by Iris Kincaid
THE WITCH’S HOMECOMING
Book One of the Generation Hex Series
IRIS KINCAID
THE WITCH’S HOMECOMING
Copyright 2019 by Iris Kincaid
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover design by Katrina Curry
Editing by Valorie Clifton
CHAPTER ONE
Thirty is a big birthday. Some people try to pull off the nonchalant act, but it’s an undeniable milestone. Beryl Shimmer had long anticipated the day with a tingle of expectation, as well as more than a few ounces of self-recrimination. The last decade of her life had been filled with mediocre accomplishments, deferred dreams, and more recently, an extended period of unemployment and a dependence on her live-in boyfriend that went from humbling to catastrophic. They had just broken up in a loud and explosive fashion, and Beryl was to celebrate her thirtieth birthday by moving into her 2014 Ford Taurus.
It was a nice enough car, but moving into a small vehicle is an irrefutable indicator of life’s greatest epic fail.
As Beryl loaded the car in anger and confusion, it had not yet dawned on her that she would actually be sleeping in the vehicle. If it had, she would have left most of her things behind, because even with the back seats folded down, there was simply no room in the back for both her own outstretched body and a dozen boxes. It only took one night of trying to sleep in the front seat, and realizing that she truly had nowhere to go, to realize that she had to start jettisoning several boxes in the back to secure some kind of sleeping area for herself.
There was no family home to return to. Her foster parents had kicked her out on her eighteenth birthday, just as soon as they knew that no more checks would be coming from the state. Yet another milestone birthday that thoroughly sucked.
Her friends from high school were now scattered all over the globe, not to mention that she had lost touch long ago with virtually all of them. Most of them had gone on to college and serious adulting—marriage, a home, family. They were making contributions to the world, a painful and stark contrast to her own unimpressive existence. No, she could not show up a pathetic beggar on anyone's doorstep. The car was a more appealing alternative.
And so began the most precarious existence Beryl could ever have imagined for herself. She spent several nights dodging Bay Area police officers who did not appreciate homeless women sullying the appearance of respectable neighborhoods by sleeping in parked vehicles.
Beryl soon discovered her two safe places—the public library by day and a large casino parking lot by night. The library represented comforting familiarity as it had been one of her favorite places even back in better times. Now it provided protection against the elements and thousands of volumes of distraction to fill her mind and crowd out her wretched state of affairs.
At the library, she could try to soften her biggest regret—that she had never been able to fulfill her dream of going to college. But here, she could try to approximate a college course of study for herself, poring over volumes in science, chemistry, physics, history, and literature. It was a self-guided education that would never result in a diploma on the wall but would still give her a small measure of satisfaction. She could read David Copperfield and A Tale of Two Cities and absorb the genius of Dickens on her own.
The casino was a lucky find. Since Beryl had never actually been to a casino outside of Vegas, she might never have discovered it, save for a sheepish online inquiry, Where is the best place for a homeless person to park their car? Why, at a casino, where dozens of cars are parked from late evening to early morning as the owners try to recoup the previous day’s losses.
Here was a place where a person sleeping in her car was nothing unusual, and the security guards just sized Beryl up as another hopeless gambler, or perhaps that she was waiting on a significant other who was glued to the roulette wheel. In any case, it was a location that provided late-evening and early-morning access to a bathroom—one of her biggest problems solved.
As for money, she had precious little—only a couple of hundred dollars in savings. It was needed for both food and gasoline. Food could often be gotten for free, sometimes from the food pantries, sometimes scooped up from the table of a sidewalk café after the customers had just left and the remains of their meal had not yet been cleared away. Beryl had never imagined herself engaged in such an activity. But hunger gives you all the imagination you need, and she became a tolerably accomplished scavenger. A daily visit to the local food kitchen was doable. Mortifying, but doable.
And of course, there was the never-ending job hunt. After two full years of unemployment, Beryl had gotten so discouraged after the first year that her efforts during the second year had become rather lackluster, reinforced by Doug’s assessment that she just wasn’t a very good fit with the local job market. But now the job hunt had resumed with a frantic urgency.
She had access to library internet and printers. Looking for work was not only a logical necessity. It also helped to fill her days with some kind of meaning. But she kept getting rejected and fired from one menial job after another. She was not only denied her highest hopes, but her lowest as well.
One night, bleary-eyed, she took a good, hard look in the casino bathroom’s mirror.
The clothes she wore were clean, owing to a monthly trip to the laundromat that she insisted on spending some of her final dollars on. But they were wrinkled, never getting a chance to be hung or ironed, and aside from the special efforts she made for interviews, Beryl had the look of someone who no longer cared about her appearance.
Her long dark hair was disheveled, her expression weary and defeated. Her bright green eyes retained their glow. Everyone always commented on them. But what good are lovely eyes? They neither provide work nor avert tragedy.
A bleached blonde woman in her mid-sixties emerged from one of the stalls and started washing her hands. The older woman looked sideways at Beryl’s forlorn figure and nodded sympathetically.
“You look like you've lost everything. Am I right?”
Beryl nodded imperceptibly. Everything.
“Try to stay out of this place for a full week. I know it's hard. I've got problems with that myself. But sometimes, you have to take a step back. Take your next paycheck and first thing you do is pay all your bills. Be grateful that you have a roof over your head. ’Cause not everyone does. Especially some of us players. Go take a nice hot bubble bath. In the morning, you'll be fit as a fiddle.”
This kind woman could not have been more mistaken about Beryl’s resources. But all she could do was to feign gratitude at the well-intentioned advice.
“Get some sleep now,” the woman ordered as she headed for the door.
Ha. If only the worst thing Beryl had to worry about was a bad night of gambling. She returned her harsh gaze to the mirror.
This was not who she was supposed to have been. This was not what her life was supposed to be like. Her old dreams now taunted her. A college chemistry degree. Getting a job as a pharmacist. Oh, and once upon a time, she had dreamed even bigger . . . to become a medical researcher. Realistically, curing cancer and other terrible diseases required a level of genius that she was not deluded enough to claim. But a pharmacist . . . that felt like a goal that had been within reach. It required meticulous attention to detail and strong chemistry skills, and it provided a critical service, helping people heal and feel better. It would have been perfect.
But every hope and dream had ended, and here she was, using the uncrowded, late-night hours to wash up in a public bathroom as best she could. Several
weeks had flown by in this miserable state, and so would the years. Eventually, she would die in an unmarked pauper's grave. Okay, maybe she needed to lay off the Dickens. Nobody says pauper.
As she made sure that the coast was clear and quickly retreated to the back of her car, where warm blankets awaited, courtesy of a women’s shelter, Beryl braced for one of the two nightmares that inevitably haunted her every night.
The first was old news. She’d had dreams about drowning since she was old enough to remember anything. And even though she had asked her foster family on more than one occasion whether or not she had ever had a near-drowning incident in her early years, they had always denied it.
In recent months, this dream had to share equal time with Beryl’s last encounter with her ex, Doug. She would often go to bed with the words ringing in her ear, and they played an endless loop in too many of her dreams.
She wished the memory of that day would fade, but it had made an indelible impression. She remembered how shaken and angry her own voice sounded when she confronted Doug about the brash young woman who’d shown up while he was at work, claiming to be his girlfriend.
“Did you really tell that girl that I was your maid and make her believe that she was your girlfriend? How could you call me your maid? That was cruel.”
Doug had shrugged. “No, it was accurate. You are my maid. My live-in maid. You cook, you clean, you do laundry. Which is terrific. I hate doing laundry. And I take you out for a movie once in a while, pay for the groceries. And for the price of that, I’ve had a live-in maid. Works for me. Lisa is my girlfriend. You don't have to like it, but I don't see that you have any option. You have nothing in the bank. You have nowhere to go. Can't get a job. So yeah, a maid with benefits.”
It was not a memory designed to lull her into sleep. Of the two nightmares, she’d have to pick drowning. At least that one didn't make her feel like such an idiot.
*****
It was a chance meeting two months into her homelessness that was to send Beryl’s life spinning into the wildest sanctuary that she could ever have envisioned. She almost turned around and walked the other way on the busy sidewalk where she had just applied for a waitressing job. It was, after all, Ross, a friend of Doug’s, and she had no interest in the awkward conversation that would inevitably follow. But he spotted her at the same time and rushed in her direction.
“Beryl,” he said. “This is so great. Doug has been trying to get in touch with you, and he had no idea where you were staying. He tried all your friends and no luck. Boy, is he going to be glad to see you.”
To say that this didn’t ring true would be the mother of all understatements.
“Why was he trying to get in touch with me?” Beryl asked suspiciously.
“He got something really important for you in the mail. Something from your father. I mean, your late father. Oh, shoot. I’m sorry to be the one to deliver the bad news. But I guess you didn’t even know him. Yeah, your old man died and left you something. And the lawyers tracked you down to Doug’s place and then ran into a dead end. But here you are. You should call him and get over there right now. Who knows? I mean, it’s gotta be something good, right?”
Beryl could hardly think straight. Her father! How could that even be possible? She had been told that her mother had a very brief dalliance while on vacation with an older man whom she had never seen again. Of course, she had toyed over the years with the idea of finding him, but she always tried to talk herself out of it. No man wants to be presented with a twenty-something daughter, the result of a one-night stand that he can barely remember. They would have no greater connection than any two random strangers on the street.
So how was this possible? He had listed her in his will! He somehow knew about her. But when? For how long? Why hadn’t he ever tried to establish contact while he was alive? It would have meant so much to her. Now that it was too late, she was finding out that she meant something to him. His beneficiary. Beryl’s mind was a million miles away when Doug’s friend reminded her that he was still there.
“So, you gonna give Dougie a call? He feels bad about how things ended. He’s really happy for you about this inheritance thing. Hope it works out really well for you.”
It was a ridiculous lie and Ross couldn’t even begin to pull it off. Doug’s parting words had been filled with bitter cruelty. Hmm. Could it be that the cruelty had been too extreme even for his conscience? There was nothing that could erase the words, but an apology—a sincere apology—might go a long way toward bringing her some kind of closure.
And Florida. How on earth was she going to get there? It was a five-day ride and a couple of hundreds of dollars of gasoline that she couldn’t afford. One step at a time. Beryl steeled herself to face her loathsome ex for one last time.
*****
Doug had the most unfamiliar look of sympathy and kindness on his face as he ushered her into his apartment. It already had the feel of a place that she had never lived in, and she never had to wrestle with the thought that it was her apartment.
“So, Beryl, pretty crazy, huh? I mean, he was just some old guy your mother shacked up with, and he managed to find you and leave you something pretty big. ’Cause they wouldn’t be hunting you down just to make sure you got his gravy bowl. Right? It has to be some serious cash. Man, you could have used that money a lot earlier, right? Sit down, sit down. It must be a lot to take in.
“Yeah. So, I guess you won’t find out how much it is until you get there, but, uh, you know, I know that you always do the right thing and that I kept you afloat for all that time and that you always said you wanted to pull your own weight and pay me back for, you know, keeping a roof over your head. Room and board for all that time. And now, this is great. You’re going to be in a position to pay back at least a little bit of what you owe me. It’s probably only going to be a fraction of what you’re getting. I know it’s hard to estimate, ’cause we don’t know what you’re getting.
“But maybe, I don’t know, maybe twenty percent, just to cover all those months of rent and food and travel. We went to Vegas, remember? And Tahoe. That was a nice trip, right? But pricey, I gotta tell you. It cost a pretty penny. I know you would have chipped in if you could have, but better late than never.”
Beryl looked at him dumbfounded. He expected her to hand over her inheritance to him. “Yes, we did go to Vegas and Tahoe. You took your maid to Tahoe. Not many employees get those kinds of perks.”
“Okay, okay, okay. I started this out all wrong. What I should have said was that I behaved like a jerk. Yeah, such a jerk, and I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I was about that. I can be such an idiot, right? That, uh, that girl I was seeing . . . she’s already history. Yeah, it was never really serious. Not like you and me. Let me show you, as best I can, just how sorry I am. Luigi’s. How ’bout that? Your favorite lasagna. We can catch up. See what you’ve been up to. And, you know, talk about the future. I mean, just ’cause the past got so screwed up doesn’t mean that there might not be a future. Maybe we just needed counseling or something. I’d be really open to that.”
Counseling. Beryl had to hold back a bitter laugh. This was the worst acting job she had ever witnessed. Doug was willing to lure her back into coupledom for just long enough to access whatever money she had coming to her. And the other girl may well have been history, but undoubtedly, someone had taken her place. Did Doug plan on telling her that Beryl was just the hired help?
“I need to see my letter,” Beryl demanded. While Doug was in a begging mood, she didn’t even have to bother with pleasantries.
“Sure. Here it is. There you go. Nice and official. It’s Florida. We’ve never been there, have we, babe?”
The endearment would normally have left her shuddering, but Beryl had weightier matters on her mind. This was a gift from her father, the man she would never know.
“I took the liberty of reading it, ’cause you just weren’t around and I had to know if it was important. And goo
d thing, ’cause it was super important. You don’t mind, do you, babe?”
Make your way to Marvel Canyon, Florida, as quickly as possible. The enclosed cashier’s check will cover your travel expenses. I look forward to your arrival. Gwynifer Couch.
“What cashier’s check? Where is the cashier’s check?”
“Oh, it’s right here. I just set it aside so that it wouldn’t get lost. It’s only $500, but I’ll bet that’s just the tip of the iceberg. You know what? You’ll probably be getting enough to get a really decent apartment when you get back. But you want to take your time. Wait until the right property comes up. You could stay here with me, no problem. You don’t want to waste money on a hotel, do ya? That’s 200 bucks a night. Let me, you know, by way of apology, give you a place to stay while you find something real nice. And then, if you want to square away for your expenses these past couple of years, that would be real cool. Whaddya say?”
“You think I owe you money? After you already made it clear that my domestic services were fair exchange for my room and board here? I’m no lawyer, but, uh . . . I’m pretty sure you’d be laughed out of court. But you’re free to think, say, and do as you please. This is the last time I ever intend to lay eyes on you.”
And with that, Beryl arched an eyebrow, grabbed her papers, and headed for the door, to the satisfying backdrop of Doug’s sputtering and protesting.
Back in her car, Beryl breathed out a huge sigh. She had given very little thought to her father in her adult years. He was something unknowable, like the other side of the universe. She felt a surprising wave of sadness wash over her. She would never know him now. That door had closed. But from his grave, he had reached out to give her a hand up.
Oh, she didn’t want to work up foolishly high expectations. But even a few thousand would make her life easier. And Central Florida just sounded like an easier, warmer place to be homeless than the Bay Area. What chance was there of getting a good night’s sleep tonight? She’d have to try her best, though. There was a long five-day road trip ahead of her.