Page 2 of No Charm Done

Luna nodded. She’d spent the past few weeks learning the basics of the coven’s telepathic magic, marveling at how they had transformed the techniques of nomadic tribes into something modern and uniquely urban. Their skills were so different from those of her own witchy family back in New England.

A shimmer in the air warned her that the magicians had found her again. “Time to go,” she murmured, already focusing on her next destination. But as she prepared to open another portal, a different voice cut through the mountain air—sharp, demanding, completely out of place. “Miss? Oh, miss? Miss!”

Luna frowned. The voice was getting louder, more insistent, layering itself over the sound of wind through grass. Even the alpacas heard it now, their ears twitching with annoyance.

“I insist you pay attention to me!”

Luna squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to stay in the memory, but when she opened them again, she was back behind the front desk of the Stargazer Inn, her hand clutching her pen as if it were a leather change purse full of magical subway tokens. The cranky hotel guest standing before her was definitely not a magician, though her expression suggested she might be equally dangerous. “I specifically requested down pillows,” the woman was saying, “and what I found in my room were clearly synthetic. And don’t get me started on the thread count of those sorry excuses for sheets . . .”

With a deep sigh, Luna forced herself back to the mundane reality: daily life as desk manager of the Stargazer Inn. The warmth of the tokens and the brine of the shark tank still lingered in her mind.

God, I miss traveling, she thought. But aloud she simply said, “Down pillows, got it.” Miserably, she reached for a piece of scrap paper to make a note about the most boring problem in the universe.

“You listen to me, young lady . . . I don’t care if the Stargazer is famous on the internet these days. You still need to provide basic customer service!”

A few months earlier, over the holidays, Oak Haven had experienced a viral nightmare. In the latest episode of a centuries-long feud between witches and magicians, some magicians had figured out how to destroy Oak Haven’s forgetting spell, which protected the town by wiping the memories of all non-witches who visited. The spell made it impossible for them to return or tell others about it. With that protection gone, tourists had flooded in, posting photos and videos of Oak Haven’s “authentic witch town experience” across social media. For about two weeks, their quiet little village had been more famous than Salem. The forgetting spell had been restored, causing the non-magical to forget all about Oak Haven again.

But the magical world? Not so much. Witches and warlocks from every corner of the globe now knew all about the infamous Oak Haven, and reservation requests had been pouring in ever since. And, because Luna was apparently the dumbest dummy to ever have done something dumb, that’s when she had volunteered to take over management of the family business.

“I’ll get you new pillows as soon as I can.” As the old lady harrumphed her way back up to her room, Luna made a note in the guest registry. Mrs. Fernsby, room 14, pillow crisis. Just another item on her growing to-do list, which already included a clogged toilet in room 7, a gluten-free breakfast for room 12, and something mysterious involving the ice machine that she was afraid to investigate.

Luna’s eldest sister Delilah had run the front desk for a decade. She’d done so with military precision and what can only be described as aplomb. Her sister Scarlett had also taken a run at the front desk, and while she hadn’t come close to Delilah’s organizational mastery, she still did manage to keep the place running without too much drama.

Me, on the other hand . . .

“Luna Melrose, you look like you’re about to hex someone.” She looked up to see Zahir approaching with a dome-covered tray and a steaming mug of something tasty. Zahir’s parents had once been the chefs at the Stargazer, and their son had grown up with the Melrose girls like an adopted brother. Now Zahir ran the kitchen, but that big-brother vibe had never gone away.

“I might just do that.” Luna gestured at the chaos of her desk. “Unacceptable pillows, scratchy sheets, broken toilets. It’s a wonder anyone stays here at all.”

“Aww, c’mon.” Zahir set down the tray. “Most people who stay here love the place. The others just love complaining. Can’t let them get to you.”

“Speaking of complaints? Room 12 wants gluten-free at breakfast tomorrow.”

“What the—!? They’re already vegan and allergic to onions. What am I supposed to feed these people? Leaves and twigs?”

Luna shrugged. “I don’t know how you do it, Zahir. Make the same dishes perfectly, over and over, plus tolerating all the dietary restrictions, the complaints . . . Why even do this job?”

Zahir lifted the cover to reveal Luna’s favorite comfort food: his spring vegetable risotto with fresh peas, asparagus, and leeks. Luna smiled for the first time all day, and her eyes misted over at the thought of the amount of effort he’d put in to make her something that wasn’t even on the menu currently.

“That face,” Zahir said gently. “That face is why I do it.”

Luna blew him a kiss as she reached for the mug he’d brought over. “Anything special in here? Bit of brandy?”

“No chance—you’ve got four hours left in your shift.” He headed back to the kitchen. “Chin up, kid. Come find me after work. We can share the cabernet that Mrs. Fernsby sent back during dinner.”

Luna had just tucked into her risotto when the front door chimed once, then again, as two couples tried to squeeze through the doorway. Elbows bumped. A tote bag snagged on a coat. One hissed, “Just go,” and the other snapped, “I am going.” They spilled into the lobby in a tense clump.

A four-person traffic jam, Luna thought. Always a good omen. “Good evening, welcome to the Stargazer Inn. How can I help you folks?”

The first couple looked to be in their twenties: two women in long velvet coats and matching wedding rings, the happy-but-dazed expression of newlyweds all over their faces. The second couple was older, probably in their sixties, and Luna’s heart sank as she recognized the wife, her fifth-grade teacher Mrs. Hartwell. Her companion, in a flannel shirt and a Red Sox cap, was likely her non-magical husband.

Both couples approached the desk simultaneously. “Excuse me,” said one of the younger women, a blonde with intricate braids. “We’re Sage and Rowan Ashford. We have a reservation for the honeymoon suite?”

“Actually,” Mrs. Hartwell interjected, “I believe there’s been a mistake. You’re Luna, yes? I remember you from school. Have your math skills improved at all?”

“Not . . . um, not significantly,” Luna admitted.

“Well. My husband Bill and I reserved the honeymoon suite for our anniversary weekend.”