Page 49 of No Charm Done

“Love spells become stalking,” Delilah said. “Revenge hexes spiral. Healing spells—” She cut off. “Botched healing isn’t pretty.”

Luna studied the magicians’ unimpressed faces. They weren’t getting it. Witch paranoia, they were clearly thinking. Typical elitist gatekeeping.

Scarlett’s knee was bouncing with impatience, and her grip on the teacup was so tight, a hairline crack ran through the ceramic. Luna knew the signs; her sister’s fuse was burning down. “Heard of the Monkey’s Paw?” she asked suddenly. “An old story. Parents wish for money, son dies in a factory accident, they get the exact amount they asked for in compensation. So they wish for their son back⁠—”

“And he returns as something that should have stayed dead,” Delilah finished.

The square-shouldered magician just looked confused. “What’s your point?”

“Yeaaah, I get it,” replied Scarlett. “That’s a little sophisticated for guys like you. How about Pet Sematary? Do you know that one? Same concept: be careful what you wish for. That’s CastR in a nutshell. Millions using magic, no idea what they’re doing. Every home will become its own Stephen King story.”

“But any application would have safeguards,” the bespectacled one protested. “Limitations, surely.”

“Give me a break,” Scarlett said flatly. “I lived in that world for a decade. The motto was ‘move fast and break things.’ Not safety over profit.”

Luna could see that her sister’s aggressive approach was going nowhere. If Scar was so determined to play “bad cop,” she had to at least try the opposite. “Please, I understand your frustration with witches, really I do. But I beg you to just consider how badly wrong this can go. Even for well-trained practitioners like yourselves, spells can go sideways at any time. Once I was in Florence, and I saw an ambitious young warlock mess up a weather spell so badly he nearly flooded the Duomo. Now imagine that in someone with no training at all.”

Elias’s hand brushed hers under the table, she hoped as a form of encouragement. His fingers found hers and squeezed once, quick and warm. I’m here. She squeezed back, hyper-conscious of every point of contact. This is fine, she thought, keeping her face carefully neutral. Nobody can tell that my nervous system just lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” the square-shouldered magician asked. “This creator of CastR? I want to meet him.”

“Ashton Vex,” Scarlett answered. “He’s upstairs right now. And you know what, you’re right. Let’s go have it out.” She stood up and moved toward the stairs.

“Scarlett—” Kelly started.

“No, Mama. He’s been here for weeks. In our inn. And I was basically giving him a masterclass in magical theory because I thought he was just some harmless nerd! We need to confront him. I’m going. We’re going. Everyone’s going.” She was already moving toward the stairs, heedless of whether anyone was behind her. “This ends now.”

Luna exchanged looks with Elias. “Should we⁠—?”

“Absolutely.” He stood, pulling her up, their hands linked. “Wouldn’t miss this.”

By the time Luna reached the second floor—Elias right behind her, his hand now at her lower back in a way that was making coherent thought difficult—Scarlett was already pounding on room 12’s door.

“Vex! Open up!”

“Scarlett, please slow down.” Kelly had caught up, too.

“Ashton Vex, you open this damn door right now!”

The damn door swung open.

The stench hit Luna first: stale sweat and old Chinese takeout. Room 12 looked like Silicon Valley had thrown up inside a Victorian bedroom. Cables everywhere, laptops and hard drives covering every surface, papers with code and sigils taped to the walls in chaos. The whole room buzzed with the mosquito hum of overworked circuits.

In the center of it all, cross-legged on the bed with a laptop balanced on his knees, sat Ashton Vex. His hair stuck up at odd angles, there were dark circles under his eyes, and that T-shirt had definitely been white once upon a time. But his smile was genuine, the look of a true believer.

“Scarlett!” He closed his laptop. “And wow, quite the delegation. Please, come in. Sorry about the mess—I’ve been in a peak flow state.”

“Bleagh,” Scarlett replied. “Is that what you call stealing magical knowledge under false pretenses?”

“Stealing?” Ashton looked genuinely puzzled. “No. I’m making knowledge accessible, instead of locked away in some ivory tower.”

Elias’s hand found Luna’s again, and she was grateful for the anchor. Somehow, Ashton’s wide-eyed earnestness was more unsettling than moustache-twirling villainy.

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Kelly said, and Luna heard real fear in her mother’s voice. “Magic isn’t software.”

“Actually . . .” Ashton stood. “Magic is exactly like software. Input, process, output. A symbolic language that manipulates reality through structured intention. That’s functionally identical to high-level programming. For centuries, magic has been gatekept, either by birth or apprenticeship. But with CastR, anyone can access it. An uninsured mother can still help her sick child. A needy student can enchant his way to a scholarship. Magic for all people, not just those with the correct bloodlines.”

Hang on . . . A horrible thought shot through Luna. Was he right? She turned her horrified gaze to Elias, dread knotting in her belly.