Page 81 of Impractical Magic

“Ehh, sometimes. But after Papa . . . the fear got to be too much. You know what I mean? Giving up magic didn’t seem like a burden when I felt sick just thinking about it.”

Delilah shook her head. “You took it so hard, what happened that night. From the way you fell to pieces, you’d have thought that you were the only one whose father died. But I mean, Luna and I lost our father too, you know.”

“I know that, Del. I wasn’t trying to be a drama queen about it. But I mean, it was a lot different for me because—” Scarlett looked directly into her sister’s eyes and stopped. Because it was all my fault, was the end of that sentence. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “Because . . . I don’t know why. I just felt how I felt.”

“That’s for sure. You totally lost it at the funeral, and then poof, you were gone.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Scarlett’s throat tightened. “You’ve always had your shit together more than me, so, nothing to see there. You’re hypercompetent; I’m a mess. Just business as usual for the Melrose sisters.”

Delilah bristled. “If my shit was more together, as you put it, it was because it had to be. I never had the choices you did. It was my job to take care of the two of you, and Mom, always.”

“Yeah, which you’ve never hesitated to remind everyone about,” Scarlett said. “Your job was being the boss of us, Luna’s job was being the flaky prodigy, and what the heck was my job? I could never figure that out.”

“Your job was being Papa’s favorite, you idiot.”

“What?!” Scarlett exclaimed. “No, I wasn’t!”

“Of course you were. You always were. And then, when he died, you had no use for the rest of us, and off you went.”

That stopped Scarlett cold. Beneath her sister’s sarcasm, beneath all the snark, there was this horrible, painful, and totally untrue belief—that Scar had left because she’d wanted to. “Oh my God, Del, is that what you think?!”

Delilah stared into a murky bowl of chicken and sausage gumbo. “It’s what I know,” she said quietly.

Scarlett reached across the table for Delilah’s hand, but her sister wouldn’t offer it. So she said, “It’s not true at all. I felt like I had to leave. I didn’t want to.”

“Well,” Del replied, “all I know is, you sure didn’t want to stay.”

Silence settled on the table. The weight of their feelings hung in the air, heavy and tangible. They pushed their food around on their plates, suddenly no longer hungry.

And then, like a crazy ray of sunshine cutting through clouds, Scarlett saw him. There was Max, striding purposefully through the buffet, forcefully shoving carrots into Quentin’s cage as he headed for the exit. “Look, there he is! He’s about to leave!”

“I see him.” Delilah tossed her spoon on the table.

Scarlett jumped up so fast that her chair nearly tipped over. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 31: What Happens in Oak Haven . . .

Abandoning their half-eaten plates and half-finished conversation, the sisters raced through the maze of hungry diners. They spotted him again outside the buffet—a tuxedoed blur against the neon lights, making his way toward the exit. Max was surprisingly nimble, considering his furry burden, navigating the maze of gaming tables with practiced ease.

In the lobby, a towering wall of sequined showgirls materialized in front of Scarlett, blocking her path. By the time she squeezed through, Max had vanished.

“He went that way.” Delilah grabbed her arm and pointed, just in time to see Max’s tuxedo tails flutter through a bank of revolving doors.

As they burst out of the casino, the night air hit them like a slap. “Why is it so cold?” Delilah demanded. “Isn’t this the desert?”

“Yeah, that’s how deserts work, Del. Day equals hot; night equals cold.” Scarlett spun in a circle, trying to see which way Max went. “You really need to get out more.”

She rolled her eyes. “So you keep saying.”

Neon signs in a tangled jungle of garish hues bathed the Strip in an artificial twilight. Towering casinos and hotels with mirrored facades lined the street as far as the eye could see. A steady stream of honking taxis and tourist buses clogged the lanes, their headlights adding to the relentless assault on the senses. Amidst the cacophony, the rhythmic thrumming of bass music vibrated from a nearby nightclub—a low, insistent pulse.

Scarlett caught sight of Max at the far end of the casino’s sweeping driveway. He’d paused to speak with a disheveled man hunched over a makeshift sandwich board. The faded cardboard was covered in bold, scrawling letters that read: “MAGIC IS REAL! ASK HOW I KNOW.” Max’s movements were animated and full of conviction; whatever he was saying, he meant it. The sign man pointed sharply to the left and Max took off running.

Delilah raced over, but by the time she reached the end of the driveway, Max was already gone. “Excuse me!” she called out, breathless from her run. “What did you say to that man?”

The man looked up at her with bleary eyes. He smelled strongly of cheap booze. “What man?”

“The man! Who was just here!”