Page 18 of Impractical Magic

“Melt?”

“No!” Scarlett exclaimed. “Good grief, what is wrong with you? I just mean . . . occasionally . . . the battery will die? Or the signal will drop? Or . . .” She trailed off, staring at her mother in disbelief. “You’re not saying that’s me doing it? Breaking some stranger’s phone? Come on. Without trying?”

“All I can tell you is, phone-destroying spells were among the top ten most-cast spells last year.”

Scarlett’s eyes widened. “You know what the most-cast spells are?”

“Naturally, they are listed in the Acta Diurna Magus.” The Acta Diurna Magus was an ancient witchcraft newsletter that had been in circulation since before the birth of Christ. There had been few prouder moments in the Melrose family than the day that Papa’s article, “Ethics of Enchantment: Love Spells and Individual Agency” had been published in the newsletter. “Every issue contains a list of the most-cast spells, both globally and regionally. It’s a way for us old ladies to keep up with what you young folks are doing. And one thing you’re all doing, whether you realize it or not, is destroying the cellular phones of people who annoy you.”

“But how can I be casting a spell without meaning to?”

Mama sighed, her expression softening. “Magic isn’t something you do, Scarlett. It’s not some hobby that you can opt to pursue or not pursue. Magic is something you are. You can deny it, ignore it, push it away . . . but magic is still there, alive in you. And if it isn’t used? If it isn’t nurtured and tended to? Well . . . like an ignored child, it’s going to act out. Honestly? Given your ten years of magic repression, I’m amazed you haven’t caused any significant accidents.”

“No, of course not, I’d never—oh.” Scarlett’s mind flashed to an especially disastrous blind date about a year earlier; it began in a bowling alley and ended in an emergency room. “There might have been the occasional issue. I told myself it was a coincidence.”

“Not coincidence. More like overflow. As far as my piano goes, I actually don’t think it had anything to do with your lack of practice. It pains me to admit this, but I am slowly coming around to Delilah’s opinion that something has gone wrong with magic.”

“Delilah was always pretty sharp,” Scarlett said. “You probably should have listened to her from the beginning.”

“Delilah is absolutely sharp, but she is also an alarmist. Has been for some time.”

“I don’t see her that way.”

“Oh you don’t,” Mama said, an edge in her voice. “Well, a less forgiving person than I might point out that you are hardly in a position to judge, having not spoken to her in a decade.”

Scarlett took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Okay, you win, Mama.”

“Funny, I don’t feel like I’ve won anything. The truth is, Delilah has become a very pessimistic sort since her father passed. You do realize that, don’t you? That her father died, just as much as your own father did? That you were not, in fact, the sole victim of that particular incident? And ever since, Delilah can be relied upon to find the absolute worst in every given situation. I’ve come to anticipate this quirk and I usually overlook it. But after Luna’s failed gourd spell and your piano catastrophe, I’ve reconsidered . . . and I now fear Delilah is correct. And this is why I’ve asked you here.” She ripped a page off a nearby notepad and slid it across the desk. “If magic is currently fragile, we must take steps to secure the inn and the safety of our guests. Thus, I need you to run an errand for me. Fetch these items from Williams Hardware.”

Scarlett’s heart sank. Late morning or not, it was far too early to deal with the hardware store. And on no coffee, no less. “Mama, please don’t send me to Williams. You know I don’t want to go over there right now. Send Del or Luna.”

“Delilah and Luna awoke at a proper hour, enjoyed a proper breakfast, and went into town. Who knows, perhaps you’ll run into them, outside the hardware store.”

“But, Mama, that’s not fair.”

“Fair?! My child, I have seen a spell turn rain to sun. I have seen a spell turn old to young. But never have I seen a spell to turn the world to fair.”

Scarlett sighed. Well, there is a part of Oak Haven I haven’t missed—my mother’s aphorisms. “Mama, come on . . .”

“Now, child.” Mama pointed at the list like a threat.

Resigning herself to the inevitable, Scarlett accepted the shopping list. She stood up, stomped out of the office, and clambered up the stairs to get dressed. I can’t believe she’s making me go to the hardware store with no shower and no coffee.

But deep down, Scarlett knew: the consequence of oversleeping had arrived at last.

Because Nate runs the hardware store.

Chapter 7: Earl Thirteen

The story of Williams Hardware began some three hundred years ago and fifteen hundred miles away, with the pirate known as the Great Sea Wolf, Earl of Anglia, the Terror of Tortuga. Captured by the British Navy around 1700, the Great Sea Wolf managed a spectacular escape from his own execution, diving off the dock before he could be hanged. He was spared a briny demise due to the lucky arrival of a whaling ship, which was seeking out fresh hunting opportunities around Costa Rica. Alas, the ex-pirate’s whaling career was cut short due to an unspecified role in a mutiny. He found himself a hunted man yet again. But the Great Sea Wolf got lucky a second time outside a tavern in New Bedford, where he met a witch, one Miss Sarah Williams of Oak Haven. Sarah Williams promptly tamed and then married the scurvy dog, bringing him home to begin their happily ever after in her hometown.

But, as the story goes, keeping an ex-pirate occupied proved a trickier job than Sarah had anticipated. That’s when she realized that the witches of Oak Haven were sorely in need of a centralized place to store their magical supplies. Meanwhile, the husbands of Oak Haven were in need of projects to keep them busy around the house. And so it was that the Great Sea Wolf, Earl of Anglia, Terror of Tortuga, was transformed yet again—this time into Earl Williams, shopkeeper. Ever since, Williams Hardware had served the needs of DIY-ers, tradesmen, and the local witch community.

In the three hundred years that followed, the Williams family produced a long line of sons, all of them named Earl. To a man, the Earls were stalwart, honest . . . and mischievous, because pirate ways die hard. They also share the trait of exceptional longevity, due to marrying good-hearted witches who’d been disinclined to let them go. Currently there were five surviving Earls in Oak Haven. Earl Nine (age one hundred and twenty-one), Ten (age ninety-seven), and Eleven (age seventy-nine) spent their days in rocking chairs on the front porch of their family hardware store. Their primary occupations were coffee consumption, whittling, and arguing over the weather forecast—but they did manage a healthy sideline in the provision of unsolicited advice to passersby. Twelve, meanwhile, was a sprightly fifty-six and wouldn’t be caught dead rocking the days away with those relics . . . not yet, anyway.

Then there was Thirteen. Earl Thirteen had proved himself to be the most rebellious Earl since the original. Years ago, the young scalawag caused an epic scandal in town when he rejected his birth name and insisted on choosing his own.

And the name he chose was Nate.