Page 55 of Impractical Magic

Scarlett glanced around in desperation. The heat was rising. The fire made its way to the construction area, consuming lumber and books with equal enthusiasm.

From the smoke, Scarlett heard three voices. “All for one and one for all!”

The Three Musketeers materialized amidst the rising flames, composed of the very paper and words that Alexandre Dumas had used to create them. Ever the tactician, Athos climbed atop a bookshelf to assess the situation. Porthos, with a bellow, waded through the smoke, the bulk of his papery form thus far resistant to the heat. In a flash of white paper, Aramis brought down his gleaming blade, severing one of the tentacles.

Disoriented, the squid thrashed wildly. Books rained from shelves, their pages scattering like burning moths. The Musketeers’ swords flashed, slicing through the creature. Still, the squid’s pages mended themselves as quickly as the Musketeers could attack.

Suddenly, a strange rumbling swept through the shop. The flames wavered, and a great wave, formed of book pages, surged from a copy of Jaws that had fallen off a shelf in Contemporary Fiction. Riding the wave’s crest was a fishing boat, the Orca, its sides dripping with ocean-soaked text. As the wave crashed over the battle, a man sang out, “Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies. Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain!” The wave swept the squid away in a deluge of seawater-splashed paper. Then everything dissolved back into the chaotic arrangement of scattered books and wrecked shelves. The Musketeers’ battle cry faded as they disappeared back into their novel.

Scarlett coughed, struggling to breathe in the smoke-filled air. Despite the wave, the flames continued to spread, consuming books and shelves with terrifying intensity. It sickened her to realize that this fire was her doing, yet another of her failures.

Luna was right—I am dangerous.

Scarlett glanced at the shop’s front door, wondering if she could make it past the flames and out onto the street. She saw a shadow moving outside the shop window—then the shadow took form.

It was Nate.

He charged into the store, brandishing a cherry-red fire extinguisher from Williams. Fear and guilt warred within Scarlett, with an unexpected flare of something else—something hot and undeniable at the sight of him.

“Scarlett, what in hell are you doing here?!” He moved with determination, the extinguisher spewing a white cloud as he fought the flames. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” she called out. “But when Polly sees this, she’s gonna literally kill me.”

Nate sprayed foam across the burning shelves. “I’ll tell her it was my fault.”

“You’d do that for me?”

He paused, turning to look at her. “I’d do anything for you. Don’t you know that?”

She wanted to go to him, but the air was thick, her vision blurring. Scarlett stumbled, landing on a pile of books. As she pulled herself to standing, she felt a change in the air—a new danger sending vibrations through the smoke. Nearby books shivered and danced upon the shelves, pages rustling with an eerie rhythm.

“Scarlett, watch out!” Nate’s warning came just as a creature emerged, a grotesque mix of ink and paper. It was Edgar Allan Poe’s raven made monstrous, horrifying—its form dripping midnight ink, its talons gleaming with the sharp edges of razor-thin pages.

The raven shrieked and swooped at Scarlett. She tried to conjure a hasty, protective shield, but it shattered like glass.

Nate charged. He swung the empty extinguisher, striking at the raven’s papery wings. The giant bird screeched in rage, flapping wildly. He flung his body at a nearby bookcase, pulling it down with a thunderous crash and pinning the raven beneath. Loose pages scattered, showering the room with a flurry of old tales and biting words.

Scarlett lunged forward, seizing her chance. She focused her power to draw out the bird’s essence, pulling Poe’s very words out of the creature and into the air. The monster thrashed, its papery form dissolving in a whirlwind of swirling text.

But it wasn’t enough. With an ear-jolting shriek, the raven wrenched itself free and aimed its sharpened talons straight at Scarlett. Nate leapt at the bird, putting his own body between her and the creature, a shield of flesh and blood. With one final, desperate surge of magic, Scarlett yanked out the raven’s remaining essence, which exploded in a ball of pages, letters, and evil black ink.

The impact knocked them both to the floor. The extinguisher clattered away, and they landed hard, a tangle of limbs and flying paper.

“Nate, are you—” The words caught in her throat. He was on top of her, solid and strong, his chest heaving from exertion. They were surrounded by smoldering books, the air heavy with the scent of old paper and smoke.

His eyes, dark and fierce, locked on to hers. The chaotic room seemed to swirl around them. “Don’t worry,” he breathed. “I’ve got you.”

Scarlett’s heart frantically battered her chest. Desire, wild and undeniable, flared hot inside her, born of danger and adrenaline, of shared battles and unspoken longings.

Nate cupped her face with his hand, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. “Scarlett . . . I . . .”

His touch ignited a longing in her, a need that overrode the danger, the fire, her own common sense . . . everything. With a gasp, she pulled him toward her.

His lips met hers, hard and urgent. Scarlett arched into the kiss, her body melting against his, every inch of her clamoring for more. His hands moved along her body, pulling her into him—a desperate, hungry claiming.

This was madness. This was exactly what she wanted.

They shifted, rolling together across the damaged books, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths, hands exploring each other in the darkness. Scarlett tore at his shirt, and he at hers, both desperate to feel their skin against one another. If there was fire, it was in them now.