Chapter 33
One Year Later
Holly flung herself against Philip’s chest. “He’ll never let me go!”
Philip embraced her, looking down into her eyes with a mix of tenderness and determination. “We can escape—go so far he’ll never be able to find us.”
The door to the room they were in flew open, and a dark-haired man burst in. He pointed dramatically at Philip. “She’s mine—you’ll never have her while I live!”
Philip shifted into snow leopard form and bared his teeth. But before he could spring on her witch, the man held up a piece of paper. “Lightning!”
A blast of lightning crashed down from above, striking Philip. He reared back, clawing at the air—then fell on his side, dead.
Holly went to her knees by him, weeping, but the man grabbed her by the arm and tried to pull her away. She managed to wriggle out of his grasp; he let her go, all his attention on his dead rival. “This is what happens when anyone tries to get between me and what’s mine.”
Holly staggered against a desk—then opened its drawer. While her witch gloated over Philip’s body, she pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.
“No—I’ll never let you put me in a cage again.”
The witch turned just in time to see the gun. He flung up his hands, but it was too late. A puff of smoke from the gun barrel, and he clutched his chest, before toppling to the floor beside Philip.
Holly flung away the gun and stood over the two men, her hands clasped in front of her heart. “It’s over.” She turned full-on, her eyes gleaming with tears as the camera closed in on her face. “I’ve lost my only love, thanks to an evil man. Time to fly away…forever.”
She turned into a bird, and the final shot was of her landing on the windowsill for a moment, looking back at the carnage—then faded to black as she took wing.
Applause erupted from the audience as the title card reading The End appeared on the screen. Some of them rose to their feet for a standing ovation, overcome with emotion. Alistair remained seated.
“What did you think?” Sam asked from beside him. Like the rest of them, he’d dressed up for the premiere in a suit from Joel’s new shop. It looked good on him, and more than one camera had flashed his way when they walked inside the theater.
“The scene where she killed her witch wasn’t very realistic,” Alistair said, stretching to get blood back into his limbs. “She would have been overcome with pain when their bond broke.”
“It’s a movie,” Sam reprimanded him. “It’s about emotion, not technicalities. What about the lightning, though? I thought I got it to look pretty real.”
It had taken Sam several weeks of hard work to craft the hex that made it appear as though Philip was being incinerated by a lightning blast, without actually shocking him in the process. “That was fantastic,” Alistair said sincerely. “And the title cards were beautiful—you hand-lettered those?”
The house lights came up, revealing the pleased blush on Sam’s cheeks. “I did.”
“Nice and clear and easy to read,” Alistair said. “And I loved the little bird doodles in the corner. How she was in the cage, then slowly moved out of it as the movie went on.”
“That was Philip’s idea.” Sam ducked his head. “I liked it, though, and Essie agreed.”
“Well, you executed it perfectly.”
The audience was starting to move toward the exits, so Alistair stood up and offered Sam his arm.
When they’d come to LA a year ago, Philip had intended to work at the little restaurant they’d managed to acquire by pooling together all their money.
But the first moment Essie laid eyes on Philip, she’d said, “I want that face in my films. Can you act? Never mind, I’ll hire a coach if we need to. ”
Caged Love was Holly’s third film and Philip’s second. The studio’s schedule was grueling, but every movie was bringing in more cash than the last—Alistair would know, since he worked in the accounting department. Hopefully Caged Love would make the two of them stars.
The lobby was thronged with men in tuxedos and women in gowns.
Flashbulbs went off like fireworks as Holly, Philip, and their co-star signed autographs.
Behind them, a poster in lurid colors depicted Holly in human form, her knees drawn up to her chest, sitting inside a woman-sized bird cage.
“Caged Love,” the poster read. “Her witch kept her in a cage…but could love with another familiar set her free? Starring Holly Savine as May, Brian North as Ben, and Philip Gatti as Julian.”
Doris walked up, dressed in a tux. She’d helped build the sets for several of Essie’s movies; her hands were callused from sawing and hammering, her muscles even more defined than before. “Good turnout,” she remarked.
“It seems to have gone over well,” Alistair agreed. “Shall we go?”
The after-party was being held at the Whisker and Paw Grill, the little joint run by Wanda, Teresa, and Reinhold.
It was close to the studio lots, which meant a steady stream of customers looking for an inexpensive but tasty meal.
No alcohol served, though they turned a blind eye to anyone bringing their own flasks.
It was a far cry from The Pride, with scuffed pine tables and worn linoleum, the only music coming from a small radio behind the counter. But if Alistair knew Wanda, she was already planning her next move. The grill would do for now, but she’d find a way to parlay it into something bigger.
A sign out front warned potential customers that the restaurant was closed for a private party. They went inside and were greeted with the smell of grilling onions and peppers. A huge cake already sat waiting for the stars’ arrival. There was also a case of bootleg champagne—just this once.
“How did it go?” Teresa asked anxiously as they entered.
“Really great!” Sam exclaimed. Soon they were chatting about both the movie and the stars who’d come to see what all the fuss was about.
A limousine pulled up half an hour later, spilling out Holly, Philip, Wanda, Essie, Joel, and a few other members of the cast and crew. Wanda beamed with pride as she walked beside Holly.
“I made sure to tell everyone I’m wearing a Joel Hunt original,” Holly was saying as they came in the door. “They’ll be beating down your door soon!”
“Here they are, the newest stars in the Hollywood sky!” Reinhold announced from the doorway to the kitchen. Teresa squealed and embraced Philip, and the party got underway.
After a meal of steak with grilled vegetables, copious champagne, and cake, Alistair found himself sitting alone at one of the tables. Holly and Essie were already talking about heading to a speakeasy next—some things never changed.
This wasn’t where any of them had imagined they’d end up, back in 1920 when they’d decided to try their luck in Chicago. In many ways, they were still finding their footing here in balmy California. But they’d made the start of a good life. And a hell of a safer one.
Sam came over to stand by him. “Is everything all right?”
Alistair shrugged. “Just thinking.” He reached out and took Sam’s hand. “What do you say we go somewhere more quiet.”
“Like our garden?”
Alistair smiled. “Exactly like.”
* * *
The warm air of their new home never ceased to surprise Sam, even after a year. Oranges glowed in the light coming from the windows of their small bungalow as he eased himself into a lawn chair and looked up at the stars.
Sometimes, he wondered how his family was doing. If Opal had seen what was going on and left. He’d probably never know; none of them had his current address or even knew he’d left Chicago in the first place.
If he could have helped them…but he couldn’t, and he was done trying. That was a well with no bottom; he could empty everything he had, everything he was or hoped to be, into it and it would never be enough.
An anonymous tip—Sam suspected from Alistair—had led to a government raid on the empty hexworks.
All of Neferneferuaten’s belongings, as well as the pharaoh herself, were seized.
She was back on her way to Egypt, according to the papers, along with most of what had been looted from her tomb.
Was Doc still cursing his lost chance at archaeological fame, or just glad to have escaped with his life?
The back door opened, and Alistair came out carrying a pair of cream sodas. He put them on the table, then sat down in the other chair, reached over, and took Sam’s hand.
“I think this film will put the studio firmly in the black,” he said, absently running his thumb across the back of Sam’s hand. “Though if Philip becomes a genuine movie star, he’ll have to buy a bigger house, because I don’t think his swelled head will fit through his current door.”
“You’re just jealous,” Sam teased.
Alistair arched a brow at him. “And you’re probably thinking you bonded with the wrong brother.”
“Hmm, the star of the silver screen or the guy who keeps the books…” Sam pretended to consider. “Eh, I think I’ll keep you. Less competition.”
“Jerk,” Alistair said, laughing. “The City of Angels has turned you into a devil.”
There was an ease in the way Alistair carried himself these days, the way he laughed and smiled more frequently. “I think it’s done you good,” Sam said. “You’re less…intense.”
“Less pressure.” Alistair shrugged. “Wanda might only be happy running her own business, but I’m enjoying the break from responsibility.
The rest of you might run around like a bunch of headless chickens trying to get a film shot and in the can, while all I have to do is tell Essie whether or not she can afford to pay us.
If she can’t, well, no point in my stressing about it since there’s nothing I can do to change things either way. ”
“She’s always paid us on time,” Sam objected. “Mostly.”
They had to budget carefully these days, since most of their savings had gone to getting the restaurant off the ground. Wanda would pay them back eventually; her pride wouldn’t allow her to do otherwise.
Still, he missed those few heady months working for Sullivan, when he didn’t have to worry about money. If only the ultimate price hadn’t been so very high.
News from Chicago made it out to them in the form of letters from Paladino, who had gone from being Sam’s employee to a long-distance friend.
According to him, Turner tried to run the gang for a little while, but it quickly fractured, with Fabiano’s former people splitting off first, then others following suit.
The city was back to a patchwork of syndicates, each struggling to get the upper hand over the competition.
Maybe someone would emerge as the next Liquor King, but Sam was glad not to have to worry about it one way or the other.
At least Paladino’s son would still be going to college, thanks to the money he’d set aside while working for Sullivan.
Finances would be tighter than they would have been if things had turned out differently, but he was determined his kid would have a better start in life than he’d been handed.
“Your effects in the film were really good,” Alistair said after a quiet moment. “I bet you’ll get offers from other studios soon.”
Sam struggled with the instinct to downplay his accomplishments. It wasn’t easy, and he felt heat spread over his face when he said, “Maybe. I’ve been thinking about…well, it sounds stupid…”
“Sam…”
“I’ve been thinking I might start my own business, designing hexes to create effects for whichever studio wants to pay for them,” he said in a rush. “I’d have to hire more hexworkers, and it might not amount to anything, but…I’m thinking about it.”
Alistair squeezed his fingers. “You can do it. And if there’s anything I can do to help, just say so.”
“It’s a dream right now, but…I think I can make it successful.” He’d enjoyed his time in Sullivan’s hexworks, collaborating with Glenda and Luke, bouncing ideas and theories off one another. It would be nice to do something like that again, in a situation with less dire consequences.
“Like I said—anything you need.”
Sam picked up the bottle of cream soda, the condensation slick under his fingers.
The leaves of the orange tree rustled in the wind, but otherwise the neighborhood was silent at this time of night.
“I’ve already got what I need,” he said, looking across to Alistair.
“You. Our bond. This house. Our family.”
Alistair picked up his soda in his free hand and clinked it against Sam’s. “I’ll drink to that.”