Page 54
It was remarkable, really, how quickly life went back to normal.
Which was to say there were levitating children, evenings by the fire, homemade toast with honey, Nicholas pledging undying loyalty at least once a day, Sera tripping over the undead rooster at least twice a day, and, oh, the list went on.
But there was still one unanswered question bothering her, and, at the kitchen table one afternoon, with a teacup full of daisies in her hands, she asked it.
“What’s going to happen to the inn?”
Jasmine paused in the middle of her sewing on the other side of the table. Luke looked up from his laptop, looked down at the teacup of wildflowers in her hands, and understood at once. “The magic?”
Sera nodded. “If my spell on the inn only lasted as long as it did because I was keeping it going the whole time, is it going to disappear now that I can’t?”
“I expect so,” Luke said quietly.
“So the teacup flowers and the apple blossom tea in Posy’s room and everything else…”
He nodded. “It won’t happen today or tomorrow, but yeah, over time, without you stoking the fire, the spell will fade away.”
“Oh. Right. Of course. Makes sense.” She’d known this already, really, but there was a small part of her that had hoped some of the magic would stay. “It’ll be weird. It’s been so long. I don’t really remember what the house was like without it.”
“It won’t matter, my love,” Jasmine said reassuringly. “With or without your magic, Matilda and I will make sure the inn is always here for anyone who needs it.”
This last bit was news to Sera. “Matilda and you? What about me?”
“This will always be your home, pet, but you never really wanted to run the inn,” Jasmine pointed out. “Now, with Matilda here for good, you no longer have to.”
Sera thought about that. Thought about the fact that, for the first time in a long, long time, she no longer felt like she owed something to the inn she’d spelled, the great-aunt she’d resurrected, and the wonderful, irregular people she’d invited in out of the cold.
You don’t have to do it alone, Jasmine had tried to tell her once. This is not all on you.
For the first time in a long, long time, she felt like she could do what she wanted, and believe it or not, what she wanted was the inn.
“I’m not ready to give the inn up.” Sera smiled. “But I might step back a bit. You know. Sleep in more. Watch more TV. Try something new. Spend a bit more time with todays and a bit less time with yesterdays and tomorrows.”
Jasmine smiled back. “That sounds perfect.”
Soon, it was the day of Clemmie’s oathtaking rite, a more or less unnecessary but nevertheless traditional bit of pompous nonsense that was supposed to mark the start of her time as Chancellor of the Guild. They all went up to Northumberland for it.
The rite itself was dreary, a bit of spellcasting followed by a series of oaths about service and duty that were to be read out loud from a dusty book followed by the appearance of a hideous purple cloak (Clemmie, who had obviously gone to great lengths with her outfit of beaded corsetry and Renaissance opulence, looked acutely anguished at having to ruin the effect with anything so ghastly as the cloak), but it was worth putting up with the whole tedious affair because there was a positively lavish feast afterward.
(Including a tiny and entirely predictable hiccup when Nicholas found himself in possession of a flute of witch wine, drank it in spite of express instructions not to, and turned a lurid shade of green, but as he was surrounded by a hundred or so witches who could undo the effect in time, he would not, thankfully, have to spend the next year or so looking like the Wicked Witch of the West.)
“Clementine Bennet, Chancellor of the British Guild of Sorcery,” Luke said in a wry undertone to Sera. “God help us all.”
Clemmie, who wasn’t far away, scowled. “What was that?”
“Mind your own business, Clemmie.”
“Times like this,” said the new, not very dignified Chancellor, “I really miss my fox ears.”
“Are you still planning to come round for lunch next Saturday?” Sera asked her.
“Am I still invited?” Clemmie replied.
“Grudgingly,” said Sera, but she smiled as she said it.
“Then I’ll be there,” said Clemmie, smiling back.
After the feast, Luke and Verity had to swap notes on their latest project, and Francesca had invited Sera to come meet her young twins, so Nicholas drove Jasmine, Matilda, and the kids home in his car while Luke and Sera stayed a while longer.
“So what’s next for you?” Francesca asked over tea. The twins had polished off their cake in seconds and were now rummaging in the biggest box of Lego that Sera had ever seen.
“There’s always plenty going on at the inn, but other than that, I’m not sure yet,” Sera replied. “I feel like my whole life’s just been reset. I’m taking a minute to let that sink in.”
Francesca stretched a hand across the little table. “Sera, your magic may be gone, but I hope you know you’ll always have a place here.”
Touched, Sera thanked her.
“Don’t thank me.” Francesca shook her head. “Honestly, I just want my friend back.”
Sera squeezed her hand. “Me too.”
Then, mere moments after Sera left Francesca, Howard commandeered her in the hallway and dragged her off to his office to see an old manuscript he’d gotten from Bradford Bertram-Mogg “for an absolute steal . After the books and treasures he’s had to repatriate, he was just grateful to get anything for this one at all! ”
“No way!” Sera positively squealed at the sight of the beautiful, familiar manuscript. “You snagged The Extraordinary Handbook of Magical Tales from him! I used to love this so much when I was younger!”
“Yes, Luke told me,” Howard said, smiling bashfully. “Take it. It’s a gift.”
“Oh, no , I can’t take it from you!”
“You misunderstand me, my dear.” Howard laughed. “I got it from old Bertram-Mogg for you.”
Sera hugged him. “Howard, I could kiss you.”
Holding the precious, carefully wrapped manuscript to her chest, Sera went to the library to find Luke. She roamed the familiar stacks, drifting between shelves of old books, tracing the spines.
On the second level, tucked between a mullioned window and a stairway, she spotted two young witches huddled over a book.
They couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old, dressed in their Guild uniform of grey jumpers, grey skirts, and red ties, and there was a giggly, barely suppressed excitement in their hushed voices that reminded her of another time and another Sera.
She watched them for a moment. There was something bittersweet about seeing the next generation of witches take her place.
Bittersweet, but not bitter.
When she thought about it, the truth was that what she had now was worth so much more than what she’d had before. The magic of her past had been a gift, but the magic of her present had been earned.
“There you are.” Luke had found her first. “What’ve you got there?”
“Luke, you’re never going to guess what Howard gave me! Actually, you probably already know about it because he said you told him how much I used to love The Extraordinary Handbook of Magical Tales . Look! Isn’t it incredible? I told him I could have kissed him.”
“Yeah, kissing Howard is very, very out of the question, love.”
“He’s not into women?”
“He’s not into women his friends are more than a little territorial about.”
She laughed. “Territorial?”
“My lizard brain’s taken over,” Luke said apologetically. “It’s looking at you right now and thinking mine . I’m sure it’ll calm the fuck down sooner or later.”
“Later, I hope.” She shifted the manuscript tenderly to one arm, stood on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his.
The laughter vanished from his eyes. He kissed her back, harder. “Later it is.” His voice was all gravel. He gripped the back of her neck, running his thumb over her jawline. “Want to go home?”
“More than anything.”
When they arrived back at the inn, where the old roof tiles and chimneys were dusted with powdery white like a gingerbread cottage, new snow lay softly across the hills, dells, and woods.
Across the entire garden, from the oak tree all the way down to the coop, the sparkling white blanket was interrupted by wildflowers.
They ought to have been impossible, but there they were, peeping out of the snow in the unlikeliest colours. Ice blues and posy pinks, fox reds and steely silvers, and of course, again and again, the bright, fiery gold of phoenix feathers. Thousands of tiny blossoms defying the frost.
Surviving.
Thriving.
Like that one solitary star Sera saw every time she closed her eyes, they were a reminder that she would never be abandoned by the magic she had loved so much.
Not the magic of hygge spells and enchanted cabbages, no, but the magic of a lit window on a dark night, the magic of the wild green land, the magic of birds’ nest boy hair and trampolines and hot tea and glacier eyes lit with laughter, the magic of living, living, living.
That was the magic that made the wildflowers bloom.
Table of Contents
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- Page 54 (Reading here)