Chapter 22
Sylvie
Every step towards the cauldron is more difficult, my feet impossibly heavy, the ground impossibly sticky.
The spell is doing something—that much is blatantly obvious.
My throat is hoarse from chanting, though it feels like barely any time has passed. A cold wind whips up all around us, despite the sunshine and eighty-degree forecast.
I press on, watching Aiden’s head bob above the others as he sweeps with everyone else.
Finally, we reach the cauldron.
Nearest to me, Ivy’s voice shakes and the sound tells me I must not be the only one struggling.
We have to finish this.
Tilly and Tara, both still chanting, pull the cart with the orange ten-gallon jug towards the cauldron. The Fire Cider potion is the key—and I hope with all my heart I didn’t get it wrong.
There’s something funny about the fact we’re hauling potion in what is essentially a sports jug—and I grin as I continue to chant, the spell coming out easier with the smile.
Tilly and Tara manage to balance the orange jug on the edge of the cauldron, and with a dramatic flourish, Tilly turns the spigot so the rest of the Fire Cider pours into the belly of the great iron pot.
Smoke immediately pours from the top, and my eyes widen, the chant on my tongue faltering slightly.
My heartbeat speeds up.
What if I did it wrong?
What if this is all about to go horribly wrong?
The smoke’s not the pale green from the horrible encounter with the former coven—it’s a rich, sparkling yellow gold, and it floats merrily from the top of the cauldron all around and through the crowd.
Though a surprising turn of events, it doesn’t feel wrong, doesn’t have the slimy ooze of sour magic like the ghost coven showed me.
No, it feels… right. Pleasant.
The cloud of smoke finally winds around me, and Prudence sneezes from where she walks beside me.
“It smells like cinnamon and apples,” she says, and I exhale in relief.
It does, too: like cinnamon and apples and nutmeg and fresh-baked pie and everything fall should be.
I close my eyes in relief, reciting the last word of the spell for the last time, hoping with everything in me that it’s worked.
A cry goes up from the crowd, and my eyes fly open in time to see an army of toads leaping from the cauldron.
Dozens of gray-green bodies, croaking in a choir of froggy voices.
More laughter echoes off the buildings, an awed susurration of voices as the frogs hop around for a long moment, until the very last one jumps from the edge of the cauldron.
The building magic, the syrupy, heavy feeling of it, disappears as the last frog hits the ground.
And all the frogs explode into golden sparkles.
“Well, I didn’t expect that to happen.” Prudence raises her back leg and begins grooming herself.
Scattered applause begins, picks up steam, and then the crowd is going wild, whooping and hollering and dancing to the music Em’s still blaring at the front of our strange witchy parade.
“Man, that was a cool special effect,” someone near me says.
Prudence and I share a long look.
“Do you think it worked?” I ask her.
“We didn’t die,” she says, then resumes licking her thigh.
At least it’s not her butthole.
Tara and Tilly and Em are all hugging, and Ivy and her sisters have found each other in the milieu. They give me a thumbs up when they see me looking.
And then Aiden is in front of me, sweeping me into a giant hug.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says, beaming down at me. “Look at this. You did it.”
“You think so?” I ask, biting my lower lip.
“Even if the store is still haunted—which seems doubtful, based on… well, whatever that was.” He lifts an eyebrow and I huff a laugh because yeah, toads exploding into glitter was so not planned.
“Even if it is—you did this today. You organized a whole event, distributed drinks, and look.” He points to a drone up above, filming the whole thing.
“This is going to look great on the New Hopewell tourist pages. And you’re opening your store today. That’s huge.”
Bending down, he plants a huge kiss on my lips.
I lace my fingers around his neck, holding him close, savoring the way his arms feel around me, wanting to burn this moment into my brain.
I did it.
I am doing it.
All the hard things, things I once thought were impossible—I am doing them.
I pull apart and I feel lighter, happier, like a huge weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.
“Come on,” I yell, turning around. “Let’s go see for ourselves.”
* * *
My brand-new sign, designed and ordered by the incredible graphic designer who basically got my entire life together, swings outside the bookstore.
My bookstore.
“To Be Read,” it says, in pink and green lettering. “A Bookstore for Those Who Like to Wander Through the Pages” is stamped in a neat serif font beneath my logo.
“Breathe,” Aiden tells me, and I do as he says.
“Like ripping off a Band-Aid,” I mutter, and then, squeezing my eyes shut, I unlock the deadbolt and twist the door handle.
The door swings open, and Aiden and I both gasp at the same time.
The bookstore is still full of the wholly unexpected.
But this time, it’s not ghosts, or cobwebs, or spiders, or anything spooky at all.
Well, unless you consider fully stocked bookshelves spooky.
Behind me, someone claps.
“The box worked!” Ivy squeals, and Posey gives me an intensely pleased expression.
“You did this?” I ask, marveling at the transformation. “How?”
“I wasn’t sure if it would,” Posey tells me. “Work, that is. The box I built—I designed it to funnel energy created by the spell back to your bookstore. I was worried the initial exorcism might create a vacuum—”
“Please don’t start talking about math or physics,” Rose groans.
“Basically, the spell and mechanism made sure that energy was reallocated where it belonged, to your store.”
“I am so glad we don’t have to sell our wares on the streets.” Prudence stalks inside, looking around with wide eyes. “That was well done, for a subpar witch.”
“At least I have opposable thumbs,” Posey tells her.
“Those that have human servants don’t need opposable thumbs,” Prudence says airily, jumping onto the plush couch that’s somehow magically transported itself into the middle of the bookstore.
“Oh my gosh.” I blink back tears. “This means I can open early. Like today. Like, right now.”
Everything is in its place. Sure, I wouldn’t be stocking horror in the children’s section, where it randomly is now, but that’s easy enough to fix.
The door jangles as someone walks in.
“Are you open?” they ask, looking around at the fully stocked tables and shelves.
Everyone turns to me.
“Yes,” I tell them. “We are open for business.”
And with that one word, with that yes, a whole new chapter begins.