Chapter XII Happily Ever After . . .
Just as he feared, Clark was somehow still employed at Charisma’s. He was worked like a dog the rest of December by a disdainful Monica. He could tell by the way she treated him that she was fulfilling her own personal form of revenge...and cooking up something else. Whatever she was planning, Clark couldn’t be so sure. The night terrors had thankfully stopped cold turkey. That almost worried Clark, who had begun to wonder if Monica was behind them to begin with.
Joey didn’t probe Clark about the lacerations when they had been discovered. Clark had explained it away as a slip at work, a “corner of a cabinet” gone rogue, but he knew that Joey wasn’t buying it.
The next thing he did know was that Christmas had arrived to the city. With the fashion and witching industries quiet and on hiatus, the Saintlys and the Henceleys all abroad in London for the next couple of weeks, and no other business to attend to until the new year, Clark embraced a very short, and very welcomed, break from work.
The day before Christmas Eve, his first day off, he caught up on sleep for almost the entire day. He awoke in the middle of the evening to a series of texts:
(3:33 p.m. Emily Manitis): Merry Christmas, babes! See you in the New Year xoxo
(4:50 p.m. Patricia Hartford): Merry Christmas Eve, Clarky! Love you!
(6:16 p.m. Maria): Merry Christmas, pumpkin! I’ll fly you down to visit, just let me know the dates. Don’t forget to call your father. I love you— Mom.
Clark’s face turned a little pink at Emily’s text. He replied to the first two, and to the third, he wrote:
(8:45 p.m. Clark Crane): Merry Christmas, Mom. Okay, a visit would be nice. Love you— Clark.
Joey invited Clark to his family’s for the holiday, spending it with his parents and sister, and all the many, many cousins and aunts and uncles (who adored Clark and whom Clark, to his relief, fit right in with). They spent their time in and out of Joey’s large basement room, full of records and record players and old-timey cameras and antiques. In the daytime they played board games and video games and watched movies with the kids, and in the afternoons and evenings, they drank wine and talked politics with the parents at the adult table.
One day, they even went out ice skating at Bryant Park, and just like Joey had mentioned on their first date, enjoyed roasted chestnuts on a cigarette-smoke-filled New York City sidewalk. Other than maybe at Patricia’s, Clark couldn’t remember spending a more loving Christmas. His hollow under-eyes volumized, his smile returned, and there was a warmth to his complexion he hadn’t seen in a long time.
Clark got Joey a couple of vinyl soundtracks of witch movies he loved, one from the 1940s and one from the ’70s. Joey got Clark a weeping fig tree that Clark could’ve sworn grew massive overnight.
“That means it’s working,” Joey said. “The lady at the market said it’s like a money tree, but for abundance, or something like that.”
A couple of nights after the holiday, when all the cousins had made their way home, and Joey’s work schedule called, the twosome made their way back to Astoria to Clark’s little papier-maché apartment, returning to their nights cuddled in bed with marijuana and movies. They were watching a black-and-white, one Joey had seen a million times, when he paused to speak to Clark.
“Hey, baby, I want to ask you something, and please don’t think I’m crazy,” Joey said.
“What? You know you can tell me anything,” Clark said.
“I’ve been thinking and—I know it’s soon, but I love you, I really am crazy for you, and I’ve thought it through long and hard, so I want you to think about it and get back to me when you’re ready...”
“You’re not about to propose to me again, are you,” Clark asked facetiously with a smile. Joey giggled. “Because this time, I want a ring.”
“Good to know. But no, not that, not yet...I’ve just been thinking a lot about work, and where we’re at—thinking about us—and I wanted to ask you if you would want to...maybe, move in together?”
Clark looked at him perplexedly. “To your parents’ place . . . ?”
“Gawd no! Not to my rents’. I meant, out on our own, here in Astoria or somewhere closer to work, on the Upper East Side or Murray Hill or wherever. We can figure it out. Make a new home, together. I’m just so crazy about you. I’ve seen the sacrifices you’ve made, how you’ve come out strong from some dark moments...”
Had he?
“I admire you so much, Clark. I think this is the right move. You don’t have to make a decision right away. Just...what do you think?”
“Wow, Joey, I admire you so much, too.” They leaned in for a kiss. Another quick move, so soon after Coney Island. Joey seemed to be making all the moves in their relationship, and while Clark was down for the ride, something pulled at his heart all the same. “You’re so beautiful, and strong, and sweet. You’re like a dream. You’re my Mr. Big, the Chrysler Building to my New York, baby ...but do you really think we’re ready for it?”
“Yes!” Joey said. “I do. I think we’re ready for the next step. Don’t you?”
Clark looked him in the eyes, and then looked away. “Joey,” Clark began, “there’s something I’ve gotta tell you, something you’ve gotta know about me...”
Joey crinkled his eyebrows. “What? What is it?”
Clark cleared his throat a few times, unable to find the words. Joey grabbed his hand and held it in his. “Clark,” Joey said, “just tell me.”
“You’re gonna think I’m the crazy one...” Clark said. Joey gripped his hand.
“Clark, baby, tell me. Please.”
“Okay, okay. Fine . . . Joey, the thing about me you have to know is that I’m . . . I’m not a good person.”
“What do you mean?”
“Um . . . I—I thinkImmuhwtch,” Clark mumbled.
“Huh?” Joey raised his eyebrows.
Clark took a deep, sharp inhale, his shoulders practically up to his ears. He spoke fervently and fast. “I think I’m a witch,” he said. “Only, my boss, Charisma, yeah—she’s a witch. Emily, and Monica, and Melissa, the one who died, all of them are witches. Charisma’s some kind of Queen of All Witches. There’s a ton of them here in New York, an entire network. And not just here, but the entire world! When I interviewed, at first, I didn’t understand—I had no idea! I mean, c’mon, what did I know? Would you believe it? Then, I snuck up to her penthouse on the night of my birthday—remember that night? Yeah, me too, except I didn’t go straight home, not right away. I witnessed Charisma kill Melissa, only, she didn’t have to lay a finger on her! You’re looking at me like I’m insane but it’s the truth! I’m telling you the truth! She just burned Melissa up to a crisp, right in front of us, as a sacrifice for betraying her—and she’s done this before, and gotten away with it too! She killed a maid, Miss Honey, who tried to warn me, and I should’ve listened but I didn’t, and, and—”
“ What?! Wait, Clark, slow down . . .”
Clark told him all of it, from the train-wreck interview to the intercepting of the note to the night terrors and the gargoyle chase he couldn’t shake, with the scars to prove it. Joey’s big brown eyes were as large as the moon. Then Clark told him about Miss Honey going up in flames and disappearing into thin air like a ghost. He only left out the triangulating of Melissa and Monica ( he doesn’t have to know everything , does he...? ). Joey’s face changed from warm concern, to raised eyebrows in worry, to something akin to gray and vacant and not at all there.
“The thing is...it’s all my fault. I didn’t realize! I made a wish after my interview, after how badly it went, that things would change for me, that I could get ahead in life—and then I got the job! Do you see what I’m saying? I asked for this to happen. I just didn’t realize it would come true, not in this way!”
Joey grabbed Clark’s face and held him in his hands. “Clark,” Joey said. “Breathe. No. Just no . Listen to me: This isn’t your fault. You got the job because you were referred . You were at the right place at the right time. You didn’t ask for this to happen. You didn’t ask for your manager to...die.” Joey gulped. “The wish didn’t lead you to get the job, you led you to get the job when you decided you wanted more than Astoria Coffee Shoppe. That’s all.”
Clark scrunched up his face. “But it is, Joey, it is all my fault.”
“It’s not , baby,” Joey said.
Clark pulled away and downed the glass of water on his nightstand. He drank it so hard he sputtered and coughed, almost choking himself.
“And now I can’t get out,” Clark said, “and it’s too late, and now...” Clark buried his face in his hands.
Joey sprang up and hugged him. “And now what?”
He came up for air, laughing. “And now, you’re really gonna hate me. I snuck back into Charisma’s to, I dunno, uncover her and her Coven and her weaknesses. When she confronted me, caught me snooping, in the end...I asked her to make me the new assistant.”
Joey’s eyes widened and he took a step back, holding Clark at arm’s length. “You did what ?”
Clark explained how he was finally caught snooping, confronted by none other than Charisma herself. When Clark was done, Joey skipped gray-faced and went straight to white.
“I’ve gone from, ‘the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house,’ to ‘play them at their own game,’ to ‘if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’ Honestly, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me!”
Joey moaned, “Cla-ark . . . !”
“Oh, and, um, also . . . My first name isn’t Clark.”
“It isn’t?!”
Clark shook his head and then buried his face in Joey’s shoulder. “Clark is my middle name.”
“Well, what is it then?”
Clark looked up at him. “It’s Ryan, okay? My name is Ryan. Boring, plain-as-hell Ryan. I’m technically Ryan the Third, named after my father and my father’s father. That’s why Monica agreed to meet with me: Patricia must’ve given her my first name so that she would think I was a girl named Ryan.”
Joey laughed, easy at first, and then a little too hard. After a moment, he took a deep breath. “I need a drink,” he said finally.
Clark had never heard Joey say that, or seen him take a sip of alcohol for that matter. “Joey?” Clark asked. “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad. I’m concerned . And you haven’t been totally honest with me. You’ve kinda been living a...a double life practically. Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?”
What do I say . . . ? Clark thought. What can I say . . . ? He bit his lip.
I can start with the truth . . .
“It’s not a different me. It’s the same me,” he said. “And I was afraid! Afraid of what you would think, of what would happen if I told you, afraid you would leave...” Clark meant that in more ways than one, thinking about Charisma’s NDA. “Please don’t be mad at me, Joey,” Clark said, looking into his crestfallen eyes. “You’re all that makes sense right now.”
“Hey, babe,” Joey said, holding him by the shoulders. “We’re gonna figure this out. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Clark said. They kissed. They looked at one another, Clark into Joey’s big teddy bears, and Joey into his twinkly browns.
Thump!
From the fire escape outside the windows, there was movement and a thud. From atop Clark’s ancient window AC unit, two glowing, vertical yellow-green eyes stared back. Clark and Joey screamed. They both jumped back in shock, holding one another close, before Clark realized exactly what they were really looking at. He walked to the eastern window, and despite Joey’s protests (“Clark, wait!”), he opened it.
A black cat leapt inside off the fire escape, and meowed. It peered around the studio, its head bobbing up and down, tasting the air with its mouth agape. Then, it rubbed on Clark’s legs, looking up at him while purring.
“Aww!” Clark said, petting her. “Daddy, can we keep her?!”
They argued back and forth for some time while the cat explored the apartment. “You can’t keep a stray! She’s feral! What about fleas?!” Joey reasoned.
“It’s winter! She’s cold!” Clark protested. But the cat, a small, skinny runt, had climbed onto the foot of the bed and made herself at home. She looked up, kneading biscuits and purring loudly, and the decision had been made for them, end of discussion. Soon, the two were off to sleep with their new friend snuggled up in the middle. The cat would show up every night thereafter, for a can of dollar-store tuna, a snuggle, and a sleep, and leave in the mornings, always to return the next night.
One of the following nights, when Joey was at work, and it was just Clark and the cat, Clark got around to asking what he and Joey could not decide on. “What should we call you, cutie? Pumpkin maybe? What’s your name?”
They locked eyes, unblinking. The noise of the world around them seemed to turn down to mute, and Clark understood with relief that the yellow-green eyes haunting his dreams were the very ones looking up at him then, from the fire escape all along. Clark had that telltale tingle in the middle of his forehead. Almost instantaneously, a single name came to mind. He scrunched his nose.
“Wait, really? Hmm...I’ve never heard of a cat named Jessica, but okay!”
Eventually, the temperature would plummet to below forty degrees, a proper New York winter’s cold, and Jessica the cat would refuse to leave. Joey and Clark agreed that she needed a checkup, and so, after a visit to the vet, Jessica became the third member of that tiny papier-maché Astoria home, and of their family. Clark didn’t have to worry about cat sitting anymore, or Joey being upset with him. In a way, Jessica had brought them even closer together.
Clark spent the rest of Christmas break picking up shifts at the coffee shop, some longtime weekday patrons happy to see his face again before their workdays, wondering where he had gone. There was a familiarity there that he had forgotten how much he missed.
New Year’s Eve came, and Clark and Joey spent it at Northlight’s bar. They rang in the New Year with the big ball drop at Times Square on the TV screens, his management too busy to notice or care when they stole a kiss at midnight.
By January second, Clark was back to work bright and early at seven a.m., just like every shift before. All of the Coven had been back, only arriving a day prior, and having assembled that morning in the main kitchen, including Lorena. Clark was all aglow, and nothing they could do could get him down.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said, not one of them except for Emily happy for his cheeriness. “I’ll make us a coffee run. What can I pick up?”
“Why? We can use the coffee maker here,” Lorena said. She pointed to the coffee machine in the corner of the kitchen he had never noticed.
A resounding ping and buzz sounded off from all the occupants’ phones. They paused, all bent over in reading—and then, in shock, all eyes were raised and rested on none other than Clark. Emily clapped her hand to her mouth in laughter.
“What?” he asked. “Why is everyone looking at me?” Am I finally fired...?
Before he even had time to blink, all the ladies had launched up at him, talking at once.
“Oh my GAWD!” Emily jumped up to hug him. “Congrats!”
“What did you do?!”
“How did you do it?!”
“How could she do this?!” Monica demanded. The room fell silent. “How did you convince her— you , of all people!”
“Hey!” Emily said. “This was Charisma’s decision. Respect her choice!”
Monica asked Lorena, “Did you know?”
“I had no idea!”
Alicia said, “Clark’s not going to accept, he’s not ready for such a big responsibility...right, Clark?”
They all stared at him unblinkingly. “What’s going on?!” he asked.
“Clark,” said Alicia, “Charisma just announced the new assistant effective immediately. The new assistant is you .”
All that holiday cheer and glow quickly drained from his face. His knees felt weak. He wanted to jump for joy and throw up and cry all at the same time.
“What?!” Clark gasped.
“And he’s just twenty-four!” Emily exclaimed. “You’ll be the youngest coven member in the country, maybe even the entire world.”
“Please,” Monica said doubtfully. “He won’t last a day.”
Clark had no words. Did she just promote me . . . ? Is this really happening . . . ?
“Congratulations, darling,” Lorena said through pursed lips. “Now that you’re an...employee, we’ll get your paperwork started.”
“Paperwork?” Clark asked.
“Yes,” Lorena said. “You want to be paid, don’t you?”
I’m going to be paid . . . It’s happening . . . ! It’s all finally happening . . . !
Clark broke out into a big, beaming smile.
Life moved fast for Clark that New Year.
The news came Thursday. By Friday, as if his own personal PR team making an announcement, Clark posted to his social media that he was promoted to “the new fourth assistant to the personal team of Charisma Saintly.”
It happened quickly: the reactions and the comments piled in by droves, his phone on one continuous chime, from people he hadn’t talked to in years, showering him with blessings and praise.
“That’s my friend! So proud of you,” his friend Krystal had commented.
“So that’s where you’ve been?!” Justin had written.
The new followers came in by the hundreds, of course, and by the next day, were in the thousands. All because of who I work for...? If only they knew... Clark decided he could hate it, or roll with it, and decided that the latter would be much easier in the long run.
That weekend, the day he knew was coming (but which had come sooner than expected) had finally arrived. Now that he was being promoted and going to be paid, Clark did the hard thing: that Saturday, he put in his notice for the last time at the coffee shop.
Gloria, of course, was weepy. As a send-off, she handed Clark an envelope and a card full of well-wishes from her, her husband Eduardo, their two little girls, and the rest of the Astoria Coffee Shoppe’s team. Inside was a small sum of cash. “I saw it on your social media,” Gloria said. Clark reflected on how he could’ve used that money earlier while hungry and housebroke, but was grateful regardless. The gesture brought him to tears.
That night Joey and Clark celebrated with a big Chinese takeout meal. Having a weekday work schedule and the weekends off for the first time in years gave Clark a little space to breathe, and a little hope for his future.
That Sunday morning, however, things took a turn when he received a group text message from Lorena.
(6:00 a.m. Lorena Henceley): We are flying for LA tomorrow morning at 8 a.m., sharp.
Clark was quick to text Joey the news: “Babe! Oh my gawd, babe, guess what?!”
Emily texted him separately. She told him to pack a bag: the night before any early travel, the Coven would sleep at Charisma’s in her many guest rooms, and fly on her private jet. Clark was so ecstatic he threw up a little in his mouth. What would he wear? He had never been west of Florida, let alone to the west coast. Clark left Astoria Coffee Shoppe a little earlier than scheduled, not knowing it would be his last time there.
That evening, he packed in a frenzy and made his way to the penthouse. One of the night maids, Luz, took his bag up and not the other way around for once, as the Coven gathered in the dining room for dinner. It all felt like a dream. Could this be real life?
“Just be yourself,” Emily had told him. “Sit back. Watch. Listen. Jump in on the conversation when you can. But above all: be yourself,” she said to him. “You’ve earned your seat at the table...no matter what you might have done to earn it.” She couldn’t hide the suspicion in her voice. Clark didn’t notice.
The ladies were discussing their itinerary for L.A. when he and Emily entered.
“Seems like Felicity is halting film production. She’s refusing to leave her hotel room,” Alicia had shared. “Charisma’s being called to step in. To see if she can coax her—”
“Oh my GAWD!” Clark exclaimed. The women stopped to look at him with raised eyebrows. “Sorry, I mean, I’m practically gagging. Felicity?! I’m such a HUGE fan of hers. What a star! And we’re going to L.A. to see her? This is crazy!”
As Hollywood’s most sought-after and highest-paid A-list actress, singer, and dancer, Felicity was in the midst of a media storm of harassing paparazzi, a divorce, a custody battle, and a sudden conservatorship that had rocked the media with controversy—all the while being pushed into work on a major blockbuster. Clark had been following the case for years, and even living under a rock, was truly an admirer.
“Noted. Don’t let him near the client,” Monica said sardonically to the air, “lest he gushes her to death.”
“Now, now, Monica,” Lorena said, “let him get it out now . . . while he can . . .”
Alicia, Lorena, and Monica exchanged looks with one another. Emily gave them all a look too, one of reproach and disapproval. Clark was too happy to care.
That night, dinner was filet mignon (These women love their steak...). Lorena let the fork scrape against her teeth, which Clark found to be entertaining and irritating at the same time, as she was. The red wine flowed ( “thenk yew,” Clark began to say).
After dinner that night, when they retired to their rooms on the second floor, Clark heard a knock on the door: Emily had come for a visit, her long hair back and dressed down in sweats and a hoodie. Clark thought her so impossibly beautiful, out of black and makeup as she was, he blushed out of nervousness.
“Hey, babes,” she said. “Thought I’d come to say hi and...share a drink?” She was holding a thermos. “It’s spiked hot chocolate.”
“I’d love some!” Clark had almost thought she had come to break the news that the jig was up, this was all a big joke, and he was to go home never to return, but nope. They clinked and drank.
“I feel like I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you alone. How are you feeling?”
“So excited,” he replied. Clark shared with her everything he could: he told her about the night terrors leading up to the gargoyle chase, Miss Honey and the terrarium, the portrait, showed her the faint scar on his back even, but left out the part about intercepting the note, as well as the triangulating Melissa that led to her getting fired, just like he had with Joey. He shared all that he could remember from his confrontation with Charisma, how he couldn’t believe she had promoted him after all, how he was going to L.A. for the first time, and that meeting Felicity was like a happily ever after.
“Yeah, it’s all a huge deal,” Emily said. “You should be proud! Of course, everyone in the witching community already knows. Once Monica knows, everyone else does. You’re the talk of the town.”
“Really? And my ears have been burning since Thursday,” he said.
“Yeah, I bet. That’s a sign,” she said. “You’re making a lot of people mad, and I say good . Fuck ’em! Charisma was right about something, though—be careful with whom you trust and talk to from here on out. You never know who has bad intentions for you, now that you’ve got a mark on your back. When we return from L.A., I’ll have to teach you some defense magic, like how to close your aura and protect yourself.”
“You’re gonna . . . teach me magic?”
“Duh!” she said. The way his face brightened, she clearly couldn’t help but smile back. She looked away and refilled their drinks.
“Oh! Hey, I’m remembering something, now that you mention it: on Halloween at Charisma’s party, there was a woman who approached me. It was really quick and kinda strange. She knew my name and I swear she talked to me telepathically. She handed me her card and told me something about when I’m ready for a real coven, to call her. What do you make of that?”
“Did you get her name?” she asked.
“No. But she told me to call her Mother. Isn’t that odd?”
Emily’s jaw dropped. She looked around and spoke just above a whisper. “No...! Mother was there?”
“So you know who she is?”
“ Shhh...! Of course I know who she is, everyone in and out of the witching community knows who she is. Mother is after Charisma’s throne.”
“Oh, no,” Clark said.
“Look, Clark...That’s not good. There is no coven that proselytizes. You come to them. Every witch on a coven asks for admittance. Maybe she’s been watching you...”
“Oh, no...” said Clark again. Still, there was a small feeling of flattery lurking about his mind. “And Emily?”
“Yes?”
“Who are the Powers and the Order?”
Emily’s tone changed to a low, grave, barely audible whisper. “How did you find out about that?”
“I, um . . . overheard them being talked about.”
She gave him a side-eye. “I’m not buying that. Tell me how you know, and I’ll tell you what I can.”
“I don’t like those odds,” Clark said. “But alright...” He explained after all how he had intercepted a note of Charisma’s, and how she’d confronted him on it at their midnight meeting.
Emily gasped. “You did not . . . !”
“I did,” he said.
“ Clark...! She could’ve—oh my gawd, I can’t believe you!” She buried her face in her hands and looked up at him with astonishment. “You have a death wish, I’m convinced.”
“Maybe...” he said. He hoped she didn’t believe that either. “Do you know who they are?”
Emily sighed. She spoke so low that Clark had to lean in and watch her lips to understand. “The Order is a sect of oligarchs that control...everything, the entire world. They, in turn, answer to the Powers That Be, an order of beings not on this plane of existence, but...Clark, you have no idea what these people are capable of.”
Clark pressed on. “Is that whom Charisma answers to?”
“I...can’t say. She’s planning... something . First, New York; next, the world. That’s all I can say, for now. I bet she’s keeping you under her thumb. That’s why she promoted you. Whatever you do, please, don’t get involved with any of their business. It could spell major bad news for you...”
The hair on Clark’s arms stood on end. What did the Powers want with this “Order”? How was Charisma involved? No matter the case, it would have to wait another day.
They talked about other, lighter things for a while, what shows they were watching, what they were reading (“So much in common!” Clark had said), about Joey suggesting they move in.
Emily squealed. “Charisma can probably put you up in one of her apartments! She’s lended them to assistants before.”
“Really? You think she’d do that?”
“You’re in, babes. Why wouldn’t she?” As the clock neared eleven, Emily said, “Well, time to get to bed. Before I turn back into a pumpkin. I’ll, um...I guess I’ll see you in the morning, Clark.”
“See you in the morning!” he said. Clark wondered why the hesitance. Regardless, to him it was like they were going to an amusement park when they awoke.
At the door, Emily turned for a moment to look back, with that sad smile in her eyes. “And Clark?”
“Yeah?”
But after a moment’s pause, she said, “Nothing. Sleep well, babe.”
“You too. Goodnight, Emily!”
“Goodnight.”
Clark finished up the thermos and buzzed around the room. It was what he had imagined staying at a five-star hotel was like. Out the window, the city of New York twinkled. He looked out to the east side, Queens and Brooklyn. In the distance and over the East River to Astoria, the RFK Bridge winked at him—only this time, he was winking back, on the other side of it.
Clark resolved that he was going to get some answers. There was the matter of the terrarium and her weak points, Charisma and her empire to be dismantled, much of which was still a closed book to him then, just the same as ever—but there would be time for that. He was in, and that’s all that mattered. He knew that everything would be all right. Clark felt like he had won. There, from that penthouse room, Clark felt like he was on top of the world.
He brushed his teeth in the room’s attached bathroom, set his alarm, and climbed into bed. On that bed of silk pillowcases and satin sheets in an iron bed frame, his belly full and his heart even fuller, Clark fell quickly into the most delicious sleep he had ever known.
That’s when they came for him. In the middle of the night, as he was sound asleep, they snatched Clark right out of bed, gagged and bound.