Page 35 of Impractical Magic

He approached her. “Are you sure your sisters want me coming along?”

“Never mind what they want. What I don’t want is for you to get lost in the middle of a magic oak grove in the middle of the night.”

“I, too, do not want that.”

“Right, so stick with me, kid.”

They made their way through the darkness side by side. The farther west they walked, the more Scarlett sensed a certain unnameable wrongness in the air.

Distracted by this thought, she put a foot wrong on a fallen branch, which snapped under her weight, causing her to stumble. Nate reached out, wrapping his strong arm around her waist and righting her. He pulled her close, and she could smell the vague herbal scent of the hardware store’s back room. His body radiated a gentle strength that warmed her, inside out.

It struck Scarlett suddenly that “Why Can’t We Be Friends?” was a lousy song.

As they approached the far western edge of the grove, they confronted a peculiar and unsettling sight. One of the trees stood out starkly against the surrounding oaks, its oddness radiating across the grove like a malevolent beacon. Tiny, glowing dragonflies swarmed around, darted around the branches, leaving trails of red light in their wake. The tree seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy, the crimson glow beneath its bark writhing and undulating.

The air around the oak buzzed with the hum of the insects’ wings—a disconcerting chorus that filled the otherwise silent grove. The insects’ glowing bodies cast dancing shadows across the ground and nearby trees. These were no ordinary insects; they were magical parasites, feeding on the very essence of the oak and twisting and warping its power.

Luna had set up her candles around the tree’s base; she was attempting the same hortikinetic conversation she’d had with the oak at the center of the grove. But this time, something was wrong. Her expression pinched and twisted, and her head tilted from side to side as though she was trying to understand the incomprehensible.

Nate stood close, one arm still around Scarlett’s waist. “Is your sister okay?”

“None of this is okay . . .” A crease appeared across Scarlett’s forehead, and her lips pressed together in a thin line. “I don’t know, I’ve never seen her like this.”

Luna emitted a low moan, which then rose in tone, octave by octave, becoming a yell and then a scream. Then, some invisible force sent her body flying backwards away from the tree and tossed her in a heap.

Scarlett and Delilah raced to Luna’s side and knelt down beside her, saying, “Luna! Luna, are you all right?”

Dazed, Luna tried to sit up. “I’m all right . . . just a bit overwhelmed.”

“Sweetie, what did you see?” Scarlett took Luna’s hand and held it tight.

“Nothing that made any sense. It was just showing me nonsense images, and the harder I tried to piece the details together to make sense of things, the more confusing everything became. It was as if the tree wanted to communicate with me, but it couldn’t put its thoughts together.”

Nate sauntered over to the oak and rested his own hand on the trunk. “This tree is tripping balls.”

“Who asked you?!” Delilah snapped.

“I’m just saying, you don’t need to be a witch to feel the crazy coming off this thing.”

“What are you even doing here? You have no business—”

“No, Del, stop,” Luna said. “He’s right. The tree is hallucinating.”

Chapter 13: Tasmanian Weaver Ants

The three witches and Nate sat in a tight circle, a safe distance from the crimson-infected tree, with their lanterns piled in the middle, like a safely contained campfire.

“You’re saying . . .” Scarlett was having trouble getting her head around this new information “. . . that tree is . . . high?”

“Not literally, of course.” Luna shrugged. “But that’s how it felt—like I was trying to have a heart-to-heart chat with a drunk. That oak was not making an ounce of sense, that’s for sure. The dragonflies are interfering with the power of the tree, making its magic erratic and unpredictable. We’re lucky it’s only the one tree affected.”

“For now,” Delilah emphasized. “I don’t want to think about the entire grove being under the influence of these flies. So, what’s our next move?”

“A pot of coffee?” suggested Scarlett. “Or long showers sometimes help.”

“How about a nice greasy cheeseburger?” Nate offered.

“Oh yeah, now you’re talking.”