Chapter 1
Impractical Magic
A Witch’s Urban Fantasy Romance
River Jackson jerked awake from a nap to the drone of a lawnmower through the living room window.
The glorious Texas sunlight slanted across her face, but her chest still heaved with panicked breaths from the dream of a malignant force spreading over her town.
In that nightmare, swarms of locusts had blotted out the sun like bleak clouds.
I was asleep. Only sleeping, she told herself.
Groaning, River sat up and ran her fingers through her disheveled brown curls.
She’d stayed up late studying her spellbook and attempting scrying spells to investigate the magical force creeping into the San Antonio area.
While it wasn’t her job to police the darkness, the enigmatic Mystic Trinity governing all witches had demanded everyone to pitch in.
Clearly, she’d listened to their doom and gloom too long, and it had finally seeped into her brain.
As she shook off the nightmare’s grip, she became aware of the sexy neighbor pushing his mower outside. She parted the blinds to scope out a better look and sighed in appreciation.
Zacarias, the hottie next door, had the build of an MMA fighter.
Tattoos sprawled over his bronzed skin and defined muscles, but most of them covered his gorgeous back.
While he could hire out a landscaper, he always did the work himself, resembling a half-dressed Latin American god deserving his own temple.
Contrary to her ogling, the best part of having an amazing neighbor wasn’t his athletic physique—it was the generosity prompting Zac to mow her half of the property too.
It all started one morning when he came out and caught her tidying his sad and lonely little flower bed in the front yard.
In return, he cut her grass that evening.
Shirtless. Glistening, with all of his muscles exposed from the carved V at his hips to his spectacular chest.
A full sleeve of rainforest-themed tattoos covered his left arm, a colorful mural depicting the . The tropical birds, prowling jaguars, and verdant splendor made River ache to find an excuse to examine them up close. With her fingers. Maybe with her mouth too.
Damn, girl, it hasn’t been that long. Single and free of any relationship, she’d been living the life of a girl on her own for a few months since a less-than-amicable breakup between her and a firefighter from Austin.
Stretching again and letting her joints pop, she shrugged off the lingering exhaustion then shambled into the kitchen to her automated tea maker.
A few minutes passed before the brewing cycle completed. The invigorating scent of ginger and lemongrass wafted up to her as she poured the electric kettle’s contents into a non-glass pitcher. Because she’d learned the hard way what happens when glass goes from hot to cold in three seconds flat.
River wore four different rings and multiple wrist bangles as part of her everyday wardrobe, each item of jewelry a vital piece of equipment used to channel magic.
Some had been crafted by her mother with love, others made by River alongside her mentor.
And since she’d left the frost band in the freezer overnight a week ago, it held a complete charge for ice magic.
Skating her finger over the edge of the pitcher instantaneously reduced the steaming liquid to near freezing. She added sprigs of mint and stevia then wandered away to tidy her hair. Hopefully she could do something that didn’t involve hacking it all off with a pair of scissors in frustration.
Ugh. Maybe she would go to the salon after all, a quick visit to break free from the cycle of untamable ponytails and lazy updos. While she lacked the time or inclination for extreme makeovers, she needed relief from the stress of managing her wild mane of coils and dark spirals.
“Do I want to impress the hot neighbor?” She examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror, pursed her lips thoughtfully, then tugged the entire mess into a satin scrunched band. Nope. Not worth the effort.
Besides, he was probably already taken.
Balmy air greeted her when she stepped into the grass-scented outdoors. Ice cubes clinked together within the two tall glasses in her hands as she navigated the cement path and walked toward Zac. He’d stopped to mop his brow with a handkerchief.
“Hey!” River called.
Startled, he whipped around, his green eyes growing wide with surprise. “You were home?”
“Uh-huh.”
He glanced at her empty drive.
“My car’s in the garage for once. I had it detailed yesterday.” She beamed. “Maybe you should do the same.”
“That’s next on the agenda.” His big grin dimpled his left cheek. She melted and stared longer than intended.
“Anyway, I figured since you’re always doing this ninja-lawnmowing thing into my yard, the least I could do was bring you a cold drink.” While biting her lower lip, she dragged one toe over the grass-strewn cement path. “I could help you with your car too. It’s a nice day.”
A fine layer of dust and pollen dulled the metallic black paint job on Zac’s Jaguar, turning it green. He twisted around to look at his vehicle and frowned. “Yeah, maybe I should since it looks like there was a tree orgy beside it.”
“Yeah, well, now you know to keep it in the garage since we have so many trees around here.” She passed over his glass then knelt beside her herb garden.
A tidy row of river stones displayed the names of each plant, their species painted on each flat rock.
Basil, mint, and rosemary grew alongside less common herbs like lavender and mugwort.
The larger garden sprawled across her portion of their backyard.
“Why do you grow so much sage and stuff anyway?”
“Some people cook with it, you know.” The last time she brought up the truth about her Pagan practices in Texas, she had received raised brows and some lecturing about the Devil’s handiwork.
Zac gave her a doubtful look. “That’s a lot of cooking.”
“I use it for sage bundles too. Homemade incense. Soaps. Sachet bags. Stuff like that. When I have a good harvest, I sometimes sell the extra at the farmers’ market.”
“Aren’t sage bundles and all that herb-burning stuff used by priests and hippies?”
His perplexed expression made her giggle. “They’re used in lots of cultures and religions. Smudging was a ritualistic ceremony used by many Native American peoples, but today most modern day pagans and witches use smoke cleansing rituals as a way of banishing negative energy.”
“Fair enough.” He chugged down his tea. “Let me set this down. Then we can start on my car. If you were serious, I mean.”
“Well, you did help me get my computer back online after I screwed it up. I think I can handle a little car wash.”
“Great. I’ll be right back then.” Zacarias set his empty glass on her porch.
When he jogged away to his garage, River took advantage of the view and watched the tight rear under his low-riding gym shorts. The taut muscles in his back shifted beneath colorful ink and made him into a living work of art.
He returned with a bucket, sponges, soap, and the garden hose. After he had rinsed the pollen and leaves from the car’s surface, they divided the task of scrubbing it together.
“Looking a little soapy there, River.”
“Huh?” A few suds covered her hands and clung to her arms. She glanced up and saw Zac pointing the bright yellow hose nozzle in her direction. “Don’t you dare! I mean it, Zac—”
The merciless spray pelted her, a shock of cold water on her upper chest and face. She shrieked and ran to the other side of the car, where she ducked and used the vehicle as a shield.
“Asshole!” She flung the sponge at him in retaliation.
“Hahaha. I’m done, I’m done. Promise.”
River remained behind the car, half-crouched to conceal her body from his eyes. The T-shirt and cotton bralette plastered against her skin provided insufficient cover. She shivered and shot him a dirty look.
Not that I have much to hide, or he’ll even care, she thought.
Suppressing her modesty, River straightened and glowered at him.
“I’ll finish up. You head inside and get dry,” Zac suggested.
“Gee, I wonder who I have to thank for that.”
His grin widened. “You looked hot, so I cooled you off a little. You’re very welcome for the aid. Now scoot.”
Even after she went inside, Zac remained on her mind. His carefree laughter and warm smiles, the way his eyes twinkled vivid-green in the sunlight. She sighed, smitten and infatuated.
After tossing her sopping wet clothes in the washer, she yanked a clean top from the dryer and tugged it on without another bra.
Her blonde and slim, model-perfect mother never failed to point out ways to improve her bottom-heavy figure.
While River had her mom’s modest boobs, she hadn’t inherited her metabolism.
From her dad, she’d received the genes to easily pack on muscle if she hit the gym.
Even now, years after retiring from the NFL, her athletic father still outperformed men half his age.
Her mom used to tease that she was a changeling, swapped at birth by fairies, because River’s facial features bore no close resemblance to either of them and could have been any couple’s biracial child.
Once she squeezed into another pair of yoga pants, she rolled the top down beneath her rounded tummy, made a promise to do more sit-ups, and slid onto the chair in front of the computer desk.
A new e-mail waited for her from a repeat client.
Zacarias didn’t know it, but he served as inspiration for some of the book covers River designed. The bronze shade of his skin, the tattoo quality, and even the way he moved had invaded her digital masterpieces with a subtle touch.
Work didn’t provide the necessary distraction she’d needed from Zac’s pecs, and after an unsuccessful hour of painting tattoos on some model’s torso in Photoshop, she resorted to meditation and yoga.