Page 66 of Enchanted Village

“Well, this isn’t fair,” he said, holding out his hand. “You look like that, and I look like I’ve been rolling in snow.”

He gestured at his own coat and pants, which showed signs of wear. Margaret giggled as she took his hand.

“Yes,” she said. “But you’ve got those glasses on. They’ll distract everyone.”

He rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses up.

“Ah, yes, the old professorial hack to distract them with your glasses,” he said. “As a lifelong glasses wearer, I can assure you, they will still notice the dirt on my boots.”

The door banged open, and there was Liza, chest heaving as she hung onto the door for dear life. She was wearing her own nicer set of some kind of witch attire, a robe-dress combination, though hers was light yellow, and her hair was woven with gold ribbon down one side. She straightened when she saw Margaret, leaning against the door as she steadied her breath.

“Oh, thank god,” she said. “I thought you might show up looking like bar gremlins.”

“Excuse me?” said Margaret.

“Love you, babe,” Liza said. “But it was a distinct possibility.”

Margart rolled her eyes. Silas wanted to argue that Margaret never looked like a “bar gremlin,” but he didn’t have time, because Liza was moving toward him, brandishing her wand. For one horrible moment, he thought she was about to curse him, but then she was murmuring something he’d heard before, and the scent of lemon was fresh in his nostrils again.

“He could’ve just used my shower,” Margaret said, crossing her arms.

“Oh, I bet he could’ve,” Liza said, waggling her eyebrows, making both Margaret and Silas blush.

“You’re a menace,” Margaret said.

“Now, the clothes,” Liza said, pursing her lips and tapping her wand against the side of her head. “Let me see . . . something modern, obviously, but also classy . . . I’ve got it.”

Once again, her wand was pointed at him, but this time, black sparks burst from the tip and surrounded Silas in a cloud. There was a swooshing sort of sensation on his skin and the ripple of fabric and then the cloud cleared. Gone were the coat and pants he’d worn this morning, and in their place was a dapper black suit made of velvet. There was a slight robe quality to it, so Silas knew this was something of the magical world, but he felt comfortable and at ease. The shirt he wore underneath was creamy and soft against his skin, warmer than it seemed to have any right to be.

“I charmed the shirt,” Liza said, noticing how he was looking at it. “It’ll change temperature based on your needs.”

She glanced at Margaret then looked away. “Of course, if you don’t want it—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Liza,” Margaret said. “Go ahead and charm me, too.”

Liza squealed, bursting from her place to throw her arms around Margaret.

“Oh, you stubborn goat, I love you to bits, you know that?” Liza said, waving her wand over Margaret’s attire. “Thank you for letting me make you just a teensy more comfortable.”

Margaret laughed, letting Liza squeeze her by the shoulders one more time.

“Now,” Liza said. “How about we go show that Patrick Kerrigan exactly what his dumb old bar is missing?”

Silas’s father had told him before that a business’s advertising should always remain true to the business itself. If your business was sweet and warm, so should your marketing be. If it was edgy and sexy, likewise.

Therefore, as much as Silas hated to afford the man any compliment, he had to hand it to Patrick Kerrigan’s fireworks: They were exactly the kind of explosive marketing that Fox Bar required, for the word explosion seemed to be the only one that came to mind the second he, Margaret, and Liza stepped over the bar’s threshold.

Explosion of color, explosion of light, explosion of sound, and above all, explosion of magic. All of it happening at once and everywhere you looked. Amidst the shiny, polished marble surfaces, there were floor-to-ceiling tanks filled with aquatic creatures Silas had never imagined could exist, let alone that he could’ve seen in person. Fish with spiky, winglike fins, that disappeared when you looked at them or burst into gold, shimmering light. Eels that sparked continuously and changed length at will. Something that appeared to be half hammerhead shark, half porcupine that shot silvery quills out like a dancer tossing out a baton.

Then there was the fact that the bar seemed to go on and on. In the entrance, there were different hallways, each leading to different themed rooms. In one, a burlesque show with witches whose clothes changed as they danced. In another, a trio of contortionists formed gasp-inducing shapes in a room that glittered like the night sky. In what Silas assumed was the main room—and where they found themselves—was the bar, full to the brim with a rainbow of bottles and glassware in the shape of cauldrons, plus a dance floor that was currently full of people twisting and turning to the sound being played by jazz instruments onstage. There were no people touching these instruments, though—just the instruments themselves, bewitched and perfectly tuned.

Silas looked over at Margaret, watching her as she turned to take in every corner. Everywhere, magic was operating in ways that seemed unfathomable, unreal. And he knew—even as he disagreed with the sentiment—that Margaret was looking at Fox Bar and seeing everything she couldn’t do.

Silas reached for her hand, but she shook him off.

“I’m going to dance,” she said. She must’ve seen Silas’s concern, because she added, “I’m fine. I came here for the full experience, didn’t I? So, I’m going to have it.”

Silas exchanged a look with Liza as they watched Margaret go to the bar, demand something of the bartender, and grab one of the cauldron glasses before throwing it back.