by Nic Saint
“Yes, Estrella,” said Ernestine. “We’re going to be spending the rest of our lives in prison. Maximum security prison,” she added in measured tones.
Well, she was the legal expert of the family, so she was probably right.
“Oh,” said Estrella, as if this aspect of the matter hadn’t occurred to her.
“We should have just made that tower disappear, period,” said Ernestine. “Not park it on top of the White House. That was simply overdoing it.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” I said. “We need to find a way to make things right again. So how do we go about that?” I cast a hopeful look at my two sisters, but they looked just about as clueless as I was feeling at the moment.
“I know a spell to tie my shoes,” suggested Estrella.
“That’s not very helpful,” I snapped.
“Yes, I can tie my own shoes, thank you very much,” said Ernestine.
“No, I mean, maybe it also works for misplaced buildings?” she asked.
I shook my head morosely as I sank back on the metal bench. “I don’t think so, Strel. There’s a difference between shoe laces and high-rises.”
We were locked up in a small room with gray cinderblock walls, the only furniture a metal bench bolted to the floor. I was also pretty sure that every word we said was being recorded, and that cameras observed our every expression and movement. I didn’t care. We needed to get out of here somehow, and the only way I could think of was to rewind time and undo the things we did. Only, I had no clue how to do that and neither had the others.
“We didn’t think things through,” lamented Ernestine.
“Yeah, that’s the understatement of the century,” I said. All we’d focused on was bringing out warlocks so we could vanquish them, like Tavish told us. We hadn’t stopped to think about the millions of other people in this country, who obviously didn’t like it when we started moving buildings around.
“Actually all Tavish said was to perform an act of witchcraft in public,” said Estrella. “He didn’t say we needed to attract the attention of the whole world. Remember what he said about sharks? How they can smell a drop of blood in an entire ocean?”
“Well, not an entire ocean,” said Ernestine. “That’s just a myth.”
“I mean, if one drop of blood is enough to bring out a shark, perhaps a simple act of witchcraft would have been enough to bring out a warlock?”
“You mean we could have made a trashcan disappear and that would have been enough?” asked Ernestine.
Estrella nodded, biting her lip. “That’s what I’m thinking now.”
“I’ll bet you’re right,” I said. “Just a small act of witchcraft was enough.” So how had we gone from that to making Falcone Tower disappear, almost murdering the president, and attracting the attention of the entire world? Not to mention outing ourselves on camera as witches?
“We’re idiots,” said Ernestine, and that pretty much summed it up.
“So how do we get out of this predicament?” I asked again.
“Simple,” said Estrella with a bright smile. “We ask Gran to fix it.”
“But how do we get in touch with her?”
“Well, we are entitled one phone call,” Ernestine pointed out.
“Yeah, but she’s gone, remember? Who knows where she is.”
“Let’s form a circle,” Estrella suggested, “and try to send her a message.”
I nodded, so we all gathered in the center of the cell, holding hands. The three of us together could move Falcone Towers. We could sure as heck send a message to our grandmother, letting her know we urgently needed her help.
So we bowed our heads, and I said, “Gran, if you can hear us, please don’t be cross. We did something really, really stupid, and if you could just get us out of here and fix this, we solemnly swear we’ll never, ever—”
“Ever,” added Ernestine.
“Ever!” cried Estrella for good measure.
“—do it again.”
“There. That should do it,” said Estrella happily as we let go.
And I thought she was probably right. Gran loved us. She would never want to see us languish in maximum security prison for the rest of lives. Besides, unlike us, she was a powerful and capable witch. She’d figure it out.
Seconds later, the door swung open, and we looked up expectantly, fully expecting to see Gran’s face, announcing she was here to put things right.
But instead of Gran a very big and burly man now stood before us. He looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger in one of his Terminator movies, only bigger and more menacing. And he sure as heck wasn’t Gran.
The man stood glowering at us for a moment, and then he pointed at Ernestine and growled a single command. “You! Out! Now!”
Ernestine did as she was told and filed out of the room. Then the Terminator pointed at Estrella and repeated the same curt command and Estrella quickly hopped to it and was escorted out by a policewoman.
That only left me, and the guy’s lips twisted into a horrible smirk. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that little stunt you just tried to pull,” he growled, glowering at me from beneath knitted brows, his hands clasped behind his back like Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS, only the male version, obviously.
“What stunt?” I asked innocently.
“The three of you, in a circle, doing some kind of magic trick. What did you try this time? Make this entire building disappear and relocate it to Shanghai? Huh?” He pointed a finger at me. “From now you’re all in solitary confinement. Separately! I’m not taking any chances with you people.”
And with these ominous words, he stepped back and slammed the metal door shut again, leaving me alone to ponder my fate.
“Oh, no,” I groaned, then raised my eyes heavenward and even folded my hands. “Please, Gran,” I whispered. “I’m begging you. Get us out of here!”
But if Gran could hear me, she wasn’t answering, for the only sound I could hear was my own voice, sounding pretty scared now, and when I stopped talking, a deafening silence pressed down on me, and I realized that mean Terminator hadn’t been fooling around. From now on I was all alone.
Chapter 21
Unbeknownst to Edelie, in the cell next to her Chazz Falcone was pacing the floor anxiously. He’d never been in prison before, and as far as he was concerned, he didn’t like it. For one thing, they’d taken away his cigar, and for another, he missed his creature comforts, like his favorite slippers, his favorite pajamas and his favorite four-poster bed. And what’s more, he missed Spot 2. The little doggie was very close to his heart. Even closer, perhaps, than his own flesh and blood, and he wondered who would take care of the Pomeranian now that Daddy was locked up in jail.
He figured Suzy Boom, his secretary, would take care of him, and soon his mind, such as it was, returned to the problem at hand: his incarceration.
As one of America’s richest moguls, he would have thought they’d give him a nicer cell. Didn’t they have first-class prison cells in this place? He had the distinct impression that his cell was the exact same cell as the next one, and he didn’t like it. This was pure communism, he felt, and as a lifelong capitalist he abhorred it.
Just then, the door to his cell swung open, and a familiar face appeared. It was the face of his son, Ricky Dawson. And for pretty much the first time in his life he was actually glad to see him. He didn’t go so far as to actually clasp him in a fatherly embrace, but he did smile and say, “Finally! What took you so damn long?!”
“I don’t have much time,” Rick said as he waltzed in and took a seat on the metal bench.
“What gives?” he asked. “How much longer are they going to keep me in this horrible place?”
“As it stands now, probably for the rest of your life, Dad. That is, if they don’t ship you off to Guantanamo.”
“Guantanamo?!” he cried. Then he frowned. “Do they have AC there?”
“I’m sure they don’t, Dad,” said Rick acerbically. He’d placed a file f
older on the bench next to him and opened it. “They’re charging you with terrorism, and Charlene and I have been trying to find a lawyer who’s familiar with that kind of stuff.”
“I have lawyers,” said Chazz. “In fact I’ve got lawyers up the wazoo. Get in touch with Spear Boodle at Boodle, Jag, Lack & Noodle. They’ll get me out of here in no time.”
“They’ve dropped you as their client,” said Rick. “Don’t want to be associated with the man who tried to murder the president.”
“They dropped me?!” he cried, aghast. “But they’re on retainer! I pay them a princely sum to do whatever the hell I tell them to do!”
“Not anymore. They just gave a press conference, washing their hands of you and condemning you in the strongest possible terms. No, Dad, forget about Boodle, Boodle and, um, Noodle. Charlene talked to her father-in-law and he managed to wrangle you up the perfect lawyer, or at least that’s what I hope. I just called the guy and he said he’s thrilled to represent you. He’s going to try and get stateside in the next couple of weeks.”
“What do you mean? He has to get me out of here right now!”
“He’s in the Congo at the moment,” said Rick. “He’s representing some of the locals who’ve filed a class action suit against Belgium for genocide.”
“Belgium?”
“The country, Dad. They treated the locals pretty poorly back in the day.”
“Ah, yes. I read about that. They cut off people’s ears, right?”
“And other body parts.”
Chazz swallowed. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. He watched now as Rick slapped the file closed again. “Once we fly him in, and get him accredited…” He hesitated. “And get him sobered up…”
“Oh, Christ, Rick!”
“It’s him or nothing, Dad. You’ve become, effectively, public enemy number one with this stunt you pulled. No lawyer in this country—scratch that—no lawyer in the world wants to represent you at this point!”
“But I didn’t do it!” he cried, the unfairness of the situation coming home to him. “I was simply planning my campaign when suddenly my building… rose up in the air and relocated itself. All on its own accord!” He didn’t mention that he thought it was all because of the power of his mind. At this point that didn’t seem like a good thing to admit.
“Well, they seem to think you masterminded the whole thing, Dad. They don’t know how you did it—and neither, for that matter do I, actually.”
“Nor I,” muttered Chazz, crossing his fingers behind his back.
“But they know that you did it, and they’re going to try you accordingly.”
He turned on his son. “Try me! Oh, God, this is going to be a media circus, isn’t it?”
“It already is, Dad,” said Rick. “This is the number one story in the news. Globally.” He cast down his eyes. “I, for one, wrote the first article, and it’s been shared five hundred million times when I last checked.”
“What do you think, Ricky? What is your theory?”
Rick shrugged. “Three women, called Estrella, Ernestine and Edelie Flummox, coincidentally Felicity’s cousins, say they’re witches, and decided to move Falcone Tower on a whim, apparently. Just for the heck of it.”
“Witches?” asked Chazz, incredulously. So that whole power of positive thinking had just been a figment of his imagination? He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but it now looked as if all his visualizing and affirmating and praying simply hadn’t done diddly for his campaign.
“Well, I’m still not convinced they’re not FEMEN,” Rick said.
“Witches,” he said, rubbing his chin. “It’s possible, son. Remember how we thought ghosts didn’t exist? And then suddenly they started showing up all over the place?” He now even owned a haunted castle in England, with actual ghosts haunting the guests. And the suckers loved it!
Ricky looked up. “Whether they’re witches or not, we’re in big trouble.”
“You’re telling me these women are Fee’s cousins?”
“She just found out about them, so it’s unclear how it will affect us.”
“Oh, God,” groaned Chazz. “They’ll think we’re all in this together. The Falcones and the Flummoxes. One big, happy, terrorizing family.”
“Looks like,” admitted Rick unhappily. “I had the hardest time getting permission for this visit. It wouldn’t surprise me if they arrested me and Fee and the rest of the family next.”
“So what do we do now?” he asked eagerly.
“Now we wait and see what this lawyer says. His name is Orlando Cahn and he’s got a lot of experience with hopeless cases, apparently.”
“Thanks for coming, Ricky,” he said.
“Cheer up, Dad,” Rick said as he stood. The door had opened and a burly man appeared, indicating their time together was up. Rick clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
But he didn’t look very hopeful, and nor was Chazz feeling hopeful either. He knew that the cops were serious about terrorism, and already he was having visions of himself in Guantanamo, wearing one of those orange jumpsuits. Oh, hell! He looked terrible in orange! It made his orange complexion and his orange hair look even more washed out than usual!
He just hoped they wouldn’t take his picture for the papers. It would wreak hell on the business empire he’d built. Thinking of his business empire… “What’s going to happen to the Falcone Group, Ricky?”
His son eyed him for the longest time. “I’m afraid the entire group will be confiscated by the government, Dad,” he said, and then was escorted out by the burly man, who glowered at him from the door, then slammed it shut.
Chapter 22
When I was finally escorted from my cell, the person who came to get me first shackled my hands and then my feet. As I shuffled along the corridor, chained up like this, I thought this was what it must feel like to be a chained animal in the zoo. Wherever I passed, people stared at me, and they didn’t look very happy to see me either. I realized I was now one of the people accused of trying to kill the president, and was starting to fear for my safety.
This wasn’t turning out as I thought—but then again, I hadn’t really thought things through, of course.
I was led into a small interrogation room, with one of those one-way mirrors, probably a bunch of cops on the other side. I could just imagine Rick Castle and Detective Beckett watching me, along with Esposito and Ryan. Though the person who entered the room was The Terminator, and I didn’t remember him ever being in the cast of Castle.
“Hi there,” I said, trying to sound happy, though I wasn’t feeling it.
But the guy simply glowered at me again, which seemed to be his standard facial expression. Then he barked, “Why did you do it, Flummox? Why kill the president?”
I gaped at him. “Did I kill the president?”
He stood and slammed the table with his ham-sized fist. “Don’t play games with me, Flummox! You know you tried to kill him!”
“Oh,” I said, relaxing. “So he’s not dead.”
The man’s lips turned up in a snarl, like a rabid dog, and for a moment I thought he was going to launch himself at me from across the table. I looked around. If this was the bad cop, where was the good one? Or maybe would-be presidential assassins only got to meet the bad cop?
“You’re probably sorry your little scheme didn’t work, huh?” he growled.
“Yes, I’m very sorry,” I said, quite truthfully. “I should never have done it. I see that now. So can I go home now, Officer, um…?” I waited a moment, expecting him to give his name, but he didn’t, so I gave him a feeble smile. “It’s just that I don’t like it here very much, you see? I wanna go home now.”
“You’re going to like it a lot less where we’ll ship you next!” he thundered, spittle flying all over the table.
I closed my eyes. I don’t like it when people spit on me. I wasn’t intimidated, though, nor scared. For some reason big brutes have never
been able to scare me. I don’t know why that is, because I’m not really the intrepid type. I’m no Lara Croft or anything. In fact I’m more the bookish type who likes to curl up with a good book in a dark corner. Still, for some reason neither my sisters or I have ever been easily intimidated. Perhaps that’s the reason we do so many stupid things: we’re not easily afraid of the consequences of our actions, no matter how many times Gran has tried to instill us with a sense of responsibility and accountability.
“Answer me!” he thundered. “Why did you do it, and how?! And who are you working for?!”
So many questions. “Well, I don’t work for anyone,” I said. “And as to how we did it, we used magic, obviously.” I wasn’t going to repeat I was a witch, though. It was unlikely that would help me in my defense at this point.
“Why?” he growled. “Why did you do it? Do you hate your country?”
“Oh, no!” I assured him, aghast. “I love my country, sir—I mean, Officer…” I waited again, hoping to find out his name, but he wasn’t cracking under the strain. “It’s just that…” I bit my lip. How was I going to explain this? It would simply sound ridiculous if I tried to explain the whole thing about wanting to follow in my parents’ footsteps and all that. So I decided to hedge. “I, um, well, I just thought I would, you know?”
He narrowed his eyes dangerously. “You thought you would?”
“Yeah. I just thought it would be fun to make a building disappear.”
“Fun,” he snarled, more spittle flying. “You thought it would be fun!”
“Yeah, like a dare, you know? Just to see if we could do it.”
“Just to see if you could do it,” he repeated.
He was obviously stuck in repeat mode, and I decided that perhaps now was a good time to use a little witchcraft and see if I couldn’t get myself sprung from jail myself. It was now obvious that Gran wasn’t going to come to the rescue, and neither was Tavish, so we had to get ourselves out of this mess. And if Tavish was right, and we were simply born with these witchy powers, there should be an easy way to get out of this predicament.