Page 57 of Practically Magic

New post from Anonymous: Has anyone else run into a guy dressed as a pilgrim asking for directions to Roanoke?

Laney will be fine. She works at a preschool in the summer months and has to deal with toddlers all day. These guys will be a piece of cake. And they’ll all be safe inside our house.

“What is going on in there?” Zach asks suspiciously, looking around at the house in shambles. Eleanor has thankfully disappeared. The bag in his hand swings as he looks around; the growls only grow more violent. I don’t have time to stand and chat. Thankfully, Zach follows as I stride down our driveway. There’s a market on the green, which isn’t too far of a walk. Hopefully they have some apples.

“Just some early party guests,” I say, trying to compose myself. Spell malfunction or not, I’m going to let the sight of all those boys clamoring for my attention live rent-free in my mind forever. When we reach the street, Zach brushes a low-hanging tree branch out of the way for me, and I try to ignore the way it makes my heart flutter. “What do you have in the bag?”

Zach holds the bag out of reach. “Found this thing trying to tear Witches Brew’s coffee stash apart about an hour ago. Am I right to think this thing belongs to you?” As he leans in toward me, my heart jumps into my throat. Because my heart doesn’t know this isn’t real.

“Let me see,” I say, reaching for the bag.

“Don’t let it out,” he warns too late. I peer inside and am greeted by a green scaly face. That’s the last thing I see before I’m knocked on my butt.

Is that a gremlin? It races down the path to the town green, scaling a tree and dive-bombing into a jack-o’-lantern. The pumpkin turns to mush, but thankfully there are about a thousand along the green. The mayor really went all out this year.

“But for the record, that creature is not mine,” I say, breathing hard.

Zach offers me a hand, and I take it so he can lug me to standing. He quirks one eyebrow and looks at me over his glasses. “Where are we going?” Zach asks, sounding mildly concerned.

“I need an apple,” I say, choosing honesty. I’m tired of lying, and he’s under my spell, isn’t he?

“Must be a serious craving if you’re leaving your fan club at your house.” Zach walks beside me down the main path of the green, skirting the statue of Harold Croft with a frown.

“It’s for a very special family . . . recipe,” I say. “One that I need to . . . make tonight. At moonrise.”

“Sounds like a very special recipe,” Zach agrees. “Can I help?”

I glance up in surprise. The bell on the door tinkles as we step into the little market. “Yeah, um, just find an apple, okay?”

“Fresh out,” comes a voice, and the grocer is standing there, hands on his hips. “Someone posted that Mystic Hollow’s apples are ‘hashtag the best.’ ” Five guesses who that was. “Tourists came and totally cleared us out.”

“Wait!” Zach crows, racing over to a far corner. “Found one!” He holds it up triumphantly, like it isn’t bruised and battered and dusty from rolling across the floor.

“We’ll take it,” I say quickly, opening my wallet.

Zach pockets it, his coat bulging, and we head back the way we came.

He nudges into me with his body, walking into me a bit. “Early mystery guests, some family recipe involving apples . . . I have to say, I’m getting pretty excited for this party.”

I bite my lip. “You sure you want to come? I mean, really, you, Zach Powell.”

“Yes, I, Zach Powell,” he says, chuckling a bit.

I grab him by the arms and stare deeply into his eyes. “But do you really?”

He laughs but doesn’t lean away. Suddenly I realize his hand is brushing a curl out of my face, tucking it behind my ear so gently I can barely breathe. “Yes, Kat. I really want to go to your party.”

It’s probably safest if he comes.

“But you need to stay out of the kitchen and the greenhouse,” I say.

“Drat. That’s the only reason I was coming.”

“And don’t go anywhere near the lake. There is a kraken.” The words roll off my tongue with ease. I’ve never been this open about anything supernatural with anyone outside our family other than Laney. I’ve certainly never talked to a boy about witchcraft. Zach, though, is different. We’ve always watched each other closely, following each other’s grades, activities, and debated over extra-credit points. Something tells me Zach can handle this information.

Zach nods and puts his hands in his pockets and nods like I’m merely discussing the weather. “Got it. Lake, off-limits unless I bring my cutlass.”

“And my bedroom—”