“Hon,” I start, channeling Grandma through my voice, “can you tell me what’s wrong?”
The girl shakes her head so hard I fear she’ll give herself whiplash.
“Okay, okay. Take a deep breath for me,” I coo, demonstrating how I want her to breathe until she follows along and calms herself down. I reach up and gently pull her hand from her mouth. “Can you tell me your name?”
The girl takes another shaky breath and then opens her mouth. Out tumbles the most nonsensical string of sounds and syllables I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s how I imagine a Dr. Seuss character would sound, and it takes everything in me not to burst out in a horrified laugh.
The first girl shrieks again. “See!”
I look for Oliver and find him already at my side. The stream of sounds that could vaguely be considered speech didn’t resemble any language I’ve ever heard, but being so well-traveled, he’d know better than I would.
“Do you recognize what language she’s speaking?” I ask him before turning to the first girl. “Does she speak any other languages?”
The girl shakes her head, dark curls falling into her eyes. “I mean, we took Spanish in high school together, but that isnotSpanish.”
“Oliver?” I plead, hoping for some kind of answer that makes sense.
Brows furrowing, he looks somewhere between perplexed, horrified, and stunned. It takes him a moment to compose himself, swallowing hard and shifting on his feet.
“Say something else. Have you bought anything tonight?”
She opens her mouth to answer, and once again, a nonsensical cacophony of squeaks and wordless sounds comes out. Instantly, she bursts into tears. Her sobs are more akin to a warble, and that only makes her cry uncontrollably until she’s weeping so hard I’m worried she’s going to make herself sick.
I look at Oliver, but he just shakes his head. “I’ve got nothin’.”
I wrap an arm around the sobbing girl in my best attempt at comfort. “Maybe we should find a nurse or doctor or—where did you get those?” I point at the coffee cups the first girl desperately clutches, recognition washing me with dread.
“Umm . . . the bookstore? Why? What’s wrong with them?” She holds them at bay and studies them as if whatever caused this will jump out of the cup and attack her.
And then it dawns on me why the girls look familiar. They are the same two I saw coming out of my shop while waiting for Oliver.
“No, no, nothing’s wrong with them,” I lie, “but I think I know who can help us.” I lead the girls back toward Moonlit Pages, mentally begging Lucy to remember what charm she’d used on their drinks.
“Is everything alright over here?”
My heart drops through the bottom of my stomach. I stop our small group so that I can turn and face Don, who is hovering nearby with hands on his hips.
“Everything’s fine,” I lie, my voice cracking ever so slightly. “Just a little overwhelmed. We’re all going to hang out at the store for a little while to catch our breath.”
Don’s eyes narrow before sliding to Oliver and giving the new guy in town a once-over; the drawn-out analysis makesme jumpy, because as lovable as Don is, one thing he takes very seriously is Ashwood Haven and its reputation. He wasn’t kidding when he said all Oliver had to do was run an honest business and stay out of trouble, and so far, he’s been right smack dab in the middle of trouble since he got to town. I have no reason to believe it’s intentional by any means, but Don won’t see that. All he’ll see is problems for the town and Oliver standing nearby.
“Uh-huh,” Don grunts before turning his attention back on me. “Well, I trust you to take care of things, but you know where I am if you need anything.”
I soften at his concern, sounding more like an overprotective father figure than the town’s mayor.
“I do,” I assure him, turning back to my small group of distressed girls . . . and Oliver. Before Don has a chance to tag along, I usher everyone out of the market and back to the store, willing this all to be an easy fix.
Chapter Six
Lucy and I stand side by side, arms crossed, staring at the open spell book behind the coffee bar counter, the way TV detectives watch a suspect through the one-way glass of an interrogation room.
“You’resureyou did it right?” I question for what feels like the dozenth time.
Lucy huffs, annoyed. “Of course I did. I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve cast a communication charm with a friendship focus, but I followed that spell to the letter.”
The toe of my boot taps against the wooden floorboards as my lips purse and I side-eye her.
Lucy turns to face my skeptical gaze head-on, crossing her arms as if to saytry me.I study every inch of her. From the top of her fiery hair to her heavily studded ears, and all the way down to her platform combat boots. With a sassy quirk of her lips, she takes my scrutiny, tapping her polished fingernails against her bicep.
