Page 38 of Impractical Magic

But then, a thought came to Scarlett unbidden. A thought she hadn’t allowed herself to have in a very, very long time.

Papa, I miss you.

The spell faltered. The sigils flickered and dimmed. The net wavered, its ephemeral strands twisting and straining.

“Scarlett, dammit!” Delilah’s voice lashed out. “Focus!”

“No!” Luna’s cry was sharp. “Oh no!”

Scarlett’s eyes jolted open.

The net groaned, its shimmering outline snapping at several points. And then, in agonizingly slow motion, it began to tear itself apart.

“We’re losing it!” Delilah yelled, her face pale.

Scarlett tried to pull herself together. She dove back into her own mind, searching for Delilah, desperate to weave their power back together. But it was too late. Another rip tore through the net, and the remaining vestiges dissolved into the night air.

The swarm broke free, casting their eerie crimson glow over the entire grove. The insects soared through the trees, diving-bombing one healthy branch after another. One by one, their crimson lights extinguished as they burrowed into their new hosts.

“Ohhh no,” Scarlett whispered. “We’ve just made it so much worse.”

Delilah stood up, murder in her eyes. “You, Scarlett. You made it fucking worse.”

Chapter 14: Public Enemy No. 1

Morning arrived, unavoidably. Scarlett blinked awake, sunlight filtering through the gauzy pink curtains of her childhood bedroom. Her first emotion was a profound disappointment that she hadn’t turned to stone or spontaneously combusted from the shame of last night.

Scarlett couldn’t quite wrap her head around how badly she’d failed. Delilah had pleaded with Scarlett to return to Oak Haven but instead of being a helpful member of the family, she’d become a harbinger of chaos. All her long-forgotten childhood anxieties—that gnawing sense that she was always on the edge of a cliff, always just a few breaths away from messing everything up—clawed at her brain like a box of mad rats.

Maybe she should just disappear again. Leave Oak Haven, leave her family, before she could hurt them more. Might be the best thing for everyone.

The thought made her chest tighten. Because while fleeing the scene of the crime might, in fact, be best for everyone else, she knew it wouldn’t be best for her. Running hadn’t solved anything last time. Why would this be different? A decade’s worth of time hadn’t put an inch of distance between how badly she felt about what happened to Papa. Leaving now would just mean more ghosts to deal with later.

Besides, her family needed her—even if they hated her at the moment.

Ignoring the lump of dread in her throat, Scarlett forced herself out of bed. This was her mess, and she would have to face it.

While getting dressed, she heard strange honking sounds outside of her window—some high-pitched, like the noise of plastic toy trumpets, and others low, like broken kazoos. She pulled back the curtains in time to see an entire squadron of flamingos soaring over the inn. Meanwhile, a very unhappy-looking man bicycled past, hotly pursued by a single rain cloud that dumped water solely on him.

Excellent, Scarlett thought sarcastically. Magic is in fantastic shape, I see. This should be a wonderful day.

***

Downstairs, a cluster of bewildered-looking Gilbert and Sullivan aficionados had just arrived. The guests were an eclectic mix of what Scarlett expected to see—tweedy, easily startled academics mingling with glamorous thea-tahh dahling types—and some she absolutely didn’t, like that pair of middle-aged men with long beards, Black Sabbath T-shirts and studded motorcycle leathers.

Delilah was behind the reception desk, checking everyone in with her trademark efficiency. “You’re in room 308,” she told an elderly couple. “Yes, there is an ice machine on that floor . . . No, we don’t offer laundry service . . . Yes, I’m aware of the flamingos. There really isn’t much we can do about them at the moment.”

Scarlett noted her sister’s clenched jaw and furrowed brow—not to mention her aura of barely suppressed rage—and hurried to help behind the counter.

“Good morning and welcome, Gilbert and Sullivan Society!” Scarlett announced loudly. “I trust that you are right, and we are right, and all is right as right can be?” Sotto voce, to Delilah’s shoulder, Scarlett said, “Need any help?”

Delilah didn’t even turn her head. “Not from you.” Fake smile to the guests. “Enjoy your stay. Can I help the next people in line, please?”

Cold, Scarlett thought, but not unjustified. She turned to the coffee pot behind the counter, pouring herself a mug of liquid courage.

Meanwhile, Mama was at the front door with a small, wheeled bar cart. As long as Scarlett could remember, this was Mama’s standard move whenever there was trouble at the inn. Complimentary cocktails always took the edge off.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Mimosa?” She handed each of the biker dudes an overfilled champagne flute. “We’re so happy to have you at our inn.”