There'd be no rest for the wicked. Not even on Sunday. Stella wouldn't allow it.

Pots, bowls, and different arrangements of oils, butters, and glass jars had exploded in a muddled mess in their kitchen. Cora spilled a gobbet of Cocoa Coconut Face Cream all over the counter, which had earned her a reprimand from her mother.

"That should come out of your wallet," Stella warned.

Cora knew her well enough to be extra cautious from then on.

Though a bad batch of Made with Magic had given a customer a snout, sales for Cocoa Coconut Face Cream had come in by the dozens. There hadn't been any more complaints so far. With only four of them at work, as usual, her plans to spend the rest of the weekend lazing around had been dashed aside. Early evenings in November meant it would be dark before long, the sky already a shameless vermillion.

A cozy night wrapped in a blanket with a warm drink and a book (either the one she'd bought herself or Beau's) was inconceivable.

"Did you add enough essential oil?" Stella hovered behind her, eyeing the mixture as if they hadn't used the same recipe for months. "We can't afford any mishaps. Not again."

She marched around the island, fully in Drill Sargent mode.

Cora shut her eyes, going to a quiet place within herself. Any rudeness and Stella would deduct from her allowance. One dollar for an annoyed sigh. Two dollars an eyeroll. Five for a rude retort. A pool of sweat had gathered beneath her bra. She had a cramp in her arm from mixing because a simple blending charm wasn't tolerated.

"You're going to have to stir faster than that, Mom." Stella harried Agatha. "Come on. At that pace, we'll be here until the day Mariam keels over."

"I'm doing my best, Stella," Agatha said in her sweetest leave-me-alone tone.

Stella concurred, fixing her attention on Willow in the living room. "I want those labels pristine. We don't have enough to make mistakes. Willow, did you hear me?"

"Yes, Mom. I think the whole of Perth, Australia, heard you."

"Hey, no back chat. Those fingers better be working on that keyboard."

"Trust me, they are."

Stella didn't buy it. "I better go check on her. You two keep it up."

As soon as she left, Cora stopped mixing to massage her aching hands. "We've been at this for hours." She groaned. "Mom's gone tyrant." Stella had always been a perfectionist but this, this was madness.

"I think it's about time we hired some help." Agatha set her bowl aside. "Either that or it's come to an end."

"I wish." Cora agreed with her grandmother. It wasn't like they couldn't afford to hire more hands, but Stella had her ways about her, which would drive her family insane. At least if they hired a few people to get the job done, her mother would have time to relax.

"You should talk to Mom about it, Grandma. You know she'll listen to you." Cora shook out her hands, trying to get the feeling into them.

"Don't worry. I-"

"Willow, this is what you've been doing this whole time?" Stella's yelling gave both Agatha and Cora pause. "You've had all day and you've only printed fifty labels."

"I can't work under pressure," Willow complained. That was a lie. She lived for deadlines. She thrived on it. Often doing her best to Cora's irritation.

"I can't believe you. You've been instant messaging all this while."

"Not all this time."

"I know you might be too young to care but this is important. Do you want another mistake like last time?"

Willow chuckled. "Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that."

"It isn't funny." The windows creaked at the force of Stella's infuriation.

"I can't listen to this. I already have a headache and we still have over a dozen orders to fill." Agatha padded to the small radio they kept in the kitchen, a traditional analog that still worked despite its age. She tuned in to her favorite station, which played nothing but oldies every day, and cranked the volume as high as it would go.

"Maybe we should speed things up," Cora shouted over the music. Her arms would snap off if she had to mix by hand the rest of the day. Even then, Stella might make her learn to use her toes instead.

Agatha nodded her approval, and by the time Cora blinked the contents of the bowls had been charmed into mixing and pouring at an accelerated speed. She pulled out a stool and sat, too weary to do much of anything but watch magic unfold in the kitchen.

The crooning of Frank Sinatra's Fly me to the Moon drowned the sound of the argument in the living room, the shattering of glass, and a distraught Willow storming up the stairs to her room. Over the chaos, not one of the Emersons heard the doorbell ring.

Without her mother there to spew demands, the tension withered from Cora's shoulders. She sang along to the music, the lyrics transporting her deep into an alcove of her imagination. Her fairy godmother wishing her a gown. An empty ballroom. A debonair Beau waiting with outstretched hands. She sighed and rested her head on the counter. If it was possible for a sorceress to melt into a puddle of goo, she would have.

Her stomach rumbled. It was nearing dinnertime. Agatha's leftovers of apple and pear chicken salad would have to do, since her grandmother, judging by how many times she'd yawned and stretched in the last few minutes, wasn't up for cooking tonight.

She hopped off the chair as jars of their face cream sealed themselves and assembled with the others in neat stacks. The song ended, and a commercial for car insurance followed. She hummed, Fly me to the Moon stuck in her head, and began to remove the plastic wrap over their dinner when she had the urge to look up, locking eyes with Mrs. Campbell. Crouched at their window, owl-eyed and wide-mouthed, she had her cell phone pointed straight into their kitchen.

Cora yelped, the bowl of chicken salad falling to the floor with a loud thud.

"Well, there goes supper," said Agatha, too busy minding her own business to notice their neighbor scramble from her place of hiding on their porch.

Cora tugged her apron loose and threw it down. "I'll be right back."

"Leaving me to clean up this mess I see?" her grandmother said.

She ignored this, marching for the front door. Mrs. Campbell was already at the gate when she stepped outside. Seeing Cora, she squeaked. Cora ran down the steps after her. "Where do you think you're going with that?" She followed Mrs. Campbell into her yard, blocking her way before she could make it into the house. She had a cookie tin tucked under her arm.

"I came over to drop off a crumb cake but then I saw..." She pressed her fingers to her lips, shaking her head. "I always knew there was something strange about you Emersons. The way you kept so secretive just wasn't right. I had my hunches but now I know. You're witches and I have proof."

"You don't know what you've seen," said Cora, folding her arms. "You have to delete that video."

"Or what? After what I've witnessed, don't think I'll allow you to see my grandson. I won't have your witchery anywhere near my family."

At the mention of Beau, dread crept into her heart. As selfish as it was, he mattered more to her than being exposed on the net, or whatever Mrs. Campbell chose to do with the video. "Please, Mrs. Campbell. You don't understand," she pleaded.

"Oh, I understand. You deserve to be locked up. All of you."

A couple walked by arm in arm, their laughter deepening Cora's hurt. What would Beau say if he found out? She contemplated her options, none of them pleasant.

"What do you want from us?" she asked, hoping Mrs. Campbell was selfish enough to trade her family's shame for her own taste of magic. It would've been a fine compensation if it were possible, but magic couldn't be bartered away. You were born with or without it, a reality Mrs. Campbell didn't need to know yet.

She made a sound of repulsion, her phone clutched to her chest. "You think I want to be like you?" She sneered, and Cora couldn't be more surprised at how quickly she'd turned on them. "It's not natural what you are. Not natural at all. I would rather join my husband in his grave, God rest his soul, than descend to the pits of hell where you Emersons surely belong."

The pits of hell.

Her words stung. They weren't devil worshipers. If not for their magic, they'd have been as normal as anyone else. Their magic came from a source older than the stars themselves. Far older than the beginning of time. And if it weren't for the curse that was put on them when Blessie Gray outed another sorceress to save her own behind, dragging Elizabeth Emerson down with her, Cora's family wouldn't have had to hurt anyone.

It was true they'd succumbed to the curse over the years. Not that no Emerson hadn't ever tried to break it. All had failed. If only they could untangle it, see it for what it was. She stomped her foot, having enough of being insulted, as if she had to defend her reason for existing. "You won't get away with this," she said. "I won't let you ruin our lives."

"Trust me, my dear, it's already done." Mrs. Campbell inched around her, up the steps that led to her home.

Cora's breathing hastened. She clenched her fists. "I won't let you hurt the people I love to suit your lies. Delete the video or I swear-"

"Swear what?" Mrs. Campbell paused on the top step. "You might as well go home. There's nothing left to do but warn your family."

Cora bristled, placing her feet firmly on the ground to steel her nerves. "You say I'm a witch, but you don't know what I'm capable of, do you? Give it to me or... or..." Her magic surged, ran the length of her arms, and settled in her fingertips. "You'll learn to never mess with an Emerson sorceress again." She bounded up the steps after her, determined to destroy what evidence might forever disgrace her family.

Mrs. Campbell wrestled for the phone as Cora tried to pry it from her grasp. The cookie tin fell to the ground, its cover popping loose. She gritted her teeth and tugged. "Let go. We're not one of your mysteries for you to solve. Hurting us won't help you."

"No. I won't let you have it." Mrs. Campbell's willpower couldn't deter her. They tussled for it, as streetlamps and porch lights winked on and night fell over Thorne Point silent as death slinking onto Hemlock Avenue. In that silence, Mrs. Campbell cursed. "Let go of me you wretched creature. You... you... she-devil."

"Wretched creature? You're the one wanting to destroy my life."

Mrs. Campbell shoved her away with all her might. "You're all wicked, wretched women. Your sister too."

Cora had no intention of hurting her, but when she lunged again the magic nestled in her fingers stirred, rapacious and wanting-a silent curse voiced from all that fury. She hadn't meant to do it and realized her mistake a moment too late as Mrs. Campbell's hold on her slackened, as she faltered, swaying on her feet, dancing with an invisible someone.

"Oh," was the last word she uttered before toppling over, as if simply falling into bed.

In Cora's astonishment, her limbs and her organs hardened-a momentary petrification. She stared, unblinking. It took her several seconds to react. She knelt at Mrs. Campbell's side. "Please, don't be dead." She shook her arm. "Mrs. Campbell?" She gripped her shoulders too hard, attempting to wake her. "Please, wake up. Please, be okay." Mrs. Campbell didn't stir. "You need to wake up," Cora cried. She leaned in close to see if she heard breathing and felt her breath on her cheek.

She isn't dead.

"Beau!"

Not knowing what else to do, she leapt to her feet and knocked on the door of 4445 so hard it shuddered. "Beau! She pressed the doorbell a long while. It would be her misfortune if he wasn't home. She stumbled when the door flew open, catching herself before she fell against the fence between their houses.

"What in the world, Cora. I was sleeping," he said, wiping rheum from his eyes, so unflustered in a sports t-shirt and sweatpants. She hadn't only hurt his grandma. She'd ruined his night.

"I didn't mean to do it, Beau. I swear, I didn't mean to."

"What? What are you talking about?" His smile made disgust for her actions unfurl in her belly.

"She was at our kitchen window. She had a phone. And I didn't know how to stop her. Beau, you have to believe me." She couldn't help the tears that fell, hot and ceaseless. "It was an accident." Judging by his dazed expression, none of what she said made sense. "It's your grandmother," she managed, softly. "She's... she's... Beau, you have to believe me."

As he strode onto the porch, she took a step out of his way. Fear and a chill made her tremble. "Grandma?" He hurried to her, dropping to his knees. Cora worried his feet would be too cold in socks. "Oh my God, Cora. What did you do?"

She hadn't moved from the door, eyes blurry. Her hands wouldn't be still long enough to attempt another charm. She only managed to lift them to her mouth to gnaw her nails. Shame kept her rooted, unable to watch him try as she had to rouse his grandmother.

"Call an ambulance," he said. "Now!" he barked when she hadn't moved.

"I don't have my phone," she said, the weight on her chest making her hiccup.

He pushed past her into the house, emerging again with his cell at his ear. As he answered the dispatcher's questions, she rummaged her mind for a charm, any spell that could outdo what she'd done. None came to mind. How had she done it in the first place? She wanted to apologize again, as he paced the porch in a panic, scratching his head.

"Beau, I didn't-" She sniffled, her heart asunder.

It was useless. Nothing she said would fix this or make him believe her.

For the first time in months, the residents of Hemlock Avenue had gathered outside their homes, lured by an ambulance's siren. Even the old man who did nothing but sit in his recliner watching TV had wandered to his window.

The Emersons had been informed by Cora of Mrs. Campbell's loss of consciousness. And, without meeting their eyes, she'd told them the unfortunate truth. It was her fault. Neither her mother nor grandmother had known what to say.

Mariam, who'd stepped out of a cab in a bright yellow patterned coat and red high heels, had paused on the curb as the ambulance parked out front 4445. "What in the world," she said, promptly pulling her sunglasses down her nose.

Standing on the porch in between her mother and grandmother, Cora watched with a heavy heart as Mrs. Campbell was hauled onto the stretcher. The nearness of her family couldn't do away with her regret, a cold, unyielding fist squeezing every ounce of happiness from her spirit. Beau, still in his sweats, had thrown on a coat and sneakers at some point, in a hurry because both were undone.

Look at me.

She hoped he'd meet her gaze and see her remorse but couldn't sway him no matter how she tried-his features hard set, impassive, as he climbed in after his grandmother, never looking her way once.

The last of Cora's optimism died when the doors swung shut, replaced by a disgrace that settled in her, sinking to the depths of her quick as a stone. The siren whirred. The ambulance sped down Hemlock Avenue out of sight. And with nothing left to see, one by one their neighbors vanished into their homes, bolts double locked, curtains drawn tight.

The Emerson's were the last to leave. Shock and awe kept them motionless.

Maybe it'll come back. Maybe it's all a mistake.

Cora tried to soothe the tremors from her hands, as the sound of the siren got lost somewhere deep within the city.

"If we're lucky, she'll never wake up." Willow cackled.

"I think it's time you go to your room." Stella jostled her along, ignoring her objections. "Seriously, I don't know who you get your humor from."

"You, of course," said Willow.

Anguished, Cora's eyes stung as she turned away.

She'd done it.

She'd broken Beau's heart.