Page 9 of Everything She Does Is Magic (Fableview #1)

Anya

Aunt Cal’s presence is the equivalent of an ant on a sandwich, trudging along with unbroken determination. Everywhere I go, she follows, chasing my actions without speaking words.

She has the magical power of foresight. It’s not as much of a benefit as one might hope, especially because of its unpredictable nature.

She can see the future. She just can’t always control what future she sees.

Or when she sees it. Which is why she’s decided to give up speaking, believing that the loss of one sense will heighten this other one.

It’s something one of her mentors had her try when she was still an apprentice, as I am.

She’s gotten very into using eggs as scribes, dropping them into water and watching the way the yolk splays, using that as an additional divination device to aid her visions.

It’s also why she got that far-off look this afternoon when I told her I was heading out to the costume parade.

She made a wait-for-me gesture with her hands, then proceeded to spend another hour doing random things around the house, making me arrive at Pam’s Paints much later than I planned.

If only I could just say this to Darcy, who’s holding back tears over the ceramics she’s just shattered.

But Darcy doesn’t believe in real witches in the first place, and Cal is listening to my every word, so all I can manage is a “Sorry I’m late. Here, let me help.”

“I didn’t even notice.” Darcy blocks my hand from grabbing the broom tucked into a corner behind her. “And I’ve got it, thanks.” Something jagged in her tone, as broken as the ceramics on the floor, tells me she did notice. And she cared.

My chest already aches seeing her this way—distraught over what’s been broken. She keeps looking away as she wipes her tears.

I glance over my shoulder at Cal, who is holding up one of the shop’s many witch figurines and examining it with an uncensored grimace. If Aunt Cal would speak, she’d surely say something along the lines of “Purple striped socks? Please. ”

“My aunt wouldn’t let me leave sooner,” I whisper to Darcy. “She hates being early. She thinks it’s embarrassing. I’m really sorry.”

Darcy doesn’t quite smile, but she’s less despairing. “It’s okay.” She wipes another tear. “I made some cards I thought we could pass out. I just need to finish sweeping this up first. I’m sure I can glue everything back together later.”

The ceramics aren’t in pieces—they are in shards . The sharp, pointy, dusty kind. Glue doesn’t stand a chance against this kind of destruction. But what good would it be to point that out when Darcy’s so visibly upset?

“Let me help,” I say again, softer.

This time she hands me the dustpan and starts dutifully sweeping the last pieces inside.

“I can’t get cut,” the young guy in the shop tells us. “Blood makes me faint.”

I know him from gym class, I realize. Kyle Something.

Kyle Holtzenberg .

Darcy mentioned the Holtzenbergs when we stood together on Fableview Boulevard. The way she’d said their last name made them sound annoying. She painted an effective picture, because if Kyle’s gym-class-hero behavior is anything to go off of, he definitely lives up to that legacy.

Whispering so as to intentionally exclude Kyle, I tell Darcy, “We don’t have to pass out the cards if you’re not up for it.”

“Of course I’m up for it.” There it is again, that challenge. The need to prove something to me that’s already been proven.

“My aunt will be tagging along,” I say, trying to communicate with my eyes that I know this is weird and I am very sorry, but it cannot be avoided.

This is Aunt Cal’s version of mentorship—lurking.

“Cool,” Darcy says. She looks to Cal and waves at her. “Nice to officially meet you. I’m Darcy. I’ve seen you around Fableview, of course. I love your quilt coat.”

Aunt Cal only smiles in response. Not a very friendly one either. It’s a worst-case-scenario response, and there is no apologizing for it or explaining her vow of silence.

“Let me just drop this off in the supply closet. Then I’ll run up and grab one of my parents to watch the shop,” Darcy says.

Once Darcy gets upstairs, it’s just me, Cal, and Kyle Holtzenberg inside Pam’s Paints.

“Nobody’s manning the desk right now. What if one of us stole something?” Kyle asks while Darcy’s gone. “That would befunny.”

I can’t imagine what’s funny about that, and neither can Cal, so we unite in our power of glaring, focusing all the intensity onto Kyle.

“I wasn’t actually gonna do it.” He holds up his hands like he might’ve already pocketed a ceramic figurine. “I’ve known Darcy longer than you have anyway. We’re kind of dating.”

This is a genuine shock. One, for the distinct lack of romantic energy that Kyle and Darcy emanate.

I’ve only been in their shared presence for a few minutes, and it’s as flat as a carbonated drink left out on a counter for too long.

Two, anytime I’ve ever had the misfortune of getting placed on Kyle’s dodgeball team in gym or asked to pair up for badminton, he is annoying.

Ruthlessly competitive at eight in the morning, when the rest of us are barely awake.

And three, I guess I hoped Darcy would have not necessarily higher standards but different ones. She doesn’t have to like girls. I would never believe she could like me.

But Kyle Holtzenberg?

When Darcy comes down the stairs, any trace of her previous crying is gone. She’s smiling with all her teeth, as usual. There’s a fresh coat of lip gloss on her mouth, shiny and pink and perfect. Her mom follows, dressed in the same fifties costume she wore at the paint lesson.

Aunt Cal darts outside. She is so precise in her movements that she manages to open the door without activating the bell chime. If Darcy is part of a legacy protector family, what does Darcy’s mom know about my family? What does Cal know about Darcy’s?

“Our newest committee member,” Mrs.Keller says, waving at me.

“Yes,” I say.

“ You joined the planning committee?” Kyle asks, using the same voice that comes out whenever I manage to score a basket in gym class or whatever.

“Of course I did.” I narrow my eyes in the exact way I know freaks him out. He’s so confident in my inability to do anything that it weirdly makes me braver. “Are you not a member?”

“My parents are,” he says.

“Hmm.”

“See you in a bit!” Darcy calls out to her mom.

“Love you, sweetie,” her mom calls back. “Enjoy the parade!”

Out on Fableview Boulevard, the sidewalk is lined with the barrier ropes that Darcy discussed at the meeting. Kids in costumes trot proudly down the middle of the street, beaming at the spectators. Though my clothes are black—and so is my heart—even I think this parade is adorable.

“I’m gonna head out,” Kyle tells us.

Darcy waves goodbye. Kyle lifts a single hooked finger in response, then saunters off in the other direction.

“Thank god.” Darcy sounds so relieved to be free of him that I can’t help but smile. Even if she is dating him, at least she knows it’s a joy to see him leave. That’s progress I can get behind.

Spectators stand right up against the ropes. It’s easy for us to get around, so long as we hug close to the shops.

“Did that wizard man ever get his parade ropes fixed?” I ask Darcy.

“That’s Mr.Breck,” Darcy tells me. “He didn’t even check, so I went over there on Wednesday after school and looked myself. I brought him his replacements this morning.”

I want to comment on how she seems to juggle, like, eight different balls in the air at any given moment, but she’s been defensive every time I’ve tried to let her know I see her, and the last thing I want is to be another problem on her list.

“It’s a very tight-knit community,” I say instead, thinking again of her mom and Aunt Cal. Her mom looks older than Cal, but surely they know each other, even if Darcy’s mom doesn’t know Cal is a witch, or doesn’t believe she’s a real one.

“Definitely,” Darcy confirms. “The locals tend to stick around for a long time. Their whole lives, usually.”

“Can’t relate,” I say.

Darcy laughs. There it is again. My own little trophy. “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to ask you. Where did you live before you came here?”

I steal a glance back at Cal, who walks about fifteen feet behind us. “Oh, I’ve lived all over. My family has a…community philosophy on raising children. They want each kid to experience new things, so we live with a different relative every year or two of our lives until we turn eighteen.”

“That’s so cool,” Darcy says. It’s the opposite reaction to how most people receive this. Not that I’ve shared it in years. But the general response is usually What , with a dozen spiritual question marks afterward.

Probably because I can’t share the real reason.

We train with as many members of our extended family as possible to enhance our powers, learning different tips and tricks and hopefully deepening our own understanding of our magic in the process.

We also get to experience various towns that have already been exposed to magic, with the idea being to choose one as our landing spot after our initiations.

We meet and make friends with all the wonderful people who live in these places, recruiting one of them for our protection.

Quiet, sullen Aunt Cal chose to live in Fableview.

She picked this place with its paper cutouts of bedsheet ghosts in every store window and a bronzed broomstick in the middle of the town square.

Aunt Cal, the loner, chose a place that loves gathering for group activities.

And she picked a person here to protect her.

His name is on the tip of my tongue. It was a man, that much I know.

Someone she was not just friends with, but in love with.

And he screwed her over. Which makes for the only additional rule Cal has ever given me, on top of the general one that goes for all Doyle witches, saying we are never to mess with the natural order of human life, which basically boils down to don’t use your powers to stop death .

Cal’s rule was much more specific. More pointed.

Never let your protector be a romantic interest.

Darcy Keller was crossed off my list from the moment I first saw her.

Losing my powers should be making me increasingly worried, but somehow, the further this goes, the more it feels like a relief.

How the people of Fableview live—the mortal people, that is—there is something charming about it.

They enjoy Halloween because it’s fun to dress up in different costumes and put plastic skeletons in their front yards.

They make being a witch seem exciting, even to me, who has only ever seen my gift as a burden.

They make me believe it will all work out.