Page 84 of Impractical Magic

“Shhht!” Scarlett shushed her as subtly as she was able.

“But from the moment I arrived? I remember nothing. I don’t even know if I . . . Oh, actually . . . wait . . .” Max squinted like he was trying to pass an eye test. “I was there. Yes, I do remember, just little flashes. There was an inn . . . and . . . scarecrows. Ugh, scarecrows all over the place.”

Scarlett turned to face her sister, mouthing, What the fuck?!

He remembers! Delilah mouthed back.

Scarlett leaned forward, putting her elbow on the bar and fully turning her body toward Max. “So, Secret Agent Man . . . I’m not sure I’m following this story. You went on a mission to a place . . . that you don’t remember . . . except you do, a little bit?”

Max smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t share details, dear. It’s all very high level, you understand.”

“Yes, I do understand.” The bartender delivered the two screaming blue martinis and Scarlett nodded her thanks. “I understand perfectly. Maximillian.”

His expression shifted from confusion to shock, his eyebrows shooting up and his mouth hanging open. “You know me? But how?”

“Your mission was in Oak Haven, correct?” Scarlett asked, her tone gentle.

Max gasped as recognition dawned. “Oh! Oh, my . . . are you my handlers?” His voice was filled with relief. “I knew I was supposed to make contact with someone once I got out, but I . . . Oh, I’m so sorry if I was rude earlier.”

“Not at all, Max.” The corner of her mouth twitched upward as she tried not to betray herself. “Let’s move this conversation to a booth, shall we? You may consider yourself officially handled.”

Chapter 32: . . . Stays in Oak Haven

Nestled in an overstuffed velvet booth with two beautiful women he understood to be his superiors, Max was happy to be forthcoming about his adventures. Or what he could piece together anyway. Quentin sat on the table, chewing away on his fourth carrot of the evening.

“Clearly, you ladies already know all about my assignment, so I can skip that—”

“Well . . . of course we do know it all,” Delilah offered. “But you should begin at the beginning anyway.”

Scarlett nodded, and with her eyes, she tried to tell her sister that yes, that’s the idea. “Part of our report will include an assessment of your ability to understand the broader context. So. Have at it.”

“Yes, Max. Contextualize it for us.”

Max glanced from one woman to the other, his expression baffled but game. “Uh, sure. Whatever you say. So, the broader context is, of course, the situation in Jacksonville. The city is completely denuded of magic—dried up completely. The local magicians are all desperate to relocate. But it’s tough because so many magical sites have already been claimed. However, there is this little New England oasis called Oak Haven, which sits on a veritable oil well of pure magical power that nobody is using. And—”

“Well,” Scarlett interrupted, “not nobody, right?”

“Sure, but not anybody who’s a somebody, if you catch my drift. The town’s run by this posse of postmenopausal witches.”

Both Scarlett and Delilah couldn’t help noticing that when Max said witches, he seemed to intend a different word entirely. They very much did not care for it.

“This place could be an absolute gold mine,” he continued. “Have you seen what’s been done with Salem, Massachusetts? Witch museums, witch walking tours, witch-themed restaurants and hotels, witch-themed T-shirt shops . . . If exploited correctly, Oak Haven could be all that and more. Someone stands to make a fortune—why not us? But there’s one problem, which is this vexing amnesia-like spell protecting Oak Haven. Makes for a terrible marketing campaign: Come Visit Oak Haven—Make No Memories Whatsoever!”

“And yet you seem to remember it.” Delilah was sounding more confident by the moment. “How is that possible?”

“Well, everything I’ve told you so far—all that context, as you put it—I already knew before I left. Alas, I recall very little of what happened once I arrived. But! We were working on this problem, you see. Because it turns out—and this really is clever, I do give those old witches credit—the amnesia is caused by these constant psychic blasts of meaningless information. The enchantment prevents memories from forming. But we have found a weakness: you can steel yourself against the onslaught by training your brain to file away these factoids before they can harm you. It takes a great deal of practice—it’s not easy, don’t misunderstand! But if you study hard, it can be done.”

Scarlett’s own memory suddenly flashed to Hexpresso Yourself—that conjuration of magicians inside, and the jaunty chalkboard sign outside—QUIZ NIGHT, it had said, SHOW OFF YOUR MAD TRIVIA SKILLZ. She remembered all those reference books they’d found in Max’s room, and the time she’d found him studying World War II facts in the dining room.

“Trivia nights,” she said suddenly. “You trained your minds to fight the spell by means of regular trivia nights.”

“Exactly!” Max said enthusiastically. “We, um . . . Well. Actually, I’m a bit fuzzy on how we went about it. But I do recall finding myself in some sort of public venue . . . a bar, perhaps? Maybe? Or . . . was it a Starbucks?”

“Don’t even joke!” Scarlett exclaimed. “Oak Haven does not have and will never have a fucking Starbucks.”

“It’ll have three by the time we’re done with it!” Max swiveled his head from Scarlett to Delilah and back, seeking affirmation. But their unsmiling faces gave him pause. “Erm . . . are you sure you’re my handlers?”

Delilah knitted her fingers together, making a little church with her hands. “Let me make sure I understand. You discovered that the more skilled a brain becomes at filing away irrelevant tidbits, the less power the spell has over that person.”