Their visitor arrived at six-thirty when the rain had lightened to a drizzle. Willow swayed on Cora's shoulders as they went to the door. "Slow down," she said. "I need to get the mask on." The doorbell rang again. "Okay, ready," said Willow.

Cora opened the door in a way she hoped was eerie. "No more—"

"I believe you're the maker of this." A short woman stood on the Emersons doorstep, not in costume, except for the scarf around her mouth. She thrust a jar at Cora who caught it. Willow wobbled on her shoulders.

For the first time, her sign had worked.

The woman's low eyebrows were drawn tight enough to make her crossed eyes a permanent expression. Most depressing of all, she wasn't startled by Mrs. Stern. Cora unveiled to read the jar's label, while the woman scowled at her. She recognized the label. It was theirs. Made with Magic, a shea butter moisturizer they'd discontinued earlier that year.

"Sorry, we don't give refunds." She tried to close the door.

At the same time, the woman put her foot out to stop her. "Oh, no, you don't." She threw all her weight against Cora's. "I will get my money back, Stella Emerson."

She snorted.

Cora shoved as hard as she could, making Willow tip backwards enough to fall. "We. Don't. Give. Refunds," she said, but the woman being twice her size was overpowering her.

"Give me my money." She grunted like an animal. No way could one person be so strong.

"Stop it. I'm going to fall." Willow slipped farther off Cora's shoulders.

The woman's pale, long fingers closed around the door. "I've come all this way, and I'm not going home without what you owe me." She rammed her chest as hard as she could against Cora's weight, letting herself in.

Cora stumbled. Not being able to catch herself in time, she and Willow fell, landing hard on the floor. They moaned. Willow tore off the mask. "You idiot. Look what you did." She caressed her shoulder. "If anything is broken, I'll—"

"It wasn't my fault." Cora tossed the rest of the cloak away from her. She'd hit her head, which hurt so much she swore she'd cracked her skull.

The woman stood over them, readjusted her hat, then her coat. "Is this the way to the living room?" She stepped over Cora and Willow's tangled form down the hall.

"Mom!" Cora, ignoring the pain, regained composure. She trampled Willow's fingers as she chased the woman. "Mom, there's someone—"

Stella Emerson who'd heard the commotion had already left the kitchen. She glared at Cora over their trespasser's shoulder. "What's this about?" she asked, wiping her hands down her jeans.

"You're Stella Emerson?" The woman shot Cora a grimace.

"I am." Stella lifted her chin. "Now why are you in my house?"

There was silence as the woman eyeballed her. "I'm here for what you owe me," she said, as if it was the most obvious answer. She even snorted.

"How did you find this address?" Stella eyeballed her too.

The woman pushed back her shoulders. "I have a friend of a friend."

"And who might they be?"

"Don't you worry about that Jane Willoughby." She straightened up again.

"What exactly do we owe you?" Stella asked, in the tone she reserved for anyone wasting her time. She rubbed the spot between her eyes.

"My money. My forty dollars and twenty-five coins." Dorothea brought her leather handbag nearer to her side. "And I won't be leaving without it."

"As my daughter—"

"You got my emails," interjected.

Stella lifted her hand. "As my daughter already told you, we don't give refunds. Now I think you should leave." She'd raised her voice on that last word to make her message clear.

"I won't be leaving until I'm repaid." Dorothea shook her head so hard her scarf inched down her face. She tugged it up.

Willow pinched Cora's arm as she went by. "Ouch." Cora winced. Willow, smiling, sat on the stairs to watch the tumult unfold. It'd been a while since they'd seen their mother in a real fight. There was always some lesson to learn whenever Stella got into it with anyone.

What is she hiding under that scarf?

Cora rubbed her bruised arm.

Fangs, probably.

For a moment, she thought she'd seen tusks.

"I'm sorry, but you won't be getting your refund," said Stella, as she checked the time on her watch. "I'm going to ask you again to leave."

The rain picked up. Thunder struck and lightening flashed as Stella gave her final warning. Just a coincidence, but Cora's heartbeat quickened.

Willow's smile was one of glee and admiration. "I would listen to her if I were you." She popped her chewing gum.

Where did she get gum?

Cora needed the sugar. The chewing would soothe her anxiety. It was like Willow to have a snack during what was her idea of entertainment. Cora hated fights.

"Zip it, Willow." Stella Emerson shot her youngest a withering look.

Cora maneuvered around her mother and their intruder to sit beside her sister. She held out her hand. "I don't have that many left," Willow argued, yet dropped a stick into her sister's palm.

Agatha, with a streak of flour across her cheek, came to the kitchen door. Dorothea sized up each of them. Four against one. But she stood her ground. Even the Emersons could appreciate that. "I've been your customer for over a year now." She snorted. "Is this how you treat your customers? Hmm? Your loyal patrons."

"No, it's how I treat strangers who barge into my house without an invitation." Stella's tone was unyielding.

"I have my right. I have proof."

The items in her purse jangled as she opened it, pulled out a slip of paper, and held it up. "This is what I ordered from you." She shook it. "A week before my daughter's wedding."

Stella raised an eyebrow. "So what? What exactly is your complaint?"

"That doesn't matter." She lowered her hand, the paper crinkling in her fist. "It didn't work, and I'd like my full refund." When Stella didn't move, she barked, "Now, please!"

Willow giggled. "She's really going to get it now."

The energy in the room shifted from annoyance to pure contempt. A charm was brewing. Cora felt it, like holding in a sneeze. A shiver of magic. Stella exhaled. She looked at her mother, who didn't smile or frown. At Willow, nodding her approval. And lastly, at Cora, who's chest had grown so tight it made breathing difficult.

She saw the indecision on her mother's face. She'd seen it on her own face two days prior, her reflection in the flower shop's window. Why would Stella be indecisive about this of all things? She determined that her mother wanted to set a good example for her and Willow but didn't know which way to turn. Good or wicked, there'd be consequences. That was why she decided to do it, to save her mother the worry. She snapped her fingers.

Dorothea stumbled backwards, clutching her neck. "What... What was that?" She spun and saw nothing.

No one would hear her scream over the rain and thunder. It was the perfect cover.

Cora gave her scarf another yank. Again, their guest looked around for the source that'd pulled her several inches back. Willow chortled. Agatha averted her gaze. Stella smiled, despite her best effort. Cora feigned innocence.

"Is this some sort of game?" Dorothea snorted, her face reddening. "I will—" Cora yanked again at her scarf. She screamed as it fell, tried to grab it but it zipped from her grasp across the foyer floor to the bottom of the stairs.

"How—" She snorted. "What are you doing?" She wasn't addressing Cora but all of them. Her round, blue eyes gleamed. She'd forgotten to cover her nose—her undoing.

Willow laughed so hard she swallowed her gum, which made her cough. Agatha hid her smile behind her hand. Stella and Cora only stared. If they didn't know better, it would have been the best Halloween mask they'd ever seen.

But they did know. They'd done it without meaning to.

She hid her snout and tusks in her coat sleeve. "I know you did this to me," she said. "I know it. I just can't prove it."

"Do you have a curly tail under your coat too?" asked Willow. "And what about your ears? Let us see them."

Dorothea, as if to make sure her pink, floppy ears weren't also showing, pulled her hat down farther. "You'll be hearing from me again. I swear it." She started towards the stairs to get her scarf, but Willow got to it first. It slid between her legs behind her. She rushed around to grab it and squealed like a hog when Willow yanked her metaphorical tail.

The Emersons howled with laughter.

"You monsters," said Dorothea, shoving her scarf into her coat pocket. She hurried from the room, out the front door, and into the rain, the Emerson's laughter trailing behind her.

"You monsters." Willow did her best imitation, making Cora laugh harder.

The laughing lasted a moment. They hadn't had fun like that in ages. When it died, all their gazes were on Cora. "I didn't know what else to do." She sucked on her bottom lip, wishing, at best, for their gratitude.

"I can't believe you did that. Come here." Cora got up to embrace her mother. "You remember what I said, some day it would get easier."

"I remember." Cora relaxed into her mother's affection for her unaffectionate heart.

"Wait, what if she does tell someone?" Willow asked.

Cora let go of her mother. "You think she would?"

"She won't," said Agatha, soothing their worry. "Even if she does no one will believe her." With a shrug, she disappeared into the kitchen to check on dinner. Stella started after her.

"Wait, Mom." Willow stood. "Can I please go trick-or-treating with my friends?"

"Willow." Stella massaged her temple.

"Let her go, Mom," Cora said, to appease letting Willow fall and to not have to face her wrath the rest of the evening. She could be ruthless.

"Fine," said Stella. "Be back before eight."

"Nine." Willow clasped her hands.

"Eight-thirty."

Willow hurried down the stairs to kiss her mother's cheek. "Thanks, Mom." She didn't say anything to Cora as she ran back up the stairs to grab her things. Cora didn't think Willow had ever thanked her in her life.

Her mother rolled her eyes in a way that might have meant, "These kids these days," and left the room.

Cora meandered to the front door to pick up the cloak and mask. With nothing else to do but wait until the ritual, her mind fell on Beau, as she gazed out of the door's window. Despite the rain, Halloween hadn't been postponed.

Hemlock Avenue teemed with kids and parents, all tucked away under umbrellas. There were more ghouls than princesses this year. A charming sight. A girl dressed as a pirate hopped down Mrs. Campbell's front steps swinging her pillowcase stuffed with treats.

"There'll be nothing to ruining his life," Cora said, her breath fogging the glass.

But fate had a funny way of messing things up.

For dinner, the Emersons had roasted tomato soup with apple cheddar biscuits, and pumpkin lasagna, chasing it all down with an autumnal pomegranate punch Agatha had whipped up. Mariam didn't join them, but the table was full of clinking glasses and merriment.

The time for magic had begun. 

Ghosts swirled throughout Cora's belly the hour before she was supposed to name her victim.

She stood in their tiny backyard, where dead weeds tickled her ankles, clutching a pumpkin scented candle her mother had bought. Somehow, not even the familiar aroma of gourds could soothe her nerves. She'd went over it forwards and backwards in her head. Beau was her victim. She'd felt it when she touched him. Yet, she couldn't deny the thought of hurting him made her ill. Cora tipped her head back, gazing up at the sky—the moon with its fat, gourd like belly winking at her. The rain, that had eased minutes ago, had cleared the air. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of damp leaves.

Though it didn't look it now, in the spring, their backyard would be Agatha's herb and vegetable garden. Cora had never understood her grandmother's knowhow with plants. Agatha could grow almost anything, even in the small box of soil she had to make do with. Cora remembered how she'd once entrusted her with planting chamomile seeds to be used for tea. Within a week, all had died beneath her black thumb.

Agatha never asked for her help with gardening again.

The grandfather clock chimed eleven PM, as her mother stepped into the yard with a plaid blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She took it off and put it around Cora. "I thought you might be cold," she said, as she untucked Cora's hair from beneath it.

"Thanks." Cora's hands shook so much she could've dropped the small candle.

"It'll be fine." Stella wrapped her arm around Cora's shoulders, and she leaned into her. "Once you get the hang of things, it'll be easier than you expected," she said.

Even with the blanket over her, Cora trembled. She didn't want her mother to let her go, but soon enough she did. "Do you have it?" Stella took the candle away from her, unscrewed the top, and held it to her nose.

By it she meant the name. "His name's Beau, Mom. Beaumont Campbell," she said, but she didn't think her mother had forgotten. She wished she could forget. It wasn't too late to choose someone else, despite what she felt when she touched him.

But who? Would another victim quiet her nerves? She didn't think so because it wasn't so much the person but what she'd have to do to them that bothered some part of her. How could she live with that part of herself after?

Stella let out a noise that sounded like she was in bliss. Cora tried to smile, a smile she hoped said, "I'm okay, Mom."

It must have worked. "Come in before you catch a draft out here." Her mother took her by the arm.

Cora followed her into the house. Once and for all, she had to get rid of the part of her that didn't want this. The constant battle with herself exhausted her. Her grandmother had taken her aside after dinner, reciting the very words her mother had said. "It'll get easier once you get into it." She hoped, for her sake, she was right. She didn't want to lose her powers or dishonor her family name.

She wanted to be wickeder than the rest. 

Several minutes before Cora was supposed to name her victim, Mariam breezed through the front door, startling the rest of the Emersons.

"Granny." Cora ran up to her at the foyer door and gave her a hug. Something about naming her victim had her hungry for extra affection. Her grandmother's pink faux fur-trimmed leather trench coat felt cold against her cheek. Mariam merely patted Cora's back.

"I'm glad you're home," she breathed into her granny's shoulder.

"How could I miss such an important moment?"

Cora had wondered the same thing when she hadn't joined them for dinner. "Come along then," said Mariam. "You know your sister hates to be kept waiting."

Cora nodded, having been on the receiving end of Willow's impatience many times. She took her granny's hand and steered her into the kitchen where Agatha, Stella, and Willow were waiting.

"Hurry up," said Willow, wielding the cake knife, "or I'll be naming you as my victim." She aimed the knife's point at Cora.

"Willow, put that knife down." Stella Emerson didn't wait for her youngest to do as she asked, grabbing it from her instead.

"It's hardly sharp enough to saw off a toe." Willow pouted.

Cora and Mariam joined their family around the kitchen island. In the center sat one of Agatha's delightful creations, a salted caramel cake, which Cora knew all the Emersons were craving, including herself. They were watching her the way you'd watch a star shoot across the sky. In wonder. Even Willow.

Cora shut her eyes. "I'm ready." Mariam's hand dropped onto her shoulder, and she warmed beneath her steady touch.

"I, Cora Elizabeth Emerson, name Beaumont Campbell as my victim."

She said it all in one breath, surprise clouding her judgement when nothing happened. She didn't know what she'd expected. A clash of thunder, a star whizzing over Hemlock Avenue perhaps, but all she felt was the brush of her lashes against her cheek, the flutter of her eyelids, as she opened them.

"Is that it?" She looked around for an explanation.

Agatha shrugged. "As long as you know it in here," she tapped a spot over her heart, "that's all that matters."

"Finally," said Willow. "Now, can I cut something?" She held out her hand for the cake knife.

"Cora gets the biggest slice," said Stella, obliging her.

Plates were passed around and the Emerson's celebrated the way a sorceress should, with a healthy helping of dessert. A bite of her grandmother's baking caused a shift in Cora's heart, as if not only milk, eggs, and sugar were used for ingredients, but a sprinkle of calm, a dash of levelheadedness. She had the sense of surety she hadn't had before.

Either way, she'd have to see it through until she'd completed the task or be the first in her family without magic. The first still living anyway. She'd had a great uncle once. Mariam's younger brother but of course boys couldn't possess magic.

It was an ability passed from mothers to daughters, from aunts to nieces.