by Iris Kincaid
In addition to Franklin Churchill and Dalton Spitz, the hotel had one other year-round resident. Her name was Esmeralda. She probably had a last name—doesn’t everyone? But she declined to provide one, and no one could bring themselves to press the matter. It wasn’t that they were frightened by her. Although, if they knew she was a witch, they probably would have been.
But she was intimidating. And eccentric. And persuasive—which is to say that her abilities included the power to compel others to bend to her will. And after tasting the exquisite creations of The Grand Hotel’s resident chef, she decided that it was an amenity that she wouldn’t mind coming home to on a nightly basis. Plus, housekeeping can really get old. Esmeralda was in her senior years, and like Franklin Churchill, she didn’t mind a bit of pampering.
Not to mention that between the guests and the staff and the management, there was sufficient vice in the air, under the façade of luxury and calm, to energize her.
The Grand Hotel had always enjoyed a busy summer season, but on this particular occasion, something very special was in the air. Hollywood actress Susan Sidwell had just arrived and would be staying for an entire month. She was the single individual to whom Oyster Cove most owed its current prosperity. As a twenty-five-year-old hot It Girl, she had singlehandedly put Oyster Cove on the national map fifteen years previously. While visiting the Cape, she took a little meandering road trip south and discovered Oyster Cove’s quirky and talented jewelry makers.
She purchased a mountain of jewelry and showcased them at every red-carpet appearance for the next several years. So much so that every designer and reporter in Hollywood had heard of the Oyster Cove treasures. And mainstream America became aware of them as well. The tourist numbers went through the roof, and every artist was able to do a thriving online business on the strength of the Oyster Cove brand. Susan Sidwell’s glowing patronage had entirely revived the town’s prosperity and future.
Thus, the hotel was at full capacity, filled with Susan’s entourage and a crowd of overeager super fans. There was even a lone paparazzo, from one of the LA tabloids, Cory Wyatt, who had been set to cover the story.
Zoey and Justine settled down in a far corner of the lobby, just taking in the loud, animated display of Susan walking through, surrounded by her people and being accosted by eager admirers, who all received gracious and patient attention.
“Ms. Sidwell, this is such a great pleasure to meet you. My name is Sherman Baretta, and you couldn’t possibly have a bigger fan.”
The other fans murmured in protest. How dare this man crown himself the biggest fan?
“I came all the way out from Nevada just for the chance to see you,” Sherman gushed. “I was thinking of going to Europe or Hawaii for vacation, but when I heard you were going to be here, that was all I needed to know. I canceled all of those plans just for the chance to get a picture with you, shake your hand . . . just be under the same roof with you. It’s such a thrill.”
Some of the other fans shrugged, conceding. Nevada really was a long way to come.
“Sherman, there’s nothing I love more than getting an opportunity to meet and thank my fans. Every wonderful thing that has happened in my life is because of you all,” Susan assured him. “And I would love to take a few photos with you. Got your camera?”
The spectacle was a welcome distraction from the daunting task at hand. Now that the time had come to go upstairs and meet her daughter, Zoey was frankly terrified. Private detective Mr. Dempsey had provided a room number. All Zoey had to do was to summon up the courage to go upstairs and knock. Justine waited patiently, realizing it was a momentous occasion.
But somehow, they, or perhaps their scruffy clothing, attracted the attention of the hotel’s gatekeeper. Concierge Arthur Frost appeared in front of them.
“Ladies, can I help you?”
Zoey shook her head. “We’re fine. I just came to visit my daughter. She’s staying in room 206.”
Mr. Frost’s eyes widened with recognition. “Camille. Yes, yes . . . I do see the resemblance. Lovely girl. I see she takes much more after you than . . . ” Frost’s lips curled back in the mildest grimace. “her father.”
Eureka. Here was someone who knew both Camille and Dalton and could give her some real information on how her daughter had been doing. “Does . . . he treat her well?”
“It appears you have not been in contact very recently. I had actually believed . . . . I beg your pardon. Clearly, there was a miscommunication.”
“How long have they lived here?”
“Almost two years. How much longer, I couldn’t say. Mr. Spitz and Mr. Churchill, the owner, seem to have reached a mutually beneficial accommodation, and there does not appear to be an end date to Mr. Spitzer’s residence.” Although Mr. Frost evidently wished there were. Even a man of his control and restraint couldn’t hide his distaste for Dalton Spitz.
However, now that Zoey had spoken to Mr. Frost, she couldn’t very well continue to hide out in the lounge. Justine sent her off with a fist bump and a few words of encouragement. “If you’ve got a few grand left, you can always hire someone to make him disappear. As long as you don’t do it yourself. What? Bad things happen to bad people. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
CHAPTER TWO
Five minutes later, on the second floor, Zoey’s moment of truth finally arrived. She knocked and heard the rush of tiny footsteps pounding toward the door. It opened, and there was Camille. She was surprised. And perfect and beautiful.
“I thought you were room service. We just ordered breakfast. But you must be here to see my daddy.”
“No. No, honey. I’m here to see you. My name is Zoey Proctor. Do you know who I am?”
The little girl drew back in disbelief and disgust. “That was my mother’s name. But she’s dead. And she was a really bad person, so she deserved to die.” Camille eyed Zoey with distrust. “That can’t be your name. Why did you say that was your name? Daddy! Daddy, come here.”
Zoey’s head was spinning. Camille thought she was dead. And she thought that she was a really bad person who deserved to die. She had been told all this by the person she was closest to. The person she trusted the most. The only parent she had ever known.
Dalton appeared at the door and was predictably thunderstruck at the sight of her.
“You told her I was dead?” Zoey asked incredulously.
Dalton took a deep breath and cocked his head to one side, thinking furiously. “Yeah, but someone must’ve lied to me. Clearly, you didn’t die in prison the way I was told. But you did go to prison on a drug conviction. That part of the story is right, isn’t it?” he said, glancing down at Camille with the slightest hint of a smirk.
So that was how he was going to play it. She wasn’t going to be able to deny the prison accusation, and she wasn’t going to be able to explain the full story to Dalton’s doting daughter.
“I came to see my daughter,” Zoey managed.
“Camille is my daughter, and I don’t know if I want her to be hanging out with ex-cons. Baby, go to your room. We have some grown-up things to talk about.”
Full of shock and questions, Camille backed away from the door and ran to her room.
Dalton returned a disgusted gaze back to Zoey. “Early release, huh? See, if it had been me, I would’ve done fifteen hard years for sure.”
“It should have been you.”
“Is that what you think you’re going to tell her? You think you’re going to poison her against me?”
“All I want is to know her and spend time with her and give her a chance to know me.”
“I don’t think so. Why don’t you come back when you’ve gotten yourself a lawyer?”
“Dalton . . . I was early released because I have leukemia. It’s bad and it’s untreatable. That’s why I can’t wait weeks or months or anything. I need to spend what time I have with Camille. While I still can.”
It was hard to read the expression on Dalton’s face, but certainly, it was
shocking, unexpected news for him. “That does change things.”
Zoey let out a small sigh of relief. Could it be possible that Dalton was going to be reasonable?
He continued, “There’s a big diner on Portsmouth Street and a bench in front of it. Be on that bench in one hour. We’ll meet there and talk things over.”
Zoey nodded gratefully and almost skipped giddily to the staircase. Though her weakness was ever-present, she felt the surge of adrenaline and energy that only intense hope can bring.
Downstairs, she shared the good news with Justine, who decided to make herself scarce. No need to scare Dalton off with too many ex-cons. They both hoped that by the time they rendezvoused at the motel room, that Zoey would have some good news to share.
Zoey tried to walk around town a bit, but it was no good. She arrived at the bench way too early and darted inside the diner for a take-out cup of tea. She was already pretty jittery, and coffee would have just been overkill.
After about twenty minutes, Dalton joined her but remained standing. “This place is too crowded. Come on. I know a better place.”
Zoey would not have minded just chatting right there on the bench, but maybe Dalton was hungry. She certainly wanted to be agreeable. They walked past a wide alley behind a long row of restaurants.
“Let’s cut through here. This is the fastest way,” Dalton said.
“So, did Camille say anything about me? She must’ve had questions. Dalton! You really can’t leave her with the impression that I deserve to die.”
Dalton turned to Zoey quickly, and she felt the most intense concentration of pain that she had ever felt since she had delivered her child. Her eyes followed the direction of the pain. Dalton’s hand was still grasped tightly around the blade of a large knife, and he twisted it viciously until Zoey screamed.
“You do deserve to die, for trying to take Camille away from me. But fate is already taking care of that. You have leukemia and you’re going to die. That’s just your destiny. That has nothing to do with me. This isn’t a murder. This is just me helping fate along, getting you out of the picture before you can cause any problems.”
He pulled the knife out, which should have felt better, but it sure didn’t. Then, he carefully wiped off the handle to get rid of his prints. By then, Zoey had sunk to the ground.
“You’ve served your purpose. You helped keep me out of prison. You gave me my beautiful daughter. Now I just need for you to do one more thing for me. And it’s actually better for you as well. Better than waiting and agonizing for a whole year. Just let go. Just let it happen.”
He tossed the knife aside and ran back in the same direction where they’d entered the alley.
Zoey’s first thought was, I was always afraid that this was going to happen in prison. The prisoners talk about it all the time. But then I get out of prison, and I still get stabbed. So unlucky. And then her final thought as she was fast losing consciousness was that she and Dalton could agree on at least one thing. Camille sure was beautiful.
*****
When Zoey opened her eyes, it felt as if a few hours had passed. She was obviously in a hospital room, hooked up to an IV, and facing a doctor’s back, who was rustling paperwork at the nearby desk. He turned around at the sound of her stirring. His hair was completely white, his face moderately lined, and his eyes were kind. He looked like a very good doctor.
“Do not overexert yourself, my dear. I’m Dr. Svenson. You have just received a blood transfusion to replace a very large loss of blood. How are you feeling?”
“Uh . . . okay. I . . . I . . . ” Where was the pain? She remembered it vividly, but at the moment, Zoey couldn’t feel a thing.
“You are very fortunate that one of the restaurant workers came out to the alley to throw away some garbage. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Dalton. My ex-boyfriend. He stabbed me. He tried to kill me.”
“When you are ready, we will call the police to take your statement. This is a very serious situation.”
“He has my daughter and he didn’t want me to be with my daughter . . . and I have leukemia.”
“Yes, leukemia. I figured out that much from your first blood sample. And I also took a second blood sample this morning, thirty-six hours after the transfusion.”
“Yeah? Isn’t it . . . a little early to be taking blood out of me so soon?”
“Well, the blood you received was from a universal donor. It’s very good blood. I knew that you would accept it. But we need to check again just to see if there are any . . . changes.”
Zoey didn’t know what kind of changes the doctor could possibly be talking about, and Dr. Svenson didn’t really want to be more specific right that moment. Zoey had just undergone a traumatic event. That was enough to take in. No need to tell her that her body was now filled with the blood of a fearsome and powerful witch.
Lilith Hazelwood was that witch, and her death had resulted in a multitude of clandestine organ transplants, all presided over by Dr. Svenson. Lilith’s body had been infused with such potent strength that all of her body parts had retained immense powers that not only healed the recipients but transferred a portion of Lilith’s astonishing abilities as well.
Dr. Svenson had come to expect that something of this nature would happen, although he was never sure exactly what form those powers would take. He could see that Zoey’s knife wound had already healed itself, and there were undoubtedly more surprises in store. But right now, the biggest priority was to make sure that the patient was well-rested and that her assailant had been dealt with.
“Could you please take this IV out?”
“Yeah, I don’t think you’ll be needing that anymore.”
Was it Dr. Svenson’s imagination or did the IV move as he was trying to remove it? “So why don’t you just get a little bit more rest, and then we can probably release you tomorrow.”
“I don’t need to wait until tomorrow. I feel fine. I feel . . . this is so strange. I actually feel good. Not about what just happened, of course. But . . . energetic. I want to walk around. Are those my clothes? I want to get dressed right now. Could you please hand me my clothes?”
The doctor shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You don’t want to rush things.”
Zoey held her outstretched hand toward her clothes. “Honestly, I’m good. I need my clothes.”
And just as the words were leaving her lips, Zoey’s clothes levitated from the chair that they had been neatly folded in and floated to her hand as if her hands were magnets and they were metal. Zoey’s and the doctor’s jaws both dropped.
“Oh, dear, this is going to be a difficult one,” the doctor said. “Normally, I want to have this talk with you much later. But I can’t send you home in this condition without letting you know what is happening. The blood that I gave you was from Lilith Hazelwood. She was a very powerful witch.”
“Not just a powerful witch. I was the most powerful witch in this entire region,” Lilith grumbled. Even in death, her ego was unabated and she expected to be given her due.
Lilith had died under sinister circumstances, and her ghost would remain a fixture in Oyster Cove until her murder had been solved and avenged. Lacking a body and having few living allies, she intended to make use of these human beneficiaries, these recipients of her organs, her body, her blood. They owed her their very lives, and she expected something in return. This Zoey Proctor was a promising candidate. Her recent assault had surely filled her with rage and vengeance, which would mean that she and Lilith would be on the same page.
“A witch? I don’t believe in witches.”
“Do you believe that your clothes came to you through the air, simply because you wanted them? Do you believe your own eyes? Lilith Hazelwood was a witch, and now that you have her blood inside you, it has changed you. It has given you some of her abilities. You now have the powers of the witch.”
It was absolutely too much deal with. “I need . . . could I get som
e water, please?” Zoey groaned, pointing toward the sink, which had a stack of plastic cups on its counter.
Before the doctor could stand up, one of the cups detached itself and hovered under the faucet. Then the right handle of the faucet rotated clockwise and the water filled the cup. The faucet turned itself off, and like the clothes, the cup of water floated straight to Zoey’s hand. She gasped.
“There is nothing more I can say to explain what has happened to you. I think you can see everything for yourself now.”
Zoey caught ahold of the cup of water then dropped it in shock. The water splattered over the tile floor.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I guess we need to . . . ” Then Zoey looked back over to the sink at the paper towel dispenser, which seemed to come to life as several paper towels pulled themselves out and made a beeline for the mess on the floor. Zoey and the Dr. watched wordlessly as the towels sopped up the mess and then headed to the nearest trash can to dispose of themselves. Zoey curled up in a ball on her bed and started rocking back and forth.
“This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.”
“I’m going to call Delphine. She is much better at this kind of thing than I am. She will know exactly how to help you. Because she is a witch, you see. She will be able to answer all of your questions. I’m sure of it.”
A witch? Was Oyster Cove just full of witches everywhere? This didn’t sound like a very wholesome environment for Camille to be living in.
An hour later, Delphine Sykes had closed up her jewelry boutique and responded to the call for help. Although Lilith Hazelwood had been a harsh and difficult witch, Delphine was continually surprised at how likable her transplant beneficiaries turned out to be. She was always more than happy to help them navigate their way through this confusing transition.
Like Dr. Svenson, Delphine had a comforting grandmotherly presence. But she looked like the kind of grandma who spent her retirement on inline skates and skateboards. She was full of vibrant energy and hard-earned wisdom.