Page 49 of Impractical Magic

He sure looked like he was with her. In fact, the little trio looked alarmingly like a family. How dare he joke with me, gaze at me with those beautiful eyes and then kiss me, she thought. But before Scarlett could climb all the way to the top of that particular high horse, Nate’s earlier comments drifted into her mind: What’d you expect? Was I supposed to sit here and wait for you? And she sighed because, of course, he was right. She couldn’t expect him to wait around for her. Nobody had the right to ask that of anyone.

Nate noticed her lurking by the back wall, and waved hello. Scarlett smiled weakly and half-waved back.

Suddenly the voice of a middle-aged man overwhelmed all the other noise. “My gnomes are gone!” he bellowed. “They are gone, and I will have satisfaction!”

Conrad banged on the podium with his comically large gavel. “Please, please. Some order, I’m begging you. At the very least, introduce yourself for the official record.” He pointed to his left, where there was a small table, chair, and transcription machine. No person actually sat at the transcription machine—the job was rendered moot when Mama Melrose had enchanted the machine to type on its own. Nevertheless, Conrad took great pride in his transcripts and was painfully aware that tonight’s document would be one for the history books.

The angry man took a deep breath. “My name—as if everyone in this room doesn’t know—is Samuel Chatterjee. Accompanying me is my wife, Belinda. Our gnomes are gone, and I have come here to demand that the elders do something about it!”

Conrad nodded sympathetically. “I completely understand, Samuel. We know the appalling frequency with which your gnomes become the focus of ill-mannered teenagers. But might I suggest, and I mean no offense, that given the current magical crisis we are facing, perhaps we should table your concerns about adolescent pranks until such time as—”

“No!” Sam Chatterjee stomped his foot. “My gnomes are not stolen. They are gone. They left. Early this morning, they packed their bags, called an Uber, and left.”

“I’m sorry . . .” Conrad said slowly. “Your gnomes . . . packed?”

“It was brand-new luggage, too!” cried Belinda Chatterjee. “I got it special to take on my ladies’ cruise to Bermuda next year.”

“Right. Well . . . that does sound . . . potentially . . . magical . . . Err . . .” Conrad turned to the elders, desperately hoping someone would bail him out.

Mama Melrose stood. “Belinda. Sam. I am sorry for your loss. Please be assured that the council will see to it that your gnomes are returned or, if necessary, replaced.”

“And the suitcases!” Belinda added.

“And the suitcases, yes.”

A woman leapt to her feet; she cut a striking figure with coils of black hair piled on top of her head and a long, flowing robe in deep shades of purple and black. Her eyes glowed as if she knew something she shouldn’t—maybe too many things. “Your feeble attempts at recompense are but a flickering candle against the vast darkness that threatens to engulf us all! Who among you shall take responsibility for the utter devastation wreaked upon my sanctum?”

Conrad sighed. “Louise, you must introduce yourself for the official—”

“Oh, this is too ridiculous.” Louise’s voice dripped with disdain. “I am Louise Demain, as you ignorant fools are well aware. My shop, Tout le Temps, and its sacred timepieces have been utterly shattered by the reckless actions of those who meddle with forces beyond their comprehension.”

“Oh boo hoo,” replied Samuel. “Whatever will Oak Haven do without its clock repair shop? Oh, I know—we’ll all check the time on our phones like normal people.”

Louise fixed her gaze on Samuel, her eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity. “Tout le Temps is far more than a mere shop, you blithering imbecile. It is a nexus of temporal energies, a bastion against the chaos that threatens to unravel the very fabric of reality. Oak Haven risks transformation into a prison of mundane horrors, a festering wound upon the face of reality, all due to the incompetence and hubris of those Melrose whelps.”

The accusation hit Scarlett like a physical blow. As one of the three “whelps” in question, she longed to disappear from the meeting room, from Oak Haven, and from the planet entirely, if possible.

“Do you not understand the gravity of our circumstances?” Louise continued ominously. “Oak Haven is but a hairsbreadth from becoming . . . the next . . . Jacksonville!”

All fell silent as the crowd tried to process this dire proclamation from the town time witch. Louise’s gaze swept the room, her voice dripping with contempt. “Yes, you gibbering simpletons. Jacksonville. I have spoken.”

As Louise sat down, mutterings and nods of agreement rippled through the crowd. Louise and Samuel were far from the only residents who’d suffered from the jolt of surrealist magic that had swept across Oak Haven in the past twenty-four hours.

As whispers and complaints rippled through the crowd, Scarlett could feel accusing eyes flicking in her direction.

And the worst part? They weren’t wrong.

Nate leaned over to make eye contact. Ignore them, he mouthed.

Scarlett could only roll her eyes in response. What about Jacksonville? she mouthed back. But Nate just shrugged.

Meanwhile up on the platform, Mama Melrose bristled. “The events of last night were unfortunate but completely accidental,” she said firmly. “My girls went out to the grove with the expressed intention of saving our magic. I hasten to point out that this is far more than anyone else in this room has done.”

A young witch stood to be recognized. Tall and rather literally statuesque—she looked like Venus de Milo got her arms back and promptly turned into Stevie Nicks—she immediately commanded the boisterous crowd’s attention. “For the record, my name is Aphra Pierre, and I run the yarn and fabric store on West Street.”

Hang on, Scarlett thought. That’s Aphra?! Nate said I knew her . . . but he must be wrong. I would definitely remember someone so striking.

Aphra continued. “I would like to point out that the Melrose family has heroically served this town for generations. If they say this was an accident that will soon be rectified, then I think we owe them the benefit of the doubt.”