Seventeen
ZACH
Morgan has spent the past three nights at my house. And in those three nights, we've only had sex once. Last night, she asked me to fuck her before we went to sleep, and of course I did. I'm still ridiculously attracted to her. But there were moments, a lot of moments, during the sex where it felt a lot more tender and affectionate than it has before.
Which is unnerving. But also, I like it. I think. So much has shifted in my mind and my world since the Goodes came into my life. And I'm not entirely sure what to make of it.
I keep coming back to one fundamental question: if witchcraft really is real, if it can do things like heal people, why is my mom dead? I get that witches aren't immortal, but why didn't their supposed magic save my mom?
Still, my deeply held belief that magic isn't real is starting to crack. And that's because of Morgan. Now that I know her better, now that she's shared her vulnerabilities with me, it's hard to imagine her as part of some grand con .
I stay after work on Thursday and pull up a few of the databases we can access to read scientific journal articles. Surely someone has looked at how science and witchcraft are incompatible.
Searching "science of witchcraft" gets me hundreds of articles. There's even a dedicated Institute of Witchcraft Science at the University of Massachusetts. I had no idea.
I skim through a few of the articles, each one outlining precisely how a certain aspect of magic aligns with our scientific knowledge. Article after article shows that science and magic can, indeed, coexist.
I more carefully read a review article that analyzes multiple studies at once. It concludes that there is ample scientific evidence of magic's validity. Most of the studies that show magic can't exist have shoddy methodology and aren't robust science.
For a long time, I sit at my desk, staring at the conclusion section of that last article. "We have no choice than to vociferously conclude that magic is, in fact, very real and part of our scientific world. After all, what is magic but science we haven't yet discovered."
Those words play over and over in my head.
… science we haven't yet discovered .
Hundreds of years ago, the biomedical research I do every day probably would have been considered magic. Now, it's science. Because it was science we hadn't yet discovered.
On a whim, I look up the Institute of Witchcraft Science to see if they have any job openings. They don't. Which is just as well. I don't really want to leave Owl Cove. Leave my dad.
Leave Morgan.
I scrub a hand over my face and let out a long sigh. Morgan. I'm falling for her more than I ever thought I could. And now that I'm at least starting to believe she isn't a con artist, where does that leave me? Leave us?
I want to go to her, share this revelation with her. Not that it'll be a revelation to her. But I want her to know what I'm learning. I want her to know I believe her. Maybe she could even show me some magic, help solidify this change in my thinking.
Shit, if she really can talk to spirits, could she summon my mom?
My heart starts galloping at the thought. I could tell my mom how sorry I am that I'm to blame for her death. How much I wish I had behaved that day. And how much I miss her.
A chill runs through me, thinking about talking to my mom. About how much her spirit must resent me. Maybe it would be better not to talk to her.
Instead of dwelling on that, I pull out my phone to text Morgan.
Me: Come over tonight. Don't care how late.
She's going out with her sisters for something, but they all work tomorrow, so I can't imagine they'll be all that late.
I pack up my things and leave work. Instead of driving home, I head for the small county library downtown. It's nestled on Main St., between the Honey Hive Cafe and the Grilled Cheese Diner.
It's the smallest library I've ever been in, but they're well stocked in the subject I'm looking for: witchcraft. I easily find A Modern History of Witchcraft in the United States and The Scientific Case for Witchcraft . I check them both out and head home.
My apartment feels empty without Morgan there. Strange how quickly I've gotten used to having her around. I'm baking a frozen pizza when my phone buzzes with a text.
Morgan: Sounds good. Won't be too late a night.
I send back a thumbs up emoji.
A few minutes later, I get another text. This one from my dad .
Dad: Would you consider cutting your hair for the wedding? It apparently bothers Angela.
My hand immediately goes to the ponytail I have gathered at the nape of my neck. What's wrong with my long hair? Why does Angela care? How is it any of her business.
Plus, Morgan likes my hair.
And, to be honest, I keep it long because it reminds me of Mom. She had the same long dark hair I do, and one of my earliest memories is laying on the floor with her, playing with that smooth, silky hair.
Which means it's probably psychologically a terrible idea to keep the long hair. But I'm not sure I'm ready to cut it off.
I'll ask Morgan what she thinks. Her opinion matters to me.
And that's yet another revelation in an evening full of them.
MORGAN
Zach: Come over tonight. Don't care how late.
I read his text several times before putting my phone face down on the table.
"Who's that?" Lavender asks.
"Just Zach. Wedding stuff," I lie, forcing a note of disdain into my voice. I don't know what's happening between us, but my sisters and cousins don't need to know about it.
The ten of us are gathered at the Honey Hive Cafe, even though it closed a few hours ago. Bronwen called an emergency cousin meeting, and Honey offered it up. Bronwen was so distraught in her texts, even Basil, our only male cousin, showed. He's often the odd one out. Aunt Betsy's oldest, he doesn't quite fit into the group .
But he showed tonight.
Bronwen's sitting in the middle of the tables we pushed together, eyes red and puffy. She looks like her best friend just died. Except her best friend is Chessie, who's sitting next to her, holding her hand.
"So what's up?" Sirona asks. I'm surprised she didn't bring Grant with her, since they seem attached at the hip these days.
Bronwen looks miserably at our sister and sniffs. "Lake died."
The room is absolutely silent. Shock runs through me. Lake is Bronwen's familiar, a six-year-old goat. I don't know the average life span of a goat, but I'm positive it's longer than six years.
"Oh, sweetie." Chessie wraps her arms around Bronwen and hugs her tightly.
I exchange glances with Sirona, then Garnet. It's always awful when a pet dies, but it's especially devastating when it's a familiar. They're so much more than pets. We know them.
Sirona, sitting on Bronwen's other side, rubs her hand up and down Bronwen's arm. I'm across the table from her and feel entirely useless.
"I'm so sorry, B," I say. It's wholly inadequate but what else can I do? I talk to human spirits, but I've never encountered an animal's spirit. And since Lake wasn't my familiar, it's likely even if I could summon her spirit, I wouldn't be able to communicate with it.
I remember when my first owl died. I refused to leave my room for a week. It wasn't until Bowie showed up that I finally started handling my grief.
I squirm in my seat, wanting to do something, anything, for my little sister.
"Was she sick?" Garnet asks.
"Yeah, what happened?" Honey asks .
Chessie removes herself from Bronwen's embrace but keeps an arm around her shoulder.
"If she wasn't feeling well, she never told me." Bronwen's voice shakes as she talks, full of sorrow. "Stubborn-ass goat."
Bronwen's hand rests on the table between us, so I reach over and cover it with mine. It's wholly inadequate, but at least it's something. She meets my gaze and gives me the saddest smile I've ever seen. And I see a lot of grief and sorrow in my job.
"I got home from work today, and went out to her cabin"—yes, my sister has a mini cabin behind her house for her goat—"and she was laying there. So still. Too still. And I had a bad feeling. I went inside and she wasn't breathing. And she was already cold. It was too late to try to help her." Bronwen starts sobbing again and collapses into Chessie's chest.
Because my mind is like this, I get a mental picture of Bronwen trying to perform CPR on a goat. My lips twitch, but I force myself not to smile. Not appropriate for this moment.
We all sit uncomfortably as Bronwen sobs into our cousin's shirt. Chessie, the youngest of all of us and probably one of the most mature, gently rocks Bronwen as she wails.
Bronwen is not a quiet crier.
I have no idea how much time is passing, and there's nothing else to do, so I sneak a peak at my phone. No more texts from Zach.
Trying to hide what I'm doing, I slowly type out and send a reply.
Me: Sounds good. Won't be too late a night.
Someone else's phone chimes with a notification and the sound is overly loud in the quiet room. The only sound is Bronwen's grief, and she's starting to calm down. Moaning instead of wailing now.
"Sorry," Sapphire whispers as she reads the screen, frowns, then turns off the ringer .
Another few minutes pass before Bronwen sits up, mopping up her face with her sleeve.
Honey pops up, goes behind the counter, and returns with a stack of paper napkins. "Sorry, no tissues."
Bronwen gives her a watery smile. "Thanks." She wipes her face and wads up the napkins.
"So, what's everyone else up to?" she asks, voice overly bright. "I need everyone to tell me something good, to cheer me up."
My heartbeat stutters. The only really good thing I have to share is Zach. And I'm sure as hell not telling everyone about our budding... relationship? Is it even that? I have no idea.
All the more reason to keep it to myself.
"I applied for my business license and did all the necessary paperwork to start my health practice," Sirona says, her voice also full of forced cheer. She used to do health magic for Goode Witches, but this past summer decided she wants her own magical health clinic.
We all share our congratulations. "I'm so proud of you," Honey says.
We take turns telling Bronwen bits of good news. Basil got a grant to expand his herb-growing operation and is going to build a greenhouse. Sapphire is in the middle of planning a tour for Celestial Alchemy across Asia, where they've never played before. Chessie and Honey's businesses are booming. And Garnet met a woman she's really into.
"What about you, Morgan?" Bronwen looks directly at me. "How's your romance life going?"
My cheeks instantly heat. I can tell my neck is blotchy. "It's not," I lie. Besides, it's hardly a lie; sex and romance aren't the same thing. "Your little spell you put on me and Zach didn't work."
I mean, it totally did. But again, not telling her.
She laughs. "Oh, that feels good. I needed to laugh. "
"So glad it's at my expense," I mumble without malice. If it helps her feel better, I can handle it.
"No, it's just that I totally lied about a spell. I never put a love spell on you two." She rolls her eyes. "Come on, you know I'd never put a spell on someone without their consent."
Why do my cheeks get hotter? This is good news. No stupid spell means I can more easily walk away from Zach after the wedding. When we no longer have to spend time together.
So why does that make my chest feel like Leon, Honey's bear familiar, just sat on it?
"I forgot to share my good news. And it might work out perfectly for you, Bronwen," Lavender says.
We all turn to look at her.
"Vesta had her litter. I've got four brand new baby goats." Lavender, in addition to having a lavender farm, also has several goats. Oddly, her familiar is a fox, not a goat.
Bronwen's face lights up. "Baby goats?"
My poor sister. Not only is she a single mom of a toddler, she's going to be training a baby goat. I do not envy her.
"Come over tomorrow and see if any of them speak to you." When Lavender says speak, she means it literally. That's how we discover a particular animal is our familiar. We can only communicate with our familiar, no other animals. And that animal can only communicate with us.
Bronwen sits up straighter and claps her hands. "Yes, oh, that's perfect. Serendipity."
"The deities clearly want one of these babies to be your new familiar," Amethyst says.
We chat for a bit longer, and I do my best not to get antsy. Now that the main purpose for our gathering is past, I want to go. I want to get to Zach's. I can't say why, but I know there's something he wants to talk about, that him inviting me over isn't just for sex .
And what does it say that I'm just as impatient to get to his house for whatever he wants tonight as I am to get to his house when it's clearly about sex?
"You need to be somewhere?" Bronwen gives me an amused look. Like she knows.
She can't know.
"No, just tired tonight. Wanted to crash early." It's a little after seven.
Bronwen and Chessie exchange looks and I want to snap at them for it, but I swallow it down.
"We're done here anyway." Bronwen waves her arm to encompass us all. "Thank you all for coming. I really appreciate the support."
Basil stands and talks for the first time all evening. "Goodes gotta stick together. Support each other." He walks behind her, squeezes her shoulder, then heads toward the door. "See everyone later."
Basil is an odd duck.
Gradually, we all disperse. I make sure I'm the last one to drive away so no one is following me and can see that I go in the opposite direction of my house.
When I get to Zach's, he's almost as antsy as I was at the cafe. A thrill shoots through my chest that he was impatient for me to arrive.
We sit on his couch, where there's a Brewers game on TV. I had no idea he's a baseball fan.
He waves his hand at the TV. "Background noise."
"So what's up?" I ask. His nervous energy is putting me on edge.
He picks up two library books from the coffee table and hands them to me. I read the titles. A Modern History of Witchcraft in the United States and The Scientific Case for Witchcraft .
Wow.
For the second time this evening, I'm stunned silent .
"I read them both. Along with several journal articles." He swallows audibly. "I... I think maybe I believe in magic now."
I look up from the books and meet his gaze. It's calm and steady, no hint that he's joking or mocking me.
I glance down at the books, then back to him. "Really? I mean, really? You've been..." I don't know how to finish the sentence.
"An ass? Closed-minded? Rude?"
I shrug. "I mean, they all fit."
A brief smile flickers across his lips, then he's back to serious. He reaches for my hands and holds them in his. "I'm sorry, Morgan. I'm so sorry. I owe you, your mom, your whole family heaps of apologies. I feel like I should do some sort of penance."
"That's because you were raised Catholic-adjacent." He told me that once. His parents were Catholic, he was baptized Catholic, and they went to church for major holidays. Just enough Catholicism to instill the guilt.
He smiles again, scooting closer. Still holding my hands. "Can you forgive me?"
I can't look at him anymore, so I stare down at our joined hands. "You thought I was a con artist. That's a pretty huge insult."
"I know." He cups my cheek and tilts my face up so I'm looking at him again. "I don't know what this is between us, but it's more than sex. At least for me it is. And I want to make this up to you somehow."
"I'm not really sure what to say." My words are choked, struggling to push past the lump in my throat. The pressure in my chest.
This is more than sex for me too, but I've been holding it back. Because of what he thought of me. But can I just forgive him for thinking so poorly of not just me, but my entire family?
"I want this to be more. "
I nod. I want that too, but the words won't come. So I do the next best thing. I lean in and kiss him. Slow, gentle, tender.
Fucking hell, I'm not sure I've ever kissed someone tenderly before. But this easy nibbling at each other definitely qualifies.
"It hurt," I mumble into his lips. "Knowing you thought so poorly of me."
He pulls back just enough to say, "I know. And I will do whatever it takes to make that up to you."
That's heady stuff. It means everything that he researched witchcraft for me. He changed an entire belief system for me.
My spine loses strength and I sag against his chest. "You changed a deeply held belief for me."
He kisses the side of my neck. "I did. Because it never quite sat right that you were a habitual liar. I had to think it because to me, magic was bullshit, but it never fully fit, after I got to know you."
"I'm not saying I fully forgive you yet, but we can get there." Tonight has been much too serious. I need some levity. I could also do with a few orgasms.
I pull away from him and start unbuttoning my shirt. "Get naked and I'll show you one of my favorite magic tricks."
His smile is wicked. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
"I said I'd show you."
When we're both naked and he's stretched out on the couch, hard cock bouncing enticingly, I close my eyes, imagine the condoms in his nightstand drawer, imagine one of them on his cock, and snap my fingers.
When I open my eyes, he's staring in astonishment, gaze moving back and forth from me to his cock, which is now wearing the condom.
With a smile that matches his wickedness, I climb over him, straddling his hips .
"I can see why that's a favorite," he says roughly as I settle his head against my entrance.
We both moan.
Then I sink down on him, and we spend the next few hours with him paying penance in the form of multiple orgasms.
One of my favorite currencies.