Page 69 of Impractical Magic

“You don’t know!” She stood and moved farther away. Staring out at the creek, she longed to turn herself into a school of fish and swim away. Forever, this time.

“Scarlett, I don’t understand. Everything was so good about ten seconds ago. What the hell—”

She whirled around, her eyes brimming with tears. “When I’m with you, I manage to forget somehow. I forget everything that happened, and I just want to dive into you.”

“Well, I encourage that. Let’s work on that angle for a minute.”

“I can’t possibly stay here, Nate! I can’t face them—my mother, my sisters . . . I can’t do it.”

“Scarlett, I don’t know what you mean. You seem to be getting along pretty well, actually. You are facing them—don’t you see that? You’ve come home, you’ve faced them, and it’s fine.”

“That’s only because they don’t know!”

“Don’t know what? What are you—”

“That I killed my father.” She covered her face and sobbed.

“Oh, Scarlett . . .” Nate just stared at her for a long moment, looking like he might cry, too. “That’s not what happened.”

“You don’t know,” she blubbered. “You weren’t there.”

The sound of footsteps and voices on the road spared Scarlett having to continue. A group of townsfolk were ambling by, headed for the covered bridge. They could only be headed to one place: the grove. Scarlett turned her back, so no one would see her cry.

“Something is happening.” She wiped away her tears with a clenched fist. “We should go.”

Chapter 27: Rasputins

The grove wasn’t far from town, a gentle uphill walk on a winding path Scarlett had trod since childhood. The path cut through fields of goldenrod, their blooms fading to rusty brown, their fragrance a bittersweet mix of honey and decay. As she and Nate walked in silence up the hill, Scarlett pulled herself together as best she could—pushing down all the anguish that Nate had unintentionally released.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself. Nothing that happened between us matters because nothing about our situations has changed. I can’t bear to stay in Oak Haven and Nate can’t bear to leave.

It’s actually straightforward, she thought, if only I’d let it be.

As they crested the hill, the once-majestic oak grove came into view. Scarlett’s breath caught in her throat. The ancient branches sagged with an unsettling weariness; their leaves drooped, many tinged with a sickly yellow. Tiny red lights darted amongst the branches, painting the grove in an unnatural crimson haze. In place of the usual hum of magical energy, the air thrummed with the strange buzzing of the dragonflies.

But the scene wasn’t entirely bleak, because the grove buzzed with something else besides flies: Oak Haven residents. Due to the current crisis, the law forbidding non-witches from entering the grove had been rescinded; it seemed like the whole town was here. Friends and neighbors, all of them ready to pitch in and try to save the oaks.

In the center of the grove, Kelly Melrose stood beneath the central tree, barking out instructions to the workers. Her shoulders were squared, her back as straight as ever. Despite her worried expression, a steely glint in her eyes spoke of generations of Melroses who’d faced worse crises than this. As she caught sight of Scarlett and Nate approaching, her features softened for a split second, as if to say, very nice to see you—before turning hard, as if to add, glad you finally showed up.

Aphra Pierre, her usual bohemian attire replaced by practical jeans and a flannel shirt, sat with a small circle of women, including Scarlett’s sister Luna. They were weaving intricate cages from skeins of glowing metallic thread. Periodically, Aphra would put down her own weaving project to advise one of the other women on theirs. She smiled and waved when she saw Scarlett and Nate approaching.

“Scarlett!” Aphra called out, her voice tinged with urgency. “We need your help over here. These cages are holding for now, but we don’t have much time.”

Scarlett nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

Other townsfolk were busy with more down-to-earth tasks. The time witch Louise Demain, wearing a bulky canvas apron over her usual black chiffon, stood at the base of one of the oaks, poking at a cluster of the glowing insects with a long branch. Nate nudged Scarlett and muttered, “If I were those bugs, I’d be worried.”

Meanwhile, Samuel and Belinda Chatterjee chased dragonflies with butterfly nets, hopping clumsily here and there as they tried to bring down one or two insects at a time.

A makeshift processing line had taken shape on the grove’s far edge. Once captured, the glowing insects were carefully transferred from the nets into Aphra’s cages. These had been hastily enchanted to confine the creatures, temporarily limiting the dragonflies’ ability to infect more trees with their chaotic sparks of magic. Once the containers were full, the volunteers of the Emergency Magic Service, led by Priti Chatterjee, took charge. Unfortunately, they were struggling to find an effective method of disposal—they tried fire, they tried water, they tried electricity. But the flies were tiny Rasputins, laughing off every attempted execution.

The townspeople worked tirelessly to contain the infestation, but it seemed that for every fly they captured, a dozen more took its place. Scarlett felt the weight of her responsibility pressing down on her, a physical ache in her chest, and Louise’s words repeated in her mind—an ugly melody she couldn’t get out of her head.

They passed town selectman Conrad, perched atop a ladder. Armed with his own net, he was reaching out to try and catch some flies that had taken shelter on a high branch. But he was awkwardly poised, and his ladder was shifting back and forth worryingly.

Nate turned to Scarlett and said, “I should go help Conrad before he ends up in traction.”

“You do that.” She nodded. “I’m going to check in with the general.”