Page 22 of Impractical Magic

Chapter 8: Sad Panda

Scarlett raced out of the store, barely managing to choke out a quick goodbye to the Earls and dash around the corner before the tears came. In the alley, she dropped her bag of supplies, crouched on the ground, and covered her face with her hands. Anger, shame, and no small amount of confusion washed over her.

I’m going to kill Luna when I get home, she thought. All that jibber-jabber about how Nate and I should be together. I never should have let her get in my head like that.

She took several deep breaths to compose herself.

I have no interest in Nate anyhow, she lied. It’s just as they say—I’ve put away childish things, and Nate was the most childish of them all. Plus there’s plenty of men to date in San Francisco.

That last bit was half true. There were, indeed, men for Scarlett to date in San Francisco. But all they could talk about was craft beer and technology stocks.

She sighed. I probably just need coffee.

Bending over to pick up her bag, Scarlett found herself face-to-face with a squirrel. The sight chilled her to the bone.

The squirrel was small and gray, with an unexceptionally fluffy tail. It held an acorn in its little paws. It was a skittering, chittering cliché of a squirrel.

But true Oak Haven squirrels were the size of small cats, with onyx-colored fur and majestic, almost peacock-like tails. Oak Haven squirrels traveled in packs. They were bad boys, a little risqué. Oak Haven squirrels were partial to bebop and clove cigarettes.

The most interesting aspect of Oak Haven squirrels was that no witch had created them. No spell had willed them into existence. As far as anyone could tell, the squirrels developed this way simply due to exposure to the ambient magic in the air of Oak Haven.

But now here was this horrid gray thing, this basic bitch of a squirrel, sitting in the alley and staring at Scarlett like she was the odd one.

What’s happening to my town? she wondered. This is not what I remember at all.

Scarlett’s musings were interrupted by the sharp voice of Delilah, who was standing at the edge of the alley, one hand on her hip. “You finally woke up, I see.”

“Ha ha ha,” Scarlett said. “Mama sent me to Williams and I had to face Nate. Thanks a lot for leaving me with that little assignment.”

Her older sister shrugged. “Get up earlier—you’ll get a better selection of chores. Come with me. I need to go talk to Polly.”

Polly owned Spellbound Books, which was just across the street from where they were standing. But to Scarlett, it felt a thousand miles away. “Is there somewhere I can get a coffee? Breakfast had been put away by the time I got up, and I feel a headache coming on.”

“Weren’t you just at Williams Hardware?”

“Yeah?”

“Nate has the best coffee in Oak Haven.”

“It’s a hardware store.”

“Be that as it may,” Delilah replied, “Nate may have missed his calling. His coffee kicks the ass of that swill at Hexpresso Yourself.”

“Well, no.” Scarlett rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think to get coffee at the hardware store.”

“Let’s visit Polly, maybe she has some caffeine for you.”

Scarlett sighed. “God, I hope so.”

***

Much like the inn, Spellbound Books had an inviting scent all its own—old paper and herbal teas, with a subtle hint of clove. But today, all of that was overwhelmed by the tang of sawdust and plaster.

Because Spellbound Books was in chaos.

The tiny shop was awash with ladders and table saws and buckets of nails. Tarps covered the shelves and the floors. A team of carpenters hurried in and out to the sounds of drilling and hammering. And in the center of the chaos stood Polly, the Melrose sisters’ high-school frenemy.

Polly had been a year ahead of Delilah at school, and thus had always been well ahead of Scarlett—in academics, at witchcraft, at everything. She was the first to have a boyfriend, the school’s top athlete, widely known around town as Handsome Bill. Polly was also the first to marry said boyfriend, the first to have a child. As far as Scarlett could tell, Polly had everything in hand, from her appearance to her magic, everything in place just as it should be. The other kids called her Triple P—Polly Practically Perfect. Everything went swimmingly for ole Triple P. Her life was practically perfect, all the time, always.