Page 14 of Enchanted Village

Mr. York scoffed. “Besmirching Fiona’s and Daphne’s good names, asking if we have a pub.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Mr. York rapped on the wall behind the service desk, one that was filled with posters and flyers showing off the local businesses. There were also several photographs, including a handful that had clearly been taken some years ago. Mr. York tapped one of the photos that showed a redheaded woman beaming as she pointed to a wooden sign that read The Toasty Owl.

“Grand opening,” Mr. York said. “Fiona did that all on her own, you know. All the Nettle women are very determined. And you won’t find a finer drink than at that pub.”

Silas smiled. “Excellent. I’ll have to swing by.”

“Any other suggestions you need?” Mr. York asked.

“I think I’ll start with this one,” Silas said, eyes lingering on the photograph. The woman in question must’ve been Margaret’s grandmother. They had the same hair and facial structure. Possibly even the same smile, though Silas hadn’t seen much of one when he’d met her.

He’d go and get a drink that night, he decided. Satiate his curiosity, try a good drink, and move on.

That still left the rest of the day. So, Silas decided on a stroll through the village to stretch his legs. It looked like a postcard. More specifically, it looked like a postcard that Silas had received from his uncle when he was a boy.

After Silas had been offered the job at Emberwind Academy, he’d found the postcard. It had been his first hint that a world beyond his own existed. He had looked at it so often as a child that he should’ve worn the paper thin—but now he understood that there was magic that kept the paper intact.

It was how he was able to keep it in his wallet until he needed it. Now, he took it out, unfolded it until it popped into place, erasing creases that had been there before.

On the front of the postcard, there was a picture of a village full of cottages and shops, thatched roofs with layers of brilliant white snow laid atop like blankets. The sky behind seemed to glitter—no, it was more than that. If Silas held the postcard in just the right light, it did shimmer and sparkle. Even the snow framing the windows seemed to shine more than a normal picture. And when he tilted it to catch more of the light, he could’ve sworn a shooting star zipped across the top of the photo.

Magic.

And now, Silas was walking in the village in the postcard, even called it his home. It was grander than he could’ve ever imagined. Hex Hollow wasn’t yet sparkling with snow, but autumn leaves swirled in the air, the temperature just cool enough for a scarf and a coat.

And the magic. Oh, the magic. It was everywhere. In the windows making things zip and twist and spin and dance. Crackling around every corner. Even the air—he swore he could taste cinnamon from freshly cast charms.

It was hard to know where, exactly, to start in Hex Hollow, though he did, at least, have a task to accomplish today. He still needed a replacement for his coffeemaker, which meant a trip back to Weatherby’s Wares, the shop he’d first seen Margaret at the day before.

When he arrived, the shop was devoid of any humans—Margaret Nettle included—save for an elderly man who took one look at Silas and sniffed as if he was not at all pleased with a customer and certainly not someone like Silas, who beamed at him as he walked in.

“Hello there!” Silas said, waving as he stepped over to the register. “I’m afraid we didn’t get a chance to meet properly yesterday. I’m Silas—”

“Can I help you?” the old man nearly growled, as if the last thing he ever wanted to do was help Silas.

But Silas was unfazed. When he’d worked for his father in their carpentry store, he’d met plenty of older men like this one—Weatherby, he thought he remembered someone calling him. Men who sniped and grumbled at everyone they met.

“You sure can,” Silas said. “I’ve been sent by Mr. York to pick up a coffeemaker.”

He dug out the slip and handed it to the man, who glared at Silas’s hand before gingerly snatching it. As he read the note, Silas took the opportunity to look around at the rest of the shop. With Margaret and the kurlop, he hadn’t paid much attention to the shelves filled with various non-magical oddities, which, Silas supposed, were the wares in question for Weatherby’s Wares.

“I might have one of these,” the shopkeeper said, sounding disappointed. He came around from the register and crossed to the back of the store where Silas saw a handwritten sign reading Kitchen. On the shelf beneath the sign, Silas saw a variety of gadgets: veggie spiralizers, blenders, electric choppers, cookie cutters in every shape imaginable—including one he suspected was used strictly for bachelorette parties.

“No idea what any of it does,” Mr. Weatherby griped. “But I hear you non-magical folk can’t live without them, so have at it.”

Silas laughed. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

Mr. Weatherby nodded. “Now, find what you’re looking for quick. That damn kurlop wrecked the back over here, and I’ve got to spend my lunch break spelling those shelves back in place. Not so easy when you’ve got a bad eye and your knee’s acting up.”

Again he glared at Silas as if it were his fault that he had both of these ailments, then hobbled toward the affected part of the store. Silas turned and looked through the shelf to where he saw the evidence of what had happened: The wooden shelves had fallen from the wall, including one that had cracked. There were stacks of plates and glasses nearby, which Silas suspected had fallen off the shelves. The shopkeeper must have mended them, he thought.

Silas took a quick glance at the kitchen items behind him and spotted a coffeemaker he suspected had not been used for at least two decades. He grabbed it and hurried back over to Mr. Weatherby, who was staring at the broken shelf now as if he could will it back into existence. Actually, Silas realized, maybe that was exactly what he was doing.

“Can you mend it just by looking at it?” Silas asked.

Mr. Weatherby snorted. “Course not. I’m just trying to figure out the exact spell to use to fix the break. It’s not clean, see. I have to find the seams in the wood, visualize knitting them together again, then cast the spell.”