Chapter 30 Beginner’s Luck

Having exited Oak Haven via a modest wardrobe, the sisters reemerged into a closet large enough to qualify as a San Francisco bedroom. The space was stuffed with racks of costumes: leopard-print catsuits, baby doll blouses in a variety of pastels, ladies' tracksuits, and black Lycra cocktail dresses. An entire wall was devoted to Union Jack regalia.

Scarlett and Delilah looked at each other and shrugged. "Could be worse?" Scarlett offered.

"Sure," Delilah agreed. "I was afraid we'd end up inside a volcano or something."

Scarlett cracked open the door and peeked out.

The brightly lit dressing room was a whirlwind of post-show chaos. The room was lined with make-up tables and full-length mirrors, where five scantily clad performers were busily removing their make-up and wigs. The walls were plastered with multiple copies of the same poster:

BELLAGIO HOTEL WELCOMES

THE WANNABEs

A LIVE SPICE GIRLS EXPERIENCE

A chorus of gasps erupted as the performers spun away from their mirrors to view the new arrivals from the closet.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed a woman who was clearly Not-Sporty Spice. "Another one?!"

"Where'd you come from?" demanded Not-Ginger Spice, false eyelashes fluttering.

"Yeah!" Not-Baby Spice added. "And why does this keep happening?"

Not-Scary Spice, the least easily rattled of the group, simply pointed at the door. "Your mate went that-a-way . . ."

"Sorry to interrupt." Scarlett knew better than to explain how they were in the closet—none of their lives would be long enough for that. "You say you saw a man go that way? With a rabbit?"

"We're very busy," Not-Ginger said defensively. "We don't have time to take down descriptions of every man who appears in our closet."

Scarlett nodded. "That's fair."

"That chap did have a bunny," Not-Baby cooed. "I noticed because I love bunnies! He just left."

"Fantastic, thanks for the information." Scarlett made immediately for the door.

But Delilah paused. "Quick question. You said this keeps happening. It's not just been tonight, has it?"

"Oh, blimey, no," said Not-Ginger Spice, whose lousy accent marked her as a native of someplace near New Jersey rather than anywhere near to the original. "Come through here all the time, they do. They stride into our dressing room without so much as a hello, walk into our closet, and poof. Never see 'em again."

Scarlett glanced at her sister. "At least now we know where all those damn magicians are coming from."

Not-Posh, who'd ignored them all while she cracked open a window, whirled around with a cigarette between her teeth. "Any of you got a light?"

With the instinctive grace of a life devoted to hospitality, Delilah idly snapped her fingers, and the cigarette was lit.

The performers all applauded. "Nice trick," said Not-Scary appreciatively.

" Scarlett ." Delilah ignored the Spices and locked eyes with her sister. "I just did a spell . . . and . . . it was fine."

Scarlett's face flushed with happiness. "Magic works here!"

"Ohhhh, of course it does," Delilah exclaimed. "I can't believe I didn't think of it before. The grove only powers our town, not all magic. The condition of our trees doesn't impact anywhere else. Scar, you realize what this means? As long as we're outside of Oak Haven, we can—"

"Do whatever we want!"

Hand in delighted hand, the sisters moved to exit the dressing room. "I'm starving," Scarlett announced. "Should we hit the buffet?"

"Where is there a buffet?" asked Del, confused.

Scarlett pointed at the Wannabes posters. "Bellagio Hotel! That means we're in Vegas, where there's always a buffet! God, I keep forgetting you've never been anywhere . . . C'mon, follow me."

"But . . . what about catching Max?"

"I know, I know," Scarlett replied. "Let's catch Max . . . and find the buffet."

***

The sisters gingerly made their way down a dark, narrow corridor, which ended with a big black door marked "EXIT TO CASINO." Scarlett was about to push it open when a thought stopped her cold.

"Wait. I just realized something."

"Mmhmm?"

"That portal, in the dressing room. Magicians have been using it to reach Oak Haven, right? On a regular basis. Which means it's stable. The accidental portals, the ones caused by the oak grove issues? Those aren't stable at all. Nate and I went into the walk-in, ended up in New Orleans, and the portal closed behind us. But this dressing room is apparently just sitting there, open all the time."

"Okay . . ." said Delilah. "What's your point?"

"How did he do it, Del? He's just a moronic stage magician, right? Magicians have no powers of their own—isn't that what we keep saying?"

"Well . . ."

"And what about the dragonflies? Violet is a kid! Yes, she's a witch, but do you really think she conjured a biblical-level spell alone ? That's a group spell—it has to be."

"You think there's more witches involved?"

"No, Del, I think . . . I think maybe Luna might be right about magicians."

"Ugh." Del looked nauseous. "Don't even go there."

To terminate the discussion, she pushed open the door and the sisters were slammed by a wall of noise—a sensory onslaught that hit them like a physical blow. A relentless soundtrack of electronic beeps, robotic jackpot announcements, and the clanging cascade of coins battered their ears. Mirrored tiles and pulsing strobe lights refracted the images of people, drinks, and flashing game boards into a disorienting montage. The air hung heavy with perfume, alcohol, and the adrenaline-laced sweat of desperate gamblers.

Delilah clutched at her sister's arm, her eyes darting wildly. "This is like stepping inside a concussion!"

Scarlett led her shell-shocked sister through the maze of slot machines, their progress punctuated by ringing bells and electronic whoooop whooops. A sense of reckless abandon bubbled up within her. When they approached a slot machine with a giant glowing pineapple on top, Scarlett couldn't help herself.

"A SpongeBob SquarePants slot machine!" she shouted. "This here is my destiny."

Delilah frowned. "There's no time. We're supposed to be chasing Max, remember?"

"Bah, we'll toss out a little locator spell and find him in two seconds. C'mon, Del, live a little." Humming the theme song under her breath, Scarlett dropped a quarter into the slot. With a dramatic flourish, she smashed a big yellow button in the middle of the machine, sending SpongeBob's eyes spinning. Lights flashed, and suddenly, a torrent of coins cascaded into the tray. A giant digital dollar sign flashed, the jackpot total ticking steadily upwards.

"Woo hoo!" Scarlett cried. "We did it!"

"Did what?" asked Delilah. "I don't even know what's going on!"

"Beginner's luck," Scarlett said with a wink, scooping up her winnings. "I guess drinks are on me."

They navigated past rows and rows of slot machines, the incessant din punctuated by the occasional frustrated groan or joyous shout. Scarlett paused near a large, green-felt blackjack table, its surface littered with chips and cards. Gamblers perched on their chairs, their faces lit with hope and grim determination in varying degrees. A burly man in a Hawaiian shirt perched on a stool, staring intently at the two cards before him—a nine and a four. He hesitated, muttering, "Vegas baby, it's Vegas baby, it's Vegas . . ." like a secret prayer.

The sisters watched from off to the side, mesmerized by the unfolding drama. Scarlett recognized the adrenaline cloud hanging over the table—a thrilling dance on a knife-edge between recklessness and strategy. It was precisely how she'd felt as a kid, every time she'd attempted a spell that she wasn't supposed to.

Her sister—who had never in her life attempted a spell she wasn't supposed to—shifted uncomfortably. "All that stress over a game of cards," she muttered.

Finally, the man tapped the green felt. "Hit me," he rasped.

The dealer, a woman with a bored expression and expertly painted red nails, flicked a card across the table: an eight. The man threw his arms in the air and roared. "YEAAAAAAHHHH! VEGAS BABY! IT'S VEGAS!"

People around him cheered—even Delilah couldn't help but smile. Suddenly, she grabbed Scarlett's head and turned it sharply to the left. There was Max, striding toward the buffet line.

Scarlett had to laugh. "Guess we hit the jackpot again."

The massive double doors of the buffet whooshed open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a spectacle that rivaled the casino floor in terms of sensory overload. Mountains of golden brown fried chicken glistened under heat lamps, mashed potatoes and meatballs and shrimp scampi piled high in stainless steel pans, and an entire wall displayed a dizzying array of desserts. The air hung heavy with the combined aromas of roasted meats, buttered vegetables, and sugary pastries, and the clatter of plates and chatter of customers.

A hostess appeared, clipboard in hand: "Name, please?" she enquired with a bored smile.

"Uh . . . Melrose," Delilah hesitated, glancing at Scarlett.

The hostess scanned her list with pursed lips. "No Melrose on the guest list, sorry. Buffet is full up."

Scarlett glanced at her sister, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. A mischievous glint flashed in her sister's eyes.

Delilah cleared her throat, taking a step closer to the hostess. Her voice was a soft, measured whisper—barely audible over the din of the buffet. She raised one hand, index finger slightly extended, like she was hailing the most mellow taxi in the universe. "Actually," she said calmly, "I'm sure you'll find us on your list. Look again."

The hostess frowned slightly, her fingers tapping nervously against the clipboard as she studied the names once more.

"Huh," she murmured. "Well, you were right. Melrose party, table for two. My apologies."

"No worries," Scarlett said with a smile. "We're not the witches you're looking for."

"Shut up," Delilah whispered.

The hostess gave Scarlett a quizzical look, then clearly decided she didn't want to pursue this inquiry any further. "Plates and utensils are against the left-hand wall. Enjoy."

"You always make that joke," said Delilah, annoyed. " Every time I use that spell, you make that joke. And it's never funny."

"Au contraire, it's always funny," Scarlett demurred. "Pretty sure George Lucas stole the idea for the Force from our kind. We may as well get a few chuckles out of it."

"Hush," Delilah said. "Focus. Do you see Max anywhere?"

Scarlett's head swiveled left and right. "Uhh, he's around here somewhere; we saw him come in. Look, you can't expect me to play Sherlock on an empty stomach. C'mon, just a quick bite . . . please ? You go for the savory; I'll hit the sweets. We reconvene at the prime rib mountain in two minutes."

Delilah rolled her eyes. "All right, all right . . . but the second we see him—"

"We're following. Absolutely."

When their trays were piled high with every manner of carbohydrate imaginable, the sisters found an empty table in the corner. "So . . ." Scarlett said as they dug in, "is Mandy Patinkin gonna be our new daddy?"

Delilah rolled her eyes. "Will you let it go, Scar?"

"Well, I'm just saying—"

"Papa's been gone ten years! Mama has a right to a life."

"Really?" Scarlett shot back. "Because clearly she wouldn't say the same about you."

Delilah stared at her sister. "What is that jab supposed to mean?"

"It's not a jab, Del, it's an observation." Scarlett shoveled a forkful of fettuccine carbonara into her mouth. "She keeps you locked behind that desk 24/7. When are you gonna get out and see the world? Maybe even have a relationship?"

"A relationship ?" Her eyebrows ascended toward the gilt ceiling. "What, like you and Nate Williams? Yeah, I'll pass on that mess, thanks."

"Well . . ." Scarlett blushed. "Yeah. Okay. I'm not offering myself as an example."

"The two of you really are amazing. Ten years apart, and now you're right back in that will they or won't they nonsense from when you were teenagers. If I remember correctly, you both finally concluded yes, you would , and then—"

"And then we couldn't. Because of Papa."

"Well, Papa's long gone now." Delilah stabbed a piece of prime rib with her fork. "Seems to me the statute of limitations has run out on that excuse."

Scarlett set down her fork and glared. "It's not an excuse , Del. The situation has changed. I have a new life now. And I don't think Nate fits."

"Then tell him that! Let him go. Let Polly have him—she's certainly made her interest clear."

Ugh , Nate with Polly, Scarlett thought. Don't think I could bear that. But at the same time, she knew in her heart that Delilah was right.

"I suppose you have a point." She sighed. "I should tell him there's no chance." It's not fair to him, she thought. All this back-and-forth, all this kidding ourselves that we have some sort of future. I claim to be Nate's friend—if I'm truly his friend, I should act like it. "Okay. When we get back, I'm going to tell him we have to stop all that dumb flirting. I'm letting him go, full stop."

"You should!"

"I will!"

"You better."

"God, Del, I just said I'd tell him, jeez! It's done. It has to be done. Because once the grove is repaired, I'm headed out west, period."

" Out west ," Delilah repeated the words like they tasted of sulfur. "I still don't understand what you get out of the Normie Life. What's the point? I mean, don't you miss magic?"

"Ehh, sometimes. But after Papa . . . the fear got to be too much. You know what I mean? Giving up magic didn't seem like a burden when I felt sick just thinking about it."

Delilah shook her head. "You took it so hard, what happened that night. From the way you fell to pieces, you'd have thought that you were the only one whose father died. But I mean, Luna and I lost our father too, you know."

"I know that, Del. I wasn't trying to be a drama queen about it. But I mean, it was a lot different for me because—" Scarlett looked directly into her sister's eyes and stopped. Because it was all my fault , was the end of that sentence. But she couldn't bring herself to say it. "Because . . . I don't know why. I just felt how I felt."

"That's for sure. You totally lost it at the funeral, and then poof, you were gone."

"Yeah, well . . ." Scarlett's throat tightened. "You've always had your shit together more than me, so, nothing to see there. You're hypercompetent; I'm a mess. Just business as usual for the Melrose sisters."

Delilah bristled. "If my shit was more together , as you put it, it was because it had to be. I never had the choices you did. It was my job to take care of the two of you, and Mom, always."

"Yeah, which you've never hesitated to remind everyone about," Scarlett said. "Your job was being the boss of us, Luna's job was being the flaky prodigy, and what the heck was my job? I could never figure that out."

"Your job was being Papa's favorite, you idiot."

"What?!" Scarlett exclaimed. "No, I wasn't!"

"Of course you were. You always were. And then, when he died, you had no use for the rest of us, and off you went."

That stopped Scarlett cold. Beneath her sister's sarcasm, beneath all the snark, there was this horrible, painful, and totally untrue belief—that Scar had left because she'd wanted to. "Oh my God, Del, is that what you think?!"

Delilah stared into a murky bowl of chicken and sausage gumbo. "It's what I know," she said quietly.

Scarlett reached across the table for Delilah's hand, but her sister wouldn't offer it. So she said, "It's not true at all. I felt like I had to leave. I didn't want to."

"Well," Del replied, "all I know is, you sure didn't want to stay."

Silence settled on the table. The weight of their feelings hung in the air, heavy and tangible. They pushed their food around on their plates, suddenly no longer hungry.

And then, like a crazy ray of sunshine cutting through clouds, Scarlett saw him. There was Max, striding purposefully through the buffet, forcefully shoving carrots into Quentin's cage as he headed for the exit. "Look, there he is! He's about to leave!"

"I see him." Delilah tossed her spoon on the table.

Scarlett jumped up so fast that her chair nearly tipped over. "Let's go."