Page 96 of Impractical Magic

“Wrong show!” the major general called up.

“Yeah, you’re not even close,” agreed the maid. “That’s from Jesus Christ Superstar.”

Scarlett scurried down the stairs, blushing. “Oh well . . . musical theater isn’t my genre really.” She dove for the swinging doors and the safety of Zahir’s kitchen. Scarlett was immediately enveloped by the rich, comforting aromas of fresh herbs and simmering sauces.

Zahir looked up from his stove, a wide grin across his face. “Well, well. Grab an apron, your supreme witchiness. I need some potatoes peeled.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile as she tied an apron around her waist. At last, here was a job she understood. She picked up a peeler and went to work.

“So-o-o-o,” Zahir sang conspiratorially, “from whom are we hiding?”

“Me?! No, I’m not hiding! Why would you say I’m hiding?”

“Because I’ve met you. When we were growing up, the only times you voluntarily helped in the kitchen were when you were in trouble with your mother.”

“Ah.” Scarlett had to laugh. “Right. Okay, from whom am I hiding, you ask. Well, let’s see. Actors. Time witches. Other witches. My mother. Nate.”

“Wow.” Zahir nodded. “That’s quite a list. Good thing I have a lot of potatoes.”

They worked in companionable silence, and yet again, she felt that powerful, seductive feeling of belonging. Groucho Marx always said he’d never join a club that would have him as a member, she thought. That policy had served Scarlett well for ten years . . . but the temptation to rejoin Oak Haven was becoming overwhelming.

After a while, Zahir spoke again. “Uhh hey, just for the record—” His tone had an uncharacteristically defensive edge. “I don’t have anything against Spam.”

“Oh Z . . .” She paused her peeling to look at him. “Are you still ruminating on that? It was just one bad night.”

“Ho ho, says the girl who has spent a decade dwelling on her own bad night.”

“Wow!” Scarlett’s eyes went wide. “Cheap shot!”

He winked. “Cheap, but fair—my specialty. Anyway, I think I get a few weeks to wallow in my one bad night, if that’s okay with you.”

“All I’m saying is, you are the only person still thinking about that Spam thing.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Zahir shrugged. “I just need to clarify. Some time ago, we did a luau in the dining room? I made Spam musubi, and it kicked ass. Oyster sauce, nori, furikake seasoning on the rice? I’m telling you, it rocked. I can make Spam sing if I choose to.”

“Z, I don’t think anybody thinks you have it in for Spam, okay?”

“It’s just . . .” his stirring became more aggressive “. . . if I cook scallops, I want them to taste like scallops. If I cook meatballs, I want meatballs. Sardines should taste like sardines. Et cetera. Oh! That reminds me.” He brightened a little. “What did you think of the Scarlett Honorary Sardine Dish? I never got your review.”

“Amazing! I used to think I hated sardines, but now I love them. Thank you so much for doing that for me.”

“Well, Scar, it is a famous story around here. I had to pay homage. I don’t think I’ve heard of any other witch ever taking a risk like that. Turning herself into a bunch of animals, wilding out for a little while and then turning herself back. It was crazy magic, but also beautiful magic and very, very you.”

Scarlett’s peeler clattered to the counter. She felt the entire universe shift, and she thought, He’s right.

It was crazy. It was beautiful. And it was the answer.

“That’s it!” she exclaimed. “That’s how I do it.”

“You lost me. Do what?”

She turned to stare at him in shock. “We don’t need to conjure actual starlings. We don’t need to invite an invasive species into the grove. Don’t you see? I am the starling. I’m the solution, it’s me.” She dropped her half-peeled potato in the sink and practically leapt at Zahir, throwing her arms around him. “You’re a genius!”

She could do it. She could turn herself into a small murmuration of starlings, consume the dragonflies, and then transform back into herself. That way there’d be no invasive species and no risk to the grove’s ecosystem. Just Scarlett, wielding her magic in the craziest, most beautiful way possible.

“I gotta go! I have to tell Delilah and Luna!”

Without waiting for a response, she raced out of the kitchen, leaving Zahir alone at the stove with a pile of unpeeled potatoes and a bemused smirk on his face. “You’ll never make it as a sous chef,” he hollered.