Page 86 of Enchanted Village

“Yes,” Patrick said, and he at least had the good sense to look ashamed. “But that’s not why I’m bringing them to you. I wanted to tell you that they . . . they didn’t work.”

Margaret blinked. “What do you mean?”

“He means,” Silas said quietly, “that the ingredients aren’t what’s magical.”

He turned to her now, locking those blue eyes on hers as he’d done so many times. And when he spoke, his voice was its same warm honey.

“You’re the magic,” he said. “Not the ingredients. You.”

She huffed. She didn’t have the energy for platitudes. “Silas, we’ve been over this. I’m not—”

“Except, you are,” Silas said, nodding at the ingredients. “I set up a lab. Tested the drinks that Patrick made with these same ingredients. Compared them with some of the premixed stuff you had behind the bar that Liza grabbed for me. I tested a few chemical reactions. They’re completely different at a molecular level. That shouldn’t be possible. And yet . . .”

Margaret barely understood the mechanics of what Silas was saying, partly because her mind was spinning and partly, he lost her at “molecular level.” She also kept thinking back to Imogen’s hot chocolate, the one that shouldn’t have worked . . . and yet, it had still been perfect.

As if reading her mind, there was Imogen, appearing from inside the pub, striding toward her, hot chocolate from earlier in hand. Or, rather, empty mug from earlier that had once held hot chocolate.

“Do you know why I come here?” Imogen demanded. “And don’t say your riveting company, because we both know that’s a lie.”

Margaret blinked. “Pardon?”

“Every time I’m in here,” Imogen said, “I drink your silly hot chocolates or your apple ciders or whatever, and I have a memory of my aunt. She practically raised me, but she died when I was ten. And yet, every time I’m here, I take a sip and there I am, in her living room. Do you know how advanced that kind of magic is?”

Margaret stared at her, not understanding. None of this added up. How? She had her rejection letter, after all, her sign that she was wrong, a mistake.

“Your magic’s different,” Liza said, stepping up next to Imogen. “But it’s still magic. And it’s not just your potion making. Think of the creatures that you attract to this place and the ones you’ve tamed. Do you really think that would happen if you weren’t a witch?”

“A rare gift,” piped up Mervin. “Quite rare, actually.”

She looked around the room, at all the faces watching her, smiling at her. Here for her.

“But you left for Fox Bar,” she said. “If I’m so magical, why’d you all leave?”

“Leave?” Sarah piped up with a laugh. “Margaret, darling, it’s been barely a week. And here we are. Back. I told you, there’s something special here.”

“Some days, we’ll be there,” piped up someone else. “Others, we’ll be here. But you’ll never lose us for good.”

She was fighting back tears again. A full pub. A full pub with her mom’s decorations on the walls. A full pub with the portrait of her grandmother and mother staring down at all of them, beaming in the way Margaret was sure they would’ve been if they were truly here to see it all.

And Silas standing in front of her, watching her, waiting.

“I told you,” he said, quietly, so that only she could hear. “You’re the magic, and you always have been.”

Her heart was light as she stepped forward. For so long, she’d felt like a stranger in her own home. For so long, her grief over the life she’d thought she’d have and the life she’d been given had threatened to bury her. But no more. She refused to let it do so again.

She tilted her chin up to Silas.

“Do I need to get Bernie to fly over here with some mistletoe, or can you handle that on your own?”

The last word was barely out of her mouth when his lips covered hers. She rose on tiptoe to meet his kiss, throwing her arms around his shoulders so that he could lift her up and pull her close. Faintly, she heard whoops and cheers around her, as if they were coming from far away.

As if there was no one there except for Silas, his hands holding her together, his kiss keeping her warm and steady.

“Magic,” he whispered against her mouth. “I told you so.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” she said, but she was laughing.

Because he was right.