Page 88 of Impractical Magic

“It’s Disneyland on the surface and Buffy the Vampire Slayer underneath,” Scarlett murmured.

“Listen . . . about your mother . . .” Aphra’s voice was hesitant. “She can be a bit . . . tough on you, can’t she?”

Scarlett shrugged. “Tough? That’s putting it mildly. She’s like Smaug atop his treasure hoard, except the treasure is criticism and every once in a while she chucks a fistful at my head.”

“I think she’s just worried about the town. There’s a lot of responsibility on her shoulders as a Melrose. The rest of us don’t have statues of our families in the center of town.”

“Don’t I know it,” Scarlett grumbled.

“She loves you, you know.”

“Doesn’t always feel like it.”

Aphra reached out and squeezed Scarlett’s hand. “You’re perfect just the way you are,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity. “You and Delilah did a great job in Las Vegas—not one of us could have done better, Kelly Melrose included.”

They continued on their way, their footsteps echoing on the lonely cobblestone street. The closer they got to Williams Hardware, the more Scarlett’s heart lifted at the thought of seeing Nate, even if it was for a terrible reason. Delilah’s right, Scarlett thought. I have to let him go. But at least I can do one thing right today—I can do right by my best friend. I can feel good about that, if nothing else.

But something wasn’t right. The usually welcoming porch lights of Williams Hardware were dark. The windows were black and empty.

“That’s strange,” Aphra murmured. “Nate always leaves a light on. Even when he’s closed, you never know when the Earls will be out here playing chess or some such.”

Scarlett nodded, a knot forming in her stomach. “Something happened.”

Exchanging a worried glance, they pushed open the door, the rusty hinges creaking in protest. The darkness within was absolute, the air heavy with a strange, metallic scent.

“Nate, it’s me,” Scarlett called out, her voice echoing strangely in the oppressive silence. “Nate, are you here?”

A faint moan, followed by a muffled goddammit, came from the back of the store. Scarlett, heart hammering, raced toward the sound, with Aphra close behind. She nearly tripped over a rack of rakes, their metal tines glinting faintly in the sliver of moonlight filtering through a window.

There, lying in a heap near the storeroom door, was Nate. He was clutching his head, and covered head-to-toe in black soot.

“Oh no!” Scarlett knelt beside him. “Nate! Nate, are you all right?”

He blinked slowly, his eyes struggling to focus in the darkness. “Scarlett?” His voice was raspy, as if he’d inhaled a mouthful of smoke. “I . . . I saw a light. Under the storeroom door. It got brighter and brighter. Blinding. And it kept spreading, farther and farther past the door. It moved across me, across the store . . . even outside, I guess? And then there was this whoosh sound and . . . this eye-gouging flash of light and then it all went black.”

Aphra had found a camping lantern and turned it on; the sudden bloom of light revealed the extent of the devastation. The storeroom door hung open, its frame charred and blackened. Inside, every trace of magic—the herbs, the crystals, the enchanted tools—had been reduced to ash.

“I’d been picturing your storeroom as being akin to uranium,” Scarlett said, her voice shaking. “I guess that was more accurate than I thought.”

Nate, still dazed, pulled himself to his feet. He poked at the ashen remains. “Is it over?”

Aphra made her way to the center of the bombed-out storeroom, and tears welled in her eyes. “There’s nothing left. Oh, Scarlett, how will everyone protect themselves? There’s nothing left at all. Priti and the EMS will be helpless.”

“It’s going to be okay, Aphra . . .” Nate went to her, wrapping her in a friendly hug. “I can restock,” he said encouragingly. “I’ll call my contacts in Boston tomorrow—they’ve got everything.”

“It could be too late.”

He shook his head, uncomprehending. “Too late for what?”

Aphra sighed and hugged Nate again. “Scarlett can explain everything. Me, I’m going home. I miss my Dayo. I want to make out with my wife and run a hot bath, not necessarily in that order. Scarlett, I’ll stop by the inn tomorrow so we can keep talking.”

When she’d left, Nate turned to Scarlett. “Look at us. You and me, alone in the wreckage. Yet again.”

“Seems like it. You’re right, though, you can restock.”

“Should I though? I mean, I know—I just told Aphra I would but . . . maybe bringing in fresh supplies to this situation is a bad idea.” Nate idly nudged a charred herb barrel with his boot. “The grove is getting worse, isn’t it?”

Scarlett chuckled bitterly. “Yup, the grove is getting worse.”