Page 57 of Impractical Magic

“All right, all right. Keep your shirt on, Melrose. I’ll keep an eye out, and if I see it—that’s if, mind you—I’ll grab it.”

Priti strode over to her team. “Everybody ready? Now, I want you all to keep your wits about you. Who knows if Polly had a copy of The Necronomicon in there.”

“I didn’t,” Polly offered. “But I did have Silence of the Lambs, so . . .” She shrugged.

“Good tip,” Nedra replied. “Polly, would you consult with us here? Let us know where the most dangerous sections are? No fava beans and chianti for us tonight.”

Polly reluctantly joined the EMS team as they ventured into the store. Left alone on the dark street, Nate laid a gentle hand on Scarlett’s elbow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah of course. You?”

“I’m fine.” He smiled shyly. “A little frustrated, maybe.”

Scarlett felt herself blushing so intensely, she was certain it could be seen from space. “That was a little . . . uh . . .”

“Yeah.” Nate chuckled. “It was a little uh.”

What do you think you’re doing, Melrose? she chastised herself. You can’t do this—you don’t deserve a man like this. You can’t do the things you’ve done and then have him.

“I think the situation just got away from us,” she said suddenly. “I mean, don’t you think? You know, with the inferno and the ink monsters and all . . .” A wave of shame swept over her, and the words spilled out in an unstoppable flood of awkwardness and guilt. “I mean . . . that’s not what we want, right? I don’t live here; I’m not sticking around. And you don’t want to ever leave, apparently. So, you know, what is the point? We don’t even make any sense; it was just a big mistake.”

“Mistake,” he repeated dully. His expression was unreadable. “What was the point. Yeah. I guess there’s no point.”

“Well, no point sounds a bit harsh. I just meant that—”

“No,” Nate interrupted. “No, of course you’re right. There’s no point to us at all. Anyway, glad you’re okay, I should get going.” He stalked across the street.

“Nate, no, hang on, that’s not—”

He threw Williams’ front door open, slammed it behind him, and disappeared inside.

“Oh goddammit,” Scarlett said quietly. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said a sarcastic voice behind her. “Men suck anyway.”

She turned. Violet was sitting on the sidewalk outside the bookstore, staring up at her. Scarlett stared back, waiting for the teenager to say something else.

A few moments passed, and it occurred to Scarlett that the teenager was not going to say a damned thing. Scarlett walked over and sat down beside her.

“Violet, I just want you to know . . . the fire was an accident caused by magic being in anarchy. But we’re going to fix it. Between the EMS team and Nate’s handyman skills and my . . . well . . . my overwhelming sense of guilt, I guess . . . we’re going to restore every page to every book in your mom’s wonderful store.”

“Fuck that place,” Violet muttered. “I’m only sorry you didn’t burn the whole thing to the ground.”

“Well, hang on, I didn’t do it in the sense that you’re suggesting.”

“I don’t care. Maybe if the store fails, my mother will finally leave this stupid town. Maybe then I could find a guy to like who can remember that I exist. Hey, maybe we can even find my dad. Not that he’d know he’s my dad. But still, I’d know he was my dad, at least. That would be something.”

Scarlett took a beat before responding, taken aback by Violet’s honesty. Her first thought was that Handsome Bill’s main contribution to Violet was his attractive DNA, and that, given his selfish behavior, good genes were about all the parenting she ought to expect from the guy. But she tried to think of something more positive to say. “I wouldn’t be so quick to write off Oak Haven if I were you. It’s pretty great.”

“What are you talking about? You left. You’re, like, famous for how hard you left.”

“Yeah, well . . . I suppose that makes me pretty qualified to talk about life on the outside, now, doesn’t it? Violet, the rest of the world is . . . well, it’s got some good aspects, for sure. A lot of the food delivery guys are very handsome.”

“Shut up. You’re not funny.”

“But it’s not your home. In San Francisco, I’m always pretending witches aren’t real. That might seem like no big thing, but it’s trickier than you think. I basically have to lie about my entire life. I can’t talk about the Turkey Trot we have downtown every Thanksgiving, which I adore. I can’t tell the story about how my mother conjured an actual unicorn for my fifth birthday. Or about the time Luna and I tried to fly, and we ended up stuck on the church steeple.”

“Well, lucky you to have so many adorable memories about your delightful childhood in Oak Haven. Some of us didn’t get that.”