Page 5 of Everything She Does Is Magic (Fableview #1)

For someone who is supposedly from a protector family, she hasn’t said this with any kind of hidden wink.

Maybe that’s her version of protection? Could she really believe that in a town like Fableview?

Aunt Cal and I aren’t the only witches who live here.

We’re standing in front of a store called Witches of Fableview, after all.

But, to my knowledge, we are the only coven that seeks out protectors.

Every coven has different rules, and in the Doyle family, having a protector is a practice that stretches back to our earliest times in Ireland.

There’s a story attached to it—there’s always a story—about a Doyle witch from hundreds of years ago who was moments from being killed for her gift, until she came up with a solution that appealed to everyone.

She realized that the mortals hated her for having something they would never have.

Making them a part of her magic by asking them to look out for her, to keep her safe, is what stopped them from killing her.

She used her magic to keep the town’s crops healthy, bringing good fortune and prosperity to the area.

And in exchange, she got to stay alive. It’s always sounded like more of a desperate trade-off than an actual act of kindness from the mortals.

Whether or not this actually happened anyway is impossible to say.

My family’s stories feel more like folklore than truth from where I’m sitting, passed down and reshaped through generations to fit whatever lesson needs to be taught.

What’s not lost on me is that my ancestor’s powers sound a lot like my own.

I might be the second coming of the witch who created our coven’s entire structure, and I’m the first one in the family line who doesn’t seem capable of following the rules she set forth.

I already tried once to ask a mortal to be my protector. Her name was Julia, and I thought she was my best friend. But I was wrong. Very, very wrong. So it’s a little hard to buy into the feel-good family narrative about our beautiful, enduring connection to mortals.

Darcy eyes me expectantly. If this conversation is a test, every question I ask must be precise.

“What kind of dog?” I choose.

“It’s just a cute little basset hound,” she says.

“Should’ve done a wolfhound,” I respond without thinking, forgetting to accept her assertion that witches aren’t real.

This knocks Darcy out of whatever internal spiral she’s been in, reminding her that her audience for this is me, a stranger. An outsider.

“Don’t tell me you believe in witches,” she says. She reaches behind my ear, and my breath hitches at the nearness of her. She smells as sweet as always. Her hand is so soft.

I could die. I really could.

She procures a coin. It’s pressed into an oval shape and imprinted with a picture of a jack-o’-lantern.

“Someone else would tell you that’s magic,” she whispers. “But I will tell you the truth. Anyone who says they have real powers around here has just watched some YouTube tutorials on magic tricks.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “That seemed pretty real to me. There’s no way you’re walking around carrying specialty coins in yourpockets.”

“Of course I am. We keep them in this cape to use on little kids who come into the shop.” She looks me up and down, lingering on my face for so long that my hands start sweating. “Or high school French students.”

It’s hard to meet her eye. She’s just so confident, even now when she’s completely wrong.

“It’s fun to pretend, though,” she continues. “That’s what makes Halloween the best holiday of them all. It’s all about the art of make-believe. And I love to imagine things. I just don’t mistake my imagination for reality. So if you see something here you can’t explain…”

“Someone learned how to do it on YouTube,” I finish.

“Exactly.” She smiles, pleased. “Or it’s a natural phenomenon. I’ve definitely seen a lot of what Mother Nature can do while living here.”

“She’s powerful,” I say.

“She is. So, tell me why you’re here.”

She’s been very vulnerable, honest despite her obvious defenses, that maybe I should do the same in return. Maybe that’s the only way out of all this.

“The truth is…” I start, clearing my throat before I say therest.

Darcy’s eyes widen. Green like spring. Green as hope.

“I’m a witch.”

“Shut up,” she says.

“I’m serious.”

We stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime. What looks at first to be a true, deep understanding dawning on her face turns out to be…

Laughter.

“I never knew you were this funny,” she says, grabbing my arm to steady herself.

“Neither did I.”

She smiles expectantly, waiting for the truth that’s supposed to follow my punch line.

Pulsing with a new wave of adrenaline, I say, “Actually, I’m here because I want to take your art class.”

“You…what?”

“I came here to take your art class,” I repeat. Beads of sweat break through on my forehead. “I always see signs for the shop around town. And since it’s October, it feels like the right time to try it out. Is it too late to join?”

“Not at all,” she says. “Follow me.”

So I do.

I’m not ready to walk away anymore either.

Darcy Keller is the perfect girl, and not because she’s beautiful, funny, and smart.

Darcy is perfect because she doesn’t believe in magic.

My powers don’t matter to her. Instead of asking her about the dinner or about being my protector, I can use her as a template.

Darcy Keller can show me how a mortal makes a living.

And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can pull her out of another bad mood in the process.