Chapter 10 Anti-Hero

Mama unpacked the Williams bag and spread the supplies out on the counter. "Delilah." She handed her eldest a folded piece of parchment. "I'd like you to work up a protection spell for each room—this is the basic recipe. We've got a full house of light-opera fans arriving tomorrow, and I want to avoid any hiccups. Just ensure you keep the proportions of herbs correct, and you'll be fine."

"An individual spell for each room?" Delilah said, dismayed. "That's going to take hours."

"You best get started, then."

"Mama," Scarlett said carefully, "far be it from me to question you, but—"

Mama rolled her eyes. "Questioning me has never been far from you, Scarlett—your first word was, ‘ Really ?' What's your question?"

"If we're worried about spells backfiring, then . . . can't these also backfire?"

"Oh, I agree, it's an imperfect strategy, at best. But it may help and is certainly better than doing nothing."

"Canceling these reservations would be better, no? Just tell the Gilbert and Sullivan Society that we had to close. Why risk more Spam-related incidents or whatever?"

Delilah gathered up the spell ingredients in her arms. "Can't afford to cancel—we need the guests."

" Afford ?! I don't want to sound like a brat but I never remember us worrying about affording anything, ever."

"Welcome to the twenty-first century, my dear," Mama said. "The power company waits for no man, or witch. Now, come Scarlett, help me with a little project in the dining room."

***

The little project awaiting Scarlett in the dining room was the same little project that had occupied her afternoons throughout childhood: assembling welcome baskets for guests.

Growing up at the inn, all three daughters had spent countless afternoons on this task, which Mama insisted be done by hand, not by magic. They'd stand around an enormous dining table, filling baskets with gourmet snacks, spellcasting supplies, bottles of wine, hangover cures . . . It made for an adorable little assembly line and, as the girls constantly pointed out, a flagrant violation of child labor laws. Somehow, their parents were never moved by that argument.

When she saw the pile of baskets waiting to be filled, the gifts waiting to be organized, the ribbons waiting to be tied . . . Scarlett sighed the bone-deep sigh of someone who'd just taken a time machine back to the least favorite moment of her childhood.

"Oh, don't fuss," Mama said. "There's only twenty to do—that's practically nothing. We'll be finished in no time."

"But . . . maybe I should go help Delilah with the protection spells?"

Mama raised an eyebrow. "You, who haven't cast a single spell in a decade, except for yesterday when you destroyed a piece of heirloom furniture? No, I think we'll let Delilah handle that. Grab a basket."

Scarlett and her mother worked in silence, occasionally broken by the chorus of "Cruel Summer" when the room glitched back and forth between the quaint dining room and the VIP suite of a Taylor Swift show.

"So," Mama finally said, "how was everything down at Williams? I bet the Earls were delighted to see you."

"Definitely." Scarlett focused on distributing the correct number of Zahir's tartlets into each basket. "They haven't aged a bit."

"Mmhmm . . . and how was Nate this morning?"

Scarlett mumbled noncommittally. Her cheeks burned remembering their argument. She knew it was stupid, but the revelation that he'd been willing to gamble with his memory by leaving Oak Haven . . . but not for her? It still stung.

Mama rightly interpreted Scarlett's waffling as a form of confession. "Well, that's no surprise. You two always did peck away like a pair of bickering geese."

"Yeah, I guess . . ."

"He's had a challenging few years, you know. He dated a bit, I think—not that Nate would share such information with the old witch who runs the inn. But I've seen him with female company now and again."

" Thanks, Mama ," Scarlett muttered. "Thanks so much—that's great information to have."

"Nothing ever seemed to stick, of course. Seems like his mind was on someone else."

"Oh sure, someone else. Maybe he went traveling to visit her ."

Mama frowned, confused. "Nate, travel?! Oh no. No, he's devoted to that store—he wouldn't leave it. No, there was only one time he's ever been away, and that was to rescue his father."

Scarlett slowly put down her armload of tarts and stared. "What?"

"Oh yes, what a drama that was. Nate's father is a twin. Did you not know that? Before your time, I suppose. Yes, so, the Williams family are reformed pirates—you know that part, of course. For hundreds of years, they only produced one child per generation, always male. No one knows why, though the assumption has always been that Earl One was under some sort of pirate curse. In any case, Nate's grandmother experienced a bit of a wobble, I guess you could say, and she had twin boys. Earl Twelve, otherwise known as Nate's father, and a second boy. After much debate they named him Viscount, because viscounts come after earls. Viz, as we called him—was a perfectly nice boy. I went to school with both twins; we're all about the same age. But I think Viz never quite felt at home in Oak Haven? The town wasn't big enough for two Williams boys, I suppose. When the twins turned eighteen, Viz left. But as the years passed, Nate's father couldn't cope with his twin having just disappeared like that, so he went looking for Viz and then things went very wrong . . . Anyway. Nate should tell you that part of the story; it isn't my place. But as I said: the only time Nate ever left Oak Haven is the one time he had to go rescue his father. That's the upshot."

Rescue his father? Scarlett's heart dropped. Shame washed over her, replacing her earlier anger with a dull ache. All this time, she'd assumed the worst about Nate's intentions, never considering there might be a perfectly good explanation for him having left Oak Haven.

This is just like one of those internet posts, she thought. Question: Am I the asshole? Answer: A resounding yes .

"Nate's dad was in some sort of trouble," she repeated. "And he had to travel. He had no choice."

"That's what I just told you," Mama said, confused. "Why are you looking so—oh, Scarlett. What terrible thing have you said to that poor boy?"

The room glitched suddenly and Scarlett found herself onstage with Taylor. To the roar of the crowd, even Taylor had to agree that it's her —Scarlett is the problem—it's her.

The room glitched back, and Scarlett stood there like a wild animal caught in the trap of the Melrose Glare. Blessedly, voices in the lobby cut through the tension. Luna burst into the dining room with a flamboyant figure trailing behind her.

"Scarlett! Mama!" Luna chirped, a wide grin plastered across her face. "Behold. I present to you Maximillian the Magnificent!"

" Mes belles dames ," he said—suddenly and quite inexplicably French. He bowed, a flourish of his crimson cape sending dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun. Maximillian carried an overstuffed valise in one hand and a rabbit cage in the other.

"His performance in the park was astounding," Luna declared. "Scarlett, you really missed out."

" Mais bien sur ," Scarlett replied with a wry smile. Some animals have to chew off their own legs to escape traps—all Scarlett had to do to escape the Melrose Glare was to push Maximillian in front of it. "Of the millions of rabbits pulled out of hats throughout history, yours was definitely in the top five thousand."

Maximillian's smile didn't quite fade, but a bit of steel glinted in his eyes. "You seem quite bitter, my dear. Perhaps you should cast a cheerful spell to improve your mood? Or do you fear it would turn to merde , as all witches' spells in Oak Haven do these days?"

"Excuse me," Mama said frostily. " What did you just say?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. There it is, thought Scarlett. You're the one on the hook now, Max.

Mama stepped forward, her voice low. "Perhaps, Maximillian, you should remember where you are, and choose your words with more care."

He blinked, momentarily taken aback. "I mean no offense. Magic is my trade and—"

"Tricks and lies are your trade, sir—just as they are with all your kind."

"Madame, unlike witches , I work very hard at perfecting my illusions. I am a consummate professional and my illusions are one hundred percent reliable, which is more than anyone in this room can say. I can only imagine how frustrated you all must be with the appalling chaos of late. But there is no need to take it out on an artisan such as myself." Maximillian turned dramatically, swooshing his cape as he made his way out of the dining room. "Please be so kind as to inform the chef I will be taking my evening repast in my suite."

With another flourish, he was gone.

"Mama." Luna joined her family at the gift-covered table. "That wasn't necessary. He's a tremendous talent."

"He's a tremendous gooney bird," Scarlett replied. "And . . . French, suddenly? He was Canadian this morning."

Mama rolled her eyes. "Russian a few days ago."

"What," Luna said, "You don't like diversity?"

"He is a ridiculous person," Mama declared.

"Witches are so prejudiced," Luna said. "You're such magic bigots."

Mama went over to her youngest girl and gave her an—arguably very condescending—pat on the shoulder. "I'm afraid you've been away from home too long, my dear. Nonetheless . . . you're right about Max in one sense. He is a well-behaved guest who pays in full every week. All of us—and I very much include myself—could bear to remember that."

"Max is just cranky because Oak Haven witches mistreat him so," Luna said. "You all have these wrongheaded notions about magicians being phony, and you treat them like they aren't even people. He was telling me about it on the walk home. Apparently, it's all the rage right now to hire him for cocktail parties; the witches sit around and mess up all of his tricks. To hear him tell it, humiliating magicians has replaced book groups as the number-one entertainment around here."

"I must admit," Mama chuckled, "it is amusing. Florie McNamara had a party last week and hired Maximillian to perform after dinner. When he reached into his hat to reveal that mangy rabbit of his, he pulled back an armful of black mambas instead."

Luna gasped. "Mama, that's terrible!"

"Pssh, she had an antidote spell ready—he never was in any real danger."

"Oh my God," Scarlett said, half-shocked and half-impressed. "You ladies are really getting spiky in your old age."

"It's not nice," Luna chastised, "and I can tell you it's really starting to get to him."

"Perhaps he should move along," suggested Scarlett. "Take his talents to Litchfield."

"All right, all right—that's enough," Mama said. "Luna, please go help your sister with the protection spells. We need a different one for each room and it's going to take a while."

"I will," Luna replied, "if you promise to be nice to Max from now on."

"I'll take it under advisement."

From the dining room, the witches could hear the front door to the inn swing open. "Hello? Anybody home?" The male voice in the lobby could only belong to one person: Nate.

Luna grinned wickedly. "Oh, Scarlett? It's for you."