Chapter 26 An Occurrence at Bonfire Creek Bridge

Nate led Scarlett down Galloping Hill Road. The crisp autumn air filled their lungs as they walked, fallen leaves crunching underfoot. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the branches of the towering maples, casting a warm glow along the path.

They walked in comfortable silence, their steps falling into a familiar rhythm. Maybe coming back wasn't such a bad idea after all, she thought. She inhaled deeply, realizing that the air smelled like home. The thought sent pangs of joy and sorrow through her. Home. It was a word she hadn't dared to use in connection with Oak Haven for a long time. She didn't deserve it—not after what had happened with Papa. But as she walked, feeling the warmth of Nate's hand in hers, Scarlett allowed herself a moment of hope that perhaps she might earn her way back, one day.

At the edge of town, the road narrowed as they approached the covered bridge over Bonfire Creek. The old red bridge stood out like a beacon against the vibrant foliage.

Nate helped her down the bank, which was checkered with smooth stones and late-blooming wildflowers. They settled on a large, flat rock and listened to the water bubbling and churning over the stones. Scarlett drew in a deep breath, savoring the peace.

"Ah yes," she sighed. "Here we are at the site of my greatest triumph—my infamous dive over the bridge."

"The School of Scarlett, as it is often called."

Scarlett looked at him, surprised. "Is it called that?"

"No," Nate admitted with a grin. "No, I call it that. Because, you know, of the fish."

Scarlett laughed. "Right, yeah, I got the pun. Hey, has anybody else ever . . . you know . . ." She made a diving gesture with a matching whooshing sound.

"No way." Nate shook his head emphatically. "In fact, every year all the kids in Oak Haven have to listen to a presentation from your mother about how witches should never turn themselves into wild animals—and especially not groups of wild animals—and especially especially not groups of low-intelligence wild animals that are likely to wander off."

"Oh my goodness!" Scarlett had no trouble envisioning that lecture, having endured it many times herself. "I'm so sorry for those kids."

"Yep. Not everybody can say they've had the impact on their hometown that you have," he joked.

"I guess not." She smiled. She was enjoying getting to know this new person, this adult Nate. He was as sweet and funny as his teenaged self, but there was a sturdiness to him now. A seriousness, but not in a bad way—a seriousness of purpose.

"This is where I was going to take you all those years ago," he said softly. "On our date. The date that wasn't."

Scarlett's eyes widened. "Oh no, really?!"

"Yeah." A wistful smile played on his lips. "I was going to pack a picnic basket. Steal a couple of beers from my dad."

"Wow, you were gonna pull out all the stops, huh?"

"Oh yeah, I had a whole pine-y, Heathcliff-y thing going on back then."

"If Heathcliff had just brought Cathy a couple of beers, that whole mess might have turned out differently." Scarlett impulsively reached out and grasped Nate's hand. "I'm sorry I missed out on our date. I truly am."

"Me too." He squeezed her hand back. "But you couldn't help it."

"No, I couldn't. Not after what happened to Papa. Still, though. I hate that it happened that way." To lighten the mood, she added, "I'm also sorry I can't just conjure us a picnic basket right now. But the way things are going . . ."

"Oh yeah, best not. We don't want to end up like poor Linda Injabire."

"Hey, speaking of the . . . uh . . . the current mess . . ." Scarlett began.

Nate raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I had the dubious honor of conversing with Madame Louise Demain today."

"Oh boy. How'd that go?"

"She scared the shit out of me," Scarlett admitted.

"Yeah, that'll happen. Look, the thing you need to understand is that she treats everybody that way. FedEx won't deliver to her house anymore because she insists on telling the drivers when they're going to die. That's just Louise."

"Well, what do you think of her otherwise? Like, beyond her charming personality. Is she smart?"

"She's a time witch." Nate shrugged. "They don't make dumb ones. Why do you ask?"

Scarlett sighed. "Because she indicated that I, personally, am supposed to fix the infestation and save magic. That the power is within me . . . literally ."

"What, like, in your kidneys?"

"See, I knew somebody was going to make that exact joke."

"Sorry." He chuckled. "All joking aside, what do you think she meant?"

Scarlett shook her head. "No idea. But I'll tell you what . . . as creepy as Louise was, something even weirder happened when I left the shop." She paused, taking a deep breath. "I saw Violet with that magician, Maximillian. I don't like the look of that little partnership at all. Maximillian makes me nervous. I don't care that Luna thinks he's a sweetheart or that Del thinks he's an idiot. I'm starting to think both my sisters are wrong."

"To be honest, Scar, the whole witches versus magicians thing . . . I've never really understood it. Seems to me like your kind and magician kind are all in the same business, basically. I mean, aren't you?"

"Well, what I've always been told—and, of course, Mama has a whole speech on this; she'd lecture us over and over—is that witchcraft is a way of being, while magic is a hobby."

"In other words, you all think they're fakers and they all think you're snobs."

"Essentially." Scarlett chuckled. "Yep, that's the long and the short of it."

"You know, it's just occurring to me now, but . . ." Nate's expression darkened. "I've had a weirdly large number of magicians in the hardware store lately. They come in all the time now—always different ones, too. Never the same face twice."

"Are they trying to get into the magic storeroom? Because that could be trouble."

He shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Very ordinary purchases. Brackets. Nails and screws. Tins of paint. Like they're redecorating."

Scarlett shook her head, unease rising in her stomach. "I don't like it."

Nate looked at her, concern in his eyes. "What do we do?"

Scarlett sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on her. "I don't know. It seems like Max may be the leader, so maybe I need information on him? Or maybe Violet is the weak link . . . You spend time with her and Polly, right? Would Violet talk to you?"

He shook his head. "Polly had me over for dinner last week? I asked Violet to pass the salt and she said, ‘Fuck off, you're not my real dad!'"

"Bah," Scarlett joked, "You're no use to me at all."

Nate placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Let me know if I can help . . . as long as it doesn't involve communicating with teenage girls."

Scarlett smiled, a warmth spreading through her at his touch. "You did, just by sitting here with me. I hated the feeling I had after the bookstore—like I'd lost a friend."

Nate's eyes softened, his voice gentle. "You didn't. You couldn't."

Spending time with Nate made Scarlett feel a hundred times lighter—so light she was almost giddy. She impulsively reached out to stroke the side of his face. It had been so long since she'd felt this connection, this ease and comfort in another person's presence. Their conversation flowed like the creek beside them, filled with shared memories and a sense of new possibilities.

Scarlett started to wonder if maybe she could face what happened to Papa, if she could face it with Nate.

She leaned in closer, drawn in by the warmth of his gaze and the gentle curve of his lips. Nate met her halfway, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek. Their lips met in a tentative kiss. This wasn't the overwhelming loss of control she'd felt in the bookstore; this was serene, unafraid—like something that was meant to be. As if every unspoken longing, every stolen glance, every missed opportunity had culminated in this single, perfect moment. As if a missing part of herself had finally clicked into place.

They lingered in their kiss for a moment, feeling like time had stopped. When they finally pulled apart, both were slightly flushed.

"Wow," Nate breathed. "That was . . ."

"Yeah," Scarlett agreed, a shy smile on her face. She snaked her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she lost herself in the sensation of his lips on hers. Nate's fingers threaded through her hair, his touch sending shivers through her body.

She moaned softly as Nate deepened the kiss, and a delicious shiver danced down her spine. His hand roamed down her back, seeking and finding the bare skin beneath her sweater. Her breath hitched as he nipped at her lower lip, a playful exploration that sent a jolt of desire through her. The taste of him was intoxicating, a blend of cinnamon and woodsmoke. She pulled him closer, her body yearning for the press of his against hers. Every touch, every brush of his tongue, was a delicious exploration, a promise of more to come. Scarlett felt a sweet ache bloom in her core, a yearning that intensified with every passing moment.

She rested her forehead against Nate's, her eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze.

"I've never stopped thinking about you." His voice was a low rumble that resonated in her own chest. "I've thought of you every single day."

She leaned in, their lips meeting again. Scarlett savored every sensation, every shared breath. She wanted to disappear into this moment forever, to live out her life in it. A moment with no guilt or regret, nothing to explain or repair.

But as she sank into this reverie, she unwillingly found the wizened face of Louise Demain staring back at her.

Scarlett broke away, feeling like she'd been stabbed. "Nate?" she asked. "How many good things does it take to make up for a bad thing?"

Nate's confusion was written all over his face. "What does that mean?"

"It means what I said. It means itself. How many?"

"Well . . ." He was struggling to understand how Scarlett had leapt from the best kiss of their lives to a question like that. "I guess I don't think good and bad work quite like that. It's not a barter system."

Her heart sank. "No. No, you're right. Of course not."

Louise's terrible wisdom washed over Scarlett, turning her stomach sour. No matter how many good deeds she performed, nothing could undo the terrible thing she did to Papa.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she said, suddenly panicked. "I could never stay here."

Nate's eyes widened, a flicker of hope in their depths. "Wait, what does that mean? Were you thinking that you might stay?"

"But I can't, Nate. I can't possibly." Scarlett pulled away—being so close to him was impossibly painful. "I don't get to come home and have some happily ever after with you. Not after what I did. I don't deserve it."

He reached for her, his face creased with worry. "I don't know what you're talking about. You haven't done anything."

"You don't know!" She stood and moved farther away. Staring out at the creek, she longed to turn herself into a school of fish and swim away. Forever, this time.

"Scarlett, I don't understand. Everything was so good about ten seconds ago. What the hell—"

She whirled around, her eyes brimming with tears. "When I'm with you, I manage to forget somehow. I forget everything that happened, and I just want to dive into you."

"Well, I encourage that. Let's work on that angle for a minute."

"I can't possibly stay here, Nate! I can't face them—my mother, my sisters . . . I can't do it."

"Scarlett, I don't know what you mean. You seem to be getting along pretty well, actually. You are facing them—don't you see that? You've come home, you've faced them, and it's fine."

"That's only because they don't know!"

"Don't know what? What are you—"

"That I killed my father." She covered her face and sobbed.

"Oh, Scarlett . . ." Nate just stared at her for a long moment, looking like he might cry, too. "That's not what happened."

"You don't know," she blubbered. "You weren't there."

The sound of footsteps and voices on the road spared Scarlett having to continue. A group of townsfolk were ambling by, headed for the covered bridge. They could only be headed to one place: the grove. Scarlett turned her back, so no one would see her cry.

"Something is happening." She wiped away her tears with a clenched fist. "We should go."