Page 36 of Enchanted Village

Silas felt he’d done enough with this particular group and drifted away while they continued to argue. He checked on the remaining groups and, confident that no one else was on the verge of going up in flames, returned to his desk.

“I want lab reports in seven minutes!” he called out, smiling at the good-natured grumble and flurry of paper writing that followed his pronouncement.

It gave him time to think more on the issue of the windowpane. And that gave him the idea.

He returned to the students who had called him a nepo baby.

“That stretching spell you mentioned,” he said. “How proficient would you say you are with it?”

Chapter Seventeen

“Come on, Mags!” Liza said, all but dragging Margaret across the street. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Margaret thought it was a bit rich to accuse her of not being up for adventure when she had literally secured and helped free two semi-dangerous creatures this week—three if you counted stopping Bernie from destroying the entirety of the pub—but Liza wouldn’t hear it. She also wouldn’t really tell Margaret what her plan for “reconnaissance” was, other than that it required them getting very, very close to Fox Bar.

The sounds of near-constant spells going off inside Fox Bar had finally paused, making the building appear eerily quiet as they approached. It still had its fancy Coming Soon! sign glittering above them, and it appeared the owners had added some new touches since Margaret last looked: They’d roped off the entire exterior of the building and added a sign that was staked in the freshly dug-up dirt.

Pardon our spell dust! We can’t wait to welcome you soon. Those inquiring about being on our ever-growing wait list can contact P. Kerrigan.

Contact information was listed below. Liza leaned forward next to Margaret, huffing when she reached the end.

“A wait list?” Liza said. “Who does this ‘P. Kerrigan’ think he is? If he’s actually got that many people waiting for this abomination to open, I’ll eat a dragon egg.”

Margaret snorted. “Well, clearly, he’s got interest. You saw that witch with his flyer.”

Liza waved her hand. “It’s all marketing tactics. Basic ones, too. He wants us to think he’s got all these people banging down the door, but I bet he’s actually struggling.”

Margaret wasn’t sure about that. Even the building alone looked sleek and sophisticated. When she glanced over her shoulder at the Toasty Owl, she felt her heart sink.

“We look so shabby by comparison,” she said.

“No, no, no,” Liza said. “We look cozy, comfortable, rich with history, warm, dreamy. Shabby is not how anyone would describe our precious Owl.”

Margaret smiled. “That’s true.”

Because her grandmother and her mother had made it so. And Margaret wouldn’t let them down.

“Right,” Liza said, looking at the front door—gilded gold just like the letters. “What do you think the chances are that it’ll respond to an unlocking spell?”

Margaret blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ll have to go through the windows in the back if it’s truly locked. Or maybe the back door.”

Still, Margaret stared at her. “Liza, you aren’t seriously talking about breaking into this place, are you?”

Liza huffed. “Of course I am. How are we supposed to do proper recon from out here?”

“Liza, we can’t—”

Liza stepped up to the door and turned the knob easily to the right. She let out a gleeful hoot and pushed it open.

“See!” Liza said. “I knew whatever peacock’s running this place wouldn’t lock it. Too much in and out, I bet. Or they’re all flash and no brains. Either way, c’mon!”

And she slipped inside, leaving Margaret no choice but to follow her in.

Inside, it smelled like fresh paint. There were transparent tarps on the floor, holes where fixtures would eventually go, and boxes and boxes on the ground. Right now, it was essentially a blank canvas, just walls and flooring.

Liza went to one of the boxes, flipping it open without a single care. She rifled through it, letting out a disappointed sigh.