Page 42 of Impractical Magic

Scarlett wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry . . . maybe both. “Nate . . . I just . . . I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry. I came back to Oak Haven to help and instead I’ve absolutely ruined everything.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Pardon me?!”

“Sorry, I’m a little drunk. But still. I knew—when I saw all those dragonflies get loose last night, I knew today we’d be sitting here—well, not here, exactly, but we’d be sitting somewhere—talking about ohhh boo hoo, Scarlett does everything wrong. Just like with what happened to your father. You didn’t cause that mess. But you, like, volunteered for crucifixion anyway. Exiling yourself for ten years over an accident.”

“Okay, you are more than a little drunk.”

“Absolutely. But I’m also right. Everything isn’t all your fault, Scar. C’mon, I’ve got eleven more bottles of champagne here. Get drunk with me and stop being a martyr.”

It was a more tempting offer than she wanted to admit. But Mama’s words danced around in her brain. There they were, feelings later and guests now, doing a little tarantella to the sound of a Dixieland apocalypse.

Scarlett got up. “We can’t. There’s a bunch of guests at the hotel, and we have to take care of them first. Maybe later you can continue your dissertation on everything that’s wrong with me.”

Nate gazed up her, squinting into the sunshine. “I don’t think everything is wrong with you, Scar . . . I think nearly everything is right with you. I mean . . . don’t you know that?”

Your timing sucks, Nate Williams, she thought.

Scarlett held out her hand to pull him his feet. “Come on, time to go home. A bit of portal travel should sober you right up.”

***

She led Nate through the tree-lined Jackson Square—past the fortune tellers and jazz combos and kids tap-dancing for quarters—to a narrow cobblestone alley. As soon as they stepped into the alley, the sun seemed to turn away, as if it didn’t want to see what would happen next.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” he whispered.

“My father studied portals. Didn’t you know that?”

“What kid knows what their friends’ parents do all day?”

She smiled. “Fair enough. Well, Papa couldn’t do magic, but he was a scholar of it, with a particular interest in portals. And he told me a story about this place—it’s called Pirate Alley. The pirate Pierre Lafitte used to conduct business here.”

“Wait,” Nate asked. “Does this story involve my relatives?”

“Afraid not, no. This happened in the early 1800s—Earl One had long retired by that point. Anyway, Pierre’s brother Jean would remain in the bay with their fleet of ships, while Pierre would come into town to make deals.” She approached a nondescript wooden door, partway down the alley. “According to the story, Pierre got sick of traveling back and forth from the city to the bay. So, one of his many deals was with a local witch . . .” Scarlett rapped on the door with her knuckles, banging out a complicated rhythm “. . . to create a permanent, secret portal.”

The door began to shimmer like a sidewalk in extreme heat.

“Your dad taught you how to do that?”

“He just told me the story.” Scarlett smiled. “Mama knew the technique. Hold an image of the inn in your mind as we step through. Be very specific—we don’t want to end up somewhere else by accident.”

“Wait, portals work by thinking about where you’d rather be?”

“It’s a big part of it. So do me a favor and hold a nice clear picture of the inn in your mind.”

“Do we have to?” Nate wrinkled his nose. “I’d rather go hang out with Jean Lafitte.”

“Nate!”

“Okay okay, just picturing the world’s greatest hotel now . . .”

***

When their surroundings shuddered back into view, Scarlett and Nate found themselves standing in a luxurious, glass-enclosed shower. The shower head featured a state-of-the-art design with a dozen settings, ranging from mist to firehose. Scarlett hadn’t been inside one of the inn bathrooms in a decade, but this level of luxury sure didn’t feel right.

She gingerly opened the shower door to study their surroundings. Gold faucets. Gold toilet. The most enormous crystal chandelier she’d ever seen in a bathroom . . . well, the only crystal chandelier she’d ever seen in a bathroom.