“Only Revelare women have this kind of magic,” Gigi would tell him kindly but sternly in her gravelly smoker’s voice. “Revelare men have magic of a different sort.”
“I don’t want your stupid magic anyway,” he’d shout before stomping off.
“What kind of magic do Revelare men have?” Sadie had asked.
“He’ll find out when the time comes, never you mind,” Gigi had told her in a tone that said, “Case closed.”
“What about the curse?” Sadie had pressed, never knowing when to leave well enough alone. The curse was the most mysterious part of their legacy. All the Revelares had magic, but they also had a curse to accompany it. For nature demanded balance, and that was its way of keeping things in check.
“You’re not supposed to know about the curse until today, sugar. But I suppose your Aunt Tava has been whispering in your ear.” Gigi had sighed, leaning back on her heels, with her knees caked in mud. “I guess we better get into it. Every curse is different. Some don’t take effect until you’ve nearly forgotten about them. Maybe you thought you’d get away scot-free, only to find it slumbering like a queen of the night,” she said. “You and your brother, you’ll find your magic. But your curse—well, that’ll find you. For now, don’t borrow trouble unless you’ve got the shoulders to carry it.”
The promise of magic seemed worth the cost of a curse. And the first time she made the night jasmine bloom during the sultry heat of a June day with a single word, she knew that her magic lay in the earth, same as her grandmother’s. It was so tangled up in her, she could never quite separate the two. The one truth she hung on to, always, was that family was more important than her magic. Because if she lost that, she was nothing. An unmoored ship, a kite without a string. And right now, with Seth gone, that meant Gigi. Her grandmother was the anchor that kept her grounded and the string that let her fly.
The property line behind their plot abutted the edge of the forest, where sweeping pines and ponderosas slumbered gently in a dream. The light filtering through made the space feel like Sadie’s very own secret garden.
Except now, it seemed as though an insidious presence had infiltrated her private space. Because through the trees, less than a mile down a winding dirt deer track, stood a house. The house.
She hadn’t thought about it in years. It was a large, two-level home, straight from a storybook, painted in robin’s-egg blue with white trim. Nestled against a hill, Rock Creek ran right through the seven-acre parcel, the bubbling water a siren’s call to forest animals. The attic, with its dormer window, had been turned into a reading nook.
Sadie knew this because she’d snuck into the house with Jake over ten years ago, when the property had been up for sale. They’d sat on the faded leather couch in the dying sunlight, the walls creaking in the charged winter wind as they ate rum-soaked peach muffins with streusel topping, to incite euphoria and preserve only happy memories. The air was cold and brittle and sweet as they talked about everything they’d do to renovate the house.
“I’d build a slide from the roof down to the creek,” he’d exclaimed.
“That sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen,” Sadie had protested, laughing.
“And a zip line from here to your grandmother’s house,” he added, grabbing her hand and tracing the lines on her palm.
“She might murder you for that,” Sadie answered, willing her stupid heart to get used to the way he touched her, even though it never would listen. She inhaled the musty scent of the old house and listened as the beams groaned, wanting the moment to last forever, the summer heat cocooning them like a secret.
“And this couch,” he said in a low voice, “it would have to go. I’d definitely need a bed here. Look,” he said, pointing to the skylight. “Perfect for stargazing.” He leaned back, pulling Sadie with him until they were two sardines in a tin can, pressed against each other on the tiny couch. His body against hers, igniting a heat in her core that had nothing to do with the balmy air. She hated the way he was close, but still not close enough. She wanted to sink into him until she didn’t know where she began and he ended. Her eyes caught his as they’d darted to her lips, and even a decade later she never forgot the hunger she saw there. It had pulsed through her, the air filling with static electricity around them until he broke the stare.
“Yeah, this thing is way too small. Only room for one,” he’d said with a laugh, right before pushing her off.
She’d landed with a thump on the floor and let out a strangled cry of gleeful rage. She’d pounced, catlike, and landed on top of him, pummeling his shoulder. He’d laughed and grabbed her hands in a gentle iron grip.
“You know how this always ends up. You lose. Just give up before you hurt yourself,” he warned her.
Sadie had yanked with all her might, but his grip held fast. He pulled her closer, moving her arms until they were pinned behind her back, and she and Jake were chest to chest, breathing hard.
Sitting in her garden with her eyes closed, Sadie could still smell the fresh soap and bonfire smoke that had clung to his skin. And just like woodsmoke, his essence had clung to her long after the fire had been put out.
She’d refused to think about that house for ten years. There was something about the promise of it that was far more painful to think about than even the night they’d first kissed. The desire that had her panting to catch her breath. To think straight. To think of anything other than how she wanted his rough hands scraping over every inch of her body. The way she’d finally found something she wanted to lose control over.
She inhaled. The smell of him was so strong that, with the memory of it, she could almost feel his smooth skin.
And then someone cleared their throat.
Sadie’s eyes snapped open.
And there he stood. A delicious memory brought to life.
Her stomach dipped and knotted—and it all came rushing back.
It was the satisfying crunch of a sharp knife cutting through ripe watermelon. It was green citronella spirals burning down and sunscreen squirting hot out of the tube. It was banana pancakes on repeat and the tang of river silt clinging to tanned skin. It was summer. And freedom. And youth. And heartbreak so hot it cauterized.
“How long have you been standing there?” she demanded, her heart going staccato.
“Long enough to know you haven’t changed,” he said somberly.
He had sorrow in his eyes. Just a shadow of sadness, hidden behind the crinkle when he smiled. She used to make it her mission to make him happy. And she had. There was something about being the one that brought out his booming laugh. It unlocked something inside her. Made her realize who she wanted to be—the one who made his eyes smile. But she’d also never found out why he was sad in the first place.
His voice was a recollection, the siren song of the past, and damn it all if she didn’t want to climb inside it and live there. Before she knew what her legs were doing, they were walking her to the gate.
He held out his arms, and she hesitated. It’s just a hug. A friendly hug, she told herself. And then she was running.
His arms went around her and he squeezed, and for the first time in ten years she felt small again. Against his broad chest. His strong shoulders. Her body’s muscle memory urged her closer, where her head nestled in the crook of his neck. This was why she could never settle for Ryan. For anything less than the way her ribs turned into a steel drum, echoing her thudding heart in a summer drumbeat of hopes long abandoned.
Home, home home—the rhythm reverberated in her chest.