envelops me as he sits on the couch and guides my head onto his lap. “Can you tell us what you remember?”

I search my memories. “I was singing on stage,” I begin slowly, “and I was having the best time. Everyone’s auras were…ecstatic. I’d never felt so happy just from singing.”

“Aw,” Juniper coos. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“Could you not make this about you?” Jasmine snarks.

Even though my eyes are closed, I know the twins are making faces and gesturing at each other, and the utter normalcy of it is comforting. “Yes, seeing them is amazing,” I manage, my voice still not quite normal.

“More water,” Mom urges. “Riggs.”

An amused, quiet huff comes out of him as I feel him reach for the water. “Want some?” he murmurs.

Opening my eyes, I let him help me with another sip, then prop myself back up on my elbows to drink more. The effort is more than it should be, but I fight through it. “Anyway, I was singing, felt amazing, saw the auras, then…nothing.”

“Did you do anything before that?” Aspen asks. “Anything that would have triggered it?”

I consider. “I tried to help Carol.”

Mom and Willow look at each other, but it’s Aspen who asks, “Who’s Carol?”

“The woman who runs karaoke night,” Riggs answers.

I meet his eyes. “I told her my real name and said I was a teacher at the high school. She wasn’t impressed.” I laugh softly.

A corner of Riggs’s mouth tips up. “Not surprised.”

“I could tell something was wrong,” I continue, swinging my gaze back to Aspen and the rest of my family, “so I asked her if I could help.”

Mom’s brows crash down. “You what?”

“I asked her if I could help,” I repeat. “What, is it against some unwritten witch rule to do that?” I ask.

Willow glares at Mom, who says, “No, of course not. It’s just…surprising.”

It hits me then: Mom still hides so much of her magic, refusing to let the world see her as she truly is, that she simply can’t fathom using my magic to help another. Or at least trying to help. And since I don’t know what to do with that right now, I continue. “I held her hands and just asked the Universe to give its healing powers to her, make her feel better and bring her peace.”

“And?” Mom prompts.

I shrug. “Nothing happened.”

“How do you know?” Aspen asks.

“Because—” I start, then stop. Actually, I have no idea if it really worked or not. “I…don’t.”

“Nothing physical happened?” Mom says.

“N-no,” I answer, parsing through the memory as best as I can. “Nothing. No spark or disturbance of any kind.”

“Is this normal?” Riggs asks.

Everyone is quiet.

After a moment, I feel the tension build inside Riggs as he repeats himself.

“No,” Mom answers. “I suspect I know what’s happened, but I think Magnolia already knows.”

“Kera,” I say flatly. Then I wince as another wave of nausea rolls through me. I fold in on myself, waiting for the unsteadiness to pass, and when it does, all the women are in varying stages of irritation.

“I’m going to kill her,” Jasmine swears.

Juniper snorts. “Not if I get to her first.”

“No one’s killing anyone.” Mom steps forward with a cool washcloth to put on my forehead.

“That remains to be seen.” Aspen’s voice is cold.

Willow chimes in with, “I know a good spot to bury a body.”

“Is it back behind the blackberry bushes?” Clementine asks. “Because I’ve definitely thought that’s a great spot before.”

“Girls!” Mom admonishes.

A small smile crosses my lips. Because I never would have expected them to be so fierce on my behalf. I really don’t think any killing needs to happen—despite my own desires on the topic—but the fact that they may honestly be ready and willing is…well. It’s unexpected and wonderful.

That night, as I lay in my own bed for the first time in quite a while, another wave of nausea rolls across me, and it’s not normal. This time, it feels like something—no, someone—is watching me. I jerk my head up and look around, searching the sky and trees outside as though they have an answer.

They don’t.

The back of my scalp prickles, and it suddenly feels as though someone is poking around inside my head. Fighting the rising panic, I push back, mentally pulling down the gossamer shield I’ve used my whole life with my sisters and haven’t had to use in weeks. Immediately, the nausea recedes and the sensation of someone looking through my head is gone.

What the fuck?

I turn on the bedside lamp and look around my room, knowing I won’t find anything but doing it anyway. My eyes land on the veilstone, lying innocently atop the simple altar I crafted for it on my dresser across the room. It’s surrounded by crystals I dug up in the hills of Hot Springs, Arkansas years ago with Willow and Clementine, and on instinct, I get up and grab it, then crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my cross-legged lap. I untie the pouch and nearly shriek.

The veilstone is glowing. It’s faint, but unquestionable. I pull it out, inspecting it, my eyes drawn as always to the new white crack going through it. The one I caused.

Well, the one that William and I caused. That was a team effort.

“What are you up to?” I whisper to the stone, holding it up to eye level.

Protection. I know the answer the moment the question leaves me.