Chapter 25 #2
“As you should be.” He grasped her shoulder. “I can get him with what we have. No need to get you dragged into this.”
“Would’ve loved to see his face, though.”
“You still can.” He motioned to her phone. “The presentation will begin soon, and I’m sure they’ll stream it somewhere.”
“You’d better make it epic. Maybe a rap battle.”
“Definitely not a rap battle.” However he was going to face Everett, it wasn’t going to include any sort of poetry.
Except for, perhaps, Everett getting a poetic ending to his scheme.
“I guess I’ll be off, then.” Chris pushed away from the fence.
“Hey.” He waited until she turned and tossed her an envelope.
She peeked inside.
“For Freddie. It’s not as much as Everett promised you,” Simon said. “But only because of my somewhat limited financial means at the moment. As soon as I get my stuff sorted out, I’ll set up a monthly donation to the shelter.”
Chris looked up, the corner of her mouth just barely edging toward a smile. “You didn’t have to do it.”
“I didn’t,” he said. “But I wanted to.”
She gave a little nod, as if embarrassed. “I could say I can’t accept it, and then you’ll insist, and then I’ll insist, and it would go on and on, but we both have better stuff to do. So … thanks, man.”
“No problem, kid.”
“See you around, yeah?”
He gave her a wave.
“Oh, and,” she yelled back, as darkness already began to consume her. “Say hi to Shanna from me when you go back to her!”
Shanna. The feeling came back in an instant, as strong as a little sun burning inside his chest. The feeling of happiness, nostalgia, like something precious and treasured he’d remembered after decades of it slipping from his mind.
Only he couldn’t remember what that thing was.
“Mr. Simon.” Stan emerged from the shadows; it was incredible how well he could hide in them, considering his size. “It’s time.”
Simon nodded and let Stan show him to a side door he’d left open for him, leading to the back of the auditorium.
The show was on.
***
The light in the yellow brick row house flickered in the early evening, announcing its occupant was at home. Shanna knocked on the door, nervously clutching the lacy collar of her shirt as she waited for a response.
The door opened a few inches, and a wrinkled face with lively blue eyes showed above the security chain. “Yes?”
“Ms. Kerby?” Shanna said. “You don’t know me, but I’m Shanna. Shanna O’Connell.” She wasn’t sure why she was bothering with all the information, as if the surname should mean something more to Frances Kerby.
“I’m not buying whatever you’re selling.” Despite her rejection, the old lady sounded calm and patient.
“I’m not selling anything. I …” A glint on Frances’s wrist, as she held the door, caught Shanna’s eye. “I see you have a pentacle charm.”
“This thing?” Frances looked at her bracelet. “Neighbor gave it to me. Such a kind young lady, she is. Says it’s for protection. I’m not sure how a little thing like this can protect, but surely, it can’t hurt.”
“I have one, too.” Shanna extended the hand with her own charm bracelet.
“Oh, these are lovely.”
“Thanks.” She smiled. “I made them myself.”
“And so many, too. What are you, a witch?”
“A little bit, yeah.”
“Huh.” Frances relaxed, leaning on the wall inside. “Never been visited by a witch before. What occasion warrants this?”
“Actually, it’s quite interesting. A very distant ancestor of yours was a witch, too. She had a quarrel with my family.”
Frances raised her thin eyebrows. “And you came to challenge me to a witchy duel, to settle the score, once and for all?”
Shanna laughed. “No such thing. I only need your help.”
“Hmm.” Frances looked around, then took off the security chain. “Come in, then. Let’s see if I can help you over a cup of tea.”
Shanna glanced at the street. “My dog is waiting in the car—”
“Then, by all means, he’s invited, too.” Frances waved at Jinx. Shanna went to get him, and he sped for the door like a rocket.
“Don’t you witches usually have cats?” Frances asked, half-heartedly fending off Jinx’s attacks of affection.
“We’ve expanded our choices over centuries,” Shanna said as she followed Frances into the living room.
“That’s good to know. Always loved parrots, myself. They’re terribly clever.”
“A parrot would be as viable a companion as any.”
Frances disappeared into the kitchen. “So, this helping thing.” Her voice came from behind the corner. “I hope it’s not too complicated or taking too long. I’ve some important news to watch on the TV soon.”
“It’s not complicated at all.” Shanna graciously accepted the cup of tea. “You only have to forgive me.”
“For what, dear?”
Shanna recounted Caitriona’s actions and how the curse came about.
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Frances said. “Let’s see, then …” She shuffled on her armchair and raised her hand, almost as in blessing. “I forgive you?”
Shanna wasn’t sure what would happen, but nothing did.
“Maybe a bit more conviction,” Frances said to herself. “Shanna O’Connell, I forgive you for the actions of your ancestor, Caitriona. May her faults, and my family’s faults, no longer pursue you.”
“Wow. You’re good at this.”
“Did it work?”
Shanna wiggled her toes and stretched her fingers. “I don’t know. I don’t feel any different.”
“Should you?”
“I think so. I always feel something when there’s witchcraft afoot. Whether it’s casting a spell myself or being the target of one.”
“Maybe it needs time to kick in,” Frances said. “You can stay for a bit, see if it does. Otherwise, I’ll repeat it. Here, have some cookies. We can watch TV together.”
“Thank you.” Shanna bit into a cookie, even as her belly protested, the nerves starting to rack up again.
“Ah, perfect. It’s started,” Frances said, eyes glued to the screen. On it was a stage with a single spotlight, the outline of the crowd visible in front of it.
Some kind of stand-up comedy routine, perhaps? “What is it?” Shanna asked.
“My boy is about to have a presentation,” Frances said.
“Your boy?”
Frances nodded, munching on her cookie. “My little son. Well, he hasn’t been little for a while now. And he hates me when I call him that.” She pursed her wrinkle-etched lips. “So I stopped calling him much at all. But I still follow. He might not care, but I always will.”
Shanna’s eyes watered. “That’s so sweet.” And then it hit her. “Wait. Your son!”
“Hmm?”
“The Witch’s Heart. That’s why you forgiving me didn’t work! When the witch has a child, they become the heart. It’s him!” She turned to Frances, taking her free hand. “Your son is the one who needs to forgive me!”
“Ah, well, then we’ll do that.” Frances patted her hand. “But once he’s done with his very important presentation. Here he comes!”
Shanna turned to the screen along with Frances. A man in a fancy business suit walked onto the stage. Definitely not stand-up comedy—it had to be a different kind of presentation, maybe of some company or a product.
The camera zoomed in on his face. The light reflected off his bald head; shaved, Shanna assumed, to disguise oncoming hair loss. Dark, penetrating, clever eyes, and a well-maintained beard with a few strips of silver in it. She’d seen that man before.
Everett.