by Iris Kincaid
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you? But this is your lucky day because I enjoy talking about myself as much as the next guy. Yeah, I’ve given it some thought. I’ve given it a lot of thought. Writing the book was painful, you know, the content of it. Interviewing families. Thinking about all the loss. But at the same time, it was satisfying, knowing that the truth would come out and that I was part of that. But now, that project is over. It’s over, and it does kind of leave me at loose ends.”
“What about the next project?”
“Did you have something in mind?”
“You sound like a journalist. An investigative journalist. You wanted to get the truth out. It was a story that was close to you, but the world is full of stories, isn’t it? I think you’re really good at it. Maybe it’s what you’re meant to do next.”
“You may just be a mind reader. I confess, I was wondering whether or not I should do something more along those lines. I’m really good at the research, and I actually enjoy the writing, more or less. It’s funny, being at a kind of crossroads in your life. Three years ago, I thought I had it all figured out. I didn’t have a clue about what lay ahead.”
Gillian nodded sympathetically. “Losing your job, your friends, your fiancée, and your old career.”
“I also didn’t know anything about bumping into a reluctant babysitter, becoming a fake husband, and lounging on the beach getting myself a Gillian Swann original. I don’t even have the imagination to come up with all of that.”
He sounded rather pleased with the strange turns his life had taken recently. Perhaps he was no longer stinging over the betrayals and abandonments that had left him reeling. Gillian continued to paint, but she became aware of a presence behind her. A sizable presence. A single woman and a young couple had gathered behind her, watching in appreciation.
“Please don’t let us disturb you,” the woman said in a hushed whisper. “You just keep going. This is great to watch.”
“When do I get to see it?” Vaughn wheedled.
“Pretty soon. It’s actually going a lot faster than I thought it would.”
A lot faster. Gillian had thought that she would spend three hours nailing down the basic shapes and features and then spend the following day filling in the details. But just half an hour after starting, she was inexplicably done. By then, over a dozen people were watching in rapt attention. And they were buzzing with excitement.
“How did she do that? Is there some kind of electrical device inside the canvas?”
“It’s weird. Like an optical illusion.”
“More like a light show. That’s insane. How on earth did you get that effect?”
Vaughn had had enough. Everyone got to see the painting but himself. “It had better be ready, because I sure am.”
Gillian relented. “Yeah, it’s ready. Take a look.”
Vaughn strolled over, ready to be pleasantly surprised. Instead, he was blown away. It was him. Recognizably him. But like a master Impressionist, Gillian had used drops of color, rather than straight lines, to suggest the features and to separate one thing from another. It was like a kaleidoscope. But that’s not what the crowd was oohing and ahhing over. It’s that the colors were changing, shifting, moving. It was almost as if the painting had come to life.
As her paintbrush had poured out the rainbow vision of her new sight, Gillian had spent the better part of the last half hour trying to think about how she was going to account for this unearthly creation. She had to offer a rational explanation for this.
“It’s a special chemical added to the paint that causes this chemical reaction and transmutes the colors randomly, at fairly regular intervals. You remember mood rings, don’t you? Well, there have been so many advancements since then. This is a very new technology, not even on the market yet. It has to go through a whole battery of safety inspections.”
“Where did you get those paints?” someone asked.
“The inventors are old friends of mine. I’m sort of a . . . beta tester. Yeah. It’s not going to be available for quite a few years. New patent and all that.” Hopefully, her explanation was just crazy enough to sound plausible. Vaughn was shaking his head. He was still trying to figure it out.
“I have to get a picture of my husband. For his birthday, in September. And one of my daughter before she takes off for school. How much do you charge?”
That question snapped Vaughn out of his reverie. “She charged me 2000 bucks. You’re not going to give everyone else a discount, are you?” He winked at her.
“Two thousand dollars is fine. This is such a one-of-a-kind gift. All our friends in Boston are going to go crazy over it. I’m going to need cards to pass out to them. Could we set up the appointment today?”
“You can do one of children, can’t you? I would love to have a portrait taken of my baby.”
“I belong to this little community center in Somerville. And we’ve been thinking about hiring someone to do a mural, just to spruce the place up. If you could do something like this, it would just blow everyone’s mind. I think we’d have a ton of kids stopping by, just to check it out. Of course, it’s a big job, so I know you’d have to charge quite a bit more than $2000.”
“I think we can work out a special charity rate,” Gillian said, mind spinning. If she did three or four portraits a month at this rate, she would gladly do the community center pro bono. She wanted to reach over and squeeze Vaughn’s hand. Look at what he had done for her.
*****
Witches show up in the strangest places. Not that the grocery store is a strange place. But when a witch pops up in a mundane setting, it’s always jarring. The last of the Hatch sisters was headed Gillian’s way in the produce aisle. Guess a witch has gotta eat.
But this witch was on a mission. The Hatch triplets definitely developed a fixation on one Gillian Swann. Gillian’s first impulse was to flee, but she remembered what Delphine said about each individual triplet not having a terribly impressive range of powers. In any case, best not to show fear.
“You must be Michaela. And I guess you know who I am.”
Michaela Hatch’s mouth twisted into something resembling a smile. “The young lady with Lilith Hazelwood’s eyes. When every inch of her should have been dead and buried.”
“I gather that you weren’t friends with Ms. Hazelwood.”
“Bah! She would’ve been a pretty poor excuse for a friend.”
“What did she do? Why were you mad at her?”
“We needed her assistance so that my sisters and I wouldn’t be so . . . dependent on one another. So that we would each be strong on our own. Powerfully strong. She had the key for transformation. And it would have cost her nothing. She was a selfish, petty . . . may she rest in eternal torment.”
“Well, good luck with that. I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone else who could help you out with that.”
Michaela’s evil grin returned. “We already have.”
A chill rolled up the back of Gillian’s neck. “What are you planning to do?” she asked in a small voice.
“We have her spell book. And we know the spell that we need lies within. But it is invisible to the eye. Lilith made sure of that. Only her eyes can read that spell. And one way or another, we intend to get those eyes. Don’t get too attached to them.”
She reached for a bright red apple and held it out to Gillian. It was all so Snow White that Gillian was thoroughly creeped out. It was just the effect that Michaela was aiming for. She cackled heartily and strolled away. Gillian was working herself up into a full-blown panic attack. Don’t get too attached to them!
*****
“It is just as I suspected. It must have been the Hatch sisters who plotted against me,” Lilith ruminated. “All because I wouldn’t help them out? What kind of an offense is that? Their weakness was their own business. I was under no obligation to concern myself with their problems.”
“We still don’t have any definitive proof that it was them,” D
elphine cautioned. “I did wonder what became of the spell book, and now I have my answer.”
“They’ve told the girl this much. And they feel no threat. Perhaps she can get a confession from them. And then we will decide how best to find justice.”
“Oh, I don’t want Gillian anywhere near them. As you just heard, they want to take her eyes.”
“My eyes,” Lilith reminded her.
Delphine wished that Lilith could show a bit more concern for the commoner-turned-witch. So, this had to be framed in a way that appealed to Lilith’s agenda.
“If they take her eyes and are able to cast the spell and achieve their great strength, then they will be beyond the reach of our justice. We cannot let them take her eyes.”
“There is sense in that. Very well. It is time to teach her Rah deet esculpa finon.”
“Agreed. It is time.”
“It must be practiced daily,” Lilith insisted. “She must be able to summon it at a moment’s notice.”
Gillian was neither violent nor vengeful. So, Delphine had her work cut out for her in trying to convince this gentle, sensitive young woman to learn how to cast a spell that would blind another person.
Predictably, she was revolted. “Make someone go blind? Make them suffer the same bleak horror that I lived through for the past two years?”
“Do not forget who the most likely targets will be. It will be one or more of the Hatch triplets who will try to take your eyes. You’re not ruthless, my dear, and neither am I. Not really. Just pragmatic. You should never hesitate to hurt someone who is about to hurt you.”
Gillian still looked unconvinced.
“You need never seek them out. But if they come armed with malice and a sharp knife, you will be prepared. It is a defensive maneuver, that is all.”
In the end, the thought of having her sight taken away again, and in such a violent manner, left Gillian with little choice.
“Show me what to do.”
*****
Every small town shares the same liability. If you’re trying to avoid someone, you’re likely to run into them several times in the course of a week. And so, Gillian found herself walking into the gym to sign up for membership at the same moment that Simone Valentine was chatting with a manager at the front desk.
“We weren’t sure what to do with the stuff in his locker. It’s nothing expensive or important. But it must have sentimental value to his significant others. Would you like to take a look?” The manager asked Simone.
She scoffed. “Why would I want anything to remember that bozo by? Are you kidding?”
“Oh, I thought you two were pretty close.”
“Yeah, well, I guess he put on a pretty good act. It was karma, if you ask me. He got what was coming to him.”
This was interesting. Not only was Simone not grieving, but she sounded like she was ready to spit on Byron’s grave. What could have brought on this extreme alienation of affection? It didn’t take long to think of a likely culprit. Gillian drew up alongside Simone, giving her a satisfying little scare.
“Something tells me that you know about Cara,” Gillian said.
“Of course I knew about Cara, that emptyheaded dunce. I can’t believe that Byron ever decided to spend time with her. And now, I can’t ever go into the Café and get my favorite snickerdoodles. They were the best. Although, those chewy molasses cookies came in a close second. But now I can’t go in because I can’t stand the sight of her.”
“You can’t stand the sight of her. Because he cheated on you,” Gillian said, with a lifted eyebrow.
The hypocrisy was clear, but Simone was not one for apologies.
“He was a skunk, and no one needs to waste any tears on him. Good riddance. That’s all I can say.”
Who knew that the loss of Byron would rank so unfavorably with the loss of snickerdoodles?
*****
Every summer for the past ten years, Oyster Cove held a major sand sculpture competition. It was quite an impressive spectacle. It attracted tourists from all over the New England area. When she was going blind, Gillian had a list a mile long of the things that it pained her that she would never be able to see again. The sand sculptures had been an especially keen regret. She absolutely loved them.
How fortunate that Vaughn seemed to take such a strong interest in them. She had just casually mentioned the event, and he immediately jumped on board. This was really the first time they would be hanging out together outside of their formal exchange of favors.
As Gillian was walking over, she caught sight of Officer Finn Cochran and what appeared to be his girlfriend, strolling nearly a mile ahead of her, and looking as happy as newlyweds. Could it be that Bad Cop had a few redeeming features? The haze of color surrounding them both was a deep joyful pink, with bursts of golden yellow. But it hardly required a witch’s eyes to tell that these two were in love.
There was something unusual about the girl. Her heart was quite large, relative to the rest of her. And beating powerfully, as if she were an Olympic athlete. It was puzzling. But as she reminded herself, it was also none of her business. The couple was clearly headed toward the sand sculptures. But it was laid out over such a vast stretch of the beach, that Bad Cop could probably be avoided.
Gillian and Vaughn met near the jaw-dropping display of Egyptian pyramids. Vaughn was suitably impressed. “I would’ve been coming out here every year to see this if I knew this was going on,” he raved. “Did you see the dragons and goblins over there? We have got to take a close look.”
Gillian was so pleased that they had the same appreciation for this astonishing display of talent. “Okay, just let me get a few pictures of this one. I’ve got so many photos at home from the previous festivals. I’ll have to show you.”
The sheer imagination of the sculptures was enough to put a smile on the face of every onlooker. A Ghostbusters statue, a Dogs Playing Poker statue, a Mount Rushmore with five faces, the fifth belonging to a beloved, well-known local grade school teacher. Nice tribute.
“I know our sand sculpture exhibit is amazing. But there are a bunch around the world that I’d really like to see,” Gillian shared. “I know it’s kind of a strange thing to get fixated on. But there are big sand sculpture exhibits and contests in LA, England, Spain, Portugal . . . and I intend to see every one of them.”
“Just breeze into town, catch the sculptures, and head back to the airport, eh?”
“I do make time for museums. I know that for a lot of people, there’s mothing duller than a museum tour. They’re more interested in the beaches, the shopping, the clubbing.”
“But you’re an artist. Makes perfect sense.”
“The Impressionists are my favorites. Seeing all those great collections is very high up on my bucket list. They’re scattered all over, which is nice. Everyone should be close to at least one of them—New York, Paris, London, the South of France. The Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam was my absolute favorite. I went about eight years ago. I actually wouldn’t mind going to see it again with fresh eyes. How about you? What are your favorite things to do on vacation?”
“Sailing. I’ve never had my own boat. But I have friends who used to loan me theirs—back when I had friends. No, don’t feel sorry for me. I can still rent. I do fantasize about sailing along the coast, all over the world. Not across the ocean, now. I have seen that movie The Perfect Storm way too many times. But I’d love to sail across the English Channel. That’s pretty manageable. Get a boat in Barcelona. Do a little Mediterranean tour. No need to get too far from shore. Stop and see a lot of places along the way. Hawaii. New Zealand. Oh, and do some serious island hopping in Greece.”
“I had no idea you were so sporty. I’ve never been out sailing, not even once.”
“Oh? Maybe we’re going to have to do something about that.”
That was a pleasant threat. “Anything else? On vacation?”
“Okay, but you gotta keep this on the down low. I’m actually kind of big on theater.�
��
“Theater. That’s great. Why is that such a confession?”
“The guys at my old firm thought I was nuts. I could never get any of them to go to a play with me. Even my ex. The only way I talked her into a four-day trip to New York, so that we could see four plays in a row, one every evening, was to promise her plenty of shopping during the daytime. Yeah, she had to be bribed.”
“You’d think that she would’ve known that she had hit the jackpot—a man who would take her out to the theater.”
“Yeah, I’m a catch, right?” Vaughn laughed at himself. “I think, once the big bucks royalties start rolling in, I’m going to go over to London and do the same thing. Maybe for a whole week, see seven plays in a row.”
And if you took me with you, we could check out some great museums during the daytime, thought Gillian. Whoa, where were these crazy thoughts coming from?
“So, how many plays have you written?” Gillian asked.
Vaughn looked truly startled. “Okay, you got me. How did you know?”
“Just a hunch,” Gillian said triumphantly.
“Well, you nailed it. You found out my biggest secret, actually. That was a pretty amazing hunch. What are you, a witch?”
Oh, best not to respond to that one.
“The answer is three. I’ve written three plays. And if anyone in Boston knew, I would have been kicked out of my old industry a lot sooner. You’d think that advertising would be an artsy crowd, but, not so much. Hey, there’s the couple that made an appointment to come back and look at the house on Thursday. Yeah, they’re waving.”
Gillian and Vaughn waved back.
“They think we’re married. I think we need to act married.”
He reached for Gillian’s hand, which she did not mind one bit. Strolling along like an infatuated couple, they continued their art tour with renewed enjoyment.
*****
From pleasant company to not so pleasant company—Finn Cochran, a.k.a. Bad Cop, intercepted Gillian on her way to meet Abby for some delectable lasagna at her favorite Italian eatery.
“Ms. Swann. I was hoping I’d run into you.”