“Marlene.” Ethan said her name like a sigh.
“Yes, well, regulations are my job,” Honey answered anyway.
“Perfect.” Marlene crossed into the living room and began pacing the far end as if she were a detective solving a case. “Hypothetically, say someone in town, you know, a good, honest, salt-of-the-earth human woman, was planning to enter the bake-off this year. And let’s also say she happened to notice that the reigning Sugar Spoon Champion was turning out baked goods so delicious they make you feel as if you’ve been drugged, in a good way.”
“Marlene. Enough,” Ethan said, voice edging toward warning.
“You mean...” Honey trailed off. But it couldn’t be. “Are you suggesting someone is using magic to win whatever this competition is?”
Marlene glanced around theatrically, then leaned in. “I can’t prove anything. But last year, Clover’s Earl Grey scones were delicious, I’ll give her that, but I took one bite and cried about a childhood vacation to the sea I never even took. Her shortbread made my arthritis go away for a full hour.”
Honey opened her mouth, and promptly shut it again. It couldn’t be…
“Is this Clover a witch by chance?” she asked carefully, running a mental checklist to make sure even asking wasn’t technically against protocol.
“Okay, stop,” Ethan cut in sharply. “I invited you into my home because my daughters clearly needed something, but you have no right to go sniffing around mytown.”
“And Marlene,” he added, turning toward her, “you should know better.”
Marlene just shrugged. “It’s not sniffing if something already stinks.”
“You don’t understand how things work here,” he said to Honey. “This isn’t just about bake-offs and compliance. You start pulling on threads, and the whole thing unravels.”
Melly, sensing the shift in the room, scooted toward Emma and Brooke, who automatically tucked her under their arms. Emma looked between the adults like she was watching a tennis match.
Honey folded her arms. “So we just let her use her magic willy-nilly?” The phrase felt unnatural in her mouth, but she was too flustered to care. “That’s—There are implications, Mr. Hale. Violations worth addressing. If I were the director of this town, this would never be allowed.”
“Clover’s from the Anchor House,” Ethan said, as if that excused violations.
She could practically hear Mr. Aldridge’s voice in her head:Order ensures trust. Trust builds safety. Safety keeps the peace.
“That doesn’t mean she can cheat. It’s not just about fairness,” she went on, her voice rising slightly. “Community events like this give people something to strive for. A little friendly rivalry, a sense of tradition, pride in your own two hands. If someone’s using magic to rig the outcome—no matter how subtle—it undermines the whole foundation. People stop trusting the system. They stop participating. Or worse? The magic use gets more and more until it becomes dangerous. And then what do you have? A town with no heart, no hope, and no order, that’s what.”
“Okay, well, that feels a little dramatic.” Marlene waved a hand. “All I’m saying is, if she gets to sprinkle stardust orwhatever on her scones, maybe I deserve a charm or two myself. You’ve got connections, right?”
“Absolutely not,” Ethan said, voice firm now. He pinched the bridge of his nose like the headache had already landed. “Marlene, stop poking bears. Ms. Baxter, stop trying to put a collar on them.”
Both women looked at him.
“He always says weird things like that,” Melly, the youngest child, stage-whispered to Honey.
“What does that even mean?” Marlene asked.
“It means,” he said through gritted teeth, “leave my damn town alone.”
A heavy silence settled in the room. Marlene, surprisingly, didn’t argue. She just sighed and dragged one of the kitchen chairs over, plopping down beside Ethan.
“Well,” she said, folding her hands over her knees, “since it looks like I missed my invite to the family meeting, catch me up. What are y’all chatting about anyway?”
Ethan exhaled, the fight bleeding out of his shoulders. He glanced toward Emma, still curled up on the sofa beside her sister.
“It’s Emma,” he said quietly.
Brooke nudged her sister with her elbow. “Go on. You wanted to talk to her.”
Emma hesitated, her fingers worrying the hem of her sleeve. Then, she finally looked up at her dad. “It’s about the well.”
At that exact moment, a strange mechanical squawk shattered the quiet. Honey jumped as a bright orange cuckoo clock mounted above the front door lurched to life. The wooden bird popped out on its creaky hinge, called out three strainedcuckoo-cuckoosounds, then retreated with a clunk.
