Page 23 of Practically Magic

Yes! See you soon!

I shoot off a large group text: Three days till Halloween! If you’re coming to the party and want to eat, get back to me today—I’m ordering from Haunted House of Hamburgers for all the ghouls and ghosts on my RSVP list.

I can’t decide if “ghouls and ghosts” is cheesy or festive.

“Kat?” my mom calls from downstairs. Everyone must be getting ready to leave. I hit Send and jump out of bed in my Halloween pajamas Aunt Diane bought me (a pattern of tiny little witch hats and broomsticks cover my tee and pj pants). Before I even reach the door, my phone buzzes. Someone is up and replying already! I rush back to see the message and my phone nearly slips from my hands.

Colton Croft:

👍

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!

Colton is coming to my party! I fight the urge to let out an ear-piercing scream. I’ll hold it till after the adults leave and share my news with Great-Aunt Aida instead. Quickly, I text Laney a screenshot. She screams over text with me. A thumbs-up! From Colton!

Another text comes in too, and it’s from Zach: Hadley, what do you need for the party? My mom says you like her apple spice cookies and she’ll make some for me to bring. Is that okay?

I grin to myself. If I had to lose some of the candy pumpkins, at least I’m getting something better back. Zach’s competitive nature is almost useful. I should’ve started this sweets war a long time ago.

I text back: Sure! and hear my mom yell again and the sound of a car horn outside. “Coming!” I drop my phone, do a small kick of my heels in the air, and practically float down the hall like the spirits people think roam this house.

Everyone is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. Mom has the family spell book in her hands. It’s big and the color of an eggplant, with cream-colored pages that are crinkled and sometimes stained from various spell work. Without even opening it, I know the spells in this book are ancient, passed down from generation to generation of Hadleys till one thought to compile them all in a book several hundred years ago. The spells are handwritten, in various handwriting and fonts, with suggestions for the right objects and words to use. And they aren’t quite as fun as the hairdo enchantments that were in the book my aunts gave me. This one has spells that curse unfaithful lovers and bring back the dead and even the ones used to protect Mystic Hollow. My hands tremble as I reach for the book, which smells like ash and leather, but Mom only grips it tighter.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Mom asks one last time.

“Nic, for the love of warlocks, hand the kid the book,” Aunt Viv admonishes. She’s wearing a headscarf and big black sunglasses like she’s about to take a ride in a convertible. “She says she can handle this. Believe her.” My aunt gives me a tiny nod.

“I know, I know, but this is so much to do on your own, and if this Peter doesn’t help you like you say he will—”

“Then she’ll call Harry,” Aunt Diane says. “Right?”

I can’t bring myself to lie to my aunts. “He’ll help me. Because our love is true.” Or it will be, once I tell him how I feel. Because he has to feel the same way too.

Mom nods, but I can tell she’s still uncertain.

“Kitty Kat wouldn’t tell us she’s ready if she wasn’t, my love,” Dad chimes in, placing a hand around the small of my mom’s back. “She’s got her necklace. She is well protected.”

I touch the purple amethyst around my neck. Harry and I have identical necklaces. They were a gift from the aunts when we were young. The crystals were cut from the same stone, meant to link the two of us and offer family protection—I can only guess at what the aunts sacrificed to imbue these with such a powerful protection spell. Aunt Viv said no matter how far apart we are, the energy in the stone will always connect us. Lately that distance has been more mental than physical.

“And if she’s confused or has questions, she can call us.” Dad looks at me and I nod effusively. “We do have cell service in St. Augustine.”

“Oh, and we haven’t given Kat our special gift for her first Samhain ritual on her own!” says Aunt Diane, who is also wearing oversize sunglasses along with a beach hat. She leaves her floral luggage and runs into the living room and returns with a giant hatbox. “For you, my dear. We ordered it weeks ago, but it just flew in this morning.”

“Flew?” I take the hatbox.

“Boring details,” Aunt Viv answers for my aunt, flapping her hand to dismiss the question. “Open it so we can go. And then, Nic, give that child the book already. She’s ready. We all are. The plane isn’t going to wait for us.”

I open the hatbox and peer at the black hat nestled inside. My dad starts to chuckle. My aunts grin. I let the box fall away as I pull the hat out. It’s a traditional witch hat, the kind you see in stories and movies, the ones where witches are sometimes green and fly around on brooms. This one has a glittery black ribbon around the base of the hat, circled by a wide brim. These hats are more folklore than necessity, but Aunt Viv, my mom, and Aunt Diane started wearing them on Samhain as kids, and the tradition has been carried on every year since—when a witch comes of age and is ready to participate in Samhain, she gets a hat. Harry had one by ninth grade.

For some reason, the sight of this hat makes me nervous. This is actually a big deal. The protection spells. The need to have a true love casting them with me. I worry for a split second that I’ve bit off more than I can chew, but then I remind myself: Colton Croft gave me a thumbs-up. I can do this.

The car honks again.

“All right. That’s enough. Put the hat on, Kat,” Aunt Viv instructs. I do like I’m told, fitting the hat over my bed head. It fits tight, the tip of the hat bending ever so slightly. With the biggest smile, Dad takes out his phone and snaps a picture that Aunt Diane immediately requests because she can’t find the camera on her own phone. And then Aunt Viv is yelling again, kissing me on the cheek and leaving with Aunt Diane right behind her. Dad gives me a big hug too, and then it’s just Mom, me, and the book.

I hold my hands out again. If she notices how they’re shaking, she says nothing. This time Mom relinquishes the book. It’s surprisingly heavy and almost warm, heating my hands. Before I can say anything, she wraps me and the book in her arms for a tight hug. “Trust yourself and your magic,” she whispers.

“I will,” I tell her, and then because I’m suddenly feeling emotional about the whole thing, I say something else I’ve been bottling up all week: “It really means a lot to me that you are letting me do this.”