Chapter 3

three

ELLA

My mother always said that what our heart yearns for most fuels magic; our innermost workings like hope, love, or desire. Through her stories and everyday interactions, she instilled a belief in me that enchantment exists in even the smallest, most ordinary things. That I should always pay attention; to never cease to be grateful or courageous in the harder times.

As a child, those rose-colored glasses may have been a bit too pink and optimistic. Perhaps a dash of realism would’ve helped me to be more cautious as I tossed out wishes like birdseed.

When we shifted from a family of three instead of two, I was understandably heartbroken. After all, I was only eight. There were occasional moments where it was harder than before to believe so deeply and earnestly in anything. Because what type of magic would take away someone you love most in the world? How do I dare hope when I could lose so much?

One of those rare moments led me to sneak out to Mirror Lake late one night when I was around fourteen.

My father was distraught because I didn’t do things like that—Ella, the rule-follower, would never—but he didn’t understand how much I just needed a glimpse of what was. What could be. Rumors abound plenty concerning Mirror Lake’s abilities, but from experience, I can confirm it will at least show you what you desire most.

If I squeeze my eyes closed, I can still see the rippling image of my family grinning back at me. The image of my mother that faded with time shone brightly again, almost to where I felt like she was right beside me.

Ella, darling. Grief is simply a shadow of the resolute love we share. It’s a reminder that the greatest magic in the world exists. If we don’t know what it’s like to be loved and love in return, we can’t miss it.

But love looks different for everyone, doesn’t it?

Dad met Charlotte a few months later. I was happy for him, because the twinkle in his eye had returned. Though it wasn’t as bright as before. When it was only the two of us, he continued to tell me stories about him and Mom, as he always did. That’s when his eyes gleamed the brightest.

Charlotte was his second chance at love, but it wasn’t the same.

When he brought her back to Enchanted Hollow, things were great for a while. I got two step-sisters: Laila and Bridget. Our home was full of laughter and love again. But then Dad got into an accident on the way home from a trip a little over a year ago and everything changed.

My relationship with Charlotte was strained from the beginning, but once Dad was gone, it was as if all the restraints had disappeared. There was no one left to check her actions or attitude. She moved me to the attic—where she clearly wanted me the whole time—and it kept me out of her hair.

Mostly .

I think she hoped it would break my spirit, but she clearly doesn’t know me.

From the moment I wandered this space, I could see the promise and endless possibilities. Maybe she thought that the dirt and cobwebs would be upsetting to me, but I know the benefits of a little elbow grease. There’s sloping ceilings that hurt if I forget to duck, but they add character I can’t get anywhere else in our house. Since our house faces the west, I can watch the dust motes dance in the slanting rays of the golden hour of sunset.

There’s magic in the mundane.

Fairy lights dangle from the wood, trimming the eaves, like I’m constantly surrounded by fireflies in the evening light. Mismatched shelves burst with books, photos torn from magazines and Polaroids plaster the walls, and thrifted floor rugs sprawl over old floorboards. Bridal magazines tower beside my nightstand.

It might seem like an odd thing to collect, but I love to flip through the pages and create stories about the couples embracing throughout them. How did they meet? Were they friends first? Enemies?

My gaze slides to the pumpkin patch outside the window; the fields of green contracted against the stark blue sky. That’s the other perk of living in the attic: the view. Beyond the massive red oak standing sentry outside my window, I can see the sprawling fields of Ever After Farms. It’s where my best friend, Gabrielle (Gaby for short), lives with her six siblings.

Six .

It’s my favorite place in this whole town.

Every year, our town kicks off fall with an event called Midnight in the Hollow. It’s a big deal this year because it’s my and Gaby’s senior year, and I was in charge of the decorating committee .

Enchanted Hollow is a lot like a typical Texas small town because it doesn’t do anything small, especially during football season. But we’re not a typical small town. While we celebrate big, especially during fall, magic whispers through every nook and crevice of this place.

It’s infused in the farm’s soil next door, in the wishing well by the town garden, in the lake that glistens just beyond downtown. In the enchanted mailboxes that connect soulmates by invisible strings, no one can explain.

But I suppose that’s the point of magic. You’re simply supposed to believe.

My fingers itch to touch the folded piece of paper in my sweater pocket as if they want to make sure the letter is still safe there. That’s another reason I came back; I couldn’t leave that so easily accessible.

“Ella, what are you doing over there?” Gaby’s voice startles me out of my thoughts.

I snatch the walkie-talkie off the dresser and turn the volume down before answering.

“Just making sure I don’t need anything else.”

“Half of your bedroom is mixed up with mine. I think you’re good!” Her laugh floats along the air.

“One more check and I’ll head back.” I promise.

“Okay. Mom wants to stick to your schedule and pedicures are next!”

Molly Jackson is everything I imagine my mother would be like if she were still here. Maybe not as jovial, because I picture her more soft-spoken, but just as kind. She’s already shed tears once or twice today while dropping off various snacks in Gaby’s room, emotional and bittersweet that it’s our last Midnight in the Hollow before our lives change. Gaby isn’t sure where she’s going to school yet, but she wants to be a teacher. I’ve applied to several places, but I’m still not sure what I want to do.

I just want to bring people joy. I want to be part of moments they’ll never forget.

With another glance out the window, I realize how much I miss the bustling chaos that always ensues at the Jackson’s. It’s so much quieter here. I always wanted siblings, but got step-siblings instead. Close enough, I suppose.

While Laila and Bridget have their moments, they’re not what I expected. They’re only a few years younger than me and we initially spent a lot of time doing everything I’d ever hoped for. Sleepovers in each other’s rooms, reading stories—I even got them involved with all Gaby’s sisters for late night corn maze adventures and star-gazing in the fields while sharing tall tales about the town. But over the last couple of years, there’s been a shift as they pay more attention to the cliques at school and catching the attention of the newest sports star. There might as well be a chasm between us now.

“Ella!” My stepmother’s voice travels up the stairs, and I let out a breath.

Coming back might have been a mistake, but it’s too late now.

“Be right down!” I call down from my doorway.

I grab my favorite sweater off the hook by my door, and the movement releases a crinkle from the pocket. Even though the words are as familiar as my favorite Tim McGraw song, I can’t resist the temptation to dig the folded piece of paper out and reread the note for the thousandth time.

Meet me at midnight. I’ll be the one in a mask. Don’t turn into a pumpkin before then.

-Patch

My lips curve in a smile, my heart galloping faster at the words. For someone who sent his first letter to disprove the enchanted mail system, Patch has come a long way. I have a million theories about why he chose his nickname, but he won’t tell me if I’m right about any of them. I chose mine for my second favorite fairy tale: Beauty and the Beast. Plus, my love of capturing memories. ShutterElla would be too obvious in a town as small as ours.

So ShutterBelle it is.

Since this year’s Midnight in the Hollow theme is a masquerade, it seems like a safe place to meet for the first time. If it’s awkward or terrible, we can go on pretending like nothing ever happened. We won’t ever know who the other person is.

But it won’t go terribly. It can’t. Tonight will be life changing; I can feel it.

Besides, that’s not how the enchanted letters work. It’s not like a typical mail system where you just write someone all willy-nilly. There’s a few mailboxes scattered throughout town, and when you drop a letter into the mail slot, it magically travels to whoever your soulmate is.

I realize I’m a little young to be pondering soulmates, especially when I’m not even sure what I want to do with my life. But romance runs through my veins, as surely as it runs through this town. I can’t resist a good love story.

Patch sent the first letter one day late winter. I discovered it when I was climbing into bed for the night; a crackle under my pillow. It’s like the magic knew it needed to land in a safe space where my step-sisters or Charlotte couldn’t find it.

Maybe it would’ve found its way to me in another way if they had, or it could’ve disappeared in a blink because it wasn’t intended for them. It’s fun to imagine, but no one knows exactly how the magic works .

We’ve been writing to each other for months, but it feels like I’ve known him for years. There’s an entire stack of letters hidden away, filled with banter and jokes and quiet admissions as we continued our secret conversations.

He’s thoughtful and funny. He likes the outdoors and fires on a cold evening and playing Scrabble. I know he’s got sisters because he originally thought they were pranking him when I wrote back, but I don’t know if he has brothers. I suspect he’s got both parents and that they love him fiercely. Family seems very important to him.

We’re careful not to divulge too much about who we actually are, I think, because then it’s actually real. Some of the magic will slip away, and we’re no longer quiet confidantes. We have to navigate everything outside of that as well.

I think I’m ready for that, though.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I hug the letter to my chest.

“My life is going to change tonight,” I whisper, partly as an affirmation and partly as a wish.

It’s a lot of hope to put on something or someone, but I don’t think the magic behind these letters would steer me wrong. I kiss the letter and shove it back into my pocket before I shrug on my sweater.

My bedroom door swings open, and my stepmother crosses her arms as she glares at me. Charlotte is the opposite of my mother in every way I can imagine. She’s what Gaby describes as regal elegance. Her clothing is always sleek lines, and she has dark hair with an icy complexion. Everything about Mom was warmth. My golden hair, my skin that tans in the summer, my green eyes.

I’m a walking reminder of her dead husband’s first love and she never lets me forget it.

“Ella, when I call for you, I don’t expect to be kept waiting. ”

Heat floods my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I just needed to grab a few things.”

“What are you wearing?”

I glance down at the dress I pulled out of the back of my closet. It’s vintage, like so many of my other clothes, but it’s my moms. Like a porcelain doll pumpkin, it’s a soft rosy pink with an ombre bleed to the material touching the ground. It’s feels like a fairy tale with its empire waist and delicate straps, a layer of beaded mesh descending in a split design over the satin gown. I had to treat the delicate fabric a few times to get rid of a few discolorations, but it almost looks like new.

“My dress for the dance.” I refuse to let my voice wobble. It didn’t cost her a penny, so it should be a non-issue.

A few days ago, Charlotte told me she’d returned the dress I’d bought for the dance tonight. Gaby and I scoured multiple shops in town and even outside of town looking for the perfect dress. And while I realize it’s pretty on the nose, I chose a dress that reminds me of a Cinderella pumpkin. The base layer was a deep orange, while the chiffon overlay was a dark red, the colors bleeding into each other.

She claimed it was a budget issue, even though I stayed under her budget. But we both know that’s not why she took it back.

“What makes you think you’re still going?”

The coldness of her tone snakes down my spine.

“The whole town goes. It’s tradition,” I reply. Nevermind that I helped decorate for it, it’s my last one, and I have plans. Big plans.

Ones I know without question she can’t learn about.

She uncrosses an arm and waves a hand in the air dismissively. Then she takes a couple of steps into my room, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she does.

“This town is so odd about its traditions. It’s the most formal event of the year and even then it’s laughable. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

My heart hammers in my chest. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes fall on mine again, and I can’t help but feel like a mouse caught by a cat. It’s unsettling and new.

“I’ve got a job waiting. A very important one. You could say it’s life-changing.”

“What is it?” I swallow, taking a step back.

Charlotte ignores my retreat and takes two more steps forward. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

But I am worried. If I read between the lines, it sounds like this move could happen soon and my senior year is only beginning. We’ve barely been in school a month. Midnight in the Hollow almost always coincides with the first ‘official’ day of fall.

“I never understood this fashion.” Charlotte ignores my lack of response and slips a finger under one strap of my dress. “It’s so”—she yanks upward, tearing the strap from the gown—“flimsy.”

I gasp as my eyes cut to the strap. Technically, it’s fixable. I can resew it and the strap might be a little tighter than the other. It’s fine. But my stomach churns as Charlotte continues to loom over me.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“You’ve made it hard for my girls to fit in here, Ella. Three girls are costly. Not to mention no one wants to associate with the little orphan farm girl.”

There’s a rip as she wrenches a section of mesh downward.

“All this match-making and magic.” She leans forward so her voice is in my ear. “It’s a lie. A brilliant marketing plot, but complete and utter hogwash. I loved your father, and what did it get me? I’m left with dirt and an old house and you.”

I want to shout that she didn’t meet him because of magic. That he deserved better. But the words won’t leave my lips. I won’t stoop to her level. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes and it makes me angry. She doesn’t deserve my tears.

“Then I suppose it’s good you have a new opportunity for you to find what you’re looking for,” I answer, fighting to keep my voice even.

A throaty, manic laugh escapes Charlotte. “Oh, you have no idea. You’re not going to the dance tonight, Ella. I forbid it.”

Before I can form a response, she spins on her heel and walks out my door. And all I’m left with is a ragged gown, a magical letter, and silence.