Page 26 of Homegrown Magic

“You did it!” Yael crows, pulling Margot into a hug. “Holy shit, you amazing witch! That was the most incredible casting I’ve ever seen!”

“It’s not going to last very long, so we better get going.” Margot enjoys the hug for just a second before shrugging out of it and taking Sunny’s reins. But exhaustion makes her stumble. “Oh…”

“Margot? What’s wrong?” Yael reaches out to catch her.

“I’ve never done that much magic all at once,” she says weakly, her voice shaking like her suddenly trembling legs. “Guess I wore myself down.”

The color drains from Yael’s face. They look around, frantic. “I can do something about this! I will…I know…”

“You don’t need to call your patron or whatever you Claunecks do. Just give me a sugar cube and get the energy potion out of my travel bag.” Wearily, Margot points to the green woven bag below the wagon’s seat. “I finally got the formula right last night, and it should restore me.”

Embarrassment flits across Yael’s face, followed by a smile like a sunbreak during a storm. They hand her three sugar cubes. “Of course you have an energy potion. Silly me.”

As the wagon trundles out of the woods an hour or so later, Margot is no longer sure she’s hungry for adventure. Her back aches from sitting atop the wagon’s wooden board seat, and though the energy potion perked her up, she’s still weary. Mostly she’s just hungry, and her stomach rumbles as the smell of roasted meats wafts toward them.

It’s after sunset and torchlight flickers, illuminating the cobbled streets of Olde Post. It’s a middle-sized city—far bigger than Bloomfield with its few dozen households, but nothing compared with Ashaway and its social-climbing upper classes. If Olde Post feels like anything, it’s trying. Trying to be bigger, as its leaning narrow houses multiply with each new addition. Trying to have a good time, with the noise and laughter and twisted-together bodies that tumble out of taverns. Trying to bring in new ideas, with its community magical college and non-magical scholars’ havens. And trying to remain true to its roots as a small rural village that has a steadily growing country fair every spring.

The heart of the Spring Fair is the village square in the middle of town, where the market will take place tomorrow, when vendors from outside of Olde Post will open their booths and carts to sell their wares. The celebration always begins the night before, though, and already people of all ages walk the streets eating golden twirls of pastry or cones of chili that make Margot’s mouth water. Pipe and fiddle music dances through the air from the stage area, and gaming stalls—ax chucking and archery among them—are already set up and full of customers. These gaming booths open a day early to feed and entertain folk. Margot waves to a few people setting up their booths for tomorrow, then steers the wagon to their assigned spot, a selling space not too far off the main avenue. They’ve got room for the wagon, their selling table, and a small canopy, which Margot plans to decorate with flowers.

“This is good,” Yael says, looking around. “We’re going to be absolutely cleaned out by sunset tomorrow, I’d wager.”

“That’s the goal.” Margot clambers off the wagon and helps the horse back it into place. She’ll get Sunny stabled, leaving everything in the wagon packed for tonight, and set up her table first thing Saturday. “Then we can do some supply shopping, rest, and leave when the market closes on Sunday evening.”

“Wait. Daisy—”

“Don’t call me Daisy,” she says—a habit.

“Surely we’re friends by now?”

Margot thinks long and hard before relenting. “Fine, just this once.”

Yael looks inordinately pleased. “And surely, Daisy, we’re not going to leave this place without having some fun?”

Margot blinks at Yael. She isn’t here for fun. She’s here for selling and restocking and perhaps comparing spell notes with a few fellow plant witches, but that’s it.

“You do remember fun?” Yael prods.

“Of course I do.”

“Prove it.” Yael hops off the wagon and stands, arms crossed. “Prove to me you know how to have fun by coming with me to the fair tonight. I’d even wager I’ll be able to beat you at ax chucking.”

Margot really should spend the evening checking on the seedlings and rearranging the cut flowers one more time. It needs to be done. Just as something always needs to be done. But the thought of spending that time with Yael instead, exploring somewhere new, is exhilarating. It feels like an adventure in and of itself.

“Fine,” she agrees as she unhitches Sunny. “First let’s drop our stuff at the inn, and then I’m warning you: I’m a dead shot with an ax, and I’m betting dinner that I’ll beat you.”

“Prove it,” Yael says again as Margot leads the horse away from the wagon and toward the inn.

As it turns out, there’s more than just dinner at stake.

“Why don’t we have two rooms?” Yael asks as they walk out into the crowds once more. “Not that I’m complaining, but…”

Scowling over her shoulder at the Abyssal Chicken, a two-story inn with a wide porch and green-and-white-striped shutters, Margot huffs in annoyance. “I worked out a reservation with them years ago so as not to be crowded out when the fair grew. But this year I forgot…”

“That I’d be coming along?” Yael is so decidedly cheerful, Margot can’t help but smile. Especially as they stop outside a hat shop next to the inn, where there’s an outdoor table set up to take advantage of the extra foot traffic in town, and try on a floppy hat that looks like a giant purple pancake with a feather stuck through it.

“How could I possibly forget that?” Margot makes a face at the hat.

“I am truly unforgettable.” Yael sweeps off the hat with an elaborate bow. “Do I need this hat?”