Page 19 of Everything She Does Is Magic

“YouTube tutorials,” Anya deadpans. She squats down to help get the wing straps back around Maddie’s shoulders.

Maddie throws her arms around Anya for a big, fat, four-year-old hug.

Grace gives me another look, and I genuinely wish I’d asked about the sinister thing, because this isn’t sinister at all.

But itissomething strange.

The kind of strange everyone talks about in Fableview. What others would say is almost…magical.

But I know there’s more to it. Anya Doyle has tricks up her sleeve, like the novelty coins I carry in the pocket of my witch costume.

Aunt Cal closes in on us. She says nothing, just steps closer and closer until she places a hand on Anya’s forearm and starts to tug.

“I have to go,” Anya tells me. “I’m really sorry. I’ll be at Monday’s planning meeting. I think? I hope.”

“It’s okay if you can’t make it!” I call out as Cal hustles Anya away from me. “But we’d love to have you at the pumpkin patch party on Wednesday!”

Maddie returns to the parade, and Grace and I find spots along the barrier to watch her continue marching on, happy as ever now, catching candy from spectators.

“That sort of seemed, like…magical,” Grace whispers. It’s a genuine whisper too, which is how I know she’s serious. She doesn’t want to be overheard, so she speaks through gritted teeth.

“Obviously it wasn’t magical,” I respond with my normal voice. There’s nothing to whisper about. “That night outside the shop, I told her how none of the so-called magic here is real. I joked that people learn tricks from YouTube tutorials. That’s why she said that. And that’s probably where she learned how to do that too.”

“Okay…But, like, the wings were inperfectcondition,” Grace says. “I know you don’t believe the witches here are real—and that’s fine, I can’t prove it either—but that seemed kind of impossible to do without some sort of power.”

“Maybe she’s a speed seamstress,” I say.

“Is that a thing?”

“Probably. Everything’s a thing.”

“Okay, well then, I changed my mind. You have to figure out what is going on with her,” Grace tells me. “Because I’d bet my life that you’re becoming friends with a real-life witch.”

“I bet my life that I’m not,” I say, turning back to catch one last glimpse of Anya before she disappears into the crowd. “And I’ll find a way to prove it to you.”

16 Days Until Halloween

10

Anya

My actions at the costume parade were not enough to break Cal’s vow of silence. We stayed silent on our ride home, and then Cal left me alone in the house for the rest of the night. I thought she would never bring it up again, but when I asked if I could go to the pumpkin patch party—whateverthatis—she surprised me by saying yes.Noddingyes, more like it, and then writing down that my “little magic stunt” at the costume parade was “entirely irrational” and “seemed to be motivated by romantic feelings, which should be avoided at all costs when choosing a protector for the upcoming initiation.”

I still don’t know why I fixed Maddie’s wings. She was just looking so sad, and I knew I could do something about it. There aren’t any official rules about practicing magic in public. Obviously the whole town of Fableview relies on the belief that real witches live here. But if Darcy’s right about anything, it’s that the true magic is in the mystery. I know better than anyone that making the exact nature of my powers known to too manymortals starts to make them want things from me that I can’t accomplish. They don’t care about who I am as a person, only what I can give to them.

Fixing Maddie’s costume may be one of my last acts as a mender.

What I do need is to make a real plan for my nonwitch life. I’ve got to learn how regular people choose their passions. Make their money. All of it.

As seems to be the case with every event in Fableview, today’s pumpkin patch party is very on theme. There are pumpkinseverywhere. Real ones, stuffed ones, paintings of ones. Familiesroam the patch of actual pumpkins, walking up and down rows, searching for the perfect ones to buy. There are booths full of pumpkin-themed foods. And lots of people dressed in appropriately pumpkin-esque clothing.

I pass countless classmates, making a promise to myself that if anyone makes eye contact with me, I will try to make an honest effort to talk to them in return. Without the weight of worrying about whether they can be my protector, maybe it will be easier to make a real friend.

If there’s one thing I have going for me today, it’s that Aunt Cal has decided not to attend, writing that she found it “emotionally exhausting to trail teenagers.” But I guess the same could be said for everyone else. They don’t have strange, reclusive witch aunts who wear patchwork quilt jackets and take vows of silence that even social customs cannot break. In a month, I won’t have that either. I won’t have anything, actually.

That’s when I see the flash of red hair, the shock of curls that can sometimes wake me from a dead sleep.

Julia.