“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.