Page 11 of Everything She Does Is Magic (Fableview #1)

Anya

My actions at the costume parade were not enough to break Cal’s vow of silence.

We stayed silent on our ride home, and then Cal left me alone in the house for the rest of the night.

I thought she would never bring it up again, but when I asked if I could go to the pumpkin patch party—whatever that is—she surprised me by saying yes.

Nodding yes, more like it, and then writing down that my “little magic stunt” at the costume parade was “entirely irrational” and “seemed to be motivated by romantic feelings, which should be avoided at all costs when choosing a protector for the upcoming initiation.”

I still don’t know why I fixed Maddie’s wings.

She was just looking so sad, and I knew I could do something about it.

There aren’t any official rules about practicing magic in public.

Obviously the whole town of Fableview relies on the belief that real witches live here.

But if Darcy’s right about anything, it’s that the true magic is in the mystery.

I know better than anyone that making the exact nature of my powers known to too many mortals starts to make them want things from me that I can’t accomplish.

They don’t care about who I am as a person, only what I can give to them.

Fixing Maddie’s costume may be one of my last acts as a mender.

What I do need is to make a real plan for my nonwitch life. I’ve got to learn how regular people choose their passions. Make their money. All of it.

As seems to be the case with every event in Fableview, today’s pumpkin patch party is very on theme.

There are pumpkins everywhere . Real ones, stuffed ones, paintings of ones.

Familiesroam the patch of actual pumpkins, walking up and down rows, searching for the perfect ones to buy.

There are booths full of pumpkin-themed foods.

And lots of people dressed in appropriately pumpkin-esque clothing.

I pass countless classmates, making a promise to myself that if anyone makes eye contact with me, I will try to make an honest effort to talk to them in return. Without the weight of worrying about whether they can be my protector, maybe it will be easier to make a real friend.

If there’s one thing I have going for me today, it’s that Aunt Cal has decided not to attend, writing that she found it “emotionally exhausting to trail teenagers.” But I guess the same could be said for everyone else.

They don’t have strange, reclusive witch aunts who wear patchwork quilt jackets and take vows of silence that even social customs cannot break.

In a month, I won’t have that either. I won’t have anything, actually.

That’s when I see the flash of red hair, the shock of curls that can sometimes wake me from a dead sleep.

Julia.

There’s no way it’s her, so many years after we last saw each other, hundreds of miles from here.

Then again, a lot of the people in Fableview are tourists, and Halloween was always Julia’s favorite holiday.

The year we were supposedly friends, we wore matching costumes on Halloween.

We were green M&M’s. Her choice. She wanted us to be the same, and while I wouldn’t ordinarily want to dress as a green M&M, I was thrilled to be included. I happily wore the costume with her.

Now I look back and I know it wasn’t about wanting us to dress alike because we were best friends. It was about wanting to see how much control she had over me. In the end, I’m glad she didn’t have all of it.

She’s a year older than I am, so she’d be out of high school by now. She could take a spontaneous October trip if she wanted. And what better place for a Halloween enthusiast than Fableview?

Possessed by something—a need to know for sure, a desire for closure, maybe all of it—I chase down those curls. I’m a wrecking ball, crashing into strollers, bumping shoulders with my classmates.

“Doyle!” someone calls out.

Doyle is my last name, but I have never been the type of person to go by it, so I continue on my path.

“Um, hello?”

Grace Manalo steps in front of me, waving a corn on the cob in my face.

She’s dressed as a jack-o’-lantern, wearing a long orange dress with a smiling black face on her stomach and a stem hat on her head.

It’s an outfit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but on Grace, it somehow seems understated, even with the false orange eyelashes she wears.

“I know you heard me say your name.” She takes a huge bite of corn, unmoved by the startled urgency in my eyes.

“I don’t trust you,” she continues, forcing my attention off the crowd and onto her.

“Ever since you moved here, you just kind of lurk everywhere you go. Which is weird already, but you do it in this way where it’s like you’re more mysterious than the rest of us. And I’m kind of tired of it.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. The longer we speak, the farther away the red curls get in the crowd. “I really have to go.”

“I don’t have the capacity for another brooding mystery around here.

” Grace puts her corncob up to block my exit.

“Ask anyone what happened with me and Parker Holt last year. They ruined my life with their brooding. It was such a production. When we went to the Fall Ball together, they didn’t get me a corsage.

Which is actually fine, because I’m really picky, and I wouldn’t have worn it if it didn’t go with my dress.

But it did hurt my feelings. Sometimes it’s about the gesture, not the actual result.

I needed to know they cared enough to look for something for me.

That’s all. And, by the way, I’m not even, like, attracted to you.

Not that you’re unattractive. Don’t read into this.

It’s just, on an energy level, I think I would devour you in a way that wouldn’t be fun for either of us.

I have no interest in someone who can’t match me. ”

At some point, Grace’s rate of speaking slowed down. She’s talking at an almost comical pace, like someone has put her audio on half speed. The red curls are fully out of sight, and I am standing still, strangely transfixed by this speech Grace is giving.

“I’m legitimately afraid you’re going to ruin my life through proximity.” She takes a full ten seconds to hit every syllable. “Like, you’re the type who would substitute almond milk for regular milk in my latte. It would be very bad. I’d have to use my EpiPen.”

“If you have a nut allergy, I will never give you something with nuts in it,” I tell her.

“That’s it?” Her regular rate of speech returns. “You don’t have anything else to say to all that?”

“Not really. Could you show me who Parker Holt is, though? I’ve heard the name, but I can’t put a face to them right now.”

“Search the crowd for the person who looks like they could inflict the most possible emotional damage on you.”

I can’t tell if she’s joking, so I do search the crowd. It’s a good excuse to give one last scan for the red hair.

I spot Darcy instead. The clouds have parted, and there she stands, shining like the sun in her pumpkin sweater and matching headband, smiling as she puts a pumpkin sticker onto a little kid’s shirt.

“I was kidding. Parker isn’t here,” Grace says. “Unless maybe they are.” She pulls out her phone, scanning through her pictures in a panic until she finds one to show me. “This is them, okay? If you see them, you need to warn me.”

“You just said they’re not here,” I remind her, looking at a blurry black-and-white photo of a person in silhouette. I couldn’t recognize Parker Holt if I tried.

“Things can change, Doyle,” Grace says. “Please keep up.”

Darcy makes her way over to us, squeezing Grace’s shoulder. “Please tell me you’re reminding people about the face painting.” Then she looks at me and says in a voice so gentle it makes my neck tingle, “Hey.”

“Where did you set up for it?” I ask, working very hard not to make too much of the honey-sweet change in her tone.

“I’m doing it in the Pam’s Paints booth. My parents are spending the day leading pumpkin carving demos on the main stage, so they won’t see me over there.”

“Smart.”

“I thought you’d know where to find me, but then I remembered you haven’t been to the pumpkin patch party before. Do you want to see our booth?”

“I’ll come check it out in a bit,” Grace answers, not realizing the question is for me. “I’m running a perimeter check for Parker.”

“Sounds good.” Darcy sticks her hand out. “Here, come withme.”

When I grab on, there are a dozen zaps in the center of my chest, tiny fireworks of excitement that bounce off my sternum. Darcy Keller is guiding me through this crowd of locals and tourists. She’s holding my hand.

“I love the pumpkin patch party,” she says.

“What exactly makes it a party?”

Darcy laughs. She appreciates my dry observations, which is why I’ve started making them more. Just to keep winning at my own contest. And to be considerate of her feelings. She likes to laugh, and I seem to be able to provide that for her. It’s the least I can do for the kindness she’s shown me.

“I guess it’s not really. Although, anything can be a party if you believe hard enough,” she says. “This is just an excuse to pick pumpkins. Every event in Fableview has a fun official name that’s long and silly. That’s one thing I wouldn’t change.”

“Are you sure? It’s tough to tell people I’m at the”—I glance at the sign overhead—“Playfully Picturesque Pumpkin Patch Party. What with the reputation I’ve gained for being brooding and mysterious.”

“Grace told you,” Darcy says, scandalized.

“She did,” I say.

“Please don’t let her get to you. Grace has a knack for…exaggerating.”

“She’s correct, though. Nobody knows me. And I’m usually melancholic. Though hopefully I won’t destroy her life like Parker Holt did.”

Darcy glances over her shoulder. “ Please don’t say their name. They’re like Beetlejuice. Three mentions and they really do appear.”

We pass Kyle Holtzenberg participating in what looks to be some form of pumpkin bowling.

He clocks me, and I clock him right back, remembering what he said in the shop about how he and Darcy were “kind of dating.” He doesn’t look worried that Darcy’s holding my hand, which sparks my competitive energy.

I don’t know if he should be worried—I have no idea if Darcy isn’t straight—but it would be nice for Kyle to know the world doesn’t revolve around his appeal.

We arrive at the Pam’s Paints booth, currently guarded by nothing more than a sign that says Be Right Back .

It’s charming but strange, the amount of trust everyone has around here.

I’d say I want to learn how to adopt it for myself, but Kyle’s probably pocketed at least three handcrafted figurines in Darcy’s absence.

When I’m mortal, I will still lock my doors at night.

“Your parents really won’t see this?” I ask Darcy, gesturing to the face paint supplies.

“They usually stay inside the barn the whole time,” she says. “They’re kind of like the mayors of Halloween here.”

“I’ve picked up on that.”

“Yeah.” She’s careful not to put too much friction into it, but there’s still just enough unrest there to let me know she’s annoyed.

“I end up doing a lot of the actual day-to-day work for all our events because they’re so busy overseeing the big picture.

Which I guess is what I’ll be doing next year.

Although, knowing them, they’ll still be doing it with me.

But for now, they won’t have any idea I’m the secret face painter.

Unless they recognize my handiwork. In which case, I’ll apologize when they tell me how disappointed they are, and I will do a better job of hiding my artistic flair next time. ”

“You know, you deserve whatever it is you want out of life,” I say. “Even if it’s not to be the next Halloween mayor of Fableview.”

Darcy fumbles her face painting brushes, flustered. “You’re very kind for someone who completely ignored me the first two times I ever tried talking to you.”

I’ve hoped for many things when it comes to Darcy Keller, but few have been stronger than my hope that she didn’t remember those moments.

That gazing into her eyes, smelling the cloud of strawberry-and-vanilla perfume as she’d whipped her head around to face me, I’d lost my ability to do even the bare minimum level of speaking.

“I’m really sorry,” I tell her.

“Was I rude to you or something?”

“No,” I hurry out. “I just get shy around pretty girls.”

Now it’s my turn to fumble. The truth’s fallen out without any consideration for my audience—the pretty girl who makes me shy. I’m folding inside myself, hoping to become so small and insignificant, she forgets to notice I’m here. Maybe even forgets my existence at all.

“Oh” is all she says, worsening the effect.

A hollow silence falls over the tent. Never in my life did I think I’d be grateful for the presence of Kyle Holtzenberg, but when he struts up to the tent, yelling, “Daaaaaaaarce,” it is a balm to my blackened soul.

He’s accompanied by another classmate of ours. She was in my math class last year, and she’s a part of Darcy’s social circle when she’s around, which isn’t all that often.

“Piper! Welcome back,” Darcy says, springing up to hug her, completely ignoring Kyle. And also me. Lots of ignoring going on around this tent.

There it is. Piper Blake.

Her hair is as red as Julia’s, though it’s not curly, so there’s no chance she was the person I saw earlier.

Piper’s is pulled back into a thick braid, round-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

The tiny pumpkin embroidered on her collared shirt matches the one stitched into the front pocket of her dark green corduroy pants.

Where Darcy and Grace’s passion for dressing on theme is loud and bright, Piper’s seems as tidy and contained as she is.

“Sorry I missed the costume parade,” Piper says. “I hope it went well.”

“It was great,” Darcy tells her. “This is Anya, by the way.”

“Hi,” I say.

“We had math together last year.”

“We did,” I confirm.

“Darcy’s been hanging out with Anya a lot,” Kyle interjects.

A shot of something—adrenaline or a last-ditch effort not to die of mortification—straightens my spine. “Aren’t you and Darcy kind of dating?” I ask Kyle.

Darcy gasps. “Did he say that? We’re not dating. I’m very, very single.”

“Yeah, Darcy says she’d never date someone in Fableview,” Kyle tells me. “But if she would, it would probably be me. Which is what I meant. I just didn’t get a chance to explain that the other day, because I was too busy making sure all the ceramic pieces got cleaned up.”

“I wouldn’t never date someone,” Darcy says.

Now, this is interesting. Everyone has something to prove, except Piper Blake, who leans against a tent leg, smiling. “I think I missed a lot more than the costume parade,” she says.