Big Witch Energy

by Kelly Jamieson

  Big Witch Energy

  Kelly Jamieson

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

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  Big Witch Energy © 2021 by Kelly Jamieson

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  Cover Design: Dar Albert at Wicked Smart Designs

  Editors: Victory Editing and Kristi Yanta

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews

  Contents

  1. Romy

  2. Trace

  3. Romy

  4. Trace

  5. Romy

  6. Romy

  7. Trace

  8. Romy

  9. Romy

  10. Trace

  11. Trace

  12. Romy

  13. Romy

  14. Trace

  15. Romy

  16. Trace

  17. Romy

  18. Trace

  19. Trace

  20. Romy

  21. Trace

  22. Romy

  23. Trace

  24. Romy

  25. Trace

  26. Romy

  27. Trace

  28. Romy

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Firecracker by Kelly Jamieson

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books by Kelly Jamieson

  About the Author

  1

  Romy

  “Ooh, more family drama.” My friend Hannah settles in on my comfortable sectional with her margarita. “Spill.”

  “Well. You know my cousin who just got married?” My other friend, Kesha, arches a dark eyebrow.

  It’s our girls’ night in, and we’re sitting in my living room with the fireplace on. We do this all the time, taking turns hosting, and we have sleepovers so there are no worries about drinking and driving, which is why we’re in pajamas. But tonight is a big night. I have important information to share with my best friends.

  But first I settle in to hear Kesha’s latest drama. With no family of my own, her wild tales are hugely entertaining to me.

  “Lissa? About three months ago, right?” Nodding, I lean forward.

  “Right. And I told you the day after the wedding that she announced she was pregnant.”

  “Oh yeah.” I snitch another jalapeño to add to my nacho.

  “How can you eat two of those?” Hannah tosses one blond braid over her shoulder. “Your mouth is going to incinerate.”

  “I like them.” I shrug.

  “Hannah’s mouth is very delicate.” Kesha smirks.

  Hannah huffs, her pale cheeks coloring up. “Here we go again. I have reasons I don’t like blow jobs.”

  “Reasons that are ridiculous.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I may never be able to get that image of wriggling little sperm stuck between teeth out of my head. Why did you have to tell us that?”

  “Oh, thanks a lot.” Kesha wrinkles her nose. “I’d managed to forget it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hannah says, not sounding apologetic. “We all have different tastes.”

  “Right. Back to the jalapeños,” Kesha says.

  “No, back to the story about your cousin.” I point at Kesha.

  “Yes!” She tosses her head, her dark, natural curls bouncing. “Okay. She found out she’s pregnant the day after the wedding. Well… now it turns out that she cheated on Mike just before the wedding, and she doesn’t know whose baby it is.”

  “Oh my god!” I stare at her.

  “That is nuts,” Hannah says. “Wow.”

  “And she told the whole family, because of course she did. She loves drama.”

  “But… are they staying together?”

  “Yeah. Mike says he doesn’t want to know. He’ll just raise the baby as if it’s his.”

  “Wow.” I shake my head. “That’s… Wow.”

  “You’re right,” Hannah says. “Crazy as a soup sandwich.”

  There’s a pause while we all picture a soup sandwich.

  “At least you have a family,” I say with a sigh.

  My mom died just over a year ago. She was the only family I had since I never knew my father. Which brings me back to the reason for our get-together. “And speaking of family… I got the results of the DNA testing.”

  Their eyes pop open wide, and they both lean forward.

  “What?” Kesha exclaims. “What does it say?”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Hannah demands.

  “I’m saying so now.” My stomach quivers with nerves. “I got it on Wednesday, but I haven’t opened it yet. I wanted you two to be with me.”

  “Oh my god!” Hannah says. “Do it! Do it now!”

  I grimace and stand. “Be right back.” I move into my spare-bedroom-slash-office and grab the envelope from my desk. I carry it back into the living room and set it on the coffee table.

  “How could you wait?” Hannah asks. “I’d be dying to know the results.”

  “You two are the ones who encouraged me to do this. I wanted you to be here.” I eye the envelope from Who’s Your Daddy DNA Testing. At one of our girls’ nights in, we’d gotten talking about how I’d never known my father and how I felt something was missing from my life with my mom gone. Hannah had suggested DNA testing to try to find my father. “Also, I’m terrified.”

  “I didn’t encourage you.” Kesha corrects me. “I told you those DNA-testing companies sell your data to big pharmaceutical and medical technology companies.”

  “Right.” I bite my lip. I’m not really worried about that. I’m worried about other things. “What are the chances I’ll actually find my father? Or anyone who’s related to me.” I wave a hand, staring at the red candle sitting on my coffee table, a new one I picked up because it smells like raspberries. Would any long-lost relatives of mine take a DNA test? Why would they?

  Maybe… because they want to find me?

  The flame of the candle flares up, flickering and glowing brightly.

  “I can’t believe you actually did it,” Kesha adds. “This is pretty… bold… for you.”

  I wrinkle my nose. She’s right. I like to live life on the mild side. My whole life I was taught to carefully think things through and make a solid plan. My mom was cautious and responsible and encouraged me to be so also. Even though sometimes it drove me bonkers. There were times I felt so constricted I just wanted to burst out and do something wild.

  “The tequila made me do it,” I joke.

  “You’ve been complaining about being bored,” Hannah reminds me. “You needed to do this.”

  She’s right. I’m bored with my job. I’m the best software designer at Summit Insurance, but that’s not satisfying me anymore. I’m bored with my nice condo decorated in the neutral colors the last owner chose. I’m bored with my life.

  “I’m glad you did it,” Kesha says. “Find your family. Quit your job. Get a dog. Live your life the way you want to.”

  I stare at her. “I can’t just quit my job.”

  “Why not?” She shrugs. “Your Etsy business is doing great. You could work full time at that. You have money saved.”

  That’s true too. My mom always said A penny saved is a penny earned and Money doesn’t grow on trees. So I’ve scrimped and saved… enough to buy this condo, a good investment. But I haven’t gone on trips or bought pretty shoes. Or splurged on fresh flowers for myself.

  Now in my head I’m hearing You only live once. You can’t ta
ke it with you.

  I always wanted a dog. Mom said they were too much work.

  I always wanted sisters and brothers. I never told Mom that. I wanted Thanksgiving holidays with a house full of people, lots of birthdays to celebrate, lots of people who have your back. Lots of love.

  I study the envelope again.

  “Open it!” Hannah urges, blue eyes wide.

  “I feel like I’m betraying my mom,” I say slowly, rubbing my upper arms.

  “Oh no.” Kesha’s gaze softens. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” I pick up my glass and take another gulp. “She never told me much about my dad. She said she didn’t know him well. She certainly never brought up ever trying to find him. I always wondered about it. She could have had child support at least. But anytime the topic of him came up, she shut down. She clearly didn’t want to talk about him.”

  “I don’t think it’s betraying her to want to know more about your heritage,” Kesha says softly.

  “I suppose not.” I gaze into the flame of my candle. Suddenly a feeling of pressure rises up inside me, like a balloon filling up and pressing on my lungs. All my life I’ve done what my mom wanted. I’ve been careful and practical. I wanted to take musical theater; she didn’t like the idea of my being on stage. I wanted to draw and paint; she was focused on math. I went into a career with good pay and employment prospects. I pushed away any thoughts about knowing who my father is because I knew it would upset her. I don’t regret it. I have a good life. She was a good mom.

  Mom’s not here now. I miss her. But dammit… “I do want to know my father. I need more in my life. I want family. Fun. Maybe a little excitement.”

  I start as the flame of my red candle flares higher and flickers sideways.

  I look at my two best friends, encouraging me to step outside the ordinary box of my life and do something daring.

  “What are you afraid of?” Hannah asks softly.

  “I don’t know. Lots of things. I’m afraid I won’t have any family. Or maybe I do, and they’re serial killers. Or sex traffickers. Or cannibals.” My eyes widen as my spine stiffens.

  Kesha pats the air in a calm down gesture.

  “Or I’ll find out I’m going to develop some debilitating, untreatable disease at age thirty.”

  Hannah’s lips turn downward. “Oh jeez. I’m sure that’s not going to happen.”

  I let out a slow breath, relaxing. “I love you guys.”

  “We love you too,” Hannah says. “And we’re with you on this.”

  “Thank you for being here.” I lift my glass to my lips and drain it, tilting my head back to get every last drop. Then I set down the glass and pick up the envelope. “Eeek.”

  “Go on.”

  I open it and start reading. My gaze moves quickly over the paper, taking in the words. I read it again. “Okay,” I say slowly. “There’s someone listed as a close relative.” I look up. “Whatever that means. Her name is Felise Candler.”

  They frown.

  “Not your dad,” Hannah says.

  “Obviously not,” Kesha replies. “But it could be a link to your dad.”

  I bite my lip. “I guess.”

  “Are you going to contact her?” Hannah asks.

  “I don’t know.” I scan the paper again. This is… kind of a letdown. I don’t know what I expected. I let my hands holding the document drop to my lap. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

  * * *

  Two weeks later…

  * * *

  I open the Facebook message, expecting it to be from someone I know. Instead, it’s a message from… Felise Candler.

  The woman who’s a close relative according to Who’s Your Daddy DNA Testing. Her profile picture is of a young woman with long, wavy red hair and a sweet smile.

  My heart beats faster and I close my eyes. But curiosity gets me, and I open my eyes and lean toward my computer to take in the words. She saw the link in the DNA report and found me on Facebook. Like me, she’s not sure what close relative means. She wants to know if we can communicate.

  Even though I wanted this… suddenly I’m scared.

  I may not have family, but I have lots of friends, especially Kesha and Hannah. I love the kids I teach art classes to on Saturday mornings as a volunteer at a local art gallery. I may not have much luck in my love life, but I’m fine being alone until the right man comes along.

  And I have this… this feeling… that if I do this, if I meet this woman, it’s going to change my life. Much as I’m bored with my job, satisfied with my bland condo, and content with my friends… this change terrifies me.

  Mom never liked it when I had a feeling about something.

  But how can I not know about this? I can’t erase it from my memory. I’ll always know there’s a girl out there about my age who could be related to me. We could become best friends… or maybe hate each other’s guts. She could be a psycho bitch… or a sweetheart. I have to know.

  So I reply to her message.

  2

  Trace

  I fucking hate blind dates.

  So what the hell am I doing here?

  I’m sitting here by myself because the woman I’m supposed to meet hasn’t shown up yet. And if she does, I fully intend to have one fast drink and then get the hell out of here. Last weekend, I bet my buddy Garrett he couldn’t win a hundred dollars in poker on a stone-cold bluff, and goddammit, he did it. So here I am on a blind date with a friend of his wife’s. Now, Garrett’s wife is a lovely, sensible witch, don’t get me wrong, but she’s quiet and shy and her idea of fun is whipping up loaves of bread. Again, nothing wrong with baking bread. Homemade bread is delicious. But if Julie’s friend is like her, I think we’re going to be as compatible as Kanye and TSwift.

  I look around the bar—the Singing Horse. I’ve never been here even though it’s not that far from where I live in Ravenswood. There’s karaoke some nights, and it’s one of the places that has turtle races. Sweet Jesus, turtles. If Garrett made me come here and sit here all alone as a big joke, I swear I’ll waive my magic embargo and hit him with one of my best black magic revenge curses. His online porn will always be buffering.

  Then she walks in.

  I think it’s her. She matches the description Garrett gave me—dark hair, slender. She’s really pretty. I stand and lift a hand to get her attention.

  She pauses. She tilts her head. I feel like she’s hesitating. I guess she doesn’t recognize me from the description. Then she smiles and moves toward me through the tables. Yep, it’s her.

  “Hi! You made it.” I force a smile and extend my hand to her. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Hi. Nice to meet you too. I’m Romy.” She shakes my hand.

  I thought her name was Amy. Whatever. I must have misheard. “Trace.”

  “Trace,” she repeats. “Have you… been waiting long?”

  “Uh… we were supposed to meet at eight, right?” Did I screw up?

  “Right!”

  “Have a seat.” I gesture. “I ordered myself a drink while I was waiting.” Crap, that sounds like I’m giving her shit for being late.

  She hangs her purse over the back of the chair. “What are you having?”

  “Citra Ass Down.”

  She freezes and gives me a look, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”

  My eyes fly open wide. “This!” I grab the can and show her. “It’s the name of the beer. It’s a pale ale. Brewed with citra hops.”

  She studies the beer, then bursts out laughing, dropping into the chair across from me. It’s a great laugh. Light, musical, genuine. “Oh my god. That’s hilarious!”

  Her laughter tugs an answering smile to my lips. “That sounded bad, didn’t it? Believe me, I don’t usually tell women to sit their ass down the first time I meet them.”

  “Good to know.”

  A waitress stops beside the table and gives me a flirty smile. She barely flicks a glance at Romy when she asks, “What can I get you?”<
br />
  “Um. I’ll have what he’s having.” Romy gives me a what-the-hell look as the waitress departs.

  “Don’t worry, it’s good. So, Romy, what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a software designer at Summit Insurance.”

  “Sounds exciting.” Yep. Julie’s friend.

  She sighs. “Don’t mock my job. It’s not exciting at all. I’m good at it though, and it pays the bills.”

  “That sounds like a sorry way to live your life.”

  Her lips firm. “So I’m told.”

  “Hey, I’m not judging. I just think everyone should do something they love. Something they’re passionate about.”

  “Well, I’ve started doing some design stuff… I opened a shop on Etsy.” She peeks up at me through her eyelashes as if she’s bashful about telling me this. “I started designing websites and doing logos, but lately I’ve been expanding into wedding stuff. Invitations, guest books, favors. It’s called Over the Moon Designs.” She bites her lip in a shy gesture that makes something weird happen in my chest.

  “That’s cool. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  I watch her as she talks. Her features are fine—her nose small, her chin a little pointy, her cheekbones sharp. She wears her dark hair in a shoulder-length style with bangs that emphasize big blue eyes. Those eyes are so expressive, and her face and hands are animated as she talks. There’s something about her that I can’t look away from—an energy, a glow that surrounds her. It’s an attraction I’ve never felt before, and it confuses me.