Page 39 of Impractical Magic

The biker dudes didn’t look especially happy to be at the inn. “We were coming up the street,” said one. “And our Harleys turned into hogs. Not hogs like motorcycles—actual hogs. They both threw us off and ran away!”

“Yeah,” affirmed the other. “What the hell is going on? And what are you gonna do about it?!”

“I’m so terribly sorry about the hogs.” Mama smiled beatifically. “The town is having some troubles with anarchic magic at the moment, I’m afraid. I assure you, we will help you find your motorcycles posthaste. Please, enjoy some cocktails and don’t worry at all.”

“So, Del . . .” Scarlett said quietly to her sister, “I take it Mama knows about the magic situation.”

“Everyone in Oak Haven can’t help but know. It’s so much worse than before. Everything is chaos. Now get lost. I’m busy.”

“Scarlett!” Mama had just noticed Scarlett’s presence, and she waved her over. “Come here a minute.”

No fucking way, Scarlett thought. She had an epic scolding coming her way, but there was no chance she was ready to submit just yet. Instead, she pretended she hadn’t heard her mother and dashed off to find Luna. Maybe her baby sister could offer a sliver of comfort.

Scarlett found her on the back patio. A determined frown creased Luna’s brow as she sat cross-legged on a table, arms outstretched and chanting under her breath. Scarlett’s heart sank when she realized what was happening. Luna was trying to conjure a piano for the Gilbert and Sullivan crew. Because the inn’s piano had been destroyed.

Yet something else for me to feel terrible about.

Alas, every flick of Luna’s wrist summoned forth something other than a piano. An accordion wheezed into existence, followed by a mournful set of bagpipes. A startled penguin appeared, squawking its disapproval before vanishing in a shimmer of blue light. It would’ve been funny if it had not been entirely Scarlett’s fault.

Luna swore softly as yet another attempt conjured a dusty harp instead of the gleaming grand that the guests expected. Clearly, today was not a day for even the most basic of magic.

“Hey . . .” Scarlett said gently.

“Can we talk later, please,” Luna replied. She didn’t sound angry so much as fully absorbed in her task. An air of grim determination hovered all around her.

“Of course. I’ll leave you to it.” Scarlett backed away, but lingered at the French doors separating the patio from the dining room. She gazed out at the overgrown beds that used to be her father’s garden. As a kid helping her dad, the garden had given her a sense of purpose. Now, every leaf, every blossom, seemed to whisper her failure.

“Papa . . .” she whispered miserably. “What do I do now?”

“Scarlett!” The sound of Mama’s voice pulled Scarlett from her reverie; her mother, regal as ever, was standing in the dining room. “Scarlett, there you are.”

“Here I am,” she replied weakly. Here it comes: the verbal flaying of a lifetime. Scarlett leaned against the doorframe and waited for the enhanced interrogation to begin.

Instead, Mama just gazed at her daughter without speaking.

Scarlett tried to read her mother’s expression. Was that anger? Disappointment? Something else? Scarlett couldn’t tell. Mama had something to say—that was clear—but apparently, she wasn’t ready to say it.

After a moment, Mama seemed to make a decision. Whatever emotions had been playing across her face were replaced by a purely businesslike expression. “Find Zahir in the kitchen and have him squeeze some more oranges for me. And fetch some champagne from the walk-in. Nate was kind enough to deliver a case but—”

“Wait, the hardware store stocks champagne now?”

“Of course not! The market stocks champagne, but it just so happens that Nate is one of those increasingly rare individuals who knows how to be helpful in a crisis.”

Scarlett just shook her head. “Your ability to compliment one person and simultaneously insult everyone you’ve ever met will never cease to amaze.”

“Anyway, he never appeared to restock my cart. I’m going to need it soon—those light-opera people drink like fish.”

“Mama, wait. Can we talk about what happened last night? I just feel like—”

“Oh I know, your generation is very keen on feelings. But at the moment we have a lobby full of guests who feel tired, hungry, and unnerved by the number of flamingos soaring over our small New England town. What say we focus on our guests for the time being and worry about Scarlett’s feelings at a more appropriate moment.”

“But—”

“Feelings later, champagne now.”

***

Weirdly happy to have been trusted with a job—any job—Scarlett headed for the kitchen. “Zahir, are you busy? Mama needs orange juice and champers.”