Everything She Does Is Magic

A brooding witch and a bubbly mortal must team up during their town''s fall festival in this cozy sapphic romance, perfect for fans of "Swoony, witchy, and sweet."--Jennifer Dugan, author of Darcy Keller, resident ray of sunshine and town spirit princess, loves every moment of Fableview’s fall festivities. But she’s also Enter brooding new girl Anya Doyle, a real-life witch and The solution? Work together, of course. The girls agree to help each other out, attending everything from a costume parade to a pumpkin patch party to an apple bobbing contest together. But with Anya’s magical powers and Darcy’s future independence on the line, the last thing they need is the added complication of pesky feelings . . .

Autorentext

Bridget Morrissey

Klappentext

**A brooding witch and a bubbly mortal must team up during their town's fall festival in this cozy sapphic romance, perfect for fans of Gilmore Girls and Wicked!

"Swoony, witchy, and sweet."—Jennifer Dugan, author of Some Girls Do**

In the charming town of Fableview, every day is Halloween.

Darcy Keller, resident ray of sunshine and town spirit princess, loves every moment of Fableview’s fall festivities. But she’s also really ready to leave for college next year, even though her parents expect her to stay and take over their Halloween empire.

Enter brooding new girl Anya Doyle, a real-life witch and almost a full member of her coven. In order to be initiated, she has to choose a mortal ally to act as her “protector.” But having moved around so much, Anya is completely friendless. So she does what any self-respecting teenage almost-witch would—she lies and tells her coven her secret crush, Darcy, is willing to do the job.

The solution? Work together, of course. The girls agree to help each other out, attending everything from a costume parade to a pumpkin patch party to an apple bobbing contest together. But with Anya’s magical powers and Darcy’s future independence on the line, the last thing they need is the added complication of pesky feelings . . .

Leseprobe
1

Darcy

“As the legend goes, on Halloween night, in the thick of the forest, where the trees make the shape of a Trinity knot and when the clock hovers between eleven and twelve, you can look up in the clearing and see a witch on her broomstick.”

The tourists watch me with intense interest, tracking my every flick and flourish.

“Only the luckiest among us are privileged with this view,” I continue, dropping my voice into the lowest part of my register. “The moon must be full, or the witch won’t be visible. Not to human eyes, at least. But she’s always there, every Hallows’ Eve, sprinkling another year of good fortune atop our little town of Fable­view.”

Scattered flecks of golden glitter shimmer out of my hands and into the air. I do a dramatic swoosh with my cape, throwing it over the blank art canvas beside me. When the cape settles again at my ankles, the canvas has been transformed. There is now a painting of a witch flying over the forest, sprinkling magic dust onto the trees, exactly as I described her. She looks like me—­long black cape covering her body, low-­heeled boots on her feet, and blond waves flowing out from beneath her pointy hat.

My audience applauds as I strum my fingers together in delight, pretending this transformation is the work of my magical powers, not a practical stunt my parents taught me when I started teaching some of the art classes here at Pam’s Paints.

The easel is spring-­loaded. When my cape covers it, I knock off the blank canvas and press a button to bring up the finished art piece. If anyone listens closely, they can hear the sproing of the completed painting’s appearance. It’s not fancy, and it’s not supposed to be. We rely on simple practical effects that can be executed multiple times a month.

Pam’s Paints sits smack-­dab in the middle of Fable­view Boulevard—­a cobblestoned road that’s used less for driving and more for outdoor festivals and parades. Tourists come here because they want to experience a piece of our town’s charm. Fable­view is known for our commitment to all things mystical, particularly witches. Saying “real witches” live here is a huge part of our town’s lore. That’s what draws tourists to us every October, and it’s why our local businesses commit to Halloween at the level we do.

And sure, my fellow residents love to tell tales of things that have happened here that might seem unexplainable, maybe even magical. I’ve been known to share a few of these stories myself when they help set the right mood for the tourists. I’ll talk about the summer afternoon a strange fog settled over the boulevard for almost an hour and then evaporated. Or the time a murder of crows gathered along the power line at exactly midnight and started to sing. Not caw but sing.

These stories make our town feel special. They make tourists want to visit again and again. But when it comes down to it, I know there’s a logical explanation behind these occurrences, even when I haven’t yet figured out what it is. Just like with me and this painting—­there’s always a catch.

Not everyone in Fable­view is a skeptic. Some residents really believe our town has witches. Probably because it’s what they’ve grown up hearing, and every corner of Fable­view looks like a place a “real witch” might want to live.

The truth is, that witchy, whimsical feeling is because of my parents and me. We’re in charge of decorating the town square every fall. We host the Halloween paint nights and themed events throughout October. We encourage everyone to wear costumes all month long. We make the real magic around here.

“Tonight we pay honor to this witch of good fortune, known to us as Darcy,” I say to my painters, winking.

Darcy is my name. It’s always more fun to make them think that I’m the witch I speak of, even though it doesn’t make any sense. Sense is the enemy of wonder, as my dad is so fond of reminding me. My grandma created the original version of this painting over forty-­five years ago. At the time, the witch in the painting was named and modeled after her. Then it was modeled after my mom. It still is anytime she teaches this particular class. Some tourists go their whole lives believing a witch named Pam blesses our town each Hallows’ Eve.

Pam.

Just as the classic legends foretold.

“With every stroke of our brushes, we paint her as she wants to be remembered—­as a beacon of hope and a protector of Fable­view,” I finish.

For as ridiculous as these tall tales are, the magic is in the making. It doesn’t matter if what I say isn’t true. My enjoyment is real. And so is our commitment to making the entire month of October an unforgettable spectacle for everyone who comes through our town.

My best friend, Grace, heads my way, sticking out her elbow to knock over a can full of paintbrushes. “Anya Doyle just walked by again,” she hisses through her teeth, gesturing for me to bend down and clean up the mess with her. “That’s the fourth time in the last ten minutes.”

“Maybe she’s enjoying an evening stroll on the boulevard?” I say. “Lost in the beauty of the moment? I did put up new twinkle lights yesterday.”

“Does Anya Doyle seem like the type of girl who gets lost in the beauty of the moment?” Grace asks. The question isn’t for me. It’s a setup for her to answer, so I let th…