Page 23 of Everything She Does Is Magic (Fableview #1)
Anya
My parents are upstairs, still getting ready. Aunt Cal looks at the clock on the wall, studying the time as if it might move faster with her attention on it. “We set a time because we meant it,” she says.
“They’re only seven minutes early,” I say.
“And seven minutes can be a very long time, depending on the circumstances.”
“We brought cupcakes!” Mrs.Keller announces.
Aunt Cal lets out a long, theatrical grunt.
When she doesn’t move, I stand up. My whole face burns, nerves and embarrassment fighting a winless war inside me as I make the long processional to the front door.
There are animal bones atop Aunt Cal’s mantel, long-dead pets of hers that she took to a taxidermist to be cleaned by dermestid beetles, now forever immortalized in various strange, skeletal positions.
She has a cat standing on its hind legs, batting at an imaginary fly.
A snake positioned as if ready to bite. A ferret mid-growl.
The entryway wall is covered with moths pinned by their wings, captured inside shadow boxes, mixed in with portraits of our dead relatives and moody renderings of the Cailleach, an old crone known in Irish mythology to rule over the winter months.
The Kellers love Halloween in the candy corn hat and fake spiderweb draped across a bush kind of way. It’s never creepy in their version of Fableview. Aunt Cal’s house feels like a mausoleum, in contrast. A tribute to the dead, or “life after life,” as she likes to say.
Never has the contrast been clearer than when the Kellers file inside one by one.
Mr.Keller has opted to wear a pumpkin tie atop a bright orange button-down, carrying cupcakes frosted in the same shade.
Mrs.Keller is wearing a white turtleneck with a purple sleeveless vest over it, tiny bedsheet ghosts sewn on to match her ghost earrings.
They look like comic book characters trapped inside the wrong story, wandering a haunted house when they’re meant to be tossing out lollipops from a parade float.
Darcy comes in last, holding a jug of apple cider and wearing an apologetic grin.
She has on a short, flowy dress in a lovely shade of lilac, with a V-cut neckline that emphasizes her double-chain gold necklace.
It’s a crescent moon and a star, one layer resting near the hollow of her throat and the other hovering above the top seam of the dress, daring my eyes to look lower.
“Sorry we’re early.” She’s close enough that I can smell her lotion, buttery sweet and irresistible. “I tried to get them to wait in the car.”
“I’m not personally offended, but I can’t speak for my aunt,” I say back.
Darcy gives my hand one quick squeeze. My face betrays my cool, showing all my breathless excitement. “It’s okay. You can smile.”
My cheeks pull back on her command. “So long as you don’t tell anyone at school I’m capable of it.”
“I’d never.” She leans in close. “But can I tell them you’re a witch? I forgot to ask that last night. Grace already thinks youare.”
“Of course she does,” I say. “For now, though, let’s keep it between you and me.”
Because I won’t be a witch much longer. I push the thought away.
Aunt Cal swoops into the front room, where we’ve gathered. Her patchwork jacket trails behind her. Instead of delivering her own greeting, she waits for the Kellers to announce themselves, not responding until Darcy apologizes for their early arrival.
“We’re so sorry we’re early,” she says.
Aunt Cal gives her a curt nod. Then she turns around, heading toward the dining room, the long, dramatic swoop of her jacket seeming to say, Follow if you must.
My parents come down the stairs and exchange hellos with the Kellers, giving hugs and talking about general Fableview chatter. Darcy and I immediately sequester ourselves, sitting down side by side at the long dining table.
Darcy places her hand atop my leg under the table. I lean in to her. Another game for us to play. How many ways can we touch each other without anyone noticing?
“This place is cool,” she says.
There are stacks of books on witchcraft, family tomes and regular fare, everywhere the eye can see. Crystals and melted candles cover every surface that isn’t adorned with relics and offerings. “It’s very Cal,” I say, hoping that somehow explains it all.
“Reminds me of you too,” she replies. “Witchy.”
My heart leaps at the comment. “I can’t believe I’m the one who’s made a believer out of Darcy Keller.”
“A powerful witch indeed,” she teases, stroking her thumb along the top of my thigh.
My mom excuses herself to bring out the plates of food, ending our ability to keep ourselves together. The adults choose their spots along the table, and the dinner begins in earnest.
“It’s good to see you, Cal,” Mrs.Keller starts, even though she’s already said a form of this without me and Darcy involved. “And, Rhonda. It’s been years.”
They know each other, which makes sense, because Cal’s lived here a very long time, and the Kellers have too. It’s still strange to witness this connection, like it’s incorrect somehow that these two worlds intermingled long before my inclusion.
I wonder again about Piper Blake’s dad. If Darcy’s parents know about Cal’s breakup with him. There must be stories between all of them. Lore that could take up hours of this meal. That’s how this town operates.
“We’d love to see you at the shop more,” Mrs.Keller says, and Cal actually looks down at her hands, bashful. It’s so rare to see—Cal uncomfortable in a way she can’t hide behind her stony glances.
I hate that I recognize myself in it. All those times I thought I was hiding away were exactly when I was the most exposed. It’s braver to own the discomfort than it is to act like it doesn’t exist.
“I stopped in recently,” Cal says. “Looks very nice in there.”
“You did? I wish I knew! We’d have loved to catch up.”
“Yeah, she was there at the costume parade,” Darcy tells her parents.
“We’re old friends,” Mr.Keller says.
A tense moment passes, something decided among the adults that isn’t for us to discuss here. It must be about Piper Blake’s dad and Cal. Since Darcy and Piper are friends, the Kellers are probably good friends with the infamous Mark Blake too.
“So!” Mr.Keller says good-naturedly, looking down the table at me. “What’s next for you, Anya? Any plans for after high school?”
I shift in my seat, acutely aware of the fabric of my shirt, the sweat that’s pooling underneath my armpits, seeping through the black.
“Tough to say,” I tell him, meaning it.
My mom laughs, taking the opportunity to pat my head. “Anya has a home with any of us in the family, but I know she’s been loving it here in Fableview. She’d probably be thrilled to stick around.”
Sweat.
Dripping.
“Music to our ears!” Mr.Keller says back. “That’s exactly what our Darcy’s planning to do too. She’s taking over our art shop for us when we retire. Hopefully next year, if all goes well, but certainly in the next two!”
“How about that?” my mom says in amazement. She gazes across me to look at Darcy, offering her a genuine smile of excitement. “You must be thrilled.”
“We’re ecstatic,” her dad says. “I’m sure you know how badly the Holtzenbergs want control of the Halloween festivities. We’re happy to be able to keep it in the family.”
“The Holtzenbergs still want in on that?” Mom asks. “Goodness, the people around here really don’t change, do they?”
This makes Darcy laugh. It’s a bitter, uncomfortable sound, drawing all the attention to her. “Actually,” she says, “I might go to college out of state.” She takes a huge bite of her ravioli.
The ripple of shock moves in slow-motion, bouncing off me and sailing down the table until it reaches her parents.
Her dad cocks his head to the side, almost like he’s shaking water out of his ear, confident he hasn’t heard her right.
Her mom leans forward, elbows on the table.
Darcy holds herself up straight, continuing to look my mom in the eye as she chews.
“That’s probably for the best,” Aunt Cal says, pulling the focus off Darcy for her first offering of the meal. She sits at the head of the table, looking straight forward.
If anyone other than me had a sense of what was going on, it’s lost now. Only I understand the message Cal is sending, and all I can do is hope she doesn’t feel the need to share that message aloud.
Darcy, still embracing her bold rebellion, says, “Why’s that?”
“Because there’s no way you can be Anya’s protector now that you’re her romantic interest.”
There it is. Out in the open.
If Darcy’s statement about college tilted us sideways, this flips us upside down completely.
“Protector?” Darcy asks.
“Romantic interest?” says my mom.
“College?” Darcy’s parents ask in unison.
Darcy and I exchange a look, trying to see in each other’s face what we think is going on. There are a dozen Ping-Pong balls bouncing around us, at us, through us, and the easiest way to solve this is to catch and handle just one.
Just us.
“Can we be excused?” I direct this question to my dad, because he hasn’t contributed to the conversation so far, and he’s most likely to let me escape the pressure of this situation.
He gives me a solemn nod, and I take Darcy’s hand.