“Keep that for luck,” Farrah said before heading inside.
Absolutely stunned by, well, everything, Keelie put the stone in her pocket and followed her boss. Was it possible Cash knew about this and just hadn’t told her?
There was no way.
Cash would never.
Did that mean that if she took Cash out to the falls, her tough older sister might end up with magical powers and a devoted talking chipmunk companion? Keelie could only shake her head. She was relieved to learn that she wasn’t losing her mind, but that didn’t make anything she’d heard easier to believe. And how would she find out what her knack was? She hoped it wasn’t math. She’d never liked math. Although at least then she’d save on taxes.
Despite her addled brain, she easily shifted into her role. Even without magic, she was great at her job, and MacGillicuddy’s had a full house. Each time she took an order to the bar, Cash smiled at her and made the usual sisterly small talk, and Keelie did her best to reply in kind even though, internally, she was shaken to her core.
“Can we chat later?” she asked Cash.
“Sleeping over at Riley’s,” Cash said, waggling her dark eyebrows. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Keelie echoed, but…
She sounded exactly like Cash.
Exactlylike her.
Her older sister gave her A Look. “Are you mocking me?”
“Not on purpose. Tomorrow would be great. I hope you guys have a good night.”
It sounded weak because it was weak, but Keelie hated confrontation and arguing and hurried back to her table with the beers Cash had supplied. Most likely Cash would try texting her later, but since she didn’t currently have a working phone, that wasn’t going to accomplish much. She had to let Cash know so she wouldn’t worry—and she had to get a new phone immediately.
The night flew by, the tips flew in, and then she was driving home in her old truck. “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood started up on the radio, and without really thinking about it, Keelie sang along. She knew the words by heart because she’d long ago learned that it was the kind of song that got the crowd going at karaoke, so even though her voice wasn’t particularly nice, the whole room ended up singing along with loud and supportive passion, drowning her out. But this time, her voice blended seamlessly with the song. She hit every note, trilled every growl, and grinned at how powerful she felt, how right. She wanted to slash all four of Mark Ranger’s tires, take a Louisville Slugger to the headlights of his old Impala, and remind him that even if it had been six years ago, what he’d done to Cash was neither forgotten nor forgiven. She held the last note until the song cut out, feeling it resonate in her bones.
And that was when it hit her.
Accidentally mocking Cash. Singing this song flawlessly in a voice that was not her own.
It didn’t feel like a coincidence.
She changed the radio station to some guy advertising pizza and mimicked his voice, word for word. On the next channel, she sang along with a Bon Jovi songas Jon Bon Jovi, then found a new station and matched her voice to Cyndi Lauper’s.
Each time it happened, she felt that warm sunshine in her heart like she had at the waterfall and was unsurprised to hear another voice entirely coming out of her mouth.
This must be it,she thought.My knack.Or whatever. I’m a mimic.
At first, her spirits rose because, well, magic! But then they fell a little, because it would’ve been more helpful if she could’ve turned rocks into gold or made the wheels on a slot machine stop on her whim. And then her spirits splattered on the ground because this skill seemed totally useless to someone with high morals who was honest to a fault. What use would she ever have in her life for mimicking a sound? She wasn’t even a hunter who could use such a talent to attract prey, although that would make her extremely popular around town.
How odd, to go from thinking she was losing her marbles—
To getting excited about possibly being a witch who could solve all her problems with actual magic—
To realizing that her special gift was utterly useless.
As soon as she turned down the long gravel drive to the farm, she could hear Gary braying happily. Except now, instead of the usual atonal hee-haw, she could hear the words underneath it. “My love!” the donkey shouted. “My love, you’ve returned!”
It honestly would’ve been a lovely voice if he hadn’t been a donkey.
As she drove along the fence, he trotted along with her, ears bouncing. “Every time you leave, I think to myself, ‘What if she never returns? What if the light of the sun were to wink out, leaving me in perpetual darkness?’ ” he called.
In their brief talk, she had neglected to ask Farrah what a witch was supposed to do when her familiar was desperately in love with her. She got out of the car and went to the gate.
“I’m going to pet you like usual, but don’t make it weird,” she warned him as he skidded to a halt and tenderly nibbled her hand.
