Page 77 of Impractical Magic
But the scene quickly shifted—Mr. Happy Panda returned, but this time he regarded Violet with polite confusion, no recognition in his eyes. Nearby, windows began to splinter and crack, and the sky turned dark with an approaching storm.
The memories continued to flash by, each playing out in vivid detail. The witches saw Violet storm out of the bookstore and into the street, a hammer in her hand. They gasped as she smashed the magical sigil built into the crosswalk, and they shuddered as Maximillian appeared behind her, observing Violet with a sinister glare.
Suddenly, they were in the coffee shop. The witches could feel the warmth and acceptance radiating from the group of magicians as they comforted Violet and listened to her story. They watched as Max held out a copy of Myrmex Acana, his conniving smile unfurling from ear to ear. He asked Violet for something—just a little thing, barely even anything at all. The witches all felt the desperate longing for approval that drove the young girl to agree.
Throughout it all, the real Violet sobbed in her chair. Polly rushed to her daughter’s side, gathering her into her arms and holding her tight. “It’s okay, baby,” Polly whispered into Violet’s hair. “Everything is going to be okay . . .”
***
As Violet’s sobs began to subside, the dining room settled back into its normal state. A whirlwind of chaotic teenage emotion just moments ago, now the room was now eerily still. The only sounds were the distant strains of “Away, Away, My Heart’s on Fire,” drifting in from the Penzance rehearsal on the other side of the building.
The witches gathered in a loose circle, their whispers barely audible as they grappled with what to do next. Aphra spoke in favor of negotiation, while Belinda leaned toward stringing Max up by his thumbs. Luna looked as though she might faint, and Mama placed a reassuring hand on her back to steady her.
The quiet was shattered by the squeak of the inn’s front door. Maximillian the Magnificent strode in, his rabbit Quentin in a cage under one arm. He stopped abruptly midway across the lobby, his eyes widening as he saw the assembly of witches in the dining room.
The women turned as one to stare at him. He stared back, and for a heartbeat, no one moved.
Max’s face, usually so carefully composed, betrayed a flicker of panic. He was a poor chess player who’d carelessly tumbled into the Queen’s Gambit.
Swallowing hard, he took a single step forward, plastering a cheesy grin on his face. “Ladies, good evening . . .” He was too startled to even come up with an accent. “How are you all?”
The witches gazed back at him, nonplussed.
Max spun on his heel and bolted. Poor Quentin bounced unhappily around in his cage as Max raced up the stairs two at a time.
Delilah, at her post behind the desk, vaulted over the countertop in pursuit. Scarlett, the only other witch who understood the true severity of the situation, was right on her heels.
“Stop him, Del!” she shouted. “He’s going for the portal!”
Max reached his third-floor room in record time. He made a beeline for the wardrobe and dove in without hesitation.
Delilah burst into the room mere seconds later, her eyes locking on to the wardrobe. She knew exactly where Max had gone, but fear made her hesitate. “Ugh! Where do you lead?” she demanded of the portal. “What’s on the other side? And if I enter, how will I get back home?”
Scarlett burst into the room at full speed and gave her sister a firm push from behind, propelling them both into the abyss.
The other witches arrived at the doorway . . . too late to see anything but the empty wardrobe and a lingering shimmer of magical energy.
“Well, well,” said Mama with pride. She leaned into the portal and shouted, “Good hunting, my dears! Come home safe.”
Chapter 30: Beginner’s Luck
Having exited Oak Haven via a modest wardrobe, the sisters reemerged into a closet large enough to qualify as a San Francisco bedroom. The space was stuffed with racks of costumes: leopard-print catsuits, baby doll blouses in a variety of pastels, ladies’ tracksuits, and black Lycra cocktail dresses. An entire wall was devoted to Union Jack regalia.
Scarlett and Delilah looked at each other and shrugged. “Could be worse?” Scarlett offered.
“Sure,” Delilah agreed. “I was afraid we’d end up inside a volcano or something.”
Scarlett cracked open the door and peeked out.
The brightly lit dressing room was a whirlwind of post-show chaos. The room was lined with make-up tables and full-length mirrors, where five scantily clad performers were busily removing their make-up and wigs. The walls were plastered with multiple copies of the same poster:
BELLAGIO HOTEL WELCOMES
THE WANNABEs
A LIVE SPICE GIRLS EXPERIENCE
A chorus of gasps erupted as the performers spun away from their mirrors to view the new arrivals from the closet.
