by Kallie Khan
“Listen,” said Kaiden, the smile still apparent in his voice, “I just hope we can—wait. Is something burning?”
Tobie looked at him quizzically for a moment, then smelled it—herbs and spices and burning greens.
Her potion.
“Oh no!” she shouted, and tore off to the kitchen.
Sure enough, her little chemistry beaker was boiling over, the contents hissing as they rolled onto the bare metal of the burner.
Well, there just went three hours of her life.
“That doesn’t look good.”
She nearly shrieked at the sound of Kaiden’s voice. Instead, she whirled around, a wild spray of magic suffusing out of her pores and into the air.
“Why on earth are you in my house?!” she demanded. Raw magic glimmered in the air, a mist finer than glitter and just a touch less bright. She lunged between him and the ruined potion, blocking its view with her body.
He sputtered, grasping for words under her angry scrutiny, sure that any moment he’d say something like, “Hey, why’s your personal aura all sparkly? Also why are you making potions?” and she’d be found out as a witch.
But instead what he managed to choke out was, “I’m so sorry—I thought—I mean, the way you acted, I thought maybe there might be a fire. I—I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, brow drawn, eyes wide and concerned.
She gave a shake of her head. “Out.”
“Pardon?”
“Out!”
She grabbed him by the upper arm (holy cauldron-bottoms, the muscle) and marched him out of the kitchen, down the narrow hall, and to the front step. She tried to ignore the sensation of his sturdy back under her palm as she shoved him—gently, but still—into the late afternoon air.
She wasn’t used to shoving men out of her house, gently or otherwise. Or touching them at all, really.
The smell of the ruined potion followed them. It was so bad, it stung her nostrils, even as it wafted out through the front door.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s strange men wandering into my house I don’t like.”
He gave her a helpless, hurt sort of grin. “I resent ‘strange.’”
“‘Unwelcome,’ then.”
He looked legitimately hurt at that pronouncement. He rocked back half a step on his heel and rubbed a hand through his hair. He gave a short laugh—or maybe a cough. “Ouch.”
“I mean not unwelcome-unwelcome,” she said, rushing to explain. “I just mean a little unwelcome.”
“Oh, well that’s that cleared up. If you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll just be off, then.”
“No, I…”
She trailed off, mortified at how bad a turn things had taken. Gah. Why did men have to complicate things? Why couldn’t they just behave? Like plants? Plants, she knew.
“You’re right,” he said, cutting across her as she worked her jaw. “I shouldn’t have barged in like that. Just wanted a chance to return the favor, you know? You put out my pants fire; I was going to put out your, uh, soup fire. Anyway, see you around.”
He gave her a wave and turned, just in time to nearly crash into Mystia as she came around from the garage.
“Pardon me,” he said, and took the last stretch of land to his car at a crisp jog.
Mystia watched him go with her jaw unhinged. She turned back to Tobie. “And who might that have been, hmm?”
“Fire-pants,” she said sourly.
Mystia laughed. “That was Fire-pants? No wonder you set his pants on fire. Did he set your pants on—”
“Oh my goodness, Mystia, don’t even finish that sentence,” she said, snorting with laughter into her cleaning rag.
Mystia grinned back at her. Then wrinkled her nose. “Oof, what’s that smell?”
“Well, Fire-pants distracted me so now we have fire-potion. And not,” she added sourly, “the fun kind.”
Mystia helped her clean the rest of the kitchen (“Will you just let me hire someone next week, Tobers?”) and Tobie set a clean-soaking spell on her chemistry beaker.
“Sorry about your potion,” said Mystia, motioning for Tobie to come sit with her on the couch. “I know you had grand plans to read smart-person things about plants.”
Tobie rolled her eyes, but smiled as she sank, exhausted, next to Mystia.
But Mystia’s eyes were suddenly focused on the far end of the room. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” Tobie replied. It was her knee-jerk response to Mystia’s often-cryptic declarations of “hey,” and although it never seemed to do the intended job of highlighting the fact that “hey” was wildly unproductive when uttered singularly, she said it anyway.
“Hey,” said Tobie again, this time with more emphasis.
Mystia pointed.
Tobie followed her finger to the flowers.
“Oh, those.”
“Yeah, ‘oh, those.’ What exactly are those?”
“Kaiden brought them by.”
“Kaiden?”
“Fire-pants.”
Mystia’s mouth dropped open. “Oh-ho!”
Tobie groaned. “Don’t say ‘oh-ho’ like that!”
“Oh-ho!”
“Mystie!”
Mystia smiled and shook her head back and forth in a you-devil-you kind of disbelief. “He. Brought. You. Flowers.”
“To apologize. For killing the other flowers.”
“He brought you flowers to apologize for killing the other flowers because he likes you.”
“He was just being nice.”
“You think?” Mystia exclaimed. “And I walk up and what are you doing? Tossing him out.”
“Ugh!” Tobie flopped backward onto the couch, head thunking into the arm, which was losing its stuffing. “Ow,” she said plaintively.
Mystia gave her a short little nod. “That’s what you get.”
“What I get?! Why are you on his side?”
“I’m not on his side. I’m on your side! Team Fire-pants!”
“That’s his side, doofus!”
Mystia looked at her for a moment in utter seriousness.
Then Tobie felt a giggle start to bubble its way up her belly. Her lips twitched.
Mystia smiled.
Tobie grinned.
They both burst into laughter.
Chapter 4
KAIDEN
He was pretty sure he was cursed when it came to October Moon.
He couldn’t do anything right around her. Flowers? Sure, she’d liked those okay. But he’d accidentally caused her to burn her weird soup in the process. (Had it really been soup, though? He wondered this to himself as he drove back over the river to Verdant Bower, tucked away on the cozy west side of Glimmerdale. Because seriously, it had been a really weird-looking soup.)
But Kaiden was one of those stubbornly happy people who never let anything bother him for too long; or if it did, he let it nag and gnaw at him, but he fed it happy, hopeful thoughts, so eventually the worry grew so fat with optimism that it burst and faded into light and positivity.
His mom used to call him her ray of joy. (His dad, ever the pragmatist, asked her if she meant “ray of sunshine,” because “joy” was an abstract concept and didn’t have rays. She would just kiss his dad on the nose, light as a fairy, and beam at them both.)
He missed her.
He made it home in just over fifteen minutes, as the five great boroughs of Glimmerdale were really more like “five sweet little hamlets contained in one slightly larger hamlet that may qualify as a village if one exercises the imagination a bit.”
Phoebe was outside on her porch, knitting a pair of mittens. She waved and he waved back. He made his way over once he parked.
“You look like you’ve had a bit of a taxing day,” she said. “You can come sit if you like. Pour yourself some tea. Won’t be able to drink it cold much longer.” She patted the armrest of wide wicker rocking chair next to her.
“Thank you, Phoebe, I think I wil
l.”
He poured a glass of iced tea (Phoebe was a southern gal through and through and insisted on iced tea in the summer and as late into fall as possible, despite the particularly bitter winters and the general bafflement of Glimmerdale’s other residents). Then he sank into the cushions and crossed his ankles over the ottoman.
“Rough day?”
He laughed, which sounded exactly as rough as she probably guessed. “Actually, most of the day was great.” He gestured at the bed of his truck in the drive next door, where the saplings he’d bought from Hettie earlier today were titling gently at an angle. “Got me some gorgeous red maple and sugar maple. Some pignut hickory.”
Privately, he thought he could strike up a conversation with Tobie about the pignut hickory. No doubt she knew why it had such a gloriously ridiculous name.
“Oh, how lovely! Listen, have you had another talk with October Moon?”
He started at the mention of Tobie’s name, as though she’d read his mind. He played off his surprise by becoming very interested in the spot of fertilizer stuck to the bottom lip of his shirt. “Oh, uh, no. Why?”
“She’s a real bright thing. She knows all about those plants, so Hettie tells me.”
“Would be nice to talk to her,” he said, nodding. “Trouble his, I can’t seem to do it without totally messing it up.”
“Balderdash!” said Phoebe. “You’re a good boy. Tell you what, you give her to me and I’ll sort her out,” she said sweetly, and tapped an elbow on the fine wooden box next to her, as though in explanation.
He gave her a slow grin. “Don’t suppose you could tell me what’s in the box, could you?”
“Knives,” she said sweetly, without losing a beat in her knitting.
He choked on his tea.
Chapter 5
TOBIE
Tobie and Mystia had plans to go to the Saturday Craft Bazaar together, but those were dashed when their mother called Mystia the evening before.
Mystia played the sweet daughter on the line, but when she hung up, she was furious. “If it’s not work, it’s Mom,” she said, tossing her phone down onto the couch cushions.
“What’s she want know?”
Mystia worked her fingers through her hair and tugged at it. “What she’s always wanted. You and me to meet and marry and procreate with dudes from rich, magically gifted families.”
“She’s set you up again.”
“She’s set. Me. Up. Again.” Mystia shook her head between each word, lips pursed. Then she slouched onto the couch. “Ugh, I’m sorry, Tobers.”
Tobie slid in next to her and through a commiseratory arm over her shoulder. “At least I know you won’t be having fun without me,” she said, as though that were any sort of consolation.
Mystia gave a reluctant little laugh. “Speaking of which,” she began, “you should totally come to one of my office happy hours. Talk about fun.” She crossed her eyes and pretended to faint.
Tobie laughed. “No way! I’d just make you look bad.”
“Are you kidding? Teetotalling over in the corner with some herbal tea and a book?”
“Hey, I wouldn’t actually bring a book.”
“You’d read one on your phone.”
“So would you! At least with your work ‘bros.’”
“Ah, but I’m stealthy,” Mystia said, raising her eyebrows conspiratorially. “I pull faces that make it look like I’m reading very serious work emails. No one knows I’m having fun.”
Tobie tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “You know, there’s a weird sort of genius to that…”
“Nothing weird about my genius, sister-mine!” she says cheerfully. “And really, even if you did drink your temperate beverage and read an actual, physical book, you could never embarrass me.”
“Aww, that’s sweet.”
“Because the ‘bros—’” she rolled her eyes at the word “—would be doing all the embarrassing stuff, so no one would notice you being adorkable in the corner.”
Tobie pretended to the throw a slugger of a punch at Mystia, but fell short and just tapped her lightly with her knuckles instead.
Mystia burrowed closer to her and rested her head on Tobie’s shoulder. “I really do wish I could go to the bazaar. Have fun. And buy me something weird, okay?”
She could do weird. She’d been at the bazaar a whole ten minutes and she’d already bought a crocheted legless lizard made out of a bluish yarn, with big rhinestone eyes sewn into his lumpy little face; a similarly crocheted spider (they were witches, after all; might as well play into the stereotype with some adorable plush creatures); and a watering can in the shape of a pumpkin.
She wandered through the bazaar with her arms full, nibbling on homemade chocolate bark and sipping on a lemonade, admiring the late summer sky and the wide expanse of grass, which she gave a quick study and determined was creeping red fescue (the naming of which she never quite understood, as it was a deep and luscious green).
She stopped in front of an elderly woman’s stall. The posts were draped with a fine knit shawl that shone a brilliant blue in the sunlight, and the woman sat beneath it, foot and ankle in a cast propped neatly on a small step-stool, a serene smile on her face.
“Hello, dear. Can I interest you in some magic yarnwork?”
“Magic?” she said, raising an eyebrow and smiling indulgently at the woman. She reached out to touch the shawl. A tingly prickle of true magic met her fingertips.
“Oh,” she said, nodding amicably, “you weren’t kidding.”
The woman smiled again. “Ah, so you’re one of the kindred. Well met, sister,” she said, inclining her head. “My name is Phoebe Wise.”
“Well met, sister,” said Tobie, replying in the Old Way with a touch of her right hand to her left shoulder and a gentle bow.
The woman nodded thoughtfully as Tobie straightened up. “You must be October Moon,” she said.
Tobie was surprised for a moment. “You must know Hettie.”
Phoebe smiled and pressed a finger to her nose. “The Sisterhood sticks together, yes?”
“Always,” said Tobie, with one solemn, affirmative nod. She moved a hand lightly over the scarves and sweaters and mittens. “These are all enchanted!” she breathed, amazed by the small but strong little spells infused within the yarn—spells of warmth and relaxation, and a subtle but enveloping kindness.
“Well of course, dear. Can’t have half-done spells and whatnot blinking out too soon.”
“I’ll take two sweaters—orange and black.” She knew these were October colors, but dutifully ignored the reminder; they also happened to be her favorite color (orange) and Mystia’s favorite color (black, although Mystia would tell you it was actually “true noir” and would insist, despite your gentle dissent, that “true noir” was totally different from black and it was all down to texture).
“Here you are—I think those are about your size.”
Tobie rushed to help Phoebe as she rose to reach for the sweaters. “Please don’t trouble yourself!” she said. “I’ve got it. These?”
The woman sat back with a grateful smile. “Yes, those two just there.”
“These really are lovely.” Tobie folded the sweaters into her existing bag, a canvas tote with three cartoon pigs grinning at passersby on the front.
“I’m so glad you like them. Almost didn’t make it today,” she says, jabbing a finger at her foot. “My neighbor helped me pack up everything today and drove me here. Sweet boy. Oh, look! There he is.” She waved at someone over Tobie’s shoulder.
Now, Tobie was far more suited to the gentle sway of organics-based magic—earth, water (but small water, like brooks and ponds and the way the depression in the yard filled with water like a grassy-bottomed lake when it rained), but every once in a while, Tobie had a magical premonition.
She had one now.
The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She knew before turning exactly who it was—dark, curly hair; tan skin; eyes like choco
late; and a smile like an ice cream sundae.
“Hi there, Kaiden,” said Phoebe, just as Tobie turned. “I met October Moon.”
He was grinning at her almost bashfully, head tilted down, hands shoved in his back pockets. “Uh. Ah. Good to see you again, Tobie.”
It was something about the way he was gazing through his lashes at her, or maybe it was something about the way his thumbs were hitched into his back pockets, shoulders broad and elbows sticking out.
Whatever it was, he was stupid-cute in a way that irked her so much, Tobie skipped pleasantries and said: “Couldn’t wait for another disaster, huh?”
He looked at her incredulously for a moment. Then he laughed.
“You two go have fun,” said Phoebe from behind. “I’ve got my knives here to keep me company.”
Tobie’s head snapped back. “Knives?”
Kaiden pressed a guiding hand against her shoulder. “It’s an interesting story. Shall we?” He held his free hand out, indicating the grassy strip of the thoroughfare.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You gonna knock my stuff over?”
“No.”
“Make me burn something?”
“Nope.”
“Engage in some other wildly improbable but nevertheless spatially devastating sabotaging of my person?”
He snorted into his iced tea. “My goodness, I have made a bad impression, haven’t I?”
She waved her canvas bag. “I can just throw it in the pond right now for you. Get it over with.”
He let out a full-throated laugh that caused several people to stop and stare at them. He quickly schooled his expression into something very solemn and cleared his throat. “I mean,” he began, voice comically affronted, “how dare you, Miss?”
She laughed. “Okay,” she said. “Where to? But also I have to warn you: I’m not a great conversationalist. I’m better at plants.”
“Than conversation?”