Page 23 of Enchanted to Meet You

“What about writing?” I punted, since I couldn’t bring myself to say the wordsDo you believe in magic?to her. “Journalism? Is that something you’d want to study in college or...?”

“Journalism?” Esther made a face. “No. What I really love is science. I’m thinking about majoring in psychology. There’s a mental health crisis in this country. The demand for psychologists is off the charts—as you can probably tell.” She sent a menacing look in the direction of the boys. “Brayden over there is a prime example of a kid in need of dialectical behavior therapy.”

That was not at all what I was expecting to hear from a sixteen-year-old. Granted, I don’t normally hang around sixteen-year-olds—except to pass them items they wanted to try on through the dressing room curtains at my shop.

Still, I was pretty sure this was exactly the kind of thing the Bringer of Light would say. And even if this kid wasn’t the savior of West Harbor, I was surprised to find that I liked her enough that I actually wanted to be her mentor—her academic mentor, not her witch mentor. Although both would be fine with me.

“That sounds amazing,” I said. Then I added, “You know, working in fashion retail can be a little like being a therapist in some ways. People need a lot of positive reinforcement and reassurance while trying on new clothes.”

Esther smiled at me, going in for a third brownie. “My best friend Gabriella loves your store. She’s always in there buying stuff—like those lounge pants you sell, the tie-front ones in the different prints? You’re wearing a pair now.”

“Oh, the bamboo loungers.” I nodded, feeling even more buoyed. I was glad Esther had a best friend. And of course I loved it when anyone said something positive about the shop. I hoped Becca was having an okay time running it without me. But it was a Monday morning after a weekend sale, when things were usually slow, so she’d probably be fine. “Yes, they’re very popular. So soft and flowy and romantic.”

“Yeah,” Esther said. “Well, Gabby’s a Pisces, so she loves anything flowy and romantic.”

I paused as I reached for another brownie. “You like astrology?”

“I love it,” Esther said. “Of course astrology is a pseudoscience, but I find that a person’s star sign can often be surprisingly accurate about many of their character traits.”

I was already trying to figure out how I was going to report this to Derrick. He didn’t exactly strike me as someone who put a whole lot of faith in star signs.

“Well,” I said. “I don’t know if you can definitively—”

“Like you.” Esther was polishing off her fourth brownie. And they were pretty big brownies, too. “Aquarius, right?”

I stared at her. “How did you—?”

“It’s pretty obvious. You’ve got the flowy romantic thing going on with how you dress, too, just like Gabs. But you’re reserved—until you get to know someone. Then you’re warm and friendly. So you have to be Aquarius on the cusp of Pisces. A Valentine’s Day baby, maybe?” At the sight of my stunned expression, she nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense, because you definitely seem like the creative type—and a romantic, even though you’ve been a bit disappointed by love, haven’t you?”

I stared harder. I might even have been goggling at her. “H-how—?”

“It hasn’t made you bitter, though,” she added hastily, mistaking my wonder for disapproval. “You believe in love. You just think it’s better to be alone than with the wrong person. Which is so totally Aquarian, and I so totally get. No point in wasting time on bad company. Oh, and you’re a witch, right? But a good witch—at least, you try to be.” She shoveled the largest bit of brownie yet into her mouth.

I gaped at her. “How—how did you—?”

She took her time chewing and swallowing. “Well, the witch part was easy.” She pointed at the pendant I’d forgotten I was wearing around my neck.

“Y-you,” I stammered, fingering it. “You’ve heard of Gaia?”

“Sure. Hasn’t everybody? She’s like, Mother Nature, right?”

“Um... yes. But the rest of it... How...?”

Then, as the table we were sitting on shook because Brayden won the game he’d been playing, and was stomping around on top of it in triumph, Esther banged her water bottle down andshouted, “Brayden! What have I told you about putting your feet on the table? Get. Down!”

On the worddown, the cafeteria table where we were sitting gave a mighty wobble—only this time it wasn’t because anyone was stomping on it. It was as if a massive hand reached down, grasped the end of the table where the boys were sitting, lifted it a few inches in the air, and shook it.

Only there was no one at the other end of the table lifting it to shake it.

And when the shaking stopped as abruptly as it started, an ashen-faced Brayden climbed meekly down from the tabletop and mumbled his apologies to Esther.

“Sorry,” he said, bowing his head almost as if to a queen. “My bad, bro.”

Esther rolled her eyes tolerantly. “I’m not your bro.”

“I mean Esther,” he said.

Esther glanced back at me and grimaced apologetically. “Brayden can’t help it. He’s an Aries with ADHD.”