Big Witch Energy

by Kelly Jamieson

  I walk toward her.

  8

  Romy

  I take another sip of whiskey. This stuff’s not bad. All I ever drink is wine and beer and the occasional fruity cocktail. But I felt I needed something stronger tonight.

  Am I losing my mind?

  I had a few glasses of wine over the course of the evening at the Candlers, but come on. I wasn’t that drunk that I hallucinated what I heard. Or did I? Nobody in their right mind would say something like that.

  Not just one person said it. They all said it. Including Trace.

  Felise and Magan… okay. I can see it. They’re bubbly and irrepressible, and their little shop selling charms and candles and potions… Maybe they think they’re witches. But Joe? And Cassie? And Trace? The man I flirted with and danced with and… kissed. Oh. My. God.

  I lower my head to the wooden bar and slowly knock my forehead against it. Once… twice…

  “Hey.”

  I lift my head and peer at Trace.

  “Don’t do that.” He frowns. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I had a feeling you might be here.” He slides onto the stool beside me.

  “Please go away.”

  “No.” He signals to the bartender, who pops right over, and orders a beer.

  “What are you drinking?” he asks me.

  “Peanut butter whiskey.”

  He chokes. “What the…?”

  I shrug. “I don’t drink hard stuff, so I thought I’d try it. Did you use your witchy powers to find me?”

  “No. I used my gut instincts. They’re usually reliable.”

  I close my eyes. Not only am I dumbfounded, but I’m also disappointed. I feel like I had the family I always wanted in reach… I had it. They were so nice to me, so welcoming and inclusive and… then they turn out to be a bunch of whack jobs.

  I guess this is what I get for trying to add some excitement to my life.

  “I never should have taken that DNA test,” I mutter, then toss back a bigger gulp of whiskey. I cough.

  “Easy, beautiful.”

  I shoot him a baleful look. “If there was ever a time in my life to get trashed, this is it.”

  His lips twitch. “Yeah. I don’t blame you.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You were all fucking with me, weren’t you? Was that some kind of weird family initiation joke?”

  “No. It wasn’t a joke.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Will you listen to me?” His tone is mild, though his eyes still focus on me with that mesmerizing intensity that fascinated me the other night.

  I swallow. My gaze hooked on his, I nod.

  “Okay.” The bartender slides his beer over to him, and he curves his hands around the glass, looking down at it instead of me. “The Candler family has their idiosyncrasies. What family doesn’t? But they’re not insane. They were telling you the truth.”

  I open my mouth, but when he slants me a quelling glance, I shut it.

  “Can you open your mind to the possibility that magic exists?” he asks quietly. “That witches have existed throughout history?”

  “In fiction.”

  “And real life. But real-life witches aren’t all that different than you. We coexist happily with Ruckers. You’ve probably met witches before this.”

  Her lips purse in a skeptical pout.

  “Can you open your mind to the possibility that magic might live within you?”

  “Oh sure. I’m the most ordinary person ever.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Did you know who I was when we met?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I had no idea. I just knew that you were beautiful and kind and fun, and… I was incredibly attracted to you.”

  I bite my lip. That was how I felt about him.

  “There is magic in the world. You just have to open your eyes and your mind to it.”

  This all sounds so enticing. Like something I want to believe. But I’m not a child. I’m an adult who knows what the real world is like—it’s studying, saving, doing all the right things, then watching your mom die. It’s your boyfriend dumping you because he’s bored. It’s loneliness and disappointment and tedium.

  “You took a step toward creating your own life,” Trace continues, his voice deep and sure. “By taking that DNA test. You were probably terrified, weren’t you?”

  I nod.

  “But you did it. That’s courage. Then when you found you had a family… that was terrifying too.”

  “Yes.” I let my hair fall over my face, looking down at the bar. “I found out that night we met. I was really thrown.”

  “But you decided to meet Joe. That was courageous too.”

  I guess.

  “Your mom didn’t have that kind of courage.”

  My head jerks up. “You didn’t even know my mom.”

  “I know.” He holds up a hand in a placating gesture. “I’m not insulting her. But what happened when Joe told her the truth… obviously she didn’t have the courage to believe in something she’d never experienced.”

  “She probably thought he was bonkers,” I mutter.

  “No doubt. At least Joe didn’t have to turn her into a potato.”

  “What?” I gape at him.

  “It’s the law that if a witch tells a Rucker they’re a witch and that Rucker betrays them by telling another Rucker, that witch has twenty-four hours to turn the Rucker into a potato. Or they’ll be stripped of their magic and cast out. If your mom had told anyone about Joe, he would have had to do that.”

  “A potato.” I can’t help but laugh. “This gets better and better.”

  “It’s actually pretty serious. Transmogrification is nothing to fool around with.”

  “Is… that what Joe meant when he said my life could be at risk?”

  “Yeah.” He holds my gaze.

  Good Lord. A shiver runs down my back.

  “How does he know my mother never told anyone about him?”

  “The Board of Elders would know. They give the potato decree. It’s not something undertaken lightly.”

  “Oh.” Fucking nuts.

  “Would you like to try some magic?”

  I gape at him. “Like what? I’m not turning anyone into a spud!”

  His lips twitch. “You could…” He looks around. “What would you like to do?”

  “I would like to conjure up a million dollars.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Of course not.” I roll my eyes.

  “Seriously, that’s against the laws. Money and currency aren’t allowed to be conjured. If you did it, there would have to be a great equalization, which would not be good.”

  “What good is magic if I can’t conjure up a fortune?”

  Trace shakes his head, smiling. “Magic must never be abused.”

  “Okay. So, if I wanted to…” I pause. I look around, seeking inspiration. I have no idea what to ask for. “I like white flowers.” Ugh. Whatever.

  “Hold out your hand.”

  Shaking my head, I do it. He turns it and closes my fingers, holding them there.

  “Repeat after me…

  I have the power

  Here this night

  To bring a flower

  The color white.”

  I say the words, feeling like an idiot.

  Trace releases my hand. I open my eyes. And stare at the white peony I’m holding.

  I can’t move. I stare at it. Peony season is over. Oh my god! That doesn’t even matter. How did he…? “How did you do that?”

  “You did it.” He leans closer and whispers near my ear, “Magic.”

  “Oh God.” I feel the warmth of his breath, and a shiver runs down my spine. Not a bad shiver. A hot, sexy shiver.

  “Open your mind, Romy. Are you brave enough?”

  I stare into his eyes. I’m close enough to see the flecks of gold and emerald in the moss green of his irises.


  “Nothing’s ever perfect,” he says. “No family is perfect. And sometimes love is painful. But I can tell you that the Candlers are good witches. They want you to be part of their family. You just have to have the courage to open your mind and your heart to the possibilities.”

  I don’t know what to say. I have no words. I feel dazed. Dazzled. Hypnotized.

  “Are you putting a spell on me?” I whisper.

  The corners of his sculpted lips lift into a smile. “No.” He brushes hair off my cheek. “Think about it, Romy. Promise me?”

  I nod. I wish he would kiss me. Instead, he stands, lays money on the bar to more than cover his drink, and walks out.

  I turn back to the peony and touch the soft petals to my nose.

  Who else do I have to turn to but Kesha and Hannah?

  But… I don’t want to be turned into a potato.

  I pace my apartment, twisting my hands together the evening after the witchy bombshell was dropped on me.

  I love potatoes. They’re a very versatile vegetable. You can make everything from vodka to french fries from potatoes. But I don’t want to be one.

  I’ve lost my fucking mind.

  No, wait. If I’m a witch and I tell them I’m a witch, they’ll be turned into a potato if they tell someone. I can’t ask them to keep a secret from each other. Okay, this is easy—I just tell them both at the same time!

  With that settled in my mind, I send a group text and ask them to come over.

  Then I start second-guessing myself. I think the Candlers are literally of unsound mind. My friends are going to think that about me. Maybe it’s better if I keep this to myself.

  I don’t want to risk any incidents involving tuberous vegetables.

  It’s nonsense. Bullshit. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about this.

  I keep seeing Trace’s eyes—serious, earnest, intense. He doesn’t seem like a nutbar.

  Courage.

  I keep thinking about his challenge to me. To have the courage to open my mind. I don’t like to think of myself as narrow-minded. I’m pretty liberal when it comes to a lot of things. But witchcraft? Yikes.

  My friends arrive together, each of them carrying a bottle of Moscato and wearing a worried look on their face.

  “What’s going on?” Kesha asks, heading straight to my kitchen.

  “This one’s cold.” Hannah holds up her wine bottle.

  I take it from her, unscrew the lid, and drink from the bottle.

  Their jaws go loose as they stare at me.

  “Holy shit,” Hannah says.

  I take another guzzle. “I’m okay.”

  Hannah purses her lips and looks to Kesha.

  “Let’s use glasses!” Kesha says brightly, pulling three from my cupboard. She carries them to my coffee table and sets them down, sitting on the couch.

  I dump wine into the glasses. It sloshes over the edges as I fill them to the brim, emptying the bottle. I ignore the spills on my table and pick up a glass.

  Kesha blinks rapidly. Hannah is staring at the mess on my table, which I would normally never allow to happen.

  “Okay.” I look back and forth between them. “The most bizarre thing happened to me last night.”

  I fill them in on the evening’s events, starting with the nice, normal dinner, the welcoming family, the shocking appearance of Trace—which garners a lot of excitement—and then the big stunner. At this point I have to jump up and pace again, spilling more wine as I gesture and talk. I finish with Trace’s appearance at the Singing Horse and his cute magic trick. I point at the peony sitting in a vase on the end table.

  The apartment falls silent. Unusual.

  I sit again, gnawing on my bottom lip like a cow chewing its cud.

  “Well.” Hannah tips her glass up and guzzles down her wine.

  Kesha stands and marches to the kitchen, returning with the second bottle of Moscato. She opens it and refills all our glasses. “Do you have tequila? I feel like this might not be enough.”

  “What do you guys think?” I eye them apprehensively. “I swear I wasn’t doing mushrooms last night. Unless they slipped something into my drinks.” My forehead tightens. “Hey, maybe that’s what happened. I thought I saw a wineglass that was empty suddenly full.”

  “Um…”

  “And don’t worry about the potato thing.” I wave a hand. “You just can’t tell anyone else about this.”

  Now they look concerned.

  “Do you believe that?” Hannah asks, blond eyebrows drawn together.

  “I love you guys, so I don’t want to take a chance.”

  Hannah pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, nodding. “This is all my fault.”

  “What? How?”

  “I’m the one who suggested the DNA test. I knew it’s a risk because you never know what you’re going to learn, but I honestly never imagined that this would happen.”

  “Who would imagine it?” Kesha says. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Of course it isn’t.” I swallow another mouthful of wine. “So… the big question is… what do I do?”

  “What do you mean?” Kesha tilts her head.

  “Do I learn how to witch? Or do I pretend this never happened and go about my business?”

  Kesha’s eyelashes flutter wildly. Her superlong falsies look amazing on her, but right now I swear I can feel a breeze from them. “You mean… you’re actually considering… You actually think you might be… a witch?”

  I laugh with just a tinge of hysteria. “Of course not!”

  “But you said… you’re thinking of going along with your new family?”

  “They’re my family.” That comes out sadder and more pathetic than I’d like.

  Kesha covers her eyes with one hand, massaging her temples. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Well.” Hannah speaks up. “I for one think this could be amazing!”

  I lower my chin and give her a skeptical look.

  “As long as you’re sure you weren’t roofied,” she adds hastily. “Maybe they’re a little eccentric, but they sound fun!”

  It was fun. I sigh.

  “They sound crazy,” Kesha says bluntly. “Literally. You can’t possibly be thinking of seeing them again.”

  I bite my lip.

  Hannah’s gaze shifts back and forth between us anxiously. “They’re her family, Kesha.”

  Kesha snorts. “Maybe? Who knows! There are a lot of weirdos out there. You know, when you said they could be serial killers or sex traffickers… you had a point.”

  I feel my bottom lip tremble. “You’re not wrong,” I mumble. The idea of giving up on family makes me sad and wistful.

  “Oh no!” Hannah shakes her head. “I’m sure they’re not!”

  “How do you know?” Kesha asks.

  Hannah glares at her. “Could you be a little more supportive?”

  “I’m worried about her!” Kesha glowers back.

  “Stop!” I hold up a hand. “I don’t want you two arguing about it. I won’t see them.” Then I think about Trace again, asking me if I had the courage to open my mind. “I think.”

  “You want to,” Hannah says firmly.

  “I didn’t feel threatened,” I say slowly. “I made a joke about them putting something in my drink, but I know that didn’t happen.”

  Kesha’s mouth turns down, but she says nothing.

  “Sure, none of us expected something like this,” Hannah says. “But you know you haven’t been satisfied with your life for a while now.”

  “Or ever,” I mutter. “They asked me if I’d ever felt different. But doesn’t everyone feel different?”

  Kesha purses her lips. “Oh yeah.”

  “I suppose,” Hannah agrees. “How do you feel different, Romy?”

  I think about that. “Well, I always wanted to do things that my mom didn’t want me to. Musical theater. Art classes. She let me do musical theater for a few years, but she hated it. She didn’t want to come see my shows. She to
ld me art classes were a waste of time.” I pause, remembering more. “Sometimes… weird things happened.”

  My friends have gone quiet, their expressions intent. “Like what?” Kesha asks.

  “When I was in high school, Sophia Carmichael teased me about my flat chest. She was the mean girl,” I explain. “And she had huge hooters. I was upset and mortified, and that night I… Oh God, I’m ashamed of this, but I wished something bad would happen to her. And the next day she failed our biology test.”

  They repress smiles.

  “Karma,” Kesha says.

  “Or maybe not.” Hannah arches a brow.

  “I had a part-time job at Dean’s Diner. There was a homeless man who sometimes hung out near the diner. I always felt bad for him. I didn’t have much money to give him, but sometimes I’d take him a sandwich. I wished there was more I could do for him. And then one day someone gave him a winning lottery ticket.”

  “Holy shit.” Kesha’s eyes widen.

  I’m remembering more. “I told my mom not to park her car on the street one night. She thought I was being silly and dramatic. I was so upset, but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so I snuck out of the house and moved the car. The next morning a tree had fallen right where the car had been parked.”

  Their eyes are huge.

  “That freaked my mom out,” I continue. “She wouldn’t even talk about it. And if I ever tried to tell her something because I ‘had a feeling,’ she told me not to be ridiculous. She told me I needed to make decisions based on reason and logic.” I pause. “So I stopped telling her about my feelings. Like I stopped pointing out how the tree branches against the night sky looked like lace. Or how I thought little leprechauns lived under the mushrooms growing in the backyard. I was so weird.”

  I give my friends an apprehensive look. I’ve never told them these things either.

  To my surprise, sympathy and sadness fill their eyes.