Page 82 of Enchanted Village

“No,” Elliott said. “I don’t. I think both Wyatt and his father have a long way to go in terms of mending their relationship to this community. I believe Patrick was trying to win people over, but he was a bit . . . overzealous in his approach.”

“He’s an asshole.”

Elliott coughed. “There’s also the reality that he is a recently widowed man who may not be making the best decisions.”

“So, he did put Wyatt up to this,” Silas said. He’d assumed as much, but here was the proof.

Elliott nodded. “Yes. And Wyatt, as you know, is a boy who’s been bullied and is trying to earn his father’s approval. These aren’t excuses, mind you, but explanations.”

Silas didn’t have any pity for Patrick. For Wyatt . . . maybe. But Patrick had clearly put him up to this. Maybe Silas was even to blame for telling him that Margaret would win in the end. It was another reason he needed to leave, if he was responsible for Margaret’s anguish and pain.

“Wyatt also shared something with me that is . . . rather interesting,” Elliott continued. “Apparently, the plants from the garden didn’t work the way he expected them to.”

Silas looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently, the drinks tasted exactly the same as before,” Elliott said. “Even with the ingredients. They certainly didn’t taste the way they did when Margaret made them.”

Elliott put his fist under his chin as if he was thinking, as if this was a simple equation he was asking Silas to solve.

“Have you ever had one of Margaret’s drinks, Silas?”

Of course he had. Elliott knew that.

“And what happens when you have one of those drinks?”

Silas realized in a flash what his uncle was saying, the hypothesis he was presenting. It was startling, really, how he hadn’t realized it sooner.

“I have to go,” he said. “Will you keep an eye on Wyatt for me? Maybe send him to the pub later, if you can?”

“Certainly,” said Elliott. “It’s not like I’m the headmaster with a long list of very important tasks to do.”

Silas stared at him, pausing in the door.

“Kidding, of course!” Elliott said cheerily. “Wouldn’t miss being your errand boy for this for the world.”

Chapter Forty-Two

“Ready, Mags?”

It was time to rip off the bandage. Time for Margaret to get out the box of Christmas decorations from her mother. Time to decorate the pub for the first and last time, seeing as there could be no future here anymore.

There would be no relaunch. No second act. There were no magical drinks, after all, to serve. At least not for long. She had a few stashes of stuff she’d premixed, but that wouldn’t get her far. Soon, she’d be completely devoid of magical drinks. And that was, sadly, a rather firm requirement of a pub in an enchanted village.

“I’ll help with the magic,” Liza said. “I can follow your mom’s signature.”

Margaret nodded. She wanted to do it. She’d told Liza she wanted to do it. And, when it came down to it, she needed to.

The box was before them, more chest than box, really, with a leather exterior and a gold clasp. There was a lock on it, and, in Margaret’s mother’s clear, perfect cursive, was a tag that said Christmas decorations.

Margaret touched the lock, and it opened for her. She set it aside, then opened the box. It was packed to the brim, the top filled with holly and garlands and bulbs and candles and little ornaments Margaret had made when she was a child. As she dared to touch one made from pretzels in the shape of a wreath, Margaret was greeted with several scents at once: dust, pine, cinnamon, and orange-vanilla.

Her mother’s perfume mixed with her mother’s magic. Margaret fell back, resolve crumbling.

How could she disturb this box, this last thread tying her to her mom? She hiccupped a sob. Then Liza was there, hand on her shoulder.

But Margaret didn’t want to stop. Stopping would only make the next time more painful. So, with Liza’s help, she gently emptied the first layer in the box: the garlands, the ornaments. There was no tree to put them on, but Liza charmed them to float around the pub.

And then Margaret had to stop because the grief was tightening around her heart, threatening to suffocate.