Chapter 21: The Video Call and the New Bond
The kitchen hummed with its own quiet life. Holographic task lights cast a warm, adjustable glow across the countertops, shifting to match the amber light filtering through the windows as the sun began its descent. The brick oven—century-old and enchanted in ways that still surprised them—radiated a gentle heat that made the space feel like a sanctuary. Casey stood at the sink, rinsing a handful of strawberries, letting the water run cold over her fingers while she watched Katrina hover near the laptop.
"You nervous?" Casey asked, not turning around.
"No." Katrina paused. "Yes. Maybe both."
"Good. That means you're human."
Katrina laughed, a soft sound that still carried the faint echo of uncertainty. She'd been with them for two months now, two months of therapy with Jules, two months of learning how to exist in a world that had moved on without her. Her mother's disappearance still hung over her like a shroud, but she was learning to carry it rather than be crushed by it.
"Rick knows about me, right?" Katrina asked. "I mean, he knows everything?"
"Stacy told him the broad strokes." Casey dried her hands on a dish towel, turning to lean against the counter. "He knows you're connected to Aemelia. He knows about the void. He knows you're staying with us while you heal."
"That's a lot to process."
"He's a Williamson. We're built for weird." Casey's eyes crinkled. "Also, he grew up with Jan as his honorary aunt. Nothing surprises him anymore."
Katrina's lips twitched. "She's certainly something."
"She's a menace. But she's our menace." Casey gestured at the laptop. "Go on. Call him. He's been asking about you since Stacy told him you were here."
"He has?"
"Every day, Katrina. Sometimes twice." Casey's voice softened. "He wants to meet you. He's just been giving you space."
The words settled something in Katrina's chest. She crossed to the laptop, her bare feet padding against the heated floor, and sat down on the stool. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she pressed the call button.
The screen flickered. Then Rick's face appeared.
He was mid-sentence, apparently talking to someone off-screen. "—and I swear, if Marty eats another tray of croissants before they even make it to the display case, I'm going to—" He stopped, his eyes landing on the screen. Recognition flickered across his features, followed by something softer. "Katrina?"
"Hi." Her voice came out smaller than she intended. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"No, no. I was just—" Rick ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair, a gesture so achingly familiar that Katrina felt her heart clench. "I was just complaining about my new apprentice. Apparently, he has a thing for pastries."
"Most people do."
"Yeah, but he's supposed to be selling them, not eating them." Rick grinned, and the expression transformed his face. He had Mike's kind awkwardness, but there was a warmth to him that felt immediate and genuine. "God, I'm sorry. I've been meaning to call and check on the Chicago bakery, and I keep getting distracted by—" He stopped again. "You look exactly like I pictured you."
Katrina blinked. "You pictured me?"
"Stacy told me a lot about you. She and Jan are the best of friends, knowing each other since childhood." Rick's voice grew gentler. "She said you sounded brave. That even when everything fell apart, you kept fighting."
"That's..." Katrina swallowed. "That's very kind of her to say. I don't feel very brave."
"Brave people rarely do."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that happens when two people are learning the shape of each other's presence. Casey busied herself at the counter, pretending not to listen, but Katrina caught her smile.
"I've been reading my mother's journals," Katrina said, changing the subject. "Casey and your aunt Callie got me access to the Golden Wand archives. They're... intense."
"The Bentley Ridge stuff?"
"Yeah. She was chasing something. A pattern in the dimensional interference that kept repeating." Katrina's brows furrowed. "She called it a message. A cry for help. I've been having dreams about it, actually."
"Dreams?"
"Stone chambers. Echoing voices. The feeling of being watched." Katrina shook her head. "Probably just my subconscious processing everything. Jules says that's normal."
"Jules is good at what she does," Rick said. "She helped Stacy and I through some stuff when we were dealing with time travel fallout. I trust her."
"So do I." Katrina hesitated. "I also dreamed about a garden once. A beautiful one, full of flowers I'd never seen before. There was a woman there, silver-haired, ethereal. She was kind to me. She told me I was going to be okay."
Rick's expression flickered. "Did she have pointed ears?"
"Now that you mention it..." Katrina's eyes widened. "You know who that is?"
"I have a guess." Rick's voice was careful. "Aemelia. My... babymama, I suppose."
"But she was the one who tricked me into the ritual and—"
"Aemelia is complicated. She's not entirely evil, more like her reasons are her own. She has her reasons for what she does, even if they're not always good ones." Rick shrugged. "She also harvested my seed to create Calista, so I have a complicated relationship with her."
Katrina laughed despite herself. "Complex doesn't even begin to cover it."
"You're telling me."
The ice broke after that. They talked about the bakery, about Rick's move to Miami, about the beachfront condo he shared with Stacy. Rick described his new apprentice Marty with affectionate exasperation, and Katrina found herself laughing at his stories, the sound surprising her.
"God, I haven't laughed like that in weeks," she said, wiping her eyes.
"I aim to please." Rick leaned back in his chair, and Katrina caught a glimpse of his chest through his open collar. He was built like his father—soft around the edges but solid underneath. "So tell me about you. Really. What's life like in the Horny House?"
Katrina choked on air. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, you haven't heard the nickname?" Rick grinned. "Amy—my godmother, sort of—started calling it that years ago. It's stuck."
"It's accurate," Casey called from the sink, not turning around.
"MOM!" Rick's face went red. "You're not supposed to—"
"Your father and I are very proud of our reputation."
Katrina was laughing so hard she nearly fell off her stool. "Oh my god. This is the most ridiculous family I've ever met."
"You get used to it," Rick said. "Eventually."
They talked for another twenty minutes, the conversation flowing easier than Katrina had expected. She found herself telling him about her time in the void—the loneliness, the fear, the strange moments of peace. He listened without judgment, his eyes steady on the screen.
"I used to dream about a voice," Katrina admitted. "When I was in the void. It was distant, but it was there. It kept me company when I thought I'd lose my mind."
"Whose voice?"
"I never knew. I just knew it was warm. Kind." She paused. "I think it might have been my mother."
Rick's expression softened. "I think you're probably right. When I was a kid, I used to have dreams about someone singing to me. It wasn't until I got older that I realized it was Stacy. She was babysitting me, and somehow I knew we'd be together before a younger version of herself managed to be with me even when I was too young to know what that meant."
"That's beautiful."
"It was terrifying at the time. Try explaining to your parents that your future girlfriend is visiting you in your dreams." Rick shook his head. "They took it surprisingly well."
"Williamson family motto," Casey interjected. "Roll with it."
"I love you, Mom."
"I know, honey."
Katrina smiled, but she could feel the shift in the air. The conversation had started as something tentative, but it was growing into something with more weight. Her skin felt warm, her pulse just slightly faster than normal.
"Can I ask you something?" Rick said, his voice dropping slightly.
"Sure."
"Stacy told me about what you went through. The manipulation, the ritual, the void." He paused. "She also told me that you're doing better now. That you're learning to trust people again."
"I am."
"I'm glad." Rick's gaze was steady. "I've been curious about you since she first told me about you. The version of you that existed before I was born. The one who survived something impossible."
Katrina felt her cheeks heat. "I'm not that special."
"I think you are." Rick's voice was soft. "I think you're incredibly special. And I want to know more about you. Everything, actually."
The words hung in the air between them. Katrina's heart hammered in her chest, her skin tingling. She saw Casey turn from the sink, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
"Well," Casey said, "I have to go check on the cats. They're probably destroying something in the living room." She paused at the door. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Mom—"
"I raised you, Rick. I know exactly what you would do." Casey's smile was wicked. "Try not to make it too hot in here. Jan and Cameron will be here in an hour."
The door swung shut behind her. The kitchen felt suddenly intimate, the hum of the oven and the soft light creating a cocoon around Katrina and the screen.
"So," Rick said, his voice lighter but still charged. "What are you wearing?"
Katrina's breath caught. She looked down at her t-shirt, suddenly self-conscious. "Just this. And some shorts. I wasn't expecting to—"
"Good. That's good." Rick's grin was slow, appreciative. "Can you show me?"
She pulled at the collar of her t-shirt, suddenly aware of how thin the fabric was. "It's just a shirt, Rick."
"Well," Stacy's voice appeared off-screen, "maybe you should show him anyway."
Katrina's eyes widened. Stacy's face appeared behind Rick, her dark hair streaked with silver, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She leaned over Rick's shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"Don't be shy," Stacy murmured. "He's been wanting to see you for weeks."
"Stacy!" Rick protested, but he was grinning.
"What? It's true." Stacy's hand slid down Rick's chest. Every button she parted revealed more skin beneath—olive-toned and lightly dusted with hair. "Why don't you show her what you're wearing?"
"Stacy—"
"Go on. I want to watch her face."
Rick's eyes stayed on the screen, watching Katrina's reaction through the webcam. Slowly, he gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, baring his chest. He was solid, lean muscle beneath a baker's softness. He had his father's kind build, well-padded but sturdy, and when he flexed slightly, she saw the definition underneath.
"God," Katrina heard herself say.
Stacy laughed behind Rick. She pressed against his back, her mouth finding his neck. As Katrina watched, Stacy's hands moved lower, working the button of his jeans open—the fly of his boxers followed, and her hand slipped inside the waistband.
"Rick's been wondering," Stacy said, her voice a low murmur against his skin, "what you look like when you're not wearing that shirt. The way you've been looking at him, all shy and soft..."
"I'm not shy," Katrina objected, but her voice cracked. Her skin had flushed an embarrassing pink from throat to cheeks.
"You look like you're trying not to think about sex," Stacy observed. "And this is the Horny House, Katrina. Here, you're allowed to think about it all you want."
The line she said made Katrina laugh, a nervous ripple. And somehow, into the silence, Rick let out a soft groan as Stacy's hand found his cock through his boxers. Katrina heard the low, wet sound of friction and felt her mouth begin to water.
"You want to watch him touch himself?" Stacy whispered, looking right into the camera. "That's okay. You can watch him touch himself. And you can touch yourself too, if you want."
Her panties were soaked. Katrina hadn't even noticed she'd been spreading her legs; she only knew the sensation of the cool air hitting them. A sudden burst of courage made her reach for the hem of her shirt.
"Show us," Rick said roughly. "Please."
She pulled off her shirt with a shaking hand, revealing a lacy black bra, its edges straining against the rise and fall of her breath. A tremor of vulnerability moved through her, but it was tempered by a wild thrill at the need she saw in his eyes on the screen.
"Fuck," Rick breathed. His hand moved faster, a flush spreading up his neck.
Stacy's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Show her the rest, love."
She helped him shove his jeans and boxers down. God, he was gorgeous, and she watched a bead of clear fluid leak from the tip and smear across his thumb as he stroked himself. The sight made her ache.
"Your turn," Stacy said, her voice deep and warm. "Let's see what you look like without that bra, Katrina."
She hesitated for only a moment. Then she was unclipping it, letting the straps slide down her arms until the pretty lace fell away and bared her breasts. Fucking hell, the way Rick moaned when he saw her made her pussy clench.
"You're beautiful," he said, his voice an unsteady growl. "You're so fucking beautiful, Katrina."
Stacy kissed his neck, her hand wrapping around his shaft. She stroked him slowly, deliberately, her eyes on the screen. "She wants to see you come, doesn't she? Don't you, Katrina?"
"Yes," Katrina whispered. The word tore itself from her, unbidden. "I want to—I want to see."
Her own hand found the waistband of her shorts. She was soaked; the fabric had clung. She pushed them down along with her panties in one clumsy movement, kicking them off onto the floor. The soft light from the kitchen caught the slick shine of her cunt as she spread her legs wider.
"Look at you," Rick groaned. "So wet for me."
"I want to be inside you," Rick rasped. "I want to feel you clench around my cock. I want to watch you ride me until we both scream—"
Katrina's fingers found her clit, and she moaned at the contact. She was so sensitive, so desperate. She slid two fingers into her slick entrance and began to pump, slow and deep, echoing the rhythm of his hand.
"That's it," Stacy purred. "Make yourself feel good while you watch him. He likes that, don't you, love?"
"Yes, yes—" Rick was thrusting into his fist now, his hips bucking. "Katrina, I'm going to come. Fuck, I'm going to come all over my hand thinking about you."
"Wait—" Katrina pulled her fingers out and leaned closer to the screen, her mouth open. "I want to see. Show me. Please."
Rick's head fell back. Stacy's hand replaced his, faster now, and as a guttural groan tore from his throat, his cock pulsed and spasmed. Ropes of cum spilled over Stacy's fingers and his stomach, hot and thick. Katrina watched, mesmerized, hips grinding against the edge of the stool.
"Your turn," Rick panted. "Touch yourself for us, Katrina. Let us see you come."
She obeyed, sliding her fingers back into her dripping cunt. The image of Rick's release was still seared on her eyelids. The sound of his grunts and moans echoed through the speaker, fueling her need. She fucked herself hard, thighs trembling.
"God, yes," she breathed. "Oh, god—I'm close—I'm so close—"
"Come for me," Rick urged. "Come all over those pretty fingers and moan my name."
It snapped. The orgasm crashed over her and she screamed—a sharp, keening sound wrenched from the depths of her chest. Her body arched off the stool while her cunt fluttered and gushed around her fingers. Through the haze, she heard Rick groan in approval and Stacy's light, approving laugh.
Between the two of them, the screen glitched for just a moment. When it steadied, she saw Stacy and Rick wrapped in each other's arms, both of their faces red and satisfied. Stacy pressed one last kiss to his neck before she slid off-screen.
"Well," said a voice.
Katrina startled, nearly falling off the stool. Casey leaned in the doorway, a grocery bag in her arms, an utterly unreadable look on her face. Then it split into a grin so wide it threatened to crack her in half.
"Well, that's one way to break the ice."
"Casey, I—" Katrina scrambled for her t-shirt, clutching it to her chest. She was stranded in a pool of her own honesty, her face a burning shade of crimson. "I'm so sorry—"
"For what?" Casey crossed to the kitchen counter, pulling out a bag of coffee beans and a grinder. "Oh, honey. I raised that boy, and I know exactly the effect he has. I had your conversation broadcast to the whole house, and I don't think anyone is complaining."
"MOM!" Rick's voice boomed through the speakers. "I can hear you!"
"Good!" Casey called back. "You should be ashamed of yourself!"
"I'm not!"
"Neither am I."
Katrina buried her face in the t-shirt. "I want to die."
"Don't." Casey's voice softened. "You just let yourself feel something. That's a victory, not a shame." She set down the grinder and crossed to where Katrina sat, putting her hand over the one that clutched the shirt. "No one here judges you. We're all perverts."
"I'm not a pervert!"
"Kay." Casey's smile glinted with mischief. "Look, whatever you want to call yourself, you're family now. And family watches out for each other." She nodded at the screen. "Even if you're trying to corrupt my son."
You could hear the smile in Rick's voice. "She corrupted me, I didn't corrupt her."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not! She was doing the thing with the fingers where—"
"I'M GOING TO HANG UP," Katrina shouted.
"NO WAIT—"
But she didn't hang up. She just buried her face in her hands while her heart hammered out a wild rhythm that felt terrifyingly like joy. Her laugh was muffled, but it bubbled up out of her, genuine and light.
"Oh my god. I haven't felt this alive in decades."
"Well," Casey said. "That's what we're here for."
She returned to the coffee grinder, filling the kitchen with the scent of fresh beans. Katrina retrieved her t-shirt, pulling it over her head, and then her shorts, shimmying into them with as much dignity as she could muster.
Rick's face was still on the screen, his grin unrepentant. "So when are you coming to visit Miami?"
"I..." Katrina paused. "I don't know if I'm ready."
"I'll be here when you are." His voice was warm, sincere. "Look, I've got to get back to the kitchen. Marty's probably eaten half the display case by now. But can we do this again? Talk, I mean."
"I'd like that."
"Good." His smile softened. "And Katrina? I'm glad you're here. With my parents, I mean. They're good people."
"They are."
"And you deserve good things."
Katrina's chest tightened. "So do you."
Rick nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he ended the call. The screen flickered to black, leaving only her reflection in the dark glass.
Casey was leaning against the counter, a mug in her hand, watching her with a gentle expression. "So. That went well."
"I didn't expect—" Katrina shook her head. "I just met him. And I'm sitting here, in your kitchen, thinking about what his hands would feel like on my hips."
"Welcome to the family." Casey took a sip of her coffee. "Now help me set out some snacks. Jan and Cameron are almost here, and we have a lot to discuss."
"What kind of snacks?"
"The kind that go with wine and wild theories." Casey's eyes sparkled. "You're going to love this."
Katrina slid off the stool, her legs still slightly unsteady. But instead of shame, she only felt a strange, buoyant joy. She moved to the cabinet, pulled down mugs and plates, and started helping.
And in the back of her mind, a voice whispered soft, warm, familiar.
You're okay, Katrina. You're going to be okay.
She smiled. For the first time, she believed it.
Rembrandt padded into the kitchen through the doorway, VanGogh trailing behind. The massive Maine Coon wound around Katrina's ankles, purring like a small engine. She reached down to scratch his head, the rumble of his chest vibrated through her fingers. It felt grounding.
"You're a good cat," she told him.
Rembrandt just purred louder.
The doorbell rang. Godfrey III, Jan's tiny Maltese, shot out of the living room and skidded across the polished floor, yapping in a rapid-fire chorus of greeting.
"That's Jan," Casey said unnecessarily. She headed for the door, pausing to look back at Katrina. "You ready for this?"
Katrina took a deep breath. "No. But that's never stopped me before."
Casey's smile was proud. "That's the spirit."
The door swung open, and Jan swept in like a force of nature. She was heavier than the version Katrina had seen in old photos—in her late 40s now, with a braid of red hair and a warmth in her green eyes—but her energy was undimmed. Her arms were full of casserole dishes.
"We brought food and gossip," Jan announced. "And, knowing this house, probably a lot more." Godfrey had a bark that sounded familiar at her heels, a ridiculously small creature who looked absurdly like the tracker dog Katrina had seen in old photos of Jan's magical career. Godfrey III was currently sniffing Katrina's shoes with an air of great importance.
"I don't know if you've met," Casey said, gesturing between them, "Jan, this is Katrina. Katrina, this is Jan."
Jan set the casserole dishes on the counter, then turned and pulled Katrina into a warm, enveloping hug. She smelled of cinnamon and something herbal. "Oh, honey. We've been so looking forward to meeting you. Mike told us everything."
"Everything?" Katrina's voice was muffled against Jan's shoulder.
"Everything. Including what happened in the kitchen just now."
"OH GOD," Katrina said, buried in the hug.
Jan laughed, a full, joyful sound. "Don't worry. We're all family, and family doesn't judge." She pulled back, her hands on Katrina's shoulders. "We also have a plan."
"What kind of plan?"
Cameron appeared behind Jan, a tall, handsome man with intense blue eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. He was carrying an armload of equipment—what looked like a portable scanner and several bound journals. "A plan to find your mother," he said. "We're going to Bentley Ridge."