Page 5 of Magic & Matchmaking (Moonflower Witches)

Chapter Four

RIVEN

S queals erupted outside of my cart, calls for my name ringing through the air. Draven sat across from me, glowering, which was his usual countenance, but this time, I didn’t disagree. The squeals were so high-pitched I was afraid they’d burst my eardrums.

“Riven! Riven, will you play a song for us?” a woman called from outside the rolling cart.

“Witch’s tits,” Draven muttered, shoving a hand through his thick dark hair. “Do they ever leave you alone?”

“Will you sign my panties?” another feminine voice called.

Draven cocked a brow. “What do you put in those songs of yours?”

I patted the lute sitting next to me on the cushioned seat, the cherry wood smooth under my palm. “Looking to steal my secrets?” I asked.

Draven scoffed. “Hardly.”

I laughed, thinking about my grumpy friend signing someone’s panties. “No secrets to tell, I’m afraid. Just my voice and my lute. And my devastatingly good looks.”

Draven snorted at that. “Well, your voice and your lute are causing the women of Thistlegrove to lose their collective minds. ”

A hand banged against the window, making us both jump.

“Riven!” another voice called. “Let me in, and I’ll put on my own show for you.”

Draven cleared his throat. “Thank the Witch Superior we’re finally here.” He sighed. “And thank you for giving me a ride. I appreciate it.”

Draven and I were old friends, and he’d been on assignment in the same city where I’d been touring.

He was a powerful witch who was often hired by different villages to make spells or advise them on magical matters, but he hailed from Thistlegrove and ran a business here: The Brewhouse, a tavern.

I knew he was eager to get back to his business, even if he’d left it in capable hands.

“Of course,” I said. “Sorry about the...” I nudged my head at the sounds of screams echoing around us.

“I don’t know how you deal with it.” Draven lifted one of the maroon curtains covering the window and a sea of faces appeared. He quickly closed the curtain. “It’s awful.”

I didn’t mind. Then again, unlike Draven, I’d never shied from the spotlight. Still, I’d come to Thistlegrove after a long two-year tour across the Witchlands, and I was looking forward to some peace and quiet.

“It’s Riven Shiu!” a voice screeched.

I rubbed my temples. Which apparently wasn’t going to happen.

“Not the homecoming you hoped for?” Draven drawled.

Not exactly. “I just want a break from all the chaos.”

“Then why didn’t you go somewhere else?” Draven quirked a thick brow. “Thistlegrove is not the place to come if you’re hoping to go incognito. Not with all the tourists. You could’ve gone to one of the outer islands, gotten yourself a little beach cottage, and disappeared from society for a month.”

Why indeed. A face flashed in my mind. Round with freckles dotting the cheeks.

Vibrant blue eyes. Auburn hair that reminded me of ripe cranberries.

A laugh that made my heart skip a beat. It didn’t matter how far, how fast, I’d run.

It seemed I would never outrun her. Not for a lack of effort, either.

After the night where everything changed between me and Emma, I left the institute we’d both attended and set out to travel across the Witchlands.

Emma had always loved the lute, loved listening to music.

I had too. Our common interests in traveling and music had bonded us.

So I bought a lute, started playing in taverns and restaurants.

Poured all the sorrow of my broken heart into my songs.

Suddenly, others started noticing me, wanting me to play at their tavern, singing my songs, recognizing me.

It felt like I became the famous bard overnight.

I thought I’d get over Emma eventually, but every time I sang my songs, they reminded me of her, my muse.

“This is home,” I said simply.

“Didn’t your mother and father move?” Draven stroked his stubbled jaw, a glint in his green eyes.

Fuck, he really wasn’t going to drop this. I cleared my throat. “They moved to Lyceria years ago, but that’s not home to me. I was on tour when they decided to move.”

I’d been a few times. I liked Lyceria. It was a smaller village in the coastal area of the Witchlands. Beautiful views of the ocean, warm weather. But it had never felt like home. It was missing one important thing, the one thing that had always felt more like home to me than any place.

“Right,” Draven said. “So there’s no one special you’re hoping to see while you’re here?”

I set my gaze on him and crossed one leg over the other. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

Draven tugged on the lapels of his brown overcoat. “Not at all. Just wondering if you were planning on visiting a certain Emma Thorne?”

“Well, she is one of my best friends,” I said simply, not taking his bait.

“Mm-hmm.” The very corner of Draven’s mouth tipped up, which was as close to a smile as you’d ever get from the witch. “Sure.”

I threw up my hands. “She isn’t interested in a relationship. You know that.”

“I do,” Draven said. “It’s why you left ten years ago. Instead of admitting your feelings for her, you ran.”

“I didn’t run. I moved on.” I couldn’t waste the rest of my life pining after someone who didn’t feel the same. I’d told Draven as much ten years ago when I decided to travel on my own, clear my head after my heart had been thoroughly broken .

“So why are you back, then? What are you hoping to find?” Draven asked.

That was a good question. I wasn’t sure I knew the answer myself. I had everything I could want in life. A profession I loved. Wealth. Status. Yet something was missing. Maybe I thought coming here might help me find it.

Another squeal pierced the air, making me wince.

Draven tipped his head as the cart rolled to a stop in front of his tavern.

He owned the largest manor in Thistlegrove.

The only manor. It was an impressive ten-bedroom mansion on the other side of Thistlegrove Forest. Draven had always seemed to have a distaste for his home, spending most nights in the little apartment above his tavern.

He was the wealthiest witch in the Witchlands, though you wouldn’t know it.

He didn’t need to run a tavern to make money—he already had plenty of that because of his family—but this was the life he chose.

I didn’t exactly understand it, but Draven wasn’t forthcoming when it came to his feelings.

Though he didn’t seem to mind digging into mine.

He leaned forward to open the door. “Are you ready for this?”

I steeled myself and nodded. He swung open the door, and screams erupted from the crowd who’d been following us since we entered the village.

“Move,” Draven yelled, shoving through the admirers and making his way to The Brewhouse. He threw the door open and stomped inside.

“Riven, Riven!”

I waved and gave my most charming smile to the crowd of revelers.

A witch stuck out her arm and shoved up her ruffled sleeve. “Sign it, please?” She stuck out her bottom lip.

I grabbed my wand and muttered the spell for ink. A golden light emitted from my wand, swirling to her arm, and my signature scrawled across her skin. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she squeaked and fainted backward into the crowd. A few witches lunged forward to catch her.

More cries rang out as Karl, my orc driver and bodyguard, stomped in front of the crowd and shoved a few members back. “Get back,” he shouted, voice gruff. He managed to shove the door closed. I slumped back in my seat, exhausted just from that interaction. I needed a break. Badly.

“Where to, boss?” Karl asked from outside the cart, where he sat in the driver’s seat. I settled back into my seat and smiled. “Arcane Creatures Emporium.”