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“Actually,” said Silas. “I was looking for a quiet place to read, so I’ll just stay here with you until you’re feeling up to heading back.”

Wyatt tossed Silas a suspicious look. “But you were leaving. I saw you.”

Silas shrugged nonchalantly. “I changed my mind. It’s freezing out there.”

Wyatt looked unconvinced. He fidgeted with the edge of his sleeves.

“Wyatt,” Silas said quietly. “I can make sure whoever did this faces consequences. It wasn’t Imogen, was it?”

Wyatt’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. She has nothing to do with this.”

“So, someone is responsible?” Silas pressed.

Wyatt’s gaze hit the ground. He refused to look up at Silas, his already-chapped cheeks turning even redder.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

Silas kept his eyes on Wyatt. It was hard to tell in the firelight, but Silas was fairly certain he saw a tear streak down Wyatt’s cheek. Wyatt turned his head before he could be sure.

“It wasn’t anyone,” Wyatt said at last. “It just . . . happened.”

Wyatt’s tone didn’t bother to hide the lie. Silas sighed.

“I can’t do anything,” Silas said, “if you won’t be honest with me.”

Wyatt continued to look at the floor. When he spoke, it was in a quiet voice.

“Could we just . . . stay here for a bit?” he asked. “I’ll be okay soon. I just . . .”

Wyatt didn’t need to finish for Silas to understand. He needed some time to gather himself, to literally warm up to whatever came next.

“Of course,” Silas said. “I’m in no hurry.”

Wyatt offered a weak smile then, before looking back at the ground. Silas settled in, grabbing a book from the shelf. It would be a while before he’d get to be in his comfortable bed at the inn, but he didn’t mind.

Sometimes, the fixes were easy to make. And sometimes, they took time and space to breathe.

Chapter Nineteen

When Margaret woke up the next morning, it was to Bernie sitting on her chest, holding a letter written on blue stationery. Liza’s stationery. Bernie must’ve plucked the letter from the coaster downstairs, and possibly even have played with it a bit, for the edges bore the tiny marks of razor-sharp needle teeth. Bernie didn’t look the least bit guilty about this, though, and simply curled up next to Margaret’s side to better absorb her warmth as she read.

Help me stock? Bring sustenance. And by sustenance, you know I mean coffee. And possibly a pastry. But nothing too sweet. But also nothing savory. You know what I mean.

Margaret snorted. Of course she knew what Liza meant. Liza’s tastebuds had always been particular, but Margaret could always sense what her friend was craving. Today, she knew she’d need something fruity—possibly the gingerberry buns that the baker had been testing the other day—and a strong hazelnut latte. She kicked her feet over the side of the bed, took a shower, and pulled on several warm layers. After all, she could already see the first snow of the season coming down outside her window. She knew she was in for a frosty morning.

As she stepped outside, bundled in her warmest jacket, she continued with her new routine of avoiding eye contact with her still-charred-and-pathetically-swinging sign. She felt slightly better having seen Fox Bar’s sparse progress, but the sign still begged for a fix. Maybe she’d ask Liza today about looking into a possible tweak. Silas had said he’d take care of it . . . but maybe he really had gotten sick of helping her, as she feared. He might’ve realized that doing free labor for someone he barely knew wasn’t quite as appealing two days in a row. Or, at the very least, he had other things to attend to. It wasn’t like she could demand that he take care of it. She would take what she could get, but she wouldn’t be pushy. That was a sure way to end their barely starting friendship.

She especially couldn’t blame him if the snow had put him off. Had it even been supposed to snow today? For all their supposed magic, it seemed that the one thing the witches and wizards of Hex Hollow could not do was predict the weather. Or maybe it was because of the village’s magic that the weather remained so unpredictable. How many times had Margaret heard Liza laugh her high, tinkling laugh as she said, “Oh, that’s just the magic. It does what it wants.” Margaret huffed at the very thought. A likely excuse.

As much as Margaret griped about the snow, she had to admit that it looked rather beautiful today. It also seemed to have put everyone around her in an infinitely cheerier mood. As she walked, she spotted a couple with their bewitched camera hovering around them and taking pictures at every angle as they embraced and kissed in the snow, giggling together. As the young man twirled the young woman, her shiny black hair was delicately whipped in the wind, dusted with snow as if someone had expertly placed it there like beads of jewelry to call attention to her beauty.

Past the couple, there was a pair of women casting hand-warming charms for each other, sighing as the magic heated up their cold fingers. Margaret watched with only the slightest twinge of jealousy. She’d felt such a charm—Liza was an expert at them—but she’d never cast one herself, obviously.

The thought made her think of Silas, of his unwavering enthusiasm for magic and how in awe he was of it all the time. How thrilled he was to learn about a spell or see a magical creature.

He assumed she had that magic. Margaret should’ve told him, should’ve been honest when he made those passing comments that assumed she had magic . . . but she’d thought he might look at her differently. As kind as Silas was, he put magic on a pedestal and therefore put Margaret on one as well, thinking she could do what Liza and other witches and wizards did. The disappointment that might curl over his features if he knew . . . Margaret wasn’t sure she could stomach it.

She hustled on toward Liza’s shop, pushing the thought from her mind. All around Margaret, Hex Hollow was starting to come alive, slowly and sleepily, but alive, nonetheless. She passed Harrison Goggins, the grizzled old man who ran the wand shop, telling a teenage customer about how young men used to have something called respect back in his day and no he would not accept an apology, not when it clearly was perfunctory. She also spotted Norma, waving her wand over her flowers to repel the snowfall so that the flakes would bounce off each bouquet, creating a sort of waterfall effect in the sky. Clearly, she’d been able to rehome the dreebell.