Chapter 31 DECISIONS, DECISIONS
DECISIONS, DECISIONS
The electricity still clung on in spite of the lashing wind and the lightning that set the shore aglow, but Rosie and the boys were prepared just in case.
‘The light-bringers are here,’ intoned Finn as the brothers clattered up the basement steps ahead of Rosie. They were laden with flashlights and candles, as well as some ridiculous Summerween costume accessories from years past that they hadn’t been able to pass up.
‘For you, my lady,’ said Finn, draping a pumpkin-adorned feather boa around my neck.
I swallowed, feeling very much on display.
‘Oh, but it suits you,’ crowed Rosie as she set up candles around the room. ‘Jack, you’re on the stick lighter. My magic’s playing up, and every time I try to use that infernal gadget I just about set the curtains on fire.’
‘Well, I’m not about to argue with not burning down the house,’ said Jack. He followed after Rosie, the stick lighter clicking as he lit the candles. Soon, they were glowing from every surface, shelf and corner.
‘Talk about mood lighting,’ whispered Lara, dragging Jack off down the hallway. Hopefully not towards my bedroom.
‘Lara …’ I warned.
‘What? I promise I’ll be safe.’
I cocked my head. ‘And considerate?’
‘Can’t promise that, but I’ll try.’
Rosie slid a series of platters across the kitchen counter. ‘We can still do the pizzas, but wood-fired might be off the table.’
‘How about Finn-fired?’ said Finn, his hands crackling with magic.
‘Maybe you can do the crème br?lées,’ said Rosie. ‘Our handy-dandy oven can handle the pizzas. Oh, tell me that’s not a leak?’
Water trickled from a bulge in the ceiling a few feet from the door: there was already a puddle trickling its way towards the decorative welcome mat. Finn snapped his fingers, sending a stream of magic towards it, but that only hastened the flow of water.
‘Plumbing magic isn’t your thing, huh?’ I said, running to grab the mixing bowl from the KitchenAid to place under the leak. The metal tinged as water filled it.
‘I have to have some flaws, Mol,’ he said, looking through the cabinets for extra pots and pans. As he set them down on the floor, ready to swap in when our first bowl overflowed, he frowned. The leak water was tinted with gold-and-purple flecks – the telltale signs of magic.
His brow furrowed, but he shook it off. ‘I’m going to check the music room, just in case. I can’t risk Dad’s records getting drenched. Or my … his guitar.’
He ran off down the hallway. I would’ve followed after him, but the leak was the priority right now.
I set to work making myself as useful as possible.
I ran about sliding pots beneath any other spots that looked like they might drip, and checking that the less robust plants and bits of furniture were safe from the deluge.
Poor Bertha the orchid had been through so much already. She deserved a happy ending.
My arms and upper back were burning from the effort, and I took a moment to roll out my shoulders. Where was Noah? He’d disappeared at some point as well. Had he dashed back out to his studio when I hadn’t been paying attention?
Boom!
The storm was directly overhead now, pouring rain at a torrential rate and rattling at the multi-pane windows as though it desperately wanted to come inside. Sparks of purple and gold twirled in the dark, whirling like angry dervishes.
‘Definitely a magical storm,’ said Rosie. ‘And it’s concentrated over the house.’
‘Because the source of it is here,’ said Mom, arms folded.
They both turned to me – Rosie’s expression gentle, Mom’s a little less so.
I swallowed. On my finger, my ring crackled.
‘It’s the ring,’ I explained.
Rosie shook her head. ‘It’s the ring, yes, but mostly it’s you, Molly. Like any magical object, the ring is channelling your magic, your emotions. The more you fight yourself, the more you refuse to listen to your own truth, the more it’s going to rebound and ricochet.’
‘Rosie’s speaking from experience,’ said Mom. ‘Don’t even ask about the beauty spells and love hexes she cast in her youth.’
‘Really,’ said Rosie with a smile. ‘Really don’t.’
‘But I’ve never seen magic like this before,’ said Mom.
‘Not even when you were all stressed about whether to open your ad agency with Rufus,’ agreed Rosie.
‘Or when the Bloom Family farmers were trying to decide between sunflowers and roses,’ added Mom.
‘Well, you chose well,’ I said, scooting a pan beneath a new drip. ‘Dad’s footwear aside, he’s a pretty good creative partner.’
Mom smiled. ‘That’s the thing about decisions. In your heart, you already know. You could flip a coin hoping that it’ll tell you which way to choose, but whichever way it lands, you’ll feel happy – or disappointed.’
I knew this well: it was how I’d tried to make decisions in the past. Even if it took every coin I had in my purse.
‘But in the end,’ Mom said, ‘it’s not making the decision that’s the hard part: it’s sharing it.’
I glanced towards the music room, then at the art studio.
Mom was right. I’d already made my choice. I just had to speak it into being.