Chapter 24 #3
And, surprisingly, he was actually good.
Lachlan’s voice was deep and rich, and he delivered the dramatic power ballad with a completely straight face that somehow made it even funnier.
By the time he hit the “turn around, bright eyes” part, the entire hall was singing along, and Sophie was laughing so hard she had to lean on Willow for support.
“Your turn next,” Graham murmured in my ear.
“Not a chance.”
“You can’t break an ancient curse and then refuse to do karaoke. There are rules here.”
“I’m fairly certain heroics and karaoke are unrelated.”
“In Loren Brae? Nothing is unrelated.”
The song ended. Lachlan escaped the table to thunderous applause and immediately downed an entire glass of whisky. Sophie caught him around the waist and kissed him soundly, which prompted wolf whistles from approximately everyone.
“Graham!” The chant started somewhere near the back. “Graham! Graham! Graham!”
“Oh no,” Graham said.
“Oh yes,” I said, suddenly feeling much better about my own potential humiliation. “Fair’s fair.”
“I nearly drowned.”
“And now you’re going to sing. It’s the circle of life, really.”
He was pushed toward the table with the same efficiency Lachlan had experienced. The microphone was thrust into his hands. Liora’s grin grew even more wicked as she selected the next song.
The opening notes of “My Heart Will Go On” echoed through the hall.
“You absolute monsters,” Graham said.
Then, because he was Graham, he committed completely.
When he hit the high notes, horribly so, the entire hall lost it.
But when he jumped off the table and crawled on all fours to me as he sang the final notes, that was the moment that would go down in Loren Brae lore forever.
We screamed with laughter. All of us.
And yet.
I also couldn’t help but feel my cheeks heat as I noticed how alight his eyes were with laughter and fun.
And love.
So much love for me.
Between my heart aching with love for this incredible man, I was also crying with laughter. Quilliam buried his face in my hair, his tiny body vibrating with what might have been laughter or might have been horror.
“Your fiancé,” he said, “is a very strange man.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to marry him anyway.”
“I know.”
“Good. He makes you laugh. That’s important.”
The song ended. Graham hopped up, and then his lips found mine in a searing kiss that had wolf whistles going and cheers echoing around the room.
By ten in the morning, we were all well and truly pissed.
And at the same time, I couldn’t have been happier. People from Loren Brae, having caught wind of the events, showed up with booze, platters of even more food, and joined in the fun. The party continued. There were more songs. More dancing. More whisky than was probably advisable.
At some point, Sir Buster got into an altercation with one of Lottie’s Scottie dogs and had to be rescued by Lady Lola, who sat on the offending Scottie until it retreated.
I sat by the fire again, exhausted but happy, watching the celebration swirl around me. Graham had been basically glued to my side since this morning, and I sighed in happiness.
“We should probably sleep at some point,” he said.
“Probably.”
“But not yet.”
“No,” I agreed. “Not yet.”
Quilliam had relocated to the back of my chair, his scales warm against my neck.
Faelan was curled up in another chair, Gloam draped across her feet.
Orla and Finlay had claimed a corner and were slow dancing, caught up in their own world.
Sophie and Lachlan were nowhere to be seen, which probably meant they’d found somewhere private.
“Agnes.” Hilda appeared beside my chair, her face soft in the firelight. “I wanted to say … what you did last night. It was reckless and foolish, and you scared us all half to death.”
“I know—” She’d already mentioned it to me several times. Two bright pink spots burned on her cheeks, and her eyes were lively.
“But it was also incredibly brave. And I’m proud of you.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Your grandmother would be proud too. She always knew you had it in you.”
My eyes stung. “I wish she could have seen it.”
“Maybe she did.” Hilda smiled. “The spirits were restless last night, according to Orla. Maybe Isobel was watching too. Maybe all the Wright women were.”
“I hope so,” I said. “I hope they know it’s finally over.”
“It’s not over.” Hilda’s voice was gentle. “It’s just beginning. You’ve broken the curse, but there’s still work to do. The other branches. The Three Queens. The Cailleach is still out there, somewhere.”
“I know.” And frankly, it was the last thing I wanted to think about in this moment.
“But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Today, we celebrate.” She straightened up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to stop Matthew from attempting to teach Brice the Macarena. Some things should not be seen.”
She disappeared into the crowd, and I leaned back against Graham’s shoulder.
“The Cailleach,” he said. “That’s the dark one? The one who actually cursed your family?”
“Yes.”
“She’s still out there.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to have to deal with her eventually.”
“Probably.” Goddess, but I hoped not.
“When that happens”—he turned to look at me, his expression serious—“when that happens, you’re not going alone. You ken? Whatever comes next, whatever dark goddess or ancient evil or terrible threat emerges, we face it together. As a team. As a family.”
“You almost drowned twice.” I still wasn’t over that. I would never be over that.
“And I’ll probably be in danger again at some point. That’s just life.” He squeezed my hand. “But I’d rather face danger with you than be safe without you. That’s the deal. That will always be the deal.”
I kissed him. Soft and slow, tasting whisky and love and the promise of tomorrow.
“Deal,” I said.
A tremendous crash echoed through the hall.
Everyone froze. The music stopped. Heads turned toward the source of the sound.
Clyde stood in the middle of the dance floor, looking extremely pleased with himself. At his feet lay the remains of what had once been a very large, very expensive-looking vase.
“Clyde!” Archie barked, his face a mask of exasperation. “That vase was from the sixteenth century.”
Clyde bellowed apologetically. Maybe. It was hard to tell his apologetic “moo” from his excited one.
“Sorry doesn’t fix a sixteenth-century vase.”
But Clyde wasn’t looking at Archie. He’d swung his big head toward the door, and his eyes had widened.
Everyone followed his gaze.
“Oh my goddess,” Lia gasped.
In the doorway stood another ghost. A Highland coo, to be exact. She was just like Clyde, semi-transparent and glowing faintly in the firelight. She was prettier, if such a thing could be said about a spectral coo. And she was looking at Clyde with an expression that could only be described as coy.
“Is that ...” Willow started.
“A lassie ghost coo,” Ramsay finished, sounding completely baffled. “There’s a lassie ghost coo.”
Clyde bellowed again, but this time it was different. Softer. Almost ... romantic?
Or maybe I’d just reached the point of exhaustion that I was reading everything into Clyde’s tones.
The lady ghost coo bellowed back.
“Bloody hell,” I said. “But I think … Clyde may have found a special lady friend.”
Clyde and his new companion approached each other slowly, their transparent noses touching.
It should have been ridiculous. It was ridiculous.
But there was also something oddly sweet about it—two spectral bovines finding each other in the middle of a celebration, surrounded by witches and warriors and gnomes that couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
“Where did she come from?” Sophie asked, having reappeared at some point.
“Hector might know.” Lachlan looked around. “Hector?”
The ghostly farmer materialized near the fire, his translucent hat clutched in his hands.
“That’s Bonnie,” he said sheepishly. “She’s been haunting the old dairy barn on the north edge of the property for about two hundred years. Kept to herself, mostly. But I think...” He trailed off, watching Clyde and Bonnie nuzzle each other. “I think she got lonely.”
“Bonnie and Clyde,” Willow wheezed, waving a hand in front of her face as she swallowed down laughter. “I can’t. It’s too good.”
Clyde and Bonnie had begun walking together toward the door, their ghostly forms bumping against each other. Clyde paused at the threshold and looked back at us, letting out one final bellow that somehow managed to sound grateful.
Then they walked through the wall together and disappeared.
“Well,” Hilda said into the stunned silence. “I suppose that’s one way to end a party.”
And then, because the night couldn’t end on anything but bedlam, Gnorman climbed back onto his table, microphone in hand.
“One more song!” he announced. “For the happy couples. All of them.”
The opening notes of “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” filled the hall.
Graham looked at me. I looked at Graham.
“No,” I said.
“Absolutely not,” he agreed.
Then Finlay and Ramsay hoisted us both to our feet and shoved us toward the dance floor.
Linking arms, we crowded into a circle and sang at the top of our lungs. This was what it had all been for. To celebrate love. In all its forms.
The curse was broken.
The sun was shining.
And for the first time in three hundred years, a Wright woman could love without fear.
That was worth celebrating.