Four
MORGAN
I'm doing my damndest not to pay attention to the band on stage. But the singer's voice is deep and the bar isn't that big. And the acoustics aren't exactly top notch.
Then the man I'm ignoring taps out the beat, and the song starts in earnest.
The bass line is familiar, perking me up. I know that opening riff.
"In a whirlwind of leather and lace," the singer croons.
I know that line.
I fucking wrote that line.
"Hey, they're covering Celestial Alchemy." Bronwen claps like a little girl who just got a monster ice cream sundae.
Our three cousins, Sapphire, Garnet, and Amethyst, along with a steady rotation of drummers, are the international pop-punk band Celestial Alchemy. They're all also talented songwriters, but they tour a lot, and don't get much writing time. So I've written the lyrics and main melody for about 60 percent of their songs.
Including this one, "Don't Go Back Underground." It's one of their most popular and one of my favorites.
And now Zach is playing it.
A shiver runs through me, but the pleasant kind, not the scary kind. My skin feels electric and too tight. This other man is singing my words, ones usually sung by Sapphire.
But the one who commands my attention, the one I can't drag my eyes away from, is Zach. His arms are a blur behind his drum set as he pounds out the rhythm my cousins wrote. He's not wearing a shirt, and his chest is a melting pot of pale skin and black tattoos.
I want to see all that ink close up. I want to lick the sweat off his nipples while I trace the lines of art across his skin. I want?—
I just want.
So fucking unfair.
He's graceful and fluid and it's obvious he's lost in the music.
"This is one of yours, right?" Sirona asks.
I can only nod. I'm hypnotized by him. Strands have pulled free from his ponytail and they fly, wild, around his head and shoulders. He's not just playing music. He is music.
Well shit, when did my own brain get so fucking poetic. He's not music. He's a royal pain in the ass who happens to have a talent.
Bronwen pokes me like the annoying little sister she is. I'm still furious with her for putting a love spell on me and Zach. I know, of course, it can't make us fall in love if either one of us isn't feeling it. But with it in place, the deities will create more opportunities for us to be together. And they will tinker around however they do and try to make us fall in love on our own .
Is that why Mom is insisting the deities want Zach and me to plan the wedding?
"What?" I snap at Bronwen.
"He's really good. And really sexy. Competence is hot."
I agree, but like I'll admit it. "He doesn't suck. The band is good."
"I mean, he's really hot right now." She makes an innocent face that's a little too practiced to be real. "Since you're not interested, maybe I'll go talk to him after the show. Lavender said to stay out as long as I want..."
She's goading me. I know this. And yet.
"You are not going and propositioning our future stepbrother."
Sirona's green gaze snaps back and forth between us. It's on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she'd like popcorn.
Bronwen's innocent act deepens. "Why not? You've made it very clear you're not interested. I'm single. He's single as far as we know. And if he isn't, he'll tell me and that will be that. If he isn't, well, it's been a while for me. Casual sex and a toddler don't exactly mix. We're both consenting adults."
The urge to growl at her like a feral dog marking its territory is strong. I may not want to want Zach. But I do. And it would be a major violation of sisterhood for her to go after him.
"No. He's not available to you." My voice is nearly a snarl.
"But why not?" she asks, eyes round.
"Just say it, Morgan. She's not going to drop it until you admit to it." Sirona gives me a flat look.
She's right. Bronwen is deliberately goading me. But I don't want to admit my feelings for Zach aloud. It makes them more real.
I shake my head. "I have nothing to admit to," I lie.
Sirona rolls her eyes, then gets up with her empty wine glass in hand. "Anyone else want another?"
I'm not sure if I need to get the hell out of here before I fall deeper in lust with Zach, or if I want to stay and watch the beauty that is him playing drums. But if I stay, I definitely need more wine.
I hand my glass to my sister. "Why the hell not?"
Bronwen also asks for a refill, and Sirona makes her way across the room to the bar. Leaving me alone with my tormentor.
"Why don't you want to admit how much you want him?" she asks, the innocent act dropped. She's back to being just my sister. Who is also a love witch who gets paid to meddle in people's personal lives. And who has a very vested interest in me falling in love.
Even if we have no idea what lesson either of us needs to learn.
"If I say it out loud, it's real." I mumble the words, knowing how ridiculous they are.
"Oh, sweetie, it's already real." She pats my shoulder. "And even without my little spell to push you two together, I think it's inevitable."
Without turning my head, I cut my gaze over to her. "Don't hold your breath. I'm not going to fall in love with someone I dislike so much. Besides, he mutually can't stand me."
My sister gets that knowing smile again, the gleam in her eyes. "Only time will tell."
ZACH
I dislike shopping on the best of days. Today is not the best of days.
I had plans for a nice quiet Saturday at home. Read the scientific journal I've been meaning to get to for weeks. Maybe do some yard work. And the guys and I have band practice at seven. After a very hectic work week, it's exactly what I need.
Instead, I am inexplicably carrying a wicker shopping basket around a store two towns over from Owl Cove that seems to carry all useless stuff for people to spend money on. Even worse, I'm following Morgan around said store as she adds more and more stuff to the basket on my arm.
"How long until the engagement party?" the shop employee, who introduced herself as Heidi, asks. She’s a short white woman with graying hair and turquoise glasses with white polka dots. Her clothes are equally colorful. It almost hurts to look at her.
"A week," Morgan tells her, in a can-you-believe-it's-so-soon tone.
"Oh my!" Heidi says.
There's a garish bronze candelabra on a shelf and Morgan is drawn to it like the proverbial moth to flame. "I love this!"
"It's hideous," I can't help saying.
She glares at me over her shoulder, the white streak in her hair catching on her nose.
My fingers itch to brush it off her face and tuck it behind her ear, just to see if it's as soft as it looks. My fingers are traitors.
"It's absolutely perfect for Mom and Gary's table." She hands it to Heidi, since it's ridiculously large, with arms for eight candles.
"You'll want candles. What's the color scheme?" Heidi asks as she takes it to the counter.
"Purple and black. For the party and the wedding.”
Wait, what? "You're kidding, right?" I don't know much about weddings, but I know they aren't about black.
"Nope." Morgan fingers some purple napkins with black spiderwebs woven into the fabric. "My mom already did the white wedding. Black and purple are her favorite colors, and it's very seasonally appropriate. With some orange accents. "
I have no response other than to shake my head in disbelief. They really are dedicated to this witch charade.
I wait while she counts something on her fingers and mumbles words I can't hear. Finally she holds up one of the napkins. "Heidi, do you have more of these? I need seven and there are only five out."
Heidi disappears through a narrow door, leaving me and Morgan alone in the cramped store. There's so much stuff and very narrow aisles. It almost feels claustrophobic.
This is enough to motivate me to make a suggestion. "We could do this the easy way. I found a list on Put a Ring On It. It has shopping links to all the items on Avalon that you'll need for an engagement party. I have Avalon Express, so everything we order will be here by Tuesday, with free shipping." I am desperate to get out of this store and back to something that resembles my real life.
She shoots me a withering look. "We will not be shopping at a mega-corporation like Avalon. I'd rather just conjure everything before I shop there."
"Hypocrite much?" The words are out before I can think better of them.
She turns to fully face me, a deep scowl on her annoyingly pretty face. "Excuse me?"
"Doesn't your family own a mega-corporation much like Avalon? And don't you both work for and profit from that corporation?" I definitely don't love all of Avalon's business practices, but I won't pretend to be above them.
Her brown eyes are shooting knives at me; if she were a real witch, she'd probably turn me into a toad right about now. "Do you know why no one in my family is a billionaire? Even my grandmother?"
I try to cross my arms over my chest, remember I'm holding the stupid basket full of tchotchkes, and put them back at my sides. "Enlighten me."
"One"—she holds up a finger—"we actually pay our corporate taxes instead of exploiting all the loopholes. Two"—another finger goes up—"we pay all our employees well beyond a living wage. With amazing benefits. And three, we have a massive charitable giving division that gives away a fuck ton of our profits."
She shoves her three fingers into my face and I have the odd urge to bite them. But not in an angry way. In a playful, sexy way.
She is fucking with my head way too much.
"Oh, and four, our services help people. We do more than just sell people more crap they don't need." She huffs off, down another aisle.
Leaving me holding a basket of what I would define as crap we don't need. But no one asked me.
Meanwhile, the list I printed off the wedding website feels like it's going to burn a hole through my pocket. I hate shopping in such a disorganized fashion. I am strictly a list man. Even this level of chaos makes me uncomfortable.
But since I seem to have no choice, I follow Morgan to the back room, which looks exactly like the front room to me. More stuff.
Morgan is standing in the middle aisle, glaring at... nothing. I watch her for a moment, confused.
"No, they do not need monogrammed napkin rings," she says to no one. Then she turns her head like she's listening to someone standing next to her. Except she's alone. "No, it's not classy. It's too over the top... You're welcome to think that, but I disagree and I'm the one shopping. You can't even pick up a napkin ring." She rolls her eyes and moves farther down the aisle.
On the one hand, I'm grateful we're not getting monogrammed napkins rings. On the other hand, what the fuck? What did I just witness? I know she's a con artist, but is she also struggling from a delusional disorder ?
Against my better judgment, I find words coming out of my own mouth. "Who were you talking to?"
She turns to face me with a sigh. "That's Maria. Maria, this is Zach. Best man and son of the groom."
This she says to the empty spot she was talking to before.
"You know there's no one there, right?"
"No one that you can see. Maria died in 1938. A few years ago, she decided she has nothing better to do with her afterlife than hang out with me when the fancy strikes her."
Like that's a totally rational explanation, she turns the corner to go to the next aisle.
Are you kidding me? Does she actually think a ghost is following her around? Or is she that committed to her con?
Anger rises up, hot in my chest and I stalk after her. "I'm not one of your customers," I snap at her.
She looks up from a display of thank you notes. "I'm aware."
"So why keep up the pretense of seeing ghosts?"
She straightens to her full height with narrowed eyes. "Because it's not a pretense. I don't really give two shits if you believe me or not. I know I'm telling the truth. Maria knows I'm telling the truth. And what's more, your dad knows we're telling the truth. I'm sorry you're one of those weirdos who can't see what's so obviously in front of your face, but I'm not going to pretend to be someone I'm not just for you ."
She practically spits the word you .
I've had just about enough of her and her family and their lies for today. If magic is so real, why doesn’t she just levitate some of the merchandise in the store, or change the weather, or something?
I would love to leave the basket and storm out. But it wouldn't do any good because we came together and she drove.
I need to stop doing favors for my dad when they involve spending time with Morgan .
Trapped, I seethe as I wait for her to pick out just the right cards. Next we decide on how many candles we'll need, then if we should get twinkle lights in purple or white. After that I tune out enough to not even register what she and Heidi are discussing.
I do my best to ignore the sense that there really is another being present in the shop with us. Ghosts aren't real. There can't be a dead person hanging out. I'm an atheist, more or less, and I believe once you die, that's it. That's just the end.
The idea that someone like my mom, who was killed by a drunk driver when I was eight, is wandering around, knowing it's my fault she was out driving that night, that's too much. And scientifically, it's just not plausible.
Some deviant corner of my mind pipes up and wants me to ask Morgan if she can contact my mom. Tell her how fucking sorry I am that I drove her to her death. But I shut that down immediately. Not only is it not possible because Morgan doesn't actually talk to ghosts, it's ridiculous. If she did exist as a ghost, my mom probably wouldn't want anything to do with me anyway.
I scrub a hand over my face, holding in a frustrated growl. Morgan fucks with my head way too much. One of many reasons I dislike spending time with her.
Another reason is because when I'm with her, I can't help noticing things like how her ass is exactly the right size for my hands. She's bending over, looking at something on a bottom shelf, with her ass in the air like it's on display for me.
I'm filled with a sudden, desperate need to bite her ass. Sink my teeth into all that flesh, just hard enough to sting a little. Then I would?—
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake off the mental picture. Doesn't matter how hot I find her. The last thing on earth I will ever do is hook up with Morgan Goode.