Big Witch Energy

by Kelly Jamieson

  “Please rise,” the officiant intones.

  We stand and turn to watch Wendell and Dean make their way down the aisle arm in arm, both beaming. Wendell’s wearing a black tuxedo, Dean a white dinner jacket with black pants.

  I glance at Romy, and her smile is tender and warm as she watches the happy couple.

  The ceremony is short but heartfelt, the two men reading their own vows, then they make a joyful exit to “Best Day of My Life” by American Authors. Slowly we all follow them out of the ballroom to where a bar has been set up. Waiters mingle with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and the family congregates in a corner except for Cassie, who is slowly making her way toward us but stopping to chat with pretty much everyone.

  I hand Romy a glass of bubbly, and she flashes a smile. “Thanks.”

  Felise introduces Romy to Cam. I’ve known him a long time, and he’s a good guy.

  “Is everyone here a witch?” Romy whispers to me, on her tiptoes.

  I shake my head, glancing around. “No.”

  “So no weird magic stuff, huh?”

  “You never know. We do have our ways of hiding it.”

  She nods. “Yes, I remember that lesson.” She pauses. “Thank you for not telling everyone about my botched spells last weekend.”

  “I thought you’d be mad at me for teasing you about them.”

  “I was.”

  I smile. I’m in a much better mood this weekend.

  “But I was relieved you didn’t tell everyone.” She sighs. “Thank you for not letting them know what an idiot I am.”

  “You’re not an idiot. And it was funny. After the fact.”

  “I suppose.” Her eyes dance with mirth. “Thankfully none of the fish died.”

  “Catastrophe averted.” I tip my glass to her. “Tomorrow we’ll work on some other things.”

  “Okay.” She sips her champagne and peers up at me through thick eyelashes. That does something to my dick. Jesus. “Bigger fish?”

  “Right.” I shake my head, smiling. “Much bigger.”

  “Bigger is better.”

  Oh hell. “Oh yeah?”

  “So they say. But don’t worry. They also say size doesn’t matter.”

  Ooh, a little snark. Is she getting me back for teasing her about the magic fails? I bite back a grin. “I hate it when people say ‘size doesn’t matter.’ It makes me feel as if I have this huge penis for nothing.”

  She chokes on her champagne. “Trace!”

  I shrug. “Just saying.”

  “It’s not how big the house is, it’s how happy the home is.”

  My lips twitch. She’s good. “I’ve never had any complaints.”

  “Are we talking literal houses or figurative?”

  “Both.”

  Our eyes meet and hold in a challenge that sizzles with awareness.

  Family. We’re here with family. That has to distract me from thinking about Romy naked in her bed and how happy I made her, uh, “home.” Stop it.

  “You could use that as your business tag line.” Romy sips more wine.

  “Except for the fact that it sounds dirty.”

  “What? It’s not dirty at all. It’s just your filthy mind.”

  “And the fact that we were talking about my huge cock.”

  I think she shivers, but she tosses her hair back. “It’s not the size of the ship. It’s whether or not the captain stays in port long enough for all the passengers to get off.”

  I burst out laughing, so loud I attract glances and amused smiles from the people around us, including Felise and Cam.

  We shouldn’t be talking dirty and flirting like this. Definitely not. But hell, I’m having fun. Excitement fizzes in my veins like I just injected the champagne straight into them, and my cock is definitely growing huger by the moment.

  And judging from the color in Romy’s cheeks and the glitter in her eyes, she’s feeling the same.

  I’ve been feeling like resistance is futile. Like this was meant to be from the moment she walked up to my table at the Singing Horse, pretending to be someone else. That’s why we’re here.

  Natalie and Jeff, my “cousins,” come up to us. “Hi!” Natalie says, opening her arms for hugs. She greets Romy the same. “So nice to see you again! How are things going? Are you settling into the Candler family?”

  “I don’t think settling in is the right term,” Romy says. “I think I’m being assimilated.”

  Natalie laughs. “I totally understand. So, Felise was telling us about the new designs you’re doing for their store.”

  We chat about that, Natalie seeming impressed with Romy’s talents. Then Sofia approaches, another Candler cousin, with her kids Willow and Ruby.

  “Twace!” Willow lifts up her arms when she sees me. “Up! Up!”

  Grinning, I hand Romy my glass and pick up Willow, her poofy pink dress billowing around my arms. “Hello, beautiful. I love your dress.”

  “Fank you.”

  “Do you remember Romy?”

  Willow turns to Romy solemnly. “No.”

  Romy smiles. “That’s okay. Did your mom do your hair like that?”

  It’s all up in complicated curls.

  “No.” Willow shakes her head, the curls bobbing. “The haiwdwesser did it.”

  “Ah. It’s gorgeous.”

  “The girls all had a spa day,” Sofia says, her hands on Ruby’s shoulders. “We got our hair and nails done.”

  “Your dress is the color of a ruby,” Romy says to Ruby.

  “That’s my name!”

  Romy grins. “Really?”

  She knew that. I shoot her an appreciative glance.

  “Your dress is wed too,” Willow says.

  “It is.”

  “Twace, I want some of dat.” Willow points at the glasses Romy’s holding.

  “That’s for big girls,” I say.

  “I am a big girl!”

  “Okay, let’s go see.” With Willow on my hip, I hold out a hand to Ruby, and the three of us stroll over to the bar. They have apple juice, so I get the bartender to pour champagne flutes with half juice and half 7-Up, then hand one to each little girl.

  They take delicate sips, clutching their wineglasses, and we make our way back to the others.

  Sofia gives me a look.

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  “People will think I let my kids get drunk,” she mutters.

  Romy crouches and does a little toast with the girls, gently tapping glasses, and they beam.

  Soon we’re moving back into the ballroom for dinner, the chairs having been rearranged around round tables. Seating is assigned, and Romy and I find we’re seated together near the head table, with Joe and Cassie, Felise and Magan and their dates. Dean’s parents are next to us with some of his family.

  “I didn’t know you’re so good with kids,” Romy murmurs to me, setting her napkin on her lap.

  “I didn’t know you are.”

  “I love kids. I never had much to do with them,” she says wistfully. “One more thing that was missing, with no family. That’s why I teach art classes at the gallery.”

  “Well, you’ve got family now.”

  She smiles, and the happiness glowing in her eyes tugs at something deep inside me. “I do.”

  15

  Romy

  Watching Trace with those two little girls damn near made my ovaries burst. They clearly adore him, and he was so sweet and gentle with them, making them feel important with their glasses of “champagne.”

  They interrupted our little flirt fest, but that was probably good. Trace has made it clear that what happened two weeks ago can’t happen again. Except why was he being so risqué? Getting me all hot and horny for nothing… damn.

  We eat an amazing dinner—butternut squash bisque, a salad with bleu cheese and caramelized walnuts, and the main course of thyme-and-honey chicken stuffed with mushrooms and leeks. Red and white wines flow freely, which is why it was good that Trace and I cam
e by Uber. The speeches entertain the family with lots of inside jokes that I don’t get, but that’s okay; the warm, loving ambience in the room is what matters.

  My heart feels full at being part of this family. They’re witches, but they’re good people. Except for Dallas. The more I get to know him, the less I like him. Which is unfortunate because he’s my sister’s boyfriend. My mom said I was ridiculous when I formed fast impressions about people, but the way he talks and the things he says give me the feeling he’s full of shit. When he said “I only listen to music on vinyl,” I had to close my eyes to keep them from rolling back in my head.

  Felise’s friend Cam is nice though. He nearly choked on his drink at the vinyl comment.

  Then it’s time to dance. The happy couple takes the floor first, dancing to “Stay with Me” by Sam Smith. When the music changes to “Love on Top” by Beyoncé, others join them, leaving Trace and I alone at the table.

  He cocks an eyebrow and holds out his hand.

  He’s only doing this because it looks stupid with the two of us sitting here. So I go along with it. I rise from my chair and follow him onto the dance floor.

  He looks so good; seeing him in a suit damn near had my panties falling off when he arrived at my place. His tailored jacket fits his shoulders and tapers to his narrow waist, and the pants are slim fitting. The light gray color emphasizes his tanned complexion and dark hair, the knot of his silky blue tie tucked up against the pure white collar of his shirt.

  We danced once before. There was no music that night, but we moved together as if we heard the same melody. I place my hand on his shoulder, big and solid beneath the fabric of his suit, and he clasps my other hand in his. And we dance.

  The beat of the song is lively, and Trace surprises me by showing some flare in his movements, all the while staring into my eyes. I’m liquefying. Slowly dissolving, floating, surrounded by candlelight and pale flowers and Trace’s seductive scent. We remain on the dance floor for another slow song, then the DJ picks up the tempo with a Jason Derulo song.

  With a questioning look, Trace releases me. I move to the faster beat, and he matches my movements, hands on my hips. I laugh out loud at the joy of dancing, lifting my arms in the air and swinging my hips as Trace watches.

  Finally we return to the table. I pick up a glass of water and down it, then Trace tops up my wineglass and hands it to me. “Thanks. That was fun.”

  “Trace, you were dancing!” Felise plops into her chair at the table.

  He rolls his eyes. “What about it?”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you dance since Mom forced you to practice waltzing with us. Also, you were laughing earlier.”

  “Oh, come on. I laugh all the time.”

  “You really don’t.”

  I shoot him a look. It’s true, he’s pretty serious, but I’ve seen him laugh lots.

  He shrugs.

  Felise’s grandma, Joan, appears. Er, wait. She’s my grandma too. “Come dance with me, Trace. I learned some moves at hip-hop class.”

  She’s got to be in her seventies, but she’s full of energy. Trace lets her drag him back to the dance floor, and I watch them with amusement. “Grandma’s a better dancer than I am,” I say to Felise.

  She laughs. “Not true. I saw you out there.” She leans closer. “Thanks for getting Trace up dancing.”

  “I, uh…”

  “And what the hell did you say to him that made him laugh like that?”

  “I don’t even remember.”

  “It must have been good. And it’s nice to see Trace happy.”

  I’m not sure if she’s poking to get more information or if she’s completely guileless. “Why isn’t he happy?”

  “He’s happy. He’s just… Well, he’s never really gotten over losing his family.” This time she seems more inclined to spill the tea on Trace. “He still feels responsible for it. He tried for years to figure out if he could fix it, but he never could, and it really bothers him. I think it’s made him a little bitter.”

  My mouth falls agape. “He feels responsible?” I stare at Felise.

  “He was driving the car when it crashed.”

  “Oh my god.” I blink rapidly. “I didn’t know that.”

  She nods slowly.

  “He was so young.”

  “Yes, he was.” Her lips twist. “When Magan and I were learning to drive, he got really cranky.”

  I inhale slowly. “Wow. What happened in the accident?”

  “Apparently a semi pulled out right in front of them.”

  “So it wasn’t his fault.”

  “No, but he doesn’t want to hear that. He’s sure he could have done something different.”

  My chest aches. I flatten my hand there and swallow.

  “That’s why he’s tried so hard to get them back,” she adds. “And he hates that he hasn’t been able to.”

  I remember our first lesson, when he told me that resurrection isn’t possible. How his voice caught. I imagine teenage Trace railing against the world, then becoming determined to fix what he thought he’d done wrong. And not being able to do that. My eyes sting with tears pressing in the corners, and I blink them back, my heart throbbing for him.

  I turn and look at Trace. He’s smiling fondly at Grandma as she shows off some pretty good moves.

  “I think Trace also hates the pressure to follow in his family’s footsteps,” Felise adds. “We’re just ordinary witches. The Candlers, I mean. But Trace… he’s a special witch.”

  I’m starting to realize he is special. He didn’t want to tutor me, but he did it even though he’s carried a burden of guilt around with him since he was sixteen, and on top of that, tremendous disappointment at all his attempts to bring his family back. And not just because he wants them back… it seems he feels he has to redeem himself for what he did. But this whole family loves him. And I… Well, I’ve liked him since the moment we met. And that feeling has only deepened as I get to know him better and see his honor, his strength, his devotion to the Candlers.

  I dance with a couple of Felise and Magan’s cousins, then a bunch of girls all dance together. Joe even dances with me. We’ve had lunch a few times over the past few weeks. He checks in on what I’ve been learning from Trace and lets me ask him dumb questions. He listens to my work complaints and tells me stories about Felise and Magan when they were little. We’ve even talked about my mom.

  “What a lovely wedding,” I say. “Everyone seems to be having fun.”

  “Some a little too much.” He shifts his gaze to a bunch of Wendell and Dean’s friends gathered by the open bar. His smile is wry.

  “Is there a witch hangover remedy?”

  “Why yes, there is.”

  “Okay, that’s useful.”

  “You sound like you think the things you’re learning aren’t useful.”

  “There are so many restrictions on what we can use our powers for. It seems to defeat the purpose of having magic powers.”

  “There are a lot of restrictions,” he agrees. “But they’re there for a reason. Unlimited power is dangerous. And you’re young and just learning. Power increases as you age and have the maturity and experience to handle it.”

  I wrinkle my nose at him. “I guess we all think we’re mature.”

  He smiles. “Have you heard of Axel Dankworth?”

  “Yes. One of the original members of the Orb of Night coven.”

  “Yes. He talked about the dangers to witch character—things like having a lot of money without having to work for it. Doing business without ethics. Taking pleasure without having a conscience. Those things can destroy a witch’s character and integrity.”

  I think about that. “Okay, I get that. I’d still like to win the lottery though.”

  “Wouldn’t we all.” He pauses. “If we could just summon up a million dollars, we wouldn’t appreciate it as much as if we worked for it. If I ran my business scamming people, what would that make me?”

  I have to
say, I admire this man. My heart expands, rising up into my throat. “I’m glad you’re my dad,” I say quietly.

  His eyes warm. “I’m glad you’re my daughter.”

  “I feel like I’m not fitting in,” I blurt out. “I feel so stupid about magic and witches.”

  His eyebrows pull down. “Give it time. It takes years to learn things.”

  “So I’m told.” I make myself smile. “I’ll try to be more patient.”

  “Attagirl.”

  Something on the other side of the dance floor is creating a commotion, and we both turn to look. Guests gather together, and I hear laughter. “What is going on?”

  We stop dancing, as does everyone else, moving closer to see that a T-Rex has joined the wedding, boogying on the dance floor.

  I crack up, covering my mouth. “Oh my god! Who is that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The dinosaur grabs Wendell’s hand and tries to spin him. Wendell is dying laughing and nearly falls on his ass.

  “Is that Dean?” Joe asks.

  “I think it is.” Trace speaks behind us.

  I turn and see his broad smile.

  The dinosaur dances his way around, stopping for hugs from Dean’s (his?) mom, Wendell’s mom, and Grandma Candler. The crowd is clapping and cheering for him. With his tiny little arms and big tail, he’s a hilarious dancer, and my face hurts from laughing.

  Eventually Dean reveals himself and he and Wendell hug. “You’re a kook, hon,” Wendell says affectionately.

  When the hilarity dies down, the DJ starts a slower, older song, “Fly Me to the Moon.”

  “Sinatra,” I murmur. “I love this song.”

  Joe pats Trace’s shoulder as he moves away.

  Trace holds out his hand to me.

  I take it and let him pull me close.

  “God, that was funny,” I say.

  “Dean’s a nut. A good nut though.”

  “I’m so happy for them.”

  “Yeah.” Trace’s hand on my hip guides me out of the way of another couple. And closer to him. I feel the warmth of his body. I like the strength in his hand holding mine, the breadth of his shoulders. He’s taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, and his forearms are like porn. I can’t stop peeking at them. And at his square jaw, dark with stubble. His mossy-green eyes. His lips…