Eleven
ZACH
Morgan and her sisters had planned to spend Sunday in Milwaukee before driving back, and since Morgan's my ride, I have no choice but to join them. Which is how I find myself wandering the Milwaukee Art Museum on a Sunday afternoon when I'd much rather be home, reading or practicing my drums. I already missed band practice this weekend to be here, but I can hardly complain.
Yesterday might have been the single greatest day of my life. Performing with Celestial Alchemy, with a nightcap of the most amazing sex I've ever had.
Which is a huge problem. But I don't want to think about that right now.
We only slept for a few hours; she woke me by wrapping my cock between her breasts, then sucking on it until I came. Which didn't take long, between her fantastic tits and her talented mouth. We slept until around seven, then started the day with her riding my cock and coming twice before I finally came.
By that time, we both had to shower and pack to be ready for checkout at ten.
And that's it. The single best—or multiple best, I guess—sex of my life, and it's over. We're not going to do it again. Which makes sense. We'd be a disaster together. Not to mention how awkward it would be to have a full-on fling with my future stepsister.
But it also sucks. We were damn good together, and we didn't do nearly everything I wanted to.
Not to mention we have to act like we don't know what the other's pleasure face looks like. Like I don't know exactly how her pussy tastes, or that she has a serious praise kink.
My cock twitches as I remember how hard she came when I told her what a good job she was doing, riding me.
To distract myself, I look at the nearest sculpture. Except we're looking at a special exhibit all about sexuality. It's a painting of a man giving another man head. And since I'm pansexual, that doesn't exactly turn me off.
I look away, and of course my gaze lands on Morgan, where she, Bronwen, and Evan are studying a photo of three naked women tangled up together on a large bed. Even from several feet away, I can see Morgan's nipples beaded under her green t-shirt. My tongue slides over the backs of my teeth, wanting to slide over them.
Fuck. I scrub my hand over my face. I probably need to accept that until she drops me off at home tonight and I can be alone, everything is going to make me think about having sex with Morgan.
Slowly, I make my way over to the group. I have no idea where Sirona and Grant are, but I shouldn't lose track of my ride.
Bronwen grins at me. "Hey, enjoying the exhibit? "
I could be imagining it, but I feel like there's innuendo in her tone. "Uh, sure. Lots of talent."
She nods, sliding her arm through Evan's. "Definitely. I think Evan and I are going to go check out the, uh, the impressionist exhibit. But you two stay and enjoy this as long as you want."
Evan gives her a questioning look, but goes along with her as she practically drags him from the room.
Morgan, of course, is frowning after her sister.
"Why do I get the feeling your sister wants the two of us to get together or something?" At lunch, she insisted Morgan and I had to sit next to each other for reasons that are unclear to me. And, of course, she's the one who decided Morgan and I would drive to Milwaukee together.
Morgan gives me a wary look. There's no hint that she's dwelling on our night together the way I am. I can't say I've gotten my attraction to her out of my system, but it seems to have worked for her.
She sighs. "Because she does."
"Why?" Why would anyone, especially someone who knows Morgan so well, think we're a good match?
Even if we were an explosive match in bed.
She wanders over to stare at a painting of a man and a woman kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower. "A variety of reasons. It's a long story. And it involves magic and curses, so you wouldn't want to hear it anyway."
I'm not positive, but I think I detect a note of bitterness in her tone.
"Tell me anyway."
She turns to me with a surprised expression. I'm a bit surprised myself. I didn't expect those words to come out of my mouth. But something has shifted in me. Over the past 24 hours, I feel different. Maybe a little more open to the slight possibility that maybe magic might exist. Maybe. Just a little bit .
I run my hand through my hair. Who am I, thinking these thoughts? But what she said in the car yesterday about magic being science we haven’t yet discovered keeps popping into my head.
She shrugs and turns away, moving to the next painting. "OK. But remember, you asked. So I really don't want to hear shit from you about how magic isn't real and I'm lying."
I hold up my hands in a defensive pose. "I promise. I'll just listen."
She walks to a bench in the middle of the room and sits, staring straight ahead at a statue of a naked, fat woman with lush curves and pretty amazing breasts. The statue smiles down on us as I sit next to Morgan.
"I used to get teased a lot in school. Even though Owl Cove has a large witch population, there were kids who thought we were weirdos. And they were awful to us. I didn't really have any friends besides my sisters and my cousins."
"I'm sorry. That sounds awful." I wasn't part of the cool kids crowd, but I had a solid group of friends all through school. We were the nerdy kids who liked video games and computers.
"I also developed early, and the girls hated me for these." She lifts her breasts, drawing my attention to the full swells. And making my mouth water, remembering how she tasted when I sucked on her nipples.
I clear my throat and nod.
"In the spring of seventh grade, I was dating this boy. As much as seventh graders date. I liked him a lot. He was sort of popular, and we made out a bunch of times. But I wouldn't let him feel me up, so he dumped me."
"Asshole," is my immediate response.
She just nods. "I was devastated, and to make me feel better, Sirona offered to have us do a little spell. Make it so I didn't have to deal with boys for a while. So we got everything together, all the supplies, and snuck out to this clearing by our house where we do lots of big spells."
She cuts a sideways glance at me. I assume to see if I'm going to make a snide comment about magic.
I don't. Maybe I want to know a little more about what she thinks can happen. I nod for her to continue.
"Since Bronwen is the love and relationship witch, she did the spell."
"What was the spell supposed to do?" Somehow, I'm invested in this story now.
"Make it so Sirona had to fall in love first, before either me or Bronwen could. The intention was for it to be, like, puppy love. Like I thought I felt for that boy who dumped me. Or like if she dated someone in high school who she was really into."
I'm still not sure how this relates to Bronwen wanting me and Morgan to get together. So I wait for the rest of the story.
"Except Bronwen was just starting her training, and she majorly botched the spell. It was wild, the weather going weird all around us. So we hurried home."
When I glance at her, her face is tight, the corners of her mouth pinched. It unsettles me. I don't want to care how she feels, but I don't like her being uncomfortable.
"Next morning, our mom came down, furious. Nana knew we did the spell, and she knew how royally we fucked it up." Her tone is hollow.
"And that's what you mean by a curse? This fucked up spell?" I don't fully get it, but pieces are starting to fall into place. If I believed in magic, at least. Which I don't.
I don't think.
"Basically, we condemned ourselves to never falling in love until Sirona found real, true, adult love."
"And she didn't until a few months ago with Grant?" I guess .
Morgan nods, her hair falling over one shoulder. My fingers twitch with an impulse to smooth it back.
"And, once she fell in love with him, we thought it was all over. But it's not. There were more layers to it that the deities only told Nana once that part of the curse was broken." She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, then opens them again.
My anticipation for what she's going to say next is high. I need to know the ending to this story.
"We have to fall in love in age order. And along with that, we each have a lesson we have to learn to break our part of the curse. But we don't know what that lesson is until after we've learned it. So I could have to learn to play the trumpet, or I could have to go to years of therapy to heal some inner wound." She's definitely bitter now.
And the last puzzle piece falls into place. "So Bronwen wants us together so you can fall in love and break your portion of the curse, so she can fall in love."
Nodding, Morgan cuts a glance over to me again. "Pretty much."
I hold her gaze for a long, charged moment. I feel a pull toward her, like I should lean in and kiss her. My lips tingle in anticipation.
I purposely lean back. I'm not fucking kissing her. My hormones don't run me.
She looks away with a shrug. "But you don't believe in magic, so you think that's all bullshit and lies." She gets to her feet. "As far as you're concerned, she's just a meddling little sister."
She walks off to the far side of the gallery. I remain on the bench, processing what she's told me. She's right; I don't believe in magic, or curses. I don't believe Bronwen can't fall in love just because Morgan hasn't.
So why does part of me want, desperately, to believe every word Morgan just said is truth?
MORGAN
It was bad enough walking around an exhibit on sexuality with my one-night stand. Considering I'm still very attracted to him, every painting made me superimpose us onto whatever erotic, or even tender, moment was depicted.
Now I'm trapped in the front seat of a car with him for three hours. We haven't talked, and it's been an hour. But I'm intensely aware of his every movement. When he shifts in his seat, my nipples get hard. When he crosses his long legs, my clit throbs.
I hate it.
"You need to relax a little. I can feel your grumpiness back here and I don't want it to rub off on me," Maria says from the backseat.
I cast a quick glance at the rearview mirror to see into the backseat. Which is silly, since spirits don't have reflections. But I don't respond, since Zach's in the car and already thinks I'm out of my mind.
No, not out of my mind. He thinks I'm a chronic liar.
It pisses me off. I am a good person. Sure, I have self-esteem problems because my dad won't talk to me and my mom wasn't exactly warm and nurturing. But who doesn't have parent issues?
I can't hold in a big sigh.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing," I snap. I'm irritable, a combination of lack of sleep, being pegged a scam artist, and still wanting to fuck his brains out.
Silence descends again. I'm so pissy, I don't even say the required "cow" when we pass a herd. Neither does he, and I know he grew up somewhere in the Midwest, where it's basically reflex for us to point out the bovine scenery .
"How come you live in Owl Cove when you think witches are a bunch of frauds?" I don't know why I asked. I don't want to get to know him better. Then there's a slim chance I might actually like him, and that would be a bigger disaster than wanting to have sex with him.
So much for getting it out of our systems. Now that I know exactly how incredible we are together—for sex only—I want him even more.
And it's my own damn fault.
"For my job," he says. In my peripheral vision I can see him watching me.
I want to snap at him to stop, but I also like the feeling of his gaze on me. It makes my stomach all fluttery. Which is exactly why I want him to stop.
"Bullshit. You could get a job anywhere. So why Owl Cove?"
He sighs and turns to look out the window. "We lived in Starkville until I was eight. Then we moved to St. Paul. So the area's familiar to me. My dad moved here when I was in grad school. We don't really have any other family, so it was important to me to be near him."
It makes sense, but I'm in a fighting mood. "So being around your dad makes up for being surrounded by con artists."
His jaw tightens and he gathers his hair into a ponytail, holding it at the base of his neck. That soft, silky hair that I got to sift through my fingers last night.
"Yeah, I guess it does." He turns to the window again, shifting not just his head but his shoulders away from me.
I can take a hint. Conversation over.
I'm not sure how much time, or how many unannounced cows, have passed when Maria pipes up from the backseat.
"Uh, Morgan. We've got some company back here."
Again, on instinct, I glance in the rearview mirror even though I can't see her. Since I don't want to talk out loud, I move my hand in a "go on" gesture.
"Hi. I'm Vanessa," a softer, gentler voice says.
I jump in my seat. My heart practically leaps from my chest, I'm so startled. Spirits don't typically seek me out. I summon them. Even Maria came to me only after I'd summoned her for her family.
I nod, like this is all fine and normal and fine.
"She's surprised is all," Maria says.
Oh, yeah, spirits can see and communicate with each other.
"I can understand that," Vanessa says.
I am desperate to pull over so I can see and talk to Vanessa, find out what she's doing in my backseat. But since I have no idea if this is a conversation she wants someone else overhearing part of, I keep driving. We still have about an hour until we get to Zach's apartment complex.
"I'm sorry to intrude like this," Vanessa says. "I know I should have waited until you get home and talk to you there. But I had to... Well, it's been hard to track you down the past few days. And I'm impatient. And kind of impulsive."
I wave my hand like it's no big deal. Except it's a huge deal. Now I have to spend an hour with curiosity clawing at me. Maybe I should just talk in front of Zach. It's not like he can think I'm more of a liar than he already does.
"It's fine," Maria assures her. "Morgan has a lovely sitting room. We can have tea and chat."
I roll my eyes. What is she even talking about? Neither of them can drink tea or consume food or beverages of any kind.
"I suppose I could give you a few details now, while we're driving. I understand why you can't respond. He's very... very rigid in his thinking." Vanessa is clearly referring to Zach.
I couldn't agree more. He may be some brilliant scientist, but he definitely lacks the curiosity to learn new things that, in my opinion, every scientist should have .
"I died about 23 years ago. Lived close to you, actually, in Starkville."
Weird how that's the second time the town near Owl Cove has come up today.
"I was happily married, had a beautiful eight-year-old boy, a good job. I was very happy." In contrast, her voice is heavy with sorrow.
"How did it happen?" Maria asks, voice more gentle than I've ever heard it. "Mine was a sudden heart attack, likely because I started smoking when I was thirteen. Medicine in 1938 wasn't what it is now."
Sprits aren't allowed to remember how they died. Usually the deities cut off their memories about 15 minutes before death. So Maria had me search out the information for her.
There's a long silence, long enough I'm not sure she's going to answer. Has she also puzzled out exactly how she died?
"I was having a bad day. Something happened at work. I don't remember what, now. My son was also wound up, being louder and more rambunctious than usual. I yelled at him, and I could feel myself getting more and more angry. Not because of anything he did, just because sometimes people get more upset than the occasion calls for."
I nod and Maria murmurs her assent. Zach is still staring out the window, ignoring me.
Which is fine. Totally fine.
"I knew I needed to cool off, so I told my son and husband I was going for a drive to calm down, and that I'd be back in less than half an hour."
"Oh dear." Maria's voice cracks.
"Yep. I never made it back. I remember getting in the car, and driving down the block. Then it goes blank. My best guess is a car accident."
My heart squeezes. I may be generally cranky, but I still have a soul. That poor little boy, growing up without his mom. I want to tell her I'm sorry, but platitudes will have to wait.
"I think I can speak for Morgan, and myself, in saying how sorry we are."
I nod, just a little so Zach doesn't get suspicious.
"She can't really talk in front of him. He's a doubter."
I hold in a scoff. Doubter. That's a huge understatement.
Vanessa's sigh is deep and heavy. One thing that never stops weirding me out about spirits. They're dead, so they don't need to breathe, but they still do things like sigh. It's odd and a little creepy.
"Yes, that's part of why I'm here. I've been trying to get up the nerve to talk to you for months."
"Go on," Maria says.
We've spent enough time together and she's hung out in enough of my sessions, she knows what I would say.
"I need to speak with my son. Rather urgently, as my husband is getting remarried soon. And I know my son has very complicated feelings about that. He's never fully processed his grief over losing me."
Relatable. I don't even remember my dad, but I know I still carry a fuck ton of grief about his death. Maybe because the asshole refuses to talk to me.
I shove those thoughts away before I get choked up. I'm focusing on Vanessa right now.
"I need to talk to my son about how I died. And help him let go of it."
"That's definitely something we can help you with," Maria assures her.
We? I frown, glaring at the cows we're passing. Talking to spirits is my job, not hers.
"Cow," I mumble, just because we've neglected to point out so many.
Zach glances over at me, so I turn away from the road for a moment to look back at him. Our eyes connect briefly, and it's like he's physically touching me. I feel his gaze in my entire body.
Screw Bronwen for putting her stupid spell on us. Screw my hormones for lusting after someone I don't like. Screw the deities for whatever part they have in this.
And screw Zach for being so damn sexy and irresistible.
"I'm so glad." Vanessa's relieved voice cuts into the lust bubble around me and Zach.
I look back at the road, the cows now behind us. We're getting close to Owl Cove. Twenty more minutes and I'll be rid of him and can talk to Vanessa. Can ask her the one important question I need an answer to.
But Maria knows me well enough to know what my next question would be. "Does Morgan know your son? Who is he?"
"She definitely knows him. He's the man sitting next to her right now. Zach is my son."