Page 51 of No Charm Done

Her spell shot across the room like a heat-seeking missile. Luna watched it arc toward Ashton’s head in slow motion, watched him duck with surprising agility, watched the spell slam into his laptop instead.

The explosion wasn’t huge, but magic and electronics had never played well together. Vex’s laptop detonated, sending sparks and smoke cascading through the room. Other devices began shorting out in sympathy, screens cracking, batteries swelling.

“What the—!” Vex dove behind the bed.

The sprinkler system activated, sending cold water raining down. Through the chaos of smoke and spray and shouting, Luna saw the three magicians rush to Ashton’s side.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine—” He was grabbing external hard drives, shoving them into a messenger bag. “But we need to get out before they do that again.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Kelly shouted.

The square-shouldered magician pulled out his wand. There was a flash of light, a smell like burning copper, and suddenly the room filled with a thick gray smoke that the sprinklers couldn’t touch.

“Everyone out!” Kelly was coughing. “Out, now!”

They all stumbled into the hallway, dripping from the sprinklers, choking on the acrid stench of melting electronics. As the smoke cleared, Luna leaned back into the doorway, knowing what she’d find but needing to look anyway.

The men were gone.

The equipment that remained was thoroughly destroyed—melted, fried, sparking sadly in puddles. Delilah picked her way through the wreckage, while Scarlett stood frozen, staring, her face pale. “I missed . . . how did I miss?”

“Well,” Kelly said finally, “that could have gone better.”

“Could have gone worse,” Elias offered. “Nobody died.”

“Yet,” Scarlett said darkly.

“They’ll regroup,” said Delilah. “Ashton’s smart enough to have backups.”

Luna watched water drip from the singed curtains, remembering the look on the magicians’ faces when Ashton had called them “disenfranchised.” She didn’t need Delilah’s analysis to know they’d be back. The look on those men’s faces had said it all: they’d unintentionally brought Vex three new disciples.

They were still standing there in the ruined suite when Zahir appeared with towels and the long-suffering expression of someone who’d seen this kind of thing a thousand times before. “Tea, anyone?”

“Gods, no,” Scarlett sighed. “Bring whiskey. And a mop.”

Chapter 17

Bad Odds, Better Company

Elias knew desperation when he saw it. Panicked investors who’d bet it all on the wrong “sure thing”—angry marks at the moment they understood they’d been taken. Not to mention a memorable riot outside the First National Bank of Chicago. But the gathering in Oak Haven was something else. The witches were there to decide how to handle an interloper with a god complex. And judging by the mood? They handled it about as well as an alley cat handles a bath.

He stood at the back, trying to look inconspicuous. Not easy when you were a century-old con man at a witch town meeting. Fortunately, Luna was beside him, whispering brief introductions in his ear.

On the platform sat Oak Haven’s Elder Council: Kelly Melrose, looking grimly regal, along with four other witches. They radiated a confidence born of outliving even their worst mistakes. At the podium stood the cardigan-clad Conrad Delmonico, town selectman. It was evident Conrad loved rules of order more than Elias had ever loved anything.

Conrad banged his comically oversized gavel. “Everyone, if I could please get some order! Order, please!”

Nobody was listening.

In one corner sat Priti Chatterjee, a childhood friend of the Melrose girls and the head of the town’s EMS (Emergency Magic Service). She sat stiff-backed, her hands moving in sharp, decisive gestures. Clearly the kind of woman you called when something bled. Priti whispered something urgent to Aphra Pierre, another childhood friend. Aphra nodded, somehow hovering between empathetic and skeptical at once. Belinda Chatterjee—Priti’s mom and the town’s reigning gossip—sat rage-knitting in the front row beside her husband, Sam.

Luna’s sisters clustered at the front with their partners: Delilah with Jasper, Scarlett with Nate. Polly, owner of the town bookstore, sat next to them with her teenage daughter, Violet. Violet was lost in her own epic romance . . . with her handheld device. Judging by her intense expression, she was either defusing a bomb or starting a war.

To Elias’s left, a small table held an enchanted transcription machine that was supposed to be recording the minutes. Currently befuddled by all the noise, it was just typing “NO MINUTES FOR YOU NO MINUTES FOR YOU NO MINUTES FOR YOU” on an endless scroll.

Conrad tried again. “Please, everyone! I’m begging you, some semblance of⁠—”