Moonlight? Cinnamon? Confusion is pinging through me, but her face is so happy that all I can do is smile.

“That’s… great,” I manage.

“Poppy Bell, I never said any such thing and you know it,” the other woman, who is apparently named Violet, says, giving us a little scowl. Poppy Bell. A fittingly adorable name for an adorable woman. I want to follow her back her to whatever fairy-tale story she came from.

Poppy grabs my hands, her face crinkling into a smile, then she points a finger at my heart. “You know when you’re truly missing something? When your life isn’t complete without it? You feel it in here, and you’d do anything to find the thing you’re looking for?” She jabs her finger in the direction of my heart, and all of a sudden I’m flooded with emotion because yes, I do know that feeling. But why does she know I feel that way?

“Yes?”

She smiles, her grip tightening. “That’s how it was looking for you two. And, oh, you wouldn’t believe the things we’ve tried. Magic circles, incantations, candle magic, runes…”

“Don’t forget the spell work!” Violet says. She’s finally released my mom, who is so pale, I can see her freckles through her makeup. “You wouldn’t believe the number of spells we’ve performed.”

It all finally clicks. Spells? Magic circles? Incantations?

Ohhhhhh. I spin to take a look at the bronzed witch statue, tourists posing in front of it. One tourist is wearing a black witch’s hat, and she clambers onto the back of the crescent moon, moving her arm to look like Elizabeth. It all clicks into place. These women are actors. Rosemary is probably the name of a famous historical figure from ye olde days of Salem, and these two with their weird outfits and overly loud voices are roping us into a street production or local tour. It’s a tourist gag.

I look around and catch a few amused looks from spectators. Suspicion confirmed. This probably happens every hour on the hour to some unsuspecting tourist. And I’m clearly a step or two ahead of my mom, because she looks, as Bea would say—a wee bit stupefait.

“Oh, I get it,” I say loudly. “You’re witches, right?”

Poppy breaks out into a wide smile. “Well, obviously, dear. We’re Bells, aren’t we? All the Bell women are witchy, although I’m sure you would agree all women have a bit of witch in them. It’s our birthright!”

My mom makes a gargled noise, and Poppy winks at me mischievously.

Definitely actors. I’m going to write the best entry about this in my travel journal. “So nice to meet you,” I say, moving into a loud stage voice of my own. “Unfortunately, we have a meeting right now that we need to get to. Mom?”