Page 24 of Impractical Magic

“Don’t be a snob,” Delilah snapped. “He’s very popular.”

Scarlett made a face but dropped it. “Polly, any thoughts about who might be doing this to you?”

“Yeah, I can’t help but notice that magic issues are at their worst in your store. Almost as if somebody was after you specifically?”

“After me?!” Polly Practically Perfect appeared altogether affronted. “Of course not! Spellbound is a jewel in Oak Haven’s downtown. Who would try to hurt me, ever?”

“Your ex, obviously.”

Polly’s face turned hard. “Last I heard, Bill was on a shrimp trawler in the Gulf of Mexico. Anyway, it can’t possibly be him.”

“Why not?” Delilah said. “Why isn’t he the prime suspect here? After all, he’s the one who—”

“Because he’s forgotten all about us, Delilah! That’s how the spell works, isn’t it? Non-witches forget all about Oak Haven. He doesn’t know he married me, he doesn’t know he has a daughter—imagine what that’s like for Violet. You think I don’t feel guilty enough, that the marriage didn’t work out? Now my kid has to grow up with a father who wouldn’t recognize her if she punched him in the face.”

“She looks like she has a decent right hook,” Scarlett said.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t blame her. But it’s not Bill. And I’m offended, frankly, that you seem to be accusing me of something. You can’t possibly understand what it’s been like. In the past weeks I’ve had books go entirely blank, I’ve had encyclopedias disorganize themselves out of alphabetical order. And there has been violence. One customer bought an illustrated copy of Dracula and the book tried to bite her while she was sleeping. Enough is enough. I’m done.”

“Ahhhh,” Scarlett said. “That’s what all that drilling and sawing is about . . .”

“Exactly. I’m installing an entirely new magic prevention system in the store. Nate Williams has been carving the sigils that will power the spell. You remember Nate, don’t you, Scarlett?”

Delilah let out a sarcastic little grunt.

“Of course,” Scarlett said, trying to keep her voice neutral. “Good old Nate seems to be everywhere these days.”

“Yes well.” Polly’s eyelashes fluttered coquettishly. “He’s been wildly helpful in my time of need.”

It was achingly clear to Scarlett what Polly meant by that particular remark.

She continued, “Once the prevention system is installed, there will be no more magic on the premises, period.”

“Oh that seems extreme, Polly. And such a loss. I vividly remember coming to Story Hour back when we were kids. Your mom would read Make Way for Ducklings and actual ducklings would march around in front of us.”

“Remember when she read Pippi Longstocking?” asked Delilah.

“Oh, that got wild.” Scarlett laughed. “With the horse. Oh God, Polly, remember the horse? We can’t let you give that up.”

“I hate it, too,” Polly said sadly. “But I don’t have an option—I’ve been physically attacked by my own books. The David Beckham autobiography leapt off the shelf and kicked me in the head. And look at this.” She rolled up the sleeve of her blouse. “Look at all the papercuts. Every time I sell something now, this happens.”

There was a knock at the office door. “Excuse me, ma’am,” said a male voice. “We need your input on the molding.”

“Yes yes, I’m on my way . . .” Polly stood. “Scarlett. Delilah. I understand your concerns; I do. But I am just as desperate as you are to see things fixed. I don’t want to forbid magic from this store—I just don’t see any other option.” She left the sisters alone in the office.

“I believe her,” Scarlett said. “You?”

Delilah sighed. “I do. It’s like she said, Bill has forgotten us by now. And anyway, he was too much of a nitwit for this. His big move was poisoning the oaks by hand. He couldn’t pull off vampire books.”

“So who did it then? Who is trying to sabotage us this time?”

“Not a clue.” Delilah flung her arm over Scarlett’s shoulder. “Let’s go fetch Luna and head back to the Stargazer. I’m sure Mama’s eager for whatever you got her at the store.”

As they made their way out of the store, they passed young Violet, standing in the doorway. She gripped a paper bag stamped with the words HAPPY PANDA and stared out at the street as forlornly as only a fifteen-year-old girl can.

“Hey,” Scarlett said to her, “you okay?”

“What do you care?” Violet snapped. She stomped away, across the street and toward the town green.