Chapter 18 Oy, With the Flamingos Already

It was standing-room only at the Oak Haven town hall, where residents had gathered to discuss the ongoing magical calamity in their town. As town leaders, the Melroses had been key players at every meeting for centuries. Tonight, though, Delilah got to stay home and mind the hotel while Luna was still chasing a lost guest who'd stepped into his shower and ended up somewhere in Kathmandu. That left Scarlett with nothing better to do than attend. Mama announced she expected to see her middle child's face in the crowd, no matter what.

She skulked around the block a dozen times before forcing herself to go inside.

The large, wood-paneled meeting hall was lined with folding chairs, each one occupied. More people sat on the floor and leaned against the perimeter walls.

On a modest platform at the front of the room sat Oak Haven's Elder Council, composed of Mama Melrose and four other witches of a certain age. In the center of the platform was a podium occupied by Conrad Delmonico, Oak Haven's cardigan-beclad town selectman. Conrad loved the rules of order more than chefs love shallots, but the crowd was agitated and rowdy, and would not be governed—not by Conrad, nor by any rules of any order.

Scarlett snuck in the back as quietly as she could—holding her breath when the door loudly squeaked. She found an open spot against the back wall and scanned the room. Her mother was up front, of course, and she saw the Earls and their spouses in a clump in the far left corner. The backs of so many heads looked familiar, calling to a section of Scarlett's memory bank she hadn't accessed in a decade. Nate was over on the right—his face stood out to her as though lit by spotlight. For a half-second, Scarlett considered going over to sit beside him.

Trouble was, he wasn't alone.

He was sitting with Polly Practically Perfect and her Grumpy Goth daughter Violet. Polly leaned over to whisper in Nate's ear. He nodded and chuckled, then whispered a response.

What the hell?! Scarlett thought. He told me he wasn't with her!

He sure looked like he was with her. In fact, the little trio looked alarmingly like a family. How dare he joke with me, gaze at me with those beautiful eyes and then kiss me, she thought. But before Scarlett could climb all the way to the top of that particular high horse, Nate's earlier comments drifted into her mind: What'd you expect? Was I supposed to sit here and wait for you? And she sighed because, of course, he was right. She couldn't expect him to wait around for her. Nobody had the right to ask that of anyone.

Nate noticed her lurking by the back wall, and waved hello. Scarlett smiled weakly and half-waved back.

Suddenly the voice of a middle-aged man overwhelmed all the other noise. "My gnomes are gone!" he bellowed. "They are gone, and I will have satisfaction!"

Conrad banged on the podium with his comically large gavel. "Please, please. Some order, I'm begging you. At the very least, introduce yourself for the official record." He pointed to his left, where there was a small table, chair, and transcription machine. No person actually sat at the transcription machine—the job was rendered moot when Mama Melrose had enchanted the machine to type on its own. Nevertheless, Conrad took great pride in his transcripts and was painfully aware that tonight's document would be one for the history books.

The angry man took a deep breath. "My name— as if everyone in this room doesn't know —is Samuel Chatterjee. Accompanying me is my wife, Belinda. Our gnomes are gone, and I have come here to demand that the elders do something about it!"

Conrad nodded sympathetically. "I completely understand, Samuel. We know the appalling frequency with which your gnomes become the focus of ill-mannered teenagers. But might I suggest, and I mean no offense, that given the current magical crisis we are facing, perhaps we should table your concerns about adolescent pranks until such time as—"

"No!" Sam Chatterjee stomped his foot. "My gnomes are not stolen. They are gone. They left. Early this morning, they packed their bags, called an Uber, and left."

"I'm sorry . . ." Conrad said slowly. "Your gnomes . . . packed?"

"It was brand-new luggage, too!" cried Belinda Chatterjee. "I got it special to take on my ladies' cruise to Bermuda next year."

"Right. Well . . . that does sound . . . potentially . . . magical . . . Err . . ." Conrad turned to the elders, desperately hoping someone would bail him out.

Mama Melrose stood. "Belinda. Sam. I am sorry for your loss. Please be assured that the council will see to it that your gnomes are returned or, if necessary, replaced."

"And the suitcases!" Belinda added.

"And the suitcases, yes."

A woman leapt to her feet; she cut a striking figure with coils of black hair piled on top of her head and a long, flowing robe in deep shades of purple and black. Her eyes glowed as if she knew something she shouldn't—maybe too many things. "Your feeble attempts at recompense are but a flickering candle against the vast darkness that threatens to engulf us all! Who among you shall take responsibility for the utter devastation wreaked upon my sanctum?"

Conrad sighed. "Louise, you must introduce yourself for the official—"

"Oh, this is too ridiculous." Louise's voice dripped with disdain. "I am Louise Demain, as you ignorant fools are well aware. My shop, Tout le Temps, and its sacred timepieces have been utterly shattered by the reckless actions of those who meddle with forces beyond their comprehension."

"Oh boo hoo," replied Samuel. "Whatever will Oak Haven do without its clock repair shop? Oh, I know—we'll all check the time on our phones like normal people."

Louise fixed her gaze on Samuel, her eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity. "Tout le Temps is far more than a mere shop, you blithering imbecile. It is a nexus of temporal energies, a bastion against the chaos that threatens to unravel the very fabric of reality. Oak Haven risks transformation into a prison of mundane horrors, a festering wound upon the face of reality, all due to the incompetence and hubris of those Melrose whelps."

The accusation hit Scarlett like a physical blow. As one of the three "whelps" in question, she longed to disappear from the meeting room, from Oak Haven, and from the planet entirely, if possible.

"Do you not understand the gravity of our circumstances?" Louise continued ominously. "Oak Haven is but a hairsbreadth from becoming . . . the next . . . Jacksonville !"

All fell silent as the crowd tried to process this dire proclamation from the town time witch. Louise's gaze swept the room, her voice dripping with contempt. "Yes, you gibbering simpletons. Jacksonville. I have spoken."

As Louise sat down, mutterings and nods of agreement rippled through the crowd. Louise and Samuel were far from the only residents who'd suffered from the jolt of surrealist magic that had swept across Oak Haven in the past twenty-four hours.

As whispers and complaints rippled through the crowd, Scarlett could feel accusing eyes flicking in her direction.

And the worst part? They weren't wrong.

Nate leaned over to make eye contact. Ignore them, he mouthed.

Scarlett could only roll her eyes in response. What about Jacksonville? she mouthed back. But Nate just shrugged.

Meanwhile up on the platform, Mama Melrose bristled. "The events of last night were unfortunate but completely accidental," she said firmly. "My girls went out to the grove with the expressed intention of saving our magic. I hasten to point out that this is far more than anyone else in this room has done."

A young witch stood to be recognized. Tall and rather literally statuesque —she looked like Venus de Milo got her arms back and promptly turned into Stevie Nicks—she immediately commanded the boisterous crowd's attention. "For the record, my name is Aphra Pierre, and I run the yarn and fabric store on West Street."

Hang on, Scarlett thought. That's Aphra?! Nate said I knew her . . . but he must be wrong. I would definitely remember someone so striking.

Aphra continued. "I would like to point out that the Melrose family has heroically served this town for generations. If they say this was an accident that will soon be rectified, then I think we owe them the benefit of the doubt."

"What a kiss-ass!" hooted Belinda.

"Not at all. I'm just suggesting we put our pitchforks away for the moment."

Conrad nodded. "That's very wise, Aphra, thank you."

"You dare speak of wisdom, you fetus?!" Louise sneered at Aphra. "Does your pathetic little shop remain untouched by the eldritch forces that now run rampant through our streets? Or have you, too, borne witness to the unraveling of all that we hold dear?"

"Well, Louise, as a matter of fact, we've had our share of trouble today, too. Fabrics changing colors, some of my best wool turned back into a sheep, and some of the knitting needles have become polyamorous. But all of this is fixable."

"I'm sorry," Conrad said. "Your needles have what?!"

"Oh, it's . . . not worth a fuss, really, we should move on . . ." But when Aphra looked around the room, it was clear no one in the crowd was looking to move anywhere that didn't involve an explanation. "All right . . . I sell knitting needles, which usually come in pairs. Overnight, the needles seem to have collectively decided they want to see other people. As it were. Many of the pairs have swapped, and there was a somewhat dramatic throuple with a quilting needle . . . Anyway, okay, yes—things are a bit chaotic at the store. But I wanted to say that we should focus less on blame and more on how we can move forward."

"Move forward?" Conrad cried. "With a town full of unpaired knitting needles?"

She shrugged. "Maybe the needles are happier this way, I don't know. Honestly, Conrad, the magic issues are a minor inconvenience in the long run."

"Says you," hollered Belinda Chatterjee. "You try going on holiday with no luggage!"

A man in a cheap suit stood to be heard. "Harold Fleming, accountant. Can we please discuss the flamingo droppings? They're all over my yard."

"Absolutely no one wants to hear about your droppings, Harold," shouted Louise.

"I got a pile of flamingo shit the size of a Hyundai!"

The hall erupted, everyone shouting over each other about their own magical mishaps. Conrad pounded away with his gavel, trying helplessly to restore order. His protests were drowned out by the cacophony of complaints.

Finally, Mama Melrose stood up and let out a piercing whistle that sliced through the noise. The crowd fell silent as she fixed Harold with a steely gaze.

"Harold Fleming, if you think your flamingo droppings are our most pressing issue, you are sorely mistaken. Oak Haven has far greater problems than the state of your yard."

Harold wilted under Mama Melrose's glare; with a mumbled apology, he melted back into his seat. The room fell into a tense silence as the gravity of the situation settled over them.

"My friends," Mama Melrose began, her voice resolute. "We are all facing challenges caused by this surge of anarchic magic in our town. But pointing fingers and dwelling on our individual troubles won't solve anything. We need to come together, share information, and work as a community to restore balance to Oak Haven."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd . . . although, beneath the positive noises, it was also possible to hear Louise Demain muttering, "Naturally, that is exactly what the Melroses would say . . ."

"Investigative teams will be organized to look into each of these incidents," Mama Melrose declared. "And all your concerns will be addressed in due course. We will all need to work together to bring order back to Oak Haven. The town has faced far worse. And we will face this too—as a family. Even if some members of that family—" she lifted an eyebrow in Louise's direction "—need reminding what that means."

The energy in the room shifted. The group frustration remained, but now it was laced with a touch of stubborn Oak Haven resilience. As the meeting broke into smaller discussions, Scarlett finally was able to exhale.

Conrad leapt off the platform and went to check on his precious transcript. His moan of existential despair stopped everyone in their tracks.

"Whatever is wrong with you, Conrad?" asked Mama Melrose.

Conrad held up the transcript for everyone to see. It consisted of seven pages of single-spaced ha ha ha ha no transcript for you ha ha ha ha no transcript for you ha ha ha ha . . . The magic that controlled the transcription machine was, it seemed, just as chaotic as magic everywhere else.

Scarlett muttered, "I guess all work and no play makes Conrad a dull boy."

"Scarlett!" called Mama Melrose. She stepped off the platform and pushed through the crowd toward her daughter. "I'm pleased to see you." But before she could make her way across the room, a figure emerged to cut off Mama's approach.

"Miss Melrose, a word, if you please," puffed Harold Fleming. His cheeks were flushed with a mix of anger and exertion. "The droppings . . . it's quite bad. Truly very bad. And given your . . . connection . . . to this whole situation, it seems you owe me some assistance. Don't you think? Why don't you come with me and I can show you what—"

Just then an angel arrived in the form of Aphra Pierre, who stepped between Scarlett and Harold. "Sorry, Harry. Scarlett's not available right now. Please leave a message with the Flamingo Task Force, and they'll get in touch." She steered Scarlett toward the exit, ignoring Harold's spluttering protests.

Once outside, Scarlett finally managed a shaky laugh. "Oy, with the flamingos already."

"It's great to see you, Scar." Aphra wrapped her arm around Scarlett's and led her away from the town hall. "What do you say to a stiff cup of tea?"