Chapter Three
Chapter Three
T ime was never on August “Gus” Dearworth’s side. He was overdue by a full week and was born exactly at 12:12 p.m. on Halloween. Of course, his family, the remarkable Dearworth magicians, took his fortuitous birth as a sign that he was destined for spectacular things. As he grew, Gus was always last: he got the last lunch; he caught the late bus and did homework on the way to school; he was the final kid picked for basketball or a science project. While he was in college, Gus set three alarms and reminders for everything. He even asked his sister Diane to call him to make sure that he didn’t miss his graduation.
He was constantly on time’s bad side, no matter what he did.
When Gus joined the family business of mesmerizing audiences all over the world with their magic act, he was last to perform. As nervous as he was to close the entire show, Gus had decided to give the audience an experience to remember. He rode in on a sleek motorcycle onstage while they played Grandpa Dearworth’s favorite song, “Let the Good Times Roll,” over the speakers. Gus jumped off, produced two cash cannons from his pockets, and sent dollar bills out into the waiting crowd. The audience went wild before he presented a single illusion. He became Good-Time Gus, because it wasn’t a good time until he showed up on the stage or in the club. His jaw-dropping act took him from a sold-out Vegas residency to performing for literal royalty. Bottle service and reserved booths were his MO, and his tight entourage was well known for its party-until-the-sun-comes-up lifestyle. His misadventures were filmed and shared for his family’s hit reality television show, Dealing with the Dearworths .
But, after a brief yet intense marriage and a long divorce, his party days were long over. He tried to recapture the fun of his former magic act when he fought to get out of bed each morning. Every time Gus went to pull a tiger out from thin air, it felt like he was trying to light a wet match, and he could barely complete his full act.
It was hard to perform magic when you lived with a broken heart.
Gus put his magician act on indefinite hiatus, left the reality show, and moved to Freya Grove. He even sold off his engraved cash cannons and donated the money to charity. He dusted off his history and economics degree from Pennbrooke University and applied to be the official steward of the Freya Grove Historical Society. For the last two and a half years, Gus stayed in the Grove, through seasons and holidays, safekeeping the town’s magical legacy and advising young students on their next magic research. His current entourage consisted of Nicolas, a vampire who loved vintage photographs, and Beryl, a gnome who wrote very colorful sea shanties about merfolk.
He built a tight routine to make sure the organization ran smoothly.
Record donations. Unhex spellbooks. Feed the gargoyles on the roof.
Yes, his schedule was a bit boring, but it was safe. He’d had enough enjoyment for two lifetimes, and he wasn’t looking to revisit his past. When Gus woke up at dawn before the morning alarm blared, he felt off. He’d had the strangest dream. Vague dreams of his impending Halloween birthday party lingered on the edge of his memory. Blurry faces surrounding him as he stood in front of a cake aglow with candles. Remnants of fresh cinnamon and apple punch remained on his tongue. But the most vivid part of his dream was Sirena, covered in slime and looking like a curvaceous specter. It felt so real that he could still smell her perfume. She smelled fresh and woody, like shredded ginger and lemon slices. Her brown eyes filled with interest, peered up at Gus, and kept him rooted.
For an instant, he didn’t know what day it was.
Gus grabbed the phone from the nightstand and checked the date on the screen.
It was October 1.
He dropped the phone and scrubbed a hand over his beard. “Déjà vu.”
Man. He really needed to get out of his head. As Gus dressed and got ready for his day out, he tried to shake off this strange feeling. It annoyed him like a price tag dangling off his shirt and tickling his skin. Something was missing, but he didn’t know what he was overlooking. He met Diane, his little sister, at the entrance of the Harvest Festival.
Diane’s ebony locs were tied in two buns on her head that made her look like a Goth teddy bear. Her dark brown skin was illuminated by the onyx-black sweater, long plaid skirt, and burnt-orange ballet flats she wore.
She checked her phone, then lifted a brow. “You’re early. What’s up?”
Gus gave her an easy smile, but his gut tightened into a knot. If Diane noticed immediately that he was early, then something strange was going on in town. His sister had the strongest intuition in the Dearworth family and left an area quickly if the vibes were off. Please , he begged, I don’t want to start this month off cursed . Did he get accidentally charmed by a donated item? He hadn’t handled anything new recently, but he’d cleanse himself with a balm of dandelions and ginger root when he got home.
“I must have gotten the time wrong,” he joked, hiding his concern.
Diane stared at him for a second, then chuckled. “Yeah. You’re right. Let’s go.”
Gus walked with Diane, making a note to pick up ginger root from the Farmers Square.
The Freya Grove Harvest Festival was going all-out for the first weekend, with jugglers, carnival games, and plenty of food options. The scent of fresh hay bales and dirt hit Gus’s nostrils as he passed by the makeshift photobooth decorated with scarecrow props and raven puppets. Gus and Diane strolled past the rows of green tables and booths filled with seasonal produce. Vendors called out to customers who wove in between tables, trying to find the best price. Food trucks were lined up in the parking lot, and tables were filled with diners eating their meals from paper bowls and plates. There were wrapped bundles of vivid green herbs and craft tables with knitted and crocheted shawls available for purchase.
Gus stilled when he saw the Weisz Market stand surrounded by tall white coolers filled to the brim with bottles of apple cider in ice. He rubbed his hands together. Anticipation ballooned in his chest, and he smiled deeply. It was on. For Gus, the first taste of apple cider at the Harvest Festival was the best one, and he reveled in it. He didn’t indulge in many things during this indefinite hiatus from his magic career, but he loved to grub and feast on only the best food.
Gus paid the capped vendor and took two bottles from the cooler. He handed one to Diane, twisted off the cap, and then drank. The spiced drink went down cold and chilled him all the way to his knees. Instead of the heartfelt feeling of coziness the first taste of apple cider usually gave him, he felt queasy. He took another sip, but his stomach churned. Nothing was wrong with the cider; the problem was with him.
This moment wasn’t new. His smile faded, dimmed by confusion.
Diane watched him. “Are you good?”
He lowered his voice. “Something feels off.”
Diane took a sip of hers and shrugged. “My bottle tastes fine. Did you get a bad batch?”
Of course, Diane, being the actor in the family, had a voice that carried, and the capped vendor overheard them. A troubled frown flittered over her features.
Gus held up his hand. “No, it’s perfect.”
The vendor beamed at him. “Thank you. It’s an old family recipe.”
“It’s great. It’s me. I’m… probably congested or have some weird taste buds.”
Gus heard the words come out of his mouth and winced. Stop talking. Could he be any more awkward? The vendor gave Diane a look that said Is he feeling okay?
She eased Gus away from the Weisz Market booth. “My sweet, nerdy brother, you need to get out of the house more. That was rough. Maybe you should stick to talking to books.”
He bristled a bit at her comment. There hadn’t been a haunted book in the library in months, and he worked hard to make sure it stayed that way.
“I don’t talk to books,” Gus said. “I listen to what they’re trying to tell me.”
Diane spoke in a low, calm voice. “You’re throwing off major woo-woo vibes. You show up early, don’t like your cider, and you’re… wobbly. What’s going on?”
Gus opened and then closed his mouth, unable to explain just yet what he was feeling. He looked around at the Harvest Festival, watching people biting into caramel apples and kids playing tag with their friends. I’ve been here before. An icy tremor of recognition spread over his chest the longer he watched the scene before him. He just knew that the carnival games had been moved from the east to the west this year, even though the map said otherwise. It was a last-minute change due to the generators being delivered late. He looked to Diane, who was checking her phone and letting out a small groan at a message on the screen.
“We’ve been here before,” he said.
Diane dropped her phone into her purse. She eyed him. “Yeah. We were here last year and the year before.”
“It’s different,” he insisted. “I had a strange dream.”
Diane smiled hopefully. “Please tell me you dreamed of tomorrow’s lottery numbers.”
Gus scratched his beard. “I dreamed it was Halloween. You threw me a party and invited everyone in town. Ma called me. She asked me to come back on the show, and I said—” He interrupted himself. What did he say to her? His brain drew a blank.
“It felt so real.”
Diane leaned back on her heels. “Maybe your subconscious is nervous to celebrate your birthday. It’s not every day you turn twenty-eight for the sixth time.”
“You could just say I’m turning thirty-three.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Diane asked. “Maybe you’re feeling excited about this magical age. My hairdresser says that thirty-three is the age of great love and creativity. The universe is going to shine light and wonder into your life.”
“Hmm.” Gus gave her a nod, but that odd feeling remained.
“So, if it was your birthday, what did you wish for?” she asked. “Tell me about the cake.”
What did he wish for? His mind went empty, and he couldn’t recall that part of the dream. As if his brain didn’t want him to know a truth just yet. “I don’t remember.”
Diane patted his shoulder. “I get it, brother. Keep your secrets. Speaking of secrets—”
“Great transition. Real smooth,” he interjected.
“Did you get Jess’s wedding invitation?”
“I did.” Gus sipped his apple cider without another word, the tartness of the apple mixed in with the sourness he felt inside. His ex-wife, the world-famous singer Jessalyn “Jess” Clarke, was getting married to Igor, his former magician’s apprentice, in Freya Grove this December. His ex was hydrated, blessed, and not looking to talk about him or their short-lived marriage. She wrote an entire album about their relationship. Whenever the song Jess wrote about him, “The Love I Can’t Keep,” played over an online video, Gus logged off for the rest of the afternoon and took a walk to the beach.
Truthfully, he had never heard the full song and didn’t plan on listening to it.
“Not everyone was lucky enough to have their heartbreak be an entire bop,” Diane had said after she listened to the entire song.
Jess and Igor had their own new reality show called Love Magic . The wedding was airing live on the Telly Channel for their fans. He hoped that no one from his family had pressured Jess to extend an invite to Gus. The Dearworths, with their persuasive skills, could talk a troll out of living near a channel. Seriously, he once watched Auntie Charlene convince a troll that having a beach house would be better than living under a bridge.
Diane pressed her hands together; a scheming look entered her eyes. “Tell me what you are wearing. Would it be too weird if we matched?”
Gus met Diane’s expectant stare. “I’m not going.”
Diane gave a little frown. “Oh, come on. I don’t think that it would be that bad.”
Gus cocked his head to the side. “I can already feel the cameras zooming in on me and the sad royalty-free music playing under my entrance into the reception. Why do you want to attend?”
A secret look crossed her face. His stomach tightened.
“Jess asked you to be a bridesmaid,” he guessed.
She wrinkled her nose. “What do you think?”
“I think my family likes my ex-wife more than they like me,” Gus jested quietly.
He peered at Diane. “You want to say yes, or you’ve already said yes.”
She rocked back and forth. “Jess doesn’t have any close family.”
Diane always had his back, but she also had a massive heart. Underneath all her Goth clothes and snark, she was a sweet person who loved sending care packages and cards. She’d cared for Jessalyn as a sister and had stayed in contact even after the divorce.
“You don’t need my permission. I’m good. Go and have a great time.”
“So does that mean you’re bringing a date?”
“I’m not going. And I don’t date,” he said.
Hadn’t they talked about this before? Why did he feel like he was repeating himself?
“You don’t have one friend who can be your date?”
“I can bring a gnome who loves to sing very raunchy songs about the ocean,” he said.
Diane laughed. “Stop playing around. Bro, you’ve been alone for a long time. I mean, I even bought you an EnChant subscription you barely used.”
He gave her a sharp glance that said Are you kidding me? “Have you been on EnChant lately? It’s horrific. Everyone’s there for a hookup. I deleted my account once I got very explicit messages about my wand from a very persistent zombie.”
Gus shivered at the thought of his previous DMs. He wanted to pour a vanishing potion in his eyes so he’d forget every terrible photo that he saw online. EnChant was the dating website for the weird, sexy, and supernatural singles of Freya Grove and beyond. The freaks came out at night and logged into the website to find their match.
Diane made a face. “Yikes. I forgot how terrifying internet dating can be. Do you mean you’re ready for something serious again?”
“I guess you don’t have a wedding date,” he teased.
“No, but I might see if Zeke’s available. He texted me.” Diane weighed him with a serious squint.
“Oh, really.” Gus stayed as chill as possible, keeping his voice steady. “How is he?”
Diane kept looking at him. “He’s fine. His phone number hasn’t changed.”
Gus shrugged. His chest burned. “That’s good to know.”
Zeke, the head of his former entourage and the man he once considered his best friend. Seriously, if it weren’t for Zeke, Gus would have stayed trapped in that bank vault for the entire weekend after a vanishing stunt went wrong. When Gus walked away from his career, he left Zeke behind as well, unable to be the fun-loving magician his friend had known for years. He didn’t have the heart to explain to Zeke that the fun times were making him miserable. There were times when Google Photos would pull up collages of him and Zeke, acting and laughing like fools. He couldn’t bring himself to delete the memories, but rather flicked through them without another thought. Zeke, who had texted and called him the other day. Gus couldn’t bring himself to answer, not ready to talk to him just yet.
Put it behind you.
Diane nodded, seemingly ready to move on from the topic. “Does Ma know you were invited to the wedding, too?”
Gus made a no way sound. “Does Ma know you’re going?”
She sipped her cider and avoided eye contact with him. Even though Diane had left their reality show to study theater and playwriting overseas, she was still a Dearworth. That fact meant that Ma would always find ways to stir up a little drama so that she and her children were the center of attention. To quote Ma, Dearworths deserved to stand on the stage and in the spotlight.
“I’m done with performing,” he said.
Diane grunted. “You’re a true performer behind that corduroy docent outfit.”
Ouch. Tweed and bow ties were cool. Gus pressed a hand to his sweater, which Ms. Alice, his mentor and a society member, had personally knitted for him. It was rainbow tweed, not corduroy, but he wasn’t going to correct her mistake.
Diane poked his arm. “You don’t play sold-out shows anymore, but you still like being onstage. I mean, who gets a standing ovation at a historians’ conference?”
He did. Gus felt his face grow hot. “I wish they hadn’t posted that video.”
“I’m glad they did,” she said. “You did the damn thing, Gus. It was impressive.”
Pride filled him from the inside out at her compliment.
He went semi-viral when the Historical Association conference posted his talk about seeking out and preserving the forgotten or sidelined voices of history, especially in the creative arts and entertainment. Gus spoke of the Lincoln Motion Picture Company, which had sought to make films that celebrated the Black experience at the start of the twentieth century; they made five films before they eventually shuttered. Despite their short existence, the company inspired others to create their own enterprises. For Gus, the past had the potential to be an encouragement for those living in the present, and he felt honored to keep that history alive. Due to the video’s popularity, he received fan mail, was encouraged to submit grant applications, and built professional relationships with scholars. When Diane saw the video, she had immediately called him up and shouted how proud she was of his nerdy self.
She offered to share it with Ma and Pop Dearworth, but he said it wasn’t necessary.
He knew what Ma would say to him if she saw the video.
That’s cute, dear, but Dearworths entertain. We don’t inform. We’re not the internet.
Diane rubbed her forehead. “Ma still doesn’t know about the offer.”
He bowed his head. The Freya Grove Historical Society Committee, the group who hired him, had offered to extend his position another three years and increase his current salary. It was a generous deal, but Gus couldn’t immediately accept it without talking to his manager—Ma.
“My hiatus was supposed to end,” he said to the ground.
Diane sighed. “When?”
He lifted his head and winced. “Six months ago. But I can’t just pick up and leave.”
Empathy shone in her wide eyes. Ma kept emailing Gus about upcoming tour dates, trying to figure out when he could rejoin the act. He immediately responded, saying that he couldn’t go until he hired his replacement. He’d promised Ma that he’d leave his job in Freya Grove and rejoin the Dearworths’ magic act at the end of the year, in time for the anniversary show.
Gus was caught between his past and his present, trying to balance demands from both sides, and felt like he was failing with both.
“What would Good-Time Gus do?” Diane asked.
“I’m not him anymore,” he said, his tone terse.
Diane eyed him, seemingly taken aback by his firm response. Yeah, Good-Time Gus might have been a great showman and magician, but he was a jerk. He took up too much space and didn’t relinquish the spotlight to anyone—even his own blood. That version of Gus made careless mistakes and didn’t think of the consequences, but thought only of himself and his magic.
Good-Time Gus was everything he disliked about himself—the eager, desperate part of him that demanded people see that he was unforgettable. It was the part of him that he believed was unlovable. His entire body tensed, recalling how thoughtless he was at the height of his fame.
“You look like you’re holding a sneeze,” Diane said.
No, he was holding back the worst of himself from the world.
She smiled kindly. “You don’t have to be him, but tap into that powerful Good-Time Gus energy. Take chances. Get messy.”
“Now you’re just quoting Ms. Frizzle,” he said.
“Make magic!” Diane shouted gleefully. “You need to… have fun.”
“I’m fine,” he answered thickly. I’ve had enough fun. I want peace.
For Gus, fun wasn’t a blessing, but rather a burden on him. He couldn’t remember exactly when people stopped laughing with him and instead started laughing at him. The audiences who once gasped at his magical act started giggling and cringing at his powers. Something ugly and painful twisted within him at that moment and he couldn’t bring himself to even pull a dove out of his top hat. Instead of being seen as fun, he turned into a fool.
Diane tapped Gus’s half-filled cider bottle. She took it from him and held it up to the sun like an enchantress who had finished brewing a perfect batch. “Pretend you’re drinking a mystic potion. Behold the bewitching tonic that tastes of fall apples and spice. It has the amazing power to remove the stick from one’s—”
Gus cleared his throat. He held up a warning hand. “Hey. Chill.”
She batted her eyes innocently. “Heart. I was going to say heart.”
Diane wiggled her fingers over his bottle. She raised her voice to a dramatic, attention-grabbing boom. “And with this juice, I’ll open his eyes and make him full of delightful impulses.”
The liquid glistened under the midmorning sun. A few guests applauded her performance, and she took a stage bow. Diane handed it back to him with a wink.
Gus chuckled at her Shakespeare improvisation, knowing that her favorite play to preform and quote had been A Midsummer Night’s Dream since she attended Freya Grove High School. Of course, Diane used any reason to remind him that she was the trained actor of the family. Not only did she play the character Puck for an international audience, but she was well versed in countless plays and dramatic works. He’d seen her play a heartbreaking Rose from August Wilson’s Fences to a haughty Queenie in a local production of Wild Party . His sister was truly a chameleon when she performed—literally embodying any role required of her as an actress.
“Once a theater kid, always a theater kid,” he said warmly.
Diane nodded. “Speaking of theater, I’ve got to head out early. Work calls.”
“Today’s your day off,” Gus said, gesturing to the food trucks.
They hadn’t had a single pumpkin treat.
She let out a tired groan. “It was, but the playhouse is about to become a house of horror.”
“Oh, that’s not good,” he said.
Diane worked as an artistic associate and director of community outreach at the Freya Grove Playhouse. She was always being called to keep her boss from calling the gnomes to dismantle the place.
Diane rubbed her forehead once again. “Our playwright keeps threatening to bewitch all the actors on opening night,” she explained. “They keep forgetting their lines, but he keeps tweaking the pages every other day. I’ve been asked to step in and mediate at an emergency meeting. If I don’t go, someone will be turned into a frog or a fish.”
“I can give you a ride,” he offered.
Diane smiled. “Thanks, I’m good. It’s a lovely day for a walk.” She opened her arms. “Bring it in.”
Gus scooped Diane into a big hug and squeezed. He let her go and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Text me when you get in.”
“I will.” Diane waved and left him standing in the middle of the Harvest Festival.
Gus looked at the bottle in his hand, noticing that the amber liquid had a silvery shimmer. Hmm. The coloring was probably the cinnamon or allspice that Weisz Market added to the cider. Diane’s words echoed in his mind. Open his eyes, and make him full of delightful impulses.
His thoughts worked overtime. He couldn’t recall the last time he was impulsive.
You ordered from that new goblin fusion restaurant last week. That was impulsive, right?
No, it wasn’t. He used to look up a map, snap his fingers, and appear in a new country with nothing but his passport in his pocket. Gus had transferred the appetite he had for making tigers disappear into presenting documents and telling stories about the history of Freya Grove, his adopted hometown. People dreamed of being the wife or girlfriend of a world-famous magician, and he had the DM screenshots to prove it. No one thirsted over the local historian and conservator of magical items and ephemera in a quirky Jersey Shore town.
What did he have to offer a future partner other than an antique house filled with artifacts and a barely healed-over heart?
His phone buzzed quickly. Gus checked the incoming messages, reading as he scrolled through the requests for assistance from Quentin Jacobsen, one of the festival organizers. Quentin was a mover and shaker around town and could throw together a world-class festival with catering from a big-box store and dollar-store decorations. He was always referring people to rent out the historical society for special events and gatherings, which helped bring in much-needed funds that Gus used to serve the community. Gus was thankful for him looking out for the society and was ready to return the favor.
Good morning, Dearworth. Are you at the Fest? I need your expertise.
Gus responded.
Yes. I’m here. How can I help?
Two texts lit up his phone.
Thanks! Check out the balloon pop game for me.
We’ve heard from guests the booth might have a distraction charm.
Quentin followed up with a few more texts explaining the situation further. Apparently, the carnival games were being magically rigged to keep people from winning and enjoying themselves. Balloons were unpoppable. Darts landed in the grass. Steady hands were suddenly unsteady when trying to hit a target. His blood simmered with annoyance, hating that magic was being used to harm people in any way. Attendees deserved a chance to win and have fun.
Gus looked down at the apple cider in his other hand. He twisted off the bottle cap and gulped down the remainder of the drink. The earthy blend of sweet and tart touched his lips and went down smooth. A fizzy energy zipped through his brain, hit his heart, and reached all the way down to the soles of his feet. He tossed the empty bottle into the trash. A new sense of pleasure was roused within him with every step he took toward the games.
It was time to be a little impulsive.