Page 37 of Impractical Magic

“Oh my God! You’re blaming him now?”

“Please, Scar, listen to me. I’m not blaming anybody. I’m saying this is very different and much simpler. We aren’t transferring the insects through space. I’m going to chase them out of the tree, and you and Del will trap them. Period. Basic stuff. Okay? Del, are you okay?”

“Fine,” Del said, although her tone suggested things were far from it.

“Scar?”

Scarlett stared up at the stars, then squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember what Papa looked like.

“Scar, listen to me. The insects are devouring this tree and then they’ll move on to another, and another. The longer we let this go, the larger an area we’ll need to address, and the more complicated the spellwork will be. And if these dragonflies are allowed to take over the entire grove, who knows if magic will function at all. Which means, if you are concerned about risk, waiting to act is by far the riskiest choice. This moment, right now, is the least-risky time to do this.”

She sighed. “All right. Luna the Litigator has talked me into doing her bidding.”

“It’s going to be fine.” Luna gestured to Delilah, and the two of them walked slowly around the tree, marking out spots where sigils would be placed for the netting spell.

“Hey, pal.” Nate gave Scarlett a friendly slug on the shoulder. “You all right?”

She sighed. “Sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t even think about it. And listen, for what it’s worth?” He leaned in to whisper. “I agree with you. If that helps.”

She allowed herself another peek into those inviting black eyes of his. “It helps.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. “Now please get back behind the tree line, so nothing happens to you.”

***

Scarlett’s stomach churned. Every instinct screamed that this was a terrible idea, and meanwhile the vague image of her father danced in her head. Papa had called, “Goodbye and good hunting, my angels,” as his girls had headed out to the grove all those years ago. It was the last thing he’d ever said.

The memory of him had sent her running to the West Coast, had inspired her to avoid the covens of San Francisco, to play it safe, to be normal. Whenever she’d considered using magic to catch a cab, pay a bill, or clean the dishes, the memory of her father pulled her up short.

And look at me now, sitting under a goddamn magical oak with my sisters, my very own Glinda and Elphaba. What am I doing here?

“Okay, positions.” Delilah’s voice was clipped and businesslike. Either she wasn’t thinking about Papa at all, or she was a much better actress than Scar had realized.

Scarlett and Delilah took their places, sitting cross-legged with their knees touching under the canopy of the infested oak. Luna stood beside them, holding a large tube that she’d conjured from thin air; it appeared to be some sort of didgeridoo. She’d also enchanted a dozen or so candles, which floated in the air at varying heights and cast a warm glow all around.

“Okay, that’s cool,” Scarlett admitted. “When this is over, you need to teach me how to do the floaty candle thing.”

Luna frowned. “How do you not know the floaty candle thing? It’s like a middle-school level spell.”

“She was out in the garden all the time,” Delilah recalled. “She was probably busy training her little ant army or whatever that was.”

“Removing the ants from Mama’s peonies was basically the only one of my spells she ever liked. So, are we doing this or what?”

Luna nodded. “You two start. I don’t want to disturb the bugs until the net is up.”

Delilah took Scarlett’s hands in hers and closed her eyes. Scarlett hesitantly followed suit. With a disorienting jolt, she felt her sister’s presence invading her mind. Delilah’s fierce determination, tinged with an undercurrent of worry, nudged aside Scarlett’s own mixed emotions.

But there was Papa’s face again.

Focus, dammit!

Scarlett tried to push away the memory of her father. This spell required a unified flow of power, and her conflicting emotions were muddying the stream.

One by one, the sigils around the tree began to glow. Three beacons blinked into existence . . . then four . . . five . . . six. A faint outline of a shimmering net took shape above and all around them.

Luna began playing her didgeridoo. Low, mournful notes filled the clearing, and tendrils of hazy red smoke seeped from the instrument, coiling around the old tree trunk. But the red smoke didn’t seem to disturb any of the insects. So Luna adjusted her spell and before long the smoke turned green . . . no luck either . . . then ochre.

Ah, ochre was the ticket. The tree itself seemed to shudder as all the frustrated insects spilled out of the tree.