I wasn’t surprised that practically every kid at the fair was lining up.
It did take a while, though, so when one kid needed to be returned to her dad, I went with her. She’d apparently come to the face-painting stall without permission, but her dad didn’t really seem mad. I stayed chatting with them until the kid’s mom came over with cotton candy for everybody. I thought wistfully that the little girl was lucky to have such nice parents.
I strolled out on my own beneath the shadow of the Ferris wheel, studying the red tie around my wrist that let me enter all the rides and attractions for free. Harvey had touched the tie proudly and suggested I go to the Hall of Mirrors on my own.
The Hall of Mirrors was a barn painted black, with silver threads of tinsel hanging through the open doors. I showed my wristband to a bored-looking boy about my own age, who was wearing a hat and texting furiously.
Inside were hay bales draped with black cloth and twisting passageways lined with mirrors. I could hear other people in the distance, giggling and shrieking and lost. I wandered through the maze, whistling. When you have twisting tree branches in your walls and dead people in your basement, I guess you grow up harder to impress.
Then I came to a dead end. A large, murky mirror was hanging in my path, blocking the way. The surface of the mirror seemed almost wavy as well as dark, like lake water ruffled by a night wind. There was only one light to be found reflected in the mirror, a flash of intense brightness like something burning far away. I moved nearer.
When I realized the pale, burning light was my face, I stopped dead, unsettled by the face I hadn’t recognized, that was and yet was not mine.
The Hall of Mirrors was dark, but there must be sunshine creeping in through chinks. Rays of light pierced through the loose waves of my hair. My face in the mirror was indistinct; I could not make it out no matter how close I came, but I could see how it shone.
It made me recall, with sudden violent clarity, the words of the spirit by the stream.
The moon shone behind you like a crown of bone, and the night streamed behind you like a cloak of shadows. I could see you were born to be a witch of legend.
I should go talk to the wishing-well spirit again, I thought. She’d wanted me to. I wanted to go. I felt the urge with the same irresistible force as I’d remembered the words. It was pulling me to leave the fairground, abandon Harvey, and walk deep into the woods this moment.
But that was ridiculous. I wouldn’t leave Harvey to go anywhere. And besides, I realized, I wasn’t entirely certain how to get out of the maze of mirrors. Somehow I’d gotten as turned around and lost as any mortal.
But witches don’t stay lost.
I took a little spool of thread out of my pocket (the one I always carry because Aunt Hilda insists), dropped it on the ground, and watched it roll by itself across the earth floor.
“Consequitur quodcunque petit,” I murmured: a little spell I’ve always liked. It means She attains whatever she seeks.
Take that, Ambrose. My Latin was perfect. He’d been speaking too fast; that was why I hadn’t understood him.
Almost as if he hadn’t wanted me to hear the spell.
I shook off the moment of doubt and followed the thread, walking confidently through the maze of mirrors.
I came out through the shivering silver doorway and saw one of my teachers standing in the shadow of the Ferris wheel. She was dressed in her usual blouse and tweed skirt, as if she was still in school rather than on a day off.
“Hi, Ms. Wardwell!”
She gave me a timid smile, blinking behind her large glasses as if startled to be recognized. “Hello, Sabrina.”
“Here with anyone?”
“Oh—no,” said Ms. Wardwell. “I just came to see the fair. This is the hundredth Last Day of Summer fair; that’s rather momentous, isn’t it?” She patted her brown bun, and more wisps came loose around her hairpins. “Nobody but me seems to realize. I’m by way of being Greendale’s unofficial historian.”
“That’s cool,” I told her encouragingly.
It was slightly weird to feel protective of one of your teachers, but Ms. Wardwell always seemed to be shrinking away from the world, sweet and easily frightened as a small brown field mouse.
“Why, thank you, Sabrina,” said Ms. Wardwell, and added after a moment of hesitation: “It’s nice to see all the families here, having such a good time.”
I hesitated, glancing back to the stall where Harvey seemed to be wrapping up, and sent him a tiny smile. By the time I turned back to Ms. Wardwell, she was giving me an embarrassed nod.
“Well, nice to see you, my dear.”
“Wait—”
She wandered off, the kitten heels on her sensible brown shoes sinking into the earth. I was alone once more under the Ferris wheel, feeling a little sorry for both Ms. Wardwell and myself. I hadn’t realized our teacher was actually lonely.
Then, as the evening closed in, the lights of the Ferris wheel came on. I’d been expecting the little yellow bulbs around the swinging carriages to flicker on, but I hadn’t expected the shimmering projections in the air: bluebirds and butterflies and stars and hearts and flowers, as if someone had collected illustrations from a hundred love stories and was tossing them up in the air like confetti.
If there was any witch but me around, I’d have thought it was magic.
A few moments later, I realized what must be going on. I remembered what Ms. Wardwell had said. People were pulling out all the stops for the hundredth anniversary of the Last Day of Summer.
My guess was proved correct when the fireworks started.
I tipped my head back admiringly, and smiled, and realized I wasn’t on my own anymore. Harvey was beside me. His face was slightly dazed, and he was adjusting his flannel shirt, but when he saw my smile, he smiled too.
“Long day painting faces?” I asked. “My artistic hero. What do you say we go on the Ferris wheel?”
“I would follow you to hell,” declared Harvey.
“Not necessary,” I assured him. “The Ferris wheel seems like it would be fun.”
Harvey took my hand in a courtly gesture and helped me into the carriage of the Ferris wheel with a bow, like a knight out of a fairy tale. “My lady.”
“Get in here, fool,” I said, and pulled him down onto the red velvet seat with me.
The Ferris wheel swung forward with a jolt, the carriage swinging slightly in the air. As we rose, I kicked out my feet over the fairground turning small beneath me. The miles of green woods turned black as night fell, and I imagined how it might feel to fly.
Then I turned to look into Harvey’s eyes. He was watching me, not the skies, with his most attentive and serious gaze, the way he only looks at what he wants to draw and finds beautiful. I wanted him to keep looking at me exactly that way just as much as I wanted to fly.
“Sabrina,” Harvey murmured, “I lo—”
I kissed him to cut him off, my fingers twining tight in his hair. I desperately wanted to hear it, and I desperately didn’t. I wanted it to be real.
That was as ridiculous as a witch getting lost in a barn. A little tiny spell didn’t mean this wasn’t real.
When the desperate kiss was over, Harvey said, “Wow,” soft and pleased, eyes lowered, the shadow of his lashes dark on his cheeks.
I smoothed his hair, gone wildly ruffled where I had grabbed at him, putting everything to rights. I hadn’t done Harvey any harm. I would never hurt him, and even if I’d done this without his permission or knowledge, like Aunt Hilda said: True love means forgiving each other anything. I’d always had to keep secrets from him. This was just one more.