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

32. Magnolia

THE MORNING OF the Gathering arrives muted and cool, the grass shiny with dew, the river covered with a low mist that spreads over the muddy banks. It’s the first day of autumn. Behind me is the bed that no longer feels like mine, and in it sleeps the love of my life. There was no question that I needed to wake up here, to be with my family as the clock rolled over into the day that would change everything. And even though I haven’t given him an answer on living with him, I’ve also stayed with him every night since.

It’s a teacher work day, and last night, Riggs didn’t hesitate to come with me. Just grabbed a gym bag and tossed everything he needed in there after we returned from karaoke, then walked with me through his backyard and onto our property. And when we’d all looked at him last night as we stood around a literal miniature cauldron bubbling on the porch with one of the more innocuous brews we planned for our guests, he’d caught on and skedaddled up to stay in my room the rest of the evening. It was well past midnight when I finally came to bed, and he woke long enough to curl his body around mine, smelling faintly of cedar and sleep.

I study him. Dark lashes fan across his sun-kissed cheeks as his chest rises and falls with every deep breath he takes. As I watch him, the veilstone vibrating softly in my robe pocket, I raise my hand to my throat to feel a pulse that beats steady and calm.

The cardinals begin their morning song in the magnolia tree not too far away, their tiny bodies bright spots of color in the otherwise pale morning, and it takes everything in me not to lift the window and whistle to them as they flit from limb to limb. Beyond the magnolia, swirls of mist floating around it like the ghosts of my lost years, looms the willow. So many years—decades—gone, because of Kera’s deeds. Over nothing.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

I turn and my heart does somersaults at the sight of the man before me. With rumpled hair and a sleepy smile, he sits up and makes his way to me in only a pair of boxers. I catalog the Marine tattoo on the hard plane of his chest, the compact stomach, the mouth-watering divots that lead beneath his boxers, his delicious thighs. The smirk on his face when I meet his eyes.

“Like what you see?”

“Every day,” I answer honestly.

He grunts softly and wraps me into a hug, and I breathe him in, taking the time to ground myself in his scent, the feel of his arms around me. He rests his chin on my head. “Do you still have to answer questions truthfully when someone asks you?”

I snort. “Oh yeah. That was a legit spell. No getting rid of that one.”

“Then tell me something.” He pulls back and takes my face in his hands, one of his thumbs tracing my lower lip. “When will you sing for your sisters?”

The question is a sharp, pointy thing, and it pierces the bubble I’ve spent years crafting. And why is he asking today, of all days? When I try to retreat, Riggs gently tightens his grip on me.

“Do it at breakfast.” He sounds so sure of himself, and I…I am most certainly not.

I’m about to answer him with a hearty “absolutely not,” when I’m cut off by a knock at the door. “Mags! Rise and shine, today’s the day we take that bitch down!”

The tension leaves my shoulders as I snicker. “Aspen is very chipper this morning.”

Riggs drops a kiss on my cheek. “Think about it.” He picks up his jeans and pulls them on.

The cardinals have movedto the porch and are gorging themselves on the seeds in the feeder just outside the kitchen window. They stop as I step outside with a steaming mug of tea, tilting their heads as one to study me with their tiny black eyes. When the female chirps, I whistle back at her, and in seconds, the male joins. Another chirp sounds, but it’s my phone. I pull it out to see a text from Clementine.

CLEMENTINE

How you feeling this morning?

MAGNOLIA

Surprisingly calm. You?

CLEMENTINE

Puke fest. They are definitely girls. Boys wouldn’t do this to me.

I laugh and type my response.

MAGNOLIA

You sure you’re up for this?

CLEMENTINE

Are you kidding? I can’t wait to wipe the smug look off that hussy’s face.

I snort.

MAGNOLIA

Hussy?

CLEMENTINE

I’m trying out new words. Leave me alone.

Be over in a bit. Tell Riggs that he’s drafted for erections. Of tents, that is. With Q.

MAGNOLIA

Someone’s got other things on their mind this morning, doesn’t she?

CLEMENTINE

You have no idea. Puke fest plus horny. Hormones, sis. They’re wild.

I make a face. I really, really don’t need a visual of my sister and Quinton getting it on.

MAGNOLIA

Not even sure Ginger and Kera deserve those tents.

CLEMENTINE

You’re probably right, but then where would they go?

I twist my lips, considering.

MAGNOLIA

I hate that you’re right

CLEMENTINE

Every time, Mags. Every time.

I don’t bother responding to her, because she pretty much is right all the time, and it’s annoying. Turning, I inspect the cauldrons, seven black vessels that are slightly larger than basketballs and lined neatly against the edge of the porch. Only one has a mixture destined for Kera, and possibly Ginger. The rest are brews and bases of everyday things that we and our aunts will use and take back to their homes. Things like nettle soup, essences of willow bark, hemlock, nightshade, and of course, the Elysian Blossom love potion. That one is courtesy of Clementine, which she perfected after years of work. Elysian Blossom grows only on our land, and while our family had been known for the potion for generations, it was never written down, and Mom and her sisters somehow never managed to learn. Naturally, the rest of our family is keen to get some for their own uses, and we’re more than happy to oblige. The world can only be better with more love in it, and if it takes a magical push to get there, then so be it.

The door opens on its own, and Mom steps outside to put food in Uncle Fester’s bowl. The black cat shows up only when he feels like it, and always seems to know when it’s time for the Gathering. Sometimes I think he’s our grandmother in cat form, and given how powerful she was, it’s entirely possible. If anyone would have figured out how to come back as a cat, and a male one at that, it’s her.

Wrapping my hands around the teacup for warmth, I ask, “Whatever happened to you and Ginger?”

Mom looks at me quizzically. “Kera’s mom?”

“Weren’t you two best friends or something?”

A shadow crosses her face. “Definitely not. She was Persephone’s friend.”

Ah. Aunt Persephone is Mom’s sister, and definitely the one to take the most risks. I’d wager that Persephone is why Mom has always tried to limit her magic to our land, and flat out wouldn’t allow us to use it off the property growing up. Not that there was much to do before we were sixteen, and not that I, in particular, did much of anything, anyway. “Is everyone awake?”

Mom hums in confirmation, then tilts her face to the dawn, eyes closed. “Persephone, Calliope, Chloe, Phoebe, Iris, and Dahlia will be here soon.”

The rest of Mom’s sisters. They’ll stay with us, and most will sleep in Mom’s room, because the room will simply grow to accommodate them like it did when they were growing up, thanks to a spell Mom’s grandmother put on the house. Come to think of it, I wonder if that’s what started the house’s journey toward sentience. Or whatever its deal is. Anyway, Jasmine and Juniper will bunk together like they did when they were kids, and Willow and Aspen will join them. Hazel’s room will go to Kera and her mother, and I’ll keep my room since we really have no clue how tonight is going to go.

Sometimes other families join us, and since they’re not related, the house doesn’t accommodate them. I’m pretty sure the house hates anyone who isn’t family. Though, come to think of it, it’s been pretty nice to Quinton, and even Riggs.

I file that nugget away to address later.

Right now, it’s time to begin the day.

The house is literallya glitter fest after my aunts arrive. I don’t know if it’s simply been tense with everything going on with Kera’s curse—totally a possibility—or if it’s just feeding off my aunts’ infectious energy. Either way, puffs of gold glitter float from nowhere as though the house is absolutely beside itself with glee. And I get it: the aunts are a walking personification of wacky quirky witches, complete with patchwork skirts and jackets, boots that look like they’re better suited for the 1800s than the 2020s, and hair that could use a good brushing and some serious products.

I love them.

We spend an hour getting them settled, the atmosphere thick with happiness as they flit about, reacquainting themselves with the house and shouting to each other from room to room. You’d never know they were just here last year with the way they’re acting.

Calliope sniffs the air in my room and raises a red brow at me. “Really?”

My cheeks burn, then I remind myself that today, of all days, I need to be strong. Brave. To literally speak up for myself. So I straighten and throw my shoulders back, then answer decisively. “Yes, really. Just because you and the rest of the aunts don’t seem to believe in love, it doesn’t mean I don’t.”

Calliope’s eyes widen in surprise before crinkling into a smile. The house sends what I assume is an approving puff of glitter into the air. “Magnolia, that’s wonderful.” She opens her arms wide for a hug. I step into her ample embrace, knowing it’s unwise to refuse. She’ll simply make me come to her, and I learned as a child it was better to not be physically dragged by invisible hands into Calliope’s arms.

“It is?” My voice is muffled with how hard she’s smooshed me against her chest, and some kind of crocheted lace tickles my nose.

She grabs my upper arms and holds me in front of her, looking me up and down. “It is. I must say, getting dicked down suits you.”

I choke in surprise, my eyes immediately watering as I whack my chest. “Oh my god,” I sputter. Calliope is easily seventy-five. I think I’m scandalized.

She rolls her eyes. “Please, Magnolia. We’re both adults. If we can’t talk about a good dicking at this point, then when can we?”

I’m dying. Absolutely dying. I keep coughing, my face probably red as a beet, as I try to pull myself together.

She sighs and twirls her hand, producing a bottle of water that she waves at me.

I unscrew the lid and take a sip, and in a few moments, I’m able to take a full breath. “Wow, Aunt Calliope. That was…unexpected.”

“Pfft. Now tell me all about him,” she commands, threading her arm through mine and leading me back downstairs. “Then we’ll talk about that veilstone you’ve got in your pocket.”

My lips quirk up. I’d not told the aunts about the veilstone yet, but if anyone was going to sense it, it was going to be Calliope. “I knew you were my favorite aunt for a reason.”

An hour later, after telling all of Mom’s sisters about the veilstone, Riggs and Quinton return to the kitchen. They come to a comically screeching halt as every woman turns to them, and for a moment I half expect to hear the sound of a Western movie standoff float into the air.

Riggs is the first to speak, and honestly, I couldn’t be more proud of him. “Afternoon, ladies.”

Quinton jumps in. “You must be the aunts.”

Mom takes them through the introductions, and I catch Riggs glancing at me. He raises his brows in a silent how are you doing query, and I dip my chin back. I’m good. His lips tip up, then he turns back to meet Calliope, getting pulled into one of her infamous hugs. Whatever she says makes him blush, and I’m glad to know I’m not the only one getting scandalized.

Not two minutes later, Aspen appears by my side. “She’s here.”