Page 45 of Impractical Magic

Scarlett chuckled. “Champagne makes everything better, quoth Mama Melrose.”

“My dear, when you find a situation that is not improved by champagne, please inform.”

“AA meetings?”

“You know.” Mama put an irritated hand on her hip. “You’re quite flippant for someone who caused all this madness.” She pressed a piece of paper into her daughter’s hand. “This is the list of the problem doors we’ve discovered so far. Please change all these locks—I’ll see to the guests and place them in new rooms while we sort this out. Oh, and be sure to keep straight which new key goes with which door, or you’ll cause yet another catastrophe, and you’ve done quite enough for today.” Mama gave her middle daughter a healthy dose of the Melrose Scowl, then turned on her heel and stalked back toward the stairwell.

The Scowl never failed to make Scarlett feel as though she’d been shrunk down to about two feet tall. In fact, this feeling was so powerful that when Scarlett turned to look at Nate, part of her felt shocked that she was still tall enough to look him in the eye.

“You gotta give her credit,” Nate said. “When your mom takes a shot at somebody, she doesn’t miss.”

“Yeah . . .” Scarlett said. “Suppose I had it coming.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about? Scar, this isn’t on you.”

“Of course it is! You saw what happened last night.”

“No way. If anything, you’re the wronged party here.” He opened the door to Room 205 and stared unblinkingly at the green, green grass of Salisbury Plain. “Huh. Yeah, I can see how your mother doesn’t want guests in here.” He knelt down to study the interior lock plate in the door.

Scarlett leaned against the wall beside Nate, not gazing at his broad shoulders and definitely not picturing the strong back underneath his flannel shirt. “What do you mean, wronged party? Delilah and I did that spell to trap all the dragonflies, and her half worked, but mine didn’t because I got distracted. If I’d done my job, then—”

“Look, I may have been a little tipsy earlier, but I meant what I said. Think about it: you’ve have been out of the magic game for ten years, and your sisters drag you out to the scene of a hugely traumatic event from your past. And they expect you to, what, just come roaring back like you’re Glinda the Good Witch? I was there in the grove, don’t forget. You tried to tell them it was a bad idea, and they wouldn’t listen to you. I’m Team Scarlett on this one.”

She blushed. “You’re a team of one, I’m afraid. You’re playing solitaire.”

“Here, hold these for me.” Nate held out his hand, cupping four screws he’d removed from the door. As he dropped them into Scarlett’s hand, their fingers brushed against each other. Their eyes locked, and Scarlett’s breath caught in her chest.

“I would hope,” Nate said, “that you’re on your own team, at least.”

“Yeah.” Scarlett’s voice came out in a breathy way that embarrassed her. “I suppose I am.”

“Okay, then.” He smiled. “It’s you and me.”

Chapter 17: That Consumed With Dread Look

Scarlett spent several pleasurable hours helping Nate change the locks on the doors that had become portals. The locks were old, a bit rusty, and none left their doors easily, but Nate always seemed to manage it. Every time Nate handed Scarlett a lock plate or a screw or some other bit of hardware, his hand would brush hers and she’d feel it all the way down to her toes.

Which is ridiculous, she chastised herself silently. I’m not a teenager anymore.

But she found herself eagerly awaiting those moments anyhow.

So far, they’d located four portals: the one to Stonehenge, another that led to the basement of the Sydney Opera House, another to a child’s treehouse in Toad Suck, Arkansas, and finally the kitchen of Third Eye Restaurant in Kathmandu.

On the third floor, they came across Maximillian the Magnificent, who was sitting despondently on the floor at the far end of the hall.

“Let me guess,” Scarlett called out as they approached. “You found another portal?”

He leapt to his feet. “Nein! Guten tag! It’s fine. My room is fine.”

“For crying out loud, he’s German today,” Scarlett muttered.

“Hey there, Max,” Nate said. “Have you got a portal in there? Mrs. Melrose sent us here to change the locks, so nobody accidentally falls in.”

“Nein! No portal!” Max smiled oddly—a forced-looking smile on a face unaccustomed to it. “Everything is excellent.”

“Then, um, why are you sitting in the hall, Max?” Scarlett asked.

“I like the hall. Zis hall, sie ist wunderbar! Und my Quentin is napping, for which is required completely silence.”