Chapter 7
Llewellyn Penhallow, Esquire, was up to something.
It had been nearly a week since he’d arrived in town, and while Gwyn hadn’t spoken to him, she’d seen him several times, coming in and out of the building across the street from Something Wicked. Sometimes he was carrying boxes, and once, she was pretty sure she’d caught a glimpse of him dragging in a suit of armor just before the front door closed, but the windows were covered with paper, and there was no outside sign of what might be going on inside.
Rhys swore he had no idea what his brother was up to. “He’s being secretive about it,” he’d told Gwyn just the other night when she’d stopped by Rhys and Vivi’s for dinner. “Probably building some sort of museum to our dead ancestors or something. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
And Gwyn was not worried.
She was just . . . curious.
After all, Wells was already her neighbor. She’d passed him on the road up the mountain just the other day, her in her red truck, lovingly restored over the years, him in a completely ridiculous new BMW he’d apparently purchased.
Good luck with that this winter, she’d thought as she’d given him the barest of waves and he’d grimaced at her from behind the wheel, almost like he knew what she was thinking.
But if he had rented the space across the street, that meant they would also be work neighbors, and that was, frankly, way more neighborly than she wanted to be with Wells.
And! As one of the head witches of this town, wasn’t it important that she have a good sense of what other witches were doing on her turf? Wasn’t that, to use Vivi’s favorite word, her responsibility?
Now, Gwyn knew she could use magic to figure out exactly what Wells was doing, but the thing is, a witch had to have standards, and for Gwyn, using magic to spy on someone was a little on the sketchy side of things.
Which meant that she was just going to have to wait, and given that she hated waiting, Gwyn had been in a cranky mood all week. And having to stop by Penhaven College on a Saturday?
Well, that increased The Crank to truly nuclear levels.
“This really feels like a thing you could’ve done on your own,” she told Vivi now as the two of them walked toward the library. It was a sunny day, the sky clear blue, and the leaves were just beginning to turn. Had Gwyn not been basically allergic to Penhaven, she might’ve admitted that it was . . . kind of pretty. Idyllic, even, all the red brick and green grass.
“I need your help,” Vivi insisted. “I’ll end up picking something too academic or too dry. You’ll understand what kinds of stories visitors might actually be interested in.”
The two of them were on a mission for the Graves Glen Tourism Board. When your town’s main industry is Halloween, you milk it for all it’s worth, and that meant there were three official events during October, starting with what had once been Founder’s Day.
That had been a celebration all about Gryffud Penhallow, the man who’d founded the town and—not that the non-witchy residents of Graves Glen knew this—set up the magical ley lines that gave Graves Glen its power. But last year, Vivi and Rhys had discovered that Gryffud had actually stolen magic from Vivi and Gwyn’s ancestor, Aelwyd Jones, killing her in the process. Needless to say, none of them were big fans of Gryffud after that, so Vivi and Rhys had managed to talk the town’s mayor into something a “little less patriarchal.”
This year would mark the first annual Graves Glen Gathering. That was on the thirteenth, and it was all about the town’s history (and selling stuff to tourists). Then a week after that, there was Fall Festival, which was more of a carnival thing with costumes and food (and selling stuff to tourists).
And then of course, just eleven days after that, it was Halloween proper, which was haunted houses and corn mazes and candy (and selling the most stuff to tourists).
They’d always spent October busy, but this year, she and Vivi were actually on the planning committee headed up by the mayor, Jane Ellis. Jane was also Gwyn’s ex, but since their breakup hadn’t been all that bad, Gwyn had let Vivi talk her into joining the committee, too. Gwyn had thought that would mean the occasional evening meeting, though, not digging through a dusty library on a Saturday.
“You don’t even have to find a real, official story about the town,” Gwyn reminded Vivi. “You can literally make something up. ‘One interesting fact about Graves Glen is that it was briefly taken over by bats in 1976.’ ‘Graves Glen is the world’s leading producer of grape gumdrops.’ ‘Every March, citizens of Graves Glen fight each other in the Hunger Games.’”
Vivi laughed, swatting at Gwyn’s arm. “No. Jane specifically asked me to find some interesting real facts in the Penhaven archives we can share now that we’re not talking about Gryffud anymore. And I’m hoping to find some great old pictures of the college back when it was first founded. This is the first Graves Glen Gathering, so we want to go all in.”
Sighing, Gwyn tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “And you feel guilty you won’t even be here for Triple G, so you’re going extra hard.”
“You know Jane really wants everyone to stop calling it that, but yes.”
Grinning, Gwyn bumped Vivi’s shoulder with her own. “Fine. But once we’re done here, you’re buying me lunch.”
“Deal.”
They had nearly reached the steps of the library when Gwyn saw a flash of turquoise out of the corner of her eye.
Sam was coming around the side of the library, Cait and Parker in her wake, and Gwyn noticed the three of them were practically chasing after Dr. Arbuthnot.
“What’s she doing here on a Saturday?” Gwyn asked, and Vivi sighed, folding her arms over her chest.
“She practically lives in her office.”
The woman never aged as far as Gwyn could tell, every bit as beautiful and commanding and terrifying as she’d been thirteen years ago, and as she watched, Dr. Arbuthnot came to a stop, scarves fluttering around her as she turned to face the three witches.
“For the last time,” she said, her voice carrying to the library steps. “The assignment was very straightforward. The three of you have undoubtedly chosen to make it more difficult than it needs to be, which is why you’re now asking for more time.”
“We’re not making it more complicated,” Sam said, her voice slightly pleading. “We just want it to be . . . sophisticated.”
“Evolved,” Parker added, and Cait nodded.
“Right, with just a little more time, we can give you something really—”
“What you will give me,” Dr. Arbuthnot interrupted, “is what I asked for. On Monday, no later.”
With that, she turned and walked away, sparing the briefest glance in Gwyn and Vivi’s direction.
“Vivienne,” she said, nodding at Vivi, who waved back.
“Gwynnevere.”
Gwyn might have been imagining it, but she was pretty sure the temperature dropped at least ten degrees as Dr. Arbuthnot looked at her, but she made herself give a nod of acknowledgment anyway.
A few feet away, Sam, Cait, and Parker looked decidedly glum, their heads close together as they murmured and whispered, and Vivi gave another sigh.
“They’re talented,” she said. “I’ve worked with them a couple of times in my office over the past few weeks. But Dr. Arbuthnot is right. They make everything harder than it needs to be so that they can show off.”
“Or,” Gwyn countered, “the spells Dr. Arbuthnot assigns are boring and too by the book, and they want to be a little more creative.”
Shooting Gwyn a wry look, Vivi quirked an eyebrow. “Orrrr,” she drawled, “someone’s projecting a little bit?”
Gwyn scowled at her cousin, but she didn’t argue. She’d spent all her years at Penhaven chafing against the rules, the requirements, the whole “we do it this way because this is the way we do it” style of thinking that drove her crazy. And yes, maybe that meant she’d occasionally screwed up, but at least she’d been trying.
Just like these kids were trying.
Ugh, she was going to have to be responsible, clearly.
“I think you’re on your own with the archives this afternoon,” she told Vivi, and then, grumbling to herself, Gwyn made her way over to the three witches.
All three of them looked up as she approached, their faces hopeful, and okay, that was kind of adorable. They were good kids. Talented witches who just needed a little guidance from the right witch, a witch who’d screwed up just as often as they had, a witch who got them and what they were trying to do.
“So,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “What’s the spell y’all are supposed to be doing?”
Three hours later, Gwyn had a newfound and grudging respect for Dr. Arbuthnot.
The spell Sam, Cait, and Parker had been assigned was indeed a pretty straightforward and simple one. It involved creating a basic glamour that would change their appearances, but subtly. Brown hair instead of blond, a few inches taller, that kind of thing.
Gwyn agreed that was fairly boring, and she’d thought their idea—combining it with a bigger jolt of magic for much bigger results—was a great one.
That was before she’d had to figure out how to right a nose that had been turned upside down, how exactly you got rid of five extra elbows, why the spell had created five extra elbows in the first place, and if her hair was going to be green forever.
Smoke was still hanging in the air as Gwyn took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror hanging over the living room couch in her cabin.
Her hair was once again red, thank the Goddess, and when she turned back to Parker, their once-brown hair was a sandy blond, but their nose was very much in place.
Likewise, Sam’s elbows were back down to her normal two, her turquoise hair black, her eyes slightly rounder, nose thinner.
Cait was frowning at her fingernails, but that was only because she’d been trying for red polish, and her nails were purple instead.
“Okay,” Gwyn said slowly, rising to her feet. “That was . . . well, I’m not gonna lie, that was awful and took at least five years off my life, but I think we’ve nailed it and gotten y’all ready for Monday. And we learned a valuable lesson about magic we find on the internet, haven’t we?”
Dusting her hands off on the back of her jeans, Gwyn looked around the living room. That scorch mark on the rug was unfortunate, and Sir Purrcival was probably never coming back downstairs, but at least the fire had been fairly contained?
Was that something to be proud of?
“When can you help us again?” Sam asked, getting to her feet as next to her Parker and Cait stood as well, and Gwyn laughed, shaking her head.
“Honestly, Baby Witches, y’all are probably better off listening to Vivi and Dr. Arbuthnot. I feel like their help will lead to good grades and safe spells and just . . . far fewer elbows, really.”
But all three of them shook their heads at that.
“No way,” Parker insisted. “You actually listened to us. You let us try to do something cool.”
“And then when we fucked it up, like, so much, you helped us fix it!” Cait added, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You’re totally Glinda the Good Witch, and we need you.”
“Yes!” Sam said, coming forward to grab Gwyn’s arm and give her a little shake. “Be our Glinda!”
“I don’t look good in pink, and I haven’t traveled by bubble in at least six months,” Gwyn said, but they were giving her the puppy dog eyes again, and if Gwyn was honest, even with the smoke and the fire and the elbows and all of it, it had felt good, helping them out. Letting them practice magic without telling them it was too much or too weird or too advanced.
Which was probably why she heard herself say something stupid like “Okay, fine. We can try again next week.”