Chapter 2 Anything You Can Do . . .

Luna galloped down the walkway. "Scaaaarlett!! You're here!" Her flying hug nearly knocked Scarlett over. "I'm so happy. I've missed you!"

"Lulu! I missed you too! Okay, okay, let go . . . I can't breathe!"

"No!" She squeezed even harder. "No, I want my ten years' worth of hugs."

"Sure, but not all at once."

Luna pulled back and peered suspiciously into her sister's eyes. "Why'd you stay away so long, anyway?"

"Me?! What about you? Why'd you stay away so long?"

"But . . . I haven't." Her baby sister made a face. "I mean . . . Yes, I travel all the time, and I'm not here very often. But I always come back for Christmas. You, on the other hand? Never."

Scarlett felt like she'd been punched—all this time, she'd assumed Luna was her partner in the Avoiding Oak Haven Club. It was quite a shock to find she was the club's sole member. "You come back?" she repeated numbly. "I didn't know that."

"Well, how could you, since you're never here? What's the trouble, Scar?" Luna squinted at her sister in her mischievous way, leaving it unclear whether she was kidding or not. "Are you mad at us?"

Scarlett gasped. "Oh no! Lulu, no! I've missed you so much. Even Grumpus in there—" she gestured at the inn. "I've even missed her."

"Then why don't you ever visit? Why never call, or write, or anything?"

Scarlett gazed into her sister's watery blue eyes and could feel her heart cracking. "I uh . . . It's just . . ." She shook her head and chuckled awkwardly. "It's been a long day. Can we do this later?"

"You got it!" Luna hoisted one of Scarlett's bags over her shoulder. "Let's go inside."

Scarlett picked up her other bag and followed. "Hey, how's everything in Ankara?"

"Ankara?" Luna looked confused. "Oh, Ankara! No, I don't live there anymore—Ankara was four addresses ago. I left there for Yokohama, then Easter Island, then—no, wait, five addresses. Ankara, then Yokohama, then Penguin, then Easter Island, and I flew here from Bo-Kaap yesterday."

Scarlett laughed. "I'm sorry, there's a place called Penguin?"

"It's in Tasmania, silly." Luna walked backward toward the porch and said with a sigh, "Boy, do we have a lot to catch up on!"

The first thing guests usually noticed about the lobby was the scent—a dependable potpourri of baked apples, cinnamon, and freshly brewed coffee. As a child growing up at the hotel, Scarlett had long assumed that this was what all air was supposed to smell like. But today, the smell was gone.

Everything else about the lobby appeared precisely as it always had. To the left, a semi-circle of overstuffed armchairs around a stone hearth, antique rag rugs scattered across the dark hardwood floor, and the old grandfather clock ticking rhythmically in the corner. To the right was a grand piano that had occupied that spot long before Scarlett was born. At the back sat a check-in counter with a polished marble top. Behind it, a grand wooden staircase led up to the inn's suites. A winding banister curved gracefully upwards—a banister that Scarlett and her sisters had slid down a thousand times.

"Wow." Scarlett looked around. "Place hasn't changed one bit."

"Mama likes what she likes—you know how it is."

"Smells wrong, though."

Luna nodded. "That's the first thing I noticed, too."

"Hello, Scarlett." Delilah, the eldest of the sisters, stood like a centurion behind the reception desk. "You look older."

"It's been ten years, and that's your opening line?" Scarlett put down her bag and cautiously approached. "I am older, Del. So are you. You look good, though."

"Honest labor suits me."

"Oh boy, here we go." Scarlett sighed. "Still behind that old desk, I see. I think you were standing there when I left, weren't you?"

"Well, somebody has to."

"Delilah," Scarlett said, "you asked me to come, remember?"

"I had very little confidence you would appear. Luna, you must be so pleased—Scarlett's here, so you've won your bet."

Scarlett frowned. "Wait . . . somebody was betting against me showing up?"

"Well . . ." Luna shrugged, embarrassed. "I bet that you'd come, that should count for something, right?"

"Who was betting against me?! Was it you, Del?"

"You know I never gamble."

"If not you, then—" Scarlett stopped abruptly, because the girls' mother entered the lobby from the dining room.

Scarlett's breath caught in her chest. Mama looked . . . old. She'd known that would happen, of course—parents age, it's part of the job. But still. Her hair, while still perfectly arranged, had gone gray. The lines in her face had deepened, and her shoulders had a certain curl, as though she was carrying a burden far heavier than she should bear.

It had been a long ten years.

Surprising Mama was nearly impossible, but the sight of Scarlett standing in the lobby certainly seemed to do the trick. "Scarlett?" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, wow, Mama. Nice to see you too . . ."

Luna flung her arm around her sister's shoulder. "Surprise! You get both of us now. All your girls back together."

"Yes, Scarlett, of course it's nice to see you. That's quite an interesting choice you've made with your hair."

And there it is , Scarlett thought. How is it that I haven't been home in ten years, but I step across that threshold, and I'm immediately eighteen again, and no time has passed at all? "Let's see, how long was that, Mama? Ten seconds before the first dig? You're slowing down in your old age."

"Don't be smart. Are you staying for the weekend?"

"The weekend?" Scarlett repeated. "I mean . . . I suppose I'm staying until whatever this situation is gets worked out."

"What situation? There's no situation! Delilah, are you telling people there's a—"

"Obviously there's a situation, Mama."

Scarlett said, "I saw road work on the way here. What's that about? Why isn't the Road Spellwork Committee out there fixing it?"

"Well, yes, we're having a minor hitch at the moment. It's—"

"A hitch!" Delilah exclaimed.

Mama shook her head. "Everything is fine—"

"It's really not . . ."

"—and Scarlett, you must be starving. Delilah, why don't we go see what the kitchen can whip up for our prodigal here?"

Delilah rolled her eyes. "Prodigals get all the applause." She stomped off to the kitchen.

A man in a green flannel work shirt, toolbox in hand, came jogging down the staircase into the lobby. Mama saw him first and smiled. "All set with the sink in 301?"

"Fixed," he said. "What else can I do?"

Mama gestured toward the grand piano, and the two approached it for a discussion.

Scarlett stared openly. The handyman had the broad shoulders of a rugby player and the confident jawline of a superhero. She recognized the voice as Nate's but the physique . . . how could it be? She grabbed her baby sister and dragged her across the room for a more private conversation. "Luna," she whispered. "What happened to Nate?"

"What do you mean, what happened? He's ten years older, is what happened—same as the rest of us."

"No, but . . . um . . ." Scarlett stammered. "My Nate had acne and braces and a concave nerd-boy chest—"

"All of which he outgrew, ding dong. And pretty handsomely, if you don't mind me saying."

"Mind you saying? Why would I mind you saying?"

Luna shook her head and laughed. "Because of the thing you guys had."

"There was no thing!" exclaimed Scarlett unconvincingly.

"Don't be daft. The Ross and Rachel-y thing. Will they, won't they, were they on a break, why is there a monkey, et cetera. Did you two ever get around to having an actual date? I can't remember, it's been so long now."

"C'mon, there was never any monkey. And Nate and I were friends—that was it."

"Exactly, you were friends like on Friends —see what you did there?"

"No way! There was no Friends -related . . . thing. That was just a fantasy circulated by all the old ladies in town."

"Okaayy. Sure." Luna's eyebrows danced skeptically. "Whatever, Rachel . I'm gonna go help with the food. If we leave it up to Delilah, we'll be eating some sort of quinoa-based gruel." Then she was gone.

Scarlett turned her attention to the piano, where Mama said, "All right, Nate, so you're clear on the task? The piano hasn't been moved in thirty years, so the casters may need some convincing."

"Consider it done," Nate said solemnly. "WD-40 is my friend."

She nodded and headed for the kitchen, while Nate crawled under the piano on his back, the better to inspect the casters.

Scarlett approached the piano slowly, like it was a bomb that might go off. "Hey, you."

Nate sat up, smacking his head on the underside of the piano. "Dammit!" He crawled out from under and stood, rubbing his forehead. "Scarlett. Of course the first time I see you involves a headache. Plus, I've lost a bet."

"You!" Scarlett exclaimed. "You bet against me?"

He shrugged. "Not one word in ten years. Felt like my odds were good."

" Thanks a bunch . . . Anyway . . . it's nice to see you, Nate."

"Uh, yeah."

They stared at each other for a beat, then quickly looked away.

"You uh, you look good," he said to the piano.

"Me, or the piano?"

He flushed, embarrassed. "I should get back to this—your mom wants the piano in the ballroom."

"Seriously though—why?"

"Apparently the Gilbert and Sullivan Society will be arriving soon, and they all need lots of space for . . . various . . . piano-related . . . . Oh I don't know, I'm just doing what your mom asked."

"I see. So, you are the very model of a modern major piano mover."

Nate sighed. "That's the third time I've heard that joke today."

"Buckle up, it's gonna be a long weekend. But why are you moving it when one of us could just—" She flicked her fingers, suggesting a spell.

"Please don't. Magic has been all . . . I dunno, weird lately. Anyway, I heard you gave up magic when you left town."

"True," Scarlett admitted. "Ten years without."

"Well, you've only been home for five minutes—maybe pace yourself."

"Maybe . . . or maybe, doing your job better than you can is the perfect way for me to kick off this visit."

"Did you see the gourds?" Nate pointed at the door. "Looks like a haunted house exploded out there."

"That's Luna, though; her spells are always crazy. Come on, let me move the piano for you."

"Delilah says there's something off with magic right now," Nate said. "She doesn't want it used in the hotel unless absolutely necessary."

Deep down, Scarlett knew that if Del was saying something was wrong, then it probably was. But she'd been away so long, spent so much time resisting her powers and pretending to be like everyone else . . . Finding herself among her own witchy kind, the urge to connect with that side of herself suddenly became irresistible. "C'mon, let me do this—consider it a homecoming gift from me to you."

Nate shook his head. "Your sister forbids it."

"In that case, I really want to do it."

"Scarlett, please don't . . ."

"I can move this piano better than you can, Nate."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can.

"No, you—dammit, Scarlett, I'm not doing a duet with you. Cut it out."

"Watch me." She focused her energy on the piano and gave a graceful flick of her wrist.

"Scarlett, don't—"

The air turned somehow electric, and the piano shuddered. It raised six inches off the floor and hovered there as if awaiting further instruction. "Told you," she said smugly. "Everything's fine."

Everything was not fine. All eighty-eight keys lifted off the keyboard and soared around the lobby like a white-and-black snake. The keys played a quick rendition of "Für Elise" and then dropped to the floor like ivory-and-ebony raindrops. The rest of the piano heaved itself four feet higher in the air and then smashed itself to pieces on the floor.

Scarlett's jaw dropped open. My God , she thought, I forgot how much I fucking hate it when Delilah is right.

"Nice work, Scar." Nate sighed. "Welcome home."