Page 46 of Enchanted Village

Liza arched an eyebrow. “Awfully studious of you to seek out your teacher outside of school, isn’t it? Especially when you go on break . . . what, tomorrow?”

“I like to be prepared,” Wyatt said.

“He was thinking we’d work in the pub,” Silas said.

“Margaret’s out,” Liza said. “Helping Sarah with some spices, I think, before opening tonight.”

Wyatt visibly deflated at this.

“How about this,” Liza said, noticing the boy’s reaction. “What if you come spend some time at my bookshop, and then, if you’ve still got work to do when Margaret opens at five, you go back then?”

Wyatt didn’t seem to have words to disagree, possibly because Liza had pulled her wand from behind her ear and had swiftly levitated the red box in Silas’s arms up into the air and then into the open pub door. The sight of her effortlessly spinning magic from her wand seemed to have rendered him speechless.

The ease with which Liza used her magic felt as if it was a natural extension of her, something like breathing or walking that she barely thought or considered. She tossed off simple spells as they walked, such as getting one of the villager’s carts to jump out of the ladder’s way or tying the laces of Wyatt’s boot before he had even noticed they had come undone. Silas had seen his uncle do magic this way, but perhaps not while also keeping up a steady stream of conversation.

“So, Wyatt, have you finished your Christmas shopping?” Liza asked the boy.

Wyatt shook his head before dredging up the power of speech. “No, um, not yet. I was going to once break started.”

“Well, as a shopkeeper here in Hex Hollow, I can tell you that you’ll want to do any Christmas shopping at Glimmer and Grimoire soon because they sell out so quickly. That’ll be for anyone you’re getting sweets or gifty-type gifts for. And, of course, you’ll come to me if they’re intelligent and looking for something to read. Honestly, even if they’re not intelligent, I’ll have something for them. In fact, I have a whole section. Not that I label it gifts for unintelligent family members, of course. That’s just something for me to know. But you just say the word.”

Silas chuckled at this, while Wyatt continued to be speechless.

“I can tell that you’re not unintelligent,” she told the boy. “You’re clearly a reader. Parents raised you on books?”

Wyatt blinked at her. “Um, yeah, I guess? My dad always read to me before bed.”

“I knew it,” Liza said. “Adventure stories, I’m guessing?”

“Yes!” Wyatt said, more awestruck by the second. “How did you know?”

“I can always tell,” Liza said. “Part of being a bookstore owner, I think. And I’m sure you’re a great student, too.”

She nodded at the book he was holding, a plain science textbook Silas had had from college and managed to scrounge up enough used copies of to outfit his classes.

“Oh,” Wyatt said, following her gaze. “Um, not . . . not really. I mean, I’m not a bad student. I do okay in Professor Birchwood’s class, at least. But Dad’s always wanted me to be, um . . . better.”

Silas glanced at Liza, wondering if she needed him to step in. But she stopped walking, turning to look Wyatt dead in the eyes.

“My parents were tough on me, too,” she told him. “They demanded perfection. It was exhausting. And sometimes, I didn’t measure up. And that sucked, you know?”

Wyatt’s eyes widened. He clearly knew what she meant.

“I’d like to tell you it doesn’t really matter,” she said. “But I’d be lying. I’ve always been chasing their approval, trying to be perfect. But all you can do is all you can do. So, as long as you feel like you’ve left it all out there . . . well, you just gotta be content with that. Right?”

She beamed at him, and Wyatt looked like he’d lost the ability to speak. All he could do was nod.

“Oh, that’s from the non-magical world, isn’t it?” Liza said, pointing at the textbook. “How fascinating. And none of it moves? No standard projections woven in? How are the students supposed to learn without those? I expect it’s more practical . . . I wonder if I have some supplementary materials you could use.”

They had arrived at the bookshop, which made Silas and Wyatt stop in their tracks. Or, at least, it made Silas stop—Wyatt just bumped into him because Silas was a bit like a human-size block of concrete when he came to a complete and sudden stop.

“Your display!” Silas gasped, rushing over to look.

Liza had constructed something that looked vaguely like the non-magical villages his own mother put out at Christmas. But where Silas’s memories were full of small ceramic houses with Christmas lights illuminating them from beneath and an ancient wooden Santa Claus who had long ago lost an arm, tacked up with pushpins, this village was . . . well, alive. Tiny villagers wandered throughout the snowy landscape, putting up ornaments, carrying wrapped presents, caroling in groups, ice-skating. Trails of shimmering dust followed them, and when a few of them noticed Silas watching, they turned to wave at him.

“I worked all morning,” Liza said proudly. “I heard that horrible Patrick Kerrigan has been telling anyone who will listen that he’s going to win the decorating contest. He says that once the bar opens, there will be no doubt. But I’m sure he can’t do anything like this.”

She looked down at Wyatt and winked, causing him to turn the exact shade of red as the ribbon hovering over her display.