Chapter 29 The Queen’s Gambit

In the dining room, the witches were drinking pinot noir and trying to figure out what to do next.

Aphra couldn't stop apologizing for the failure of her cages. "I really thought I had things under control . . . I'm so sorry I've let everybody down."

"Babe . . ." Dayo sat beside her wife, a supportive arm over her shoulder. "Nobody could have done better."

"Absolutely," consoled council member Jerusha.

"You're goddamn right!" Belinda declared. She got up and brought the wine over to refill Aphra's glass. "This isn't your fault, sweetheart."

Mama clinked her wineglass with a fork. "Ladies. Dwelling on what went wrong gets us nowhere. What is our next move?"

Seated beside her, Luna flipped open the Myrmex Arcana . "I did read about a parasitic wasp from Macquarie Island, near Tasmania? It lays eggs inside the thoraxes of other magical insects. Maybe that's something? Introduce wasps?"

"One question," said Polly. "What happens after the wasps have run out of dragonflies to kill?"

Candace nodded fretfully. "Will they come for my ladybugs next?"

"I hear you," Luna admitted. "I'm not sure about that. Of course, if we clean out the grove, we should get magic back so—"

The witches reacted with alarm. "Should!" exclaimed Jerusha. "Kelly, what does your girl mean, should ? I thought everything will be normal once we clear out the flies!"

"Unbunch yourself, Jerusha," Mama said. "Luna is merely acknowledging that life is uncertain. Still . . ." Here she turned to address her daughter. "I do think the ladies have a valid concern. Introducing a new potential pest to address a current one doesn't seem especially wise."

"Luna, you're our historian here," Belinda said. "What about the old days? You said these flies originated in Ancient Egypt, right? How did they fix the plagues back then?"

"Um . . ." Luna grimaced. "How did they end the plagues . . . in the story of Exodus?"

Candace laughed. "I don't suppose you have any Chosen People you could set free, do you, Belinda?"

Mama lifted an eyebrow. "Belinda's gnomes already left," she said slyly. "So that won't help."

"Well, I was just asking!" Belinda huffed.

Into this bickering marched Scarlett and Delilah. Scarlett triumphantly placed Max's cage of flies on the table.

"Oh my goodness," cried Jerusha. "Just look at them!"

Aphra gazed at her friends. "What've you got here, gals?"

"These were in Maximillian's room," Delilah said.

Scarlett nodded. "He's the source of our problem. I'd suspected before, but now we have evidence."

Mama stood and approached the cage, pulling her readers up to her eyes to study the tiny beasts. "Luna, these creatures had to be conjured, am I understanding correctly? He couldn't have bought these in a joke shop, in other words."

"Yes, that's right. They haven't existed for thousands of years."

"Someone created them." Mama straightened up, gazing at each of the witches in turn. "How did he manage it?"

"He had a little helper," Delilah announced. "I'm sorry, Polly."

Polly looked appalled. "What are you suggesting?! I certainly didn't assist that muppet. You can't mean me."

"No," Scarlett said sadly. "I'm afraid we don't mean you."

A silence fell over the dining room.

"Oh dear," Belinda said. "Oh, that poor child, what was she thinking?"

***

Violet sat on a stone bench in the back garden, jabbing angrily at her phone.

Polly emerged from the dining room, with the Melroses close behind.

"Violet." Her mother's voice was firm, but her eyes held a pleading softness. "We need to talk."

"Don't feel like it." The teenager refused to look up.

Polly stepped closer, her voice rising. "I know you've been up to something with that . . . that magician."

"He's my friend—so?! What, am I not allowed to have friends now? Thanks a lot, fascist ."

"As it happens, no," Polly retorted. "You're not allowed to have friends who are twice your age and magicians. And what about the dragonflies?"

"What about them?"

"Where did they come from? Scarlett found a cage of flies in Max's room. But we very much doubt he could have conjured them himself seeing as he has no genuine magical powers. Violet, did you help him create the files?"

The teenager kept her head low, focused on her phone. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Polly sat down beside her daughter. With a swift and well-practiced motion, she reached over and wrenched the phone right out of Violet's hands. Holding the device up like a threat, she said, "Don't you lie to me. Did you help the magicians?"

Violet remained silent, her eyes fixed on her lap.

The rest of the witches had all gathered behind the Melroses to listen. Their expressions ran from motherly disappointment to white-hot rage . . . but none could bear to miss a word.

Polly could feel the group's judgment without needing to look at them. "I can handle this," she snapped. "This is my daughter, and she doesn't deserve to be interrogated by half the town."

Mama Melrose held up her hands in a placating gesture. "We don't mean to intrude, Polly. But at the same time, this affects all of us."

Polly returned her attention to Violet, taking her daughter's hands in her own. "Please, sweetheart. Talk to me. Did the magicians trick you somehow? It's what they do, Violet—we can all understand making a mistake. But we need you to be honest with us now. The town depends on it."

Under her mother's gentle but persistent questioning, Violet's defenses crumbled. Tears welled up in her eyes as she finally spoke. "They're nice to me." Her voice trembled. "They treat me like a grown-up. They said if I could help them with a bit of magic, they'd make things better. That the dragonflies would make Oak Haven more like a normal town. And then maybe I could have a boyfriend. Maybe Dad would come home. They said they could make everything better . . ."

"Oh, Violet." Polly was clearly heartbroken. "How could you?"

"You don't understand!" Years of anger and frustration came pouring out. "You have no idea what it's like. To have my whole life ruined by that stupid Forgetting Spell. My own dad doesn't remember I exist! I don't even have any friends! How could I? I can't have friends in Oak Haven—everyone who sees me says, look, there's the weird girl whose father poisoned the grove. But if I try to make a friend from outside of town, they forget me. You don't know what it's like to always be alone!"

Violet stood, her hands clenched into fists. "I just want a normal life!"

She ran for the inn, shoving her way past the witches and bursting into the dining room. Her chest heaving with sobs, she collapsed into a chair, burying her face in her hands. The witches followed her inside, their expressions grim.

Suddenly the air in the room began to shimmer and ripple, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone. The walls melted away—but instead of glitching to Waikiki or Studio 54, the dining room glitched to reflect the inside of Violet's broken heart.

The witches found themselves standing in a cozy living room decorated with jack-o'-lanterns and grinning paper skeletons. Warmth and happiness radiated from every corner as a young Violet twirled in a fairy princess costume. Her face was lit with joy as she showed off her sparkly wings to a smiling Polly and Bill.

Too soon, the scene shifted. The room grew dark and cold, festive decorations replaced by shadows and gloom. Polly and Bill were fighting, their voices loud and accusing. Bill stormed out, slamming the door so hard that the witches flinched. Little Violet ran to the door and threw it open, sobbing and pleading for Daddy to come back.

Scarlett leaned over to whisper to Luna. "Who's doing this? Is it Violet?"

Luna nodded. "Her emotions have gotten away from her, and the dining room is responding."

"We should help her somehow."

"I disagree." Mama leaned over to put one arm on each of her daughter's shoulders. "Let's let this play out. See what she knows."

The memory changed once more, and the witches found themselves standing in downtown Oak Haven, outside Spellbound Books. Violet, now a teenager, smiled as a handsome young man handed her a bag from the Happy Panda. The witches' hearts fluttered along with Violet's as the young man paused to chat. All along the street, window boxes burst with flowers, all blooming at once.

But the scene quickly shifted—Mr. Happy Panda returned, but this time he regarded Violet with polite confusion, no recognition in his eyes. Nearby, windows began to splinter and crack, and the sky turned dark with an approaching storm.

The memories continued to flash by, each playing out in vivid detail. The witches saw Violet storm out of the bookstore and into the street, a hammer in her hand. They gasped as she smashed the magical sigil built into the crosswalk, and they shuddered as Maximillian appeared behind her, observing Violet with a sinister glare.

Suddenly, they were in the coffee shop. The witches could feel the warmth and acceptance radiating from the group of magicians as they comforted Violet and listened to her story. They watched as Max held out a copy of Myrmex Acana, his conniving smile unfurling from ear to ear. He asked Violet for something—just a little thing, barely even anything at all. The witches all felt the desperate longing for approval that drove the young girl to agree.

Throughout it all, the real Violet sobbed in her chair. Polly rushed to her daughter's side, gathering her into her arms and holding her tight. "It's okay, baby," Polly whispered into Violet's hair. "Everything is going to be okay . . ."

***

As Violet's sobs began to subside, the dining room settled back into its normal state. A whirlwind of chaotic teenage emotion just moments ago, now the room was now eerily still. The only sounds were the distant strains of "Away, Away, My Heart's on Fire," drifting in from the Penzance rehearsal on the other side of the building.

The witches gathered in a loose circle, their whispers barely audible as they grappled with what to do next. Aphra spoke in favor of negotiation, while Belinda leaned toward stringing Max up by his thumbs. Luna looked as though she might faint, and Mama placed a reassuring hand on her back to steady her.

The quiet was shattered by the squeak of the inn's front door. Maximillian the Magnificent strode in, his rabbit Quentin in a cage under one arm. He stopped abruptly midway across the lobby, his eyes widening as he saw the assembly of witches in the dining room.

The women turned as one to stare at him. He stared back, and for a heartbeat, no one moved.

Max's face, usually so carefully composed, betrayed a flicker of panic. He was a poor chess player who'd carelessly tumbled into the Queen's Gambit.

Swallowing hard, he took a single step forward, plastering a cheesy grin on his face. "Ladies, good evening . . ." He was too startled to even come up with an accent. "How are you all?"

The witches gazed back at him, nonplussed.

Max spun on his heel and bolted. Poor Quentin bounced unhappily around in his cage as Max raced up the stairs two at a time.

Delilah, at her post behind the desk, vaulted over the countertop in pursuit. Scarlett, the only other witch who understood the true severity of the situation, was right on her heels.

"Stop him, Del!" she shouted. "He's going for the portal!"

Max reached his third-floor room in record time. He made a beeline for the wardrobe and dove in without hesitation.

Delilah burst into the room mere seconds later, her eyes locking on to the wardrobe. She knew exactly where Max had gone, but fear made her hesitate. "Ugh! Where do you lead?" she demanded of the portal. "What's on the other side? And if I enter, how will I get back home?"

Scarlett burst into the room at full speed and gave her sister a firm push from behind, propelling them both into the abyss.

The other witches arrived at the doorway . . . too late to see anything but the empty wardrobe and a lingering shimmer of magical energy.

"Well, well," said Mama with pride. She leaned into the portal and shouted, "Good hunting, my dears! Come home safe."