Page 27 of Impractical Magic

Scarlett had heard about a lot of concerning developments in town since she’d arrived—the road work . . . the lack of gourds . . . the Spam incident. But they were small-bore, things that make you go, huh, types of changes. Even the squirrels, while certainly chilling, didn’t feel existential. This was the first change that genuinely troubled her to her core. “Is this harming the Forgetting Spell?”

“Depends what you mean. This particular broken sigil, this specific one? No. The spell is cumulative. It’s not just one sigil, it’s thousands of separately carved— Now, hold on, wait one minute.” Delilah abruptly turned an accusatory glare on her sister; Scarlett was alarmed to realize that Del had developed an expression nearly as intimidating as their mother’s. The Melrose Scowl, they called it in town. Delilah had it mastered.

“What?! What’s with the look? Don’t give me that look.”

Delilah continued giving the look. “You don’t know how the Forgetting Spell works, do you? You have no idea.”

“Of course I do. Don’t be ridiculous. There are enchanted symbols all over Oak Haven—in sidewalks, over doorways, on moldings, in kitchen and bathroom tiles—and they cause outsiders and non-witches to forget about us.”

“Yes, but how? How does it work, exactly? Prove to me you know how it works.”

“Umm,” Scarlett said. “It, uh, you know . . . works by . . . uh, making people . . . forget. Stuff.”

“Making people forget stuff.” Delilah folded her arms across her chest, every bit the Teacher Who Isn’t Angry Just Disappointed. “That’s your final answer?”

“Well, what then? Jeez, I left town when I was eighteen! Maybe I didn’t learn every damn thing about this goofy place, okay? Stop being so smug and just tell me.”

“The so-called Forgetting Spell doesn’t make people forget, precisely. Instead, it interferes with the brain’s ability to create new memories in the first place. All these sigils—all of these carvings all over town—are enchanted to subliminally broadcast tiny bits of useless trivia, over and over. One or two sigils would have no particular impact. But at scale? People whose brains aren’t accustomed to the broadcast—meaning, anyone without magic who doesn’t live here full-time—will find all their short-term memories replaced by nonsense. Maybe they suddenly know the lyrics to ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road’ but can’t recall what they had for dinner. They’ll remember that Chester Arthur was America’s twenty-first president, or they’ll suddenly know which film director has won the most Oscars, but somehow they can’t quite remember that adorable little town with all the gourds.”

“That’s diabolical.” Scarlett gazed down at the maze of circles beneath her feet. “Poorly named, though. The Forgetting Spell. Should be, like, the Hippocampus-Scrambling Trivia-Blast.”

“I know,” Delilah agreed. “For years I tried to get people to call it the Unremembering Spell, but that never took.”

“Wait, though, I have a question: were the sigils trivia-based back in the eighteenth century, when they were first installed? Had trivia even been invented in the eighteenth century?”

“Have a listen. If you focus, you can hear the broadcasts yourself.”

Scarlett knelt down in the crosswalk, laid her palm against one of the sigils, and closed her eyes. In a moment, she popped back up again, delighted. “Did you know: when Napoleon Bonaparte was in his mid-twenties, he wrote a romance novel?”

“Sure, Clisson et Eugénie,” Delilah said, smiling. “There you go, question answered.”

“Should we fix this one?” Scarlett moved to study the smashed-up part of the design.

“I’ve tried—there’s another damaged sigil on the far side of the park. Instead of making it better, I made the damned thing disappear completely.”

“Oof, because magic is acting crazy.”

“Exactly,” Delilah said sadly. “So I think we should leave it be. I just wanted you to see what we’re up against.”

Scarlett nodded grimly. She did see, and it was frightening. Oak Haven without the Forgetting Spell. Oak Haven abruptly famous. Oak Haven on TikTok.

She shuddered. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter 10: Anti-Hero

Mama unpacked the Williams bag and spread the supplies out on the counter. “Delilah.” She handed her eldest a folded piece of parchment. “I’d like you to work up a protection spell for each room—this is the basic recipe. We’ve got a full house of light-opera fans arriving tomorrow, and I want to avoid any hiccups. Just ensure you keep the proportions of herbs correct, and you’ll be fine.”

“An individual spell for each room?” Delilah said, dismayed. “That’s going to take hours.”

“You best get started, then.”

“Mama,” Scarlett said carefully, “far be it from me to question you, but—”

Mama rolled her eyes. “Questioning me has never been far from you, Scarlett—your first word was, ‘Really?’ What’s your question?”

“If we’re worried about spells backfiring, then . . . can’t these also backfire?”

“Oh, I agree, it’s an imperfect strategy, at best. But it may help and is certainly better than doing nothing.”