The Witch's Heart (One Part Witch Book 1)

by Iris Kincaid

  “Margo’s Movie House,” Delphine responded.

  “That’s me. And this is my sister Bette. It’s with an E, and it’s pronounced like Bette Davis. We were just about to come in to take a look.”

  Delphine raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t so sure that they had been about to come in, but she’d take it. She loved company. The three of them retreated into her shop. It was a kaleidoscope of color with murals, paintings, sculptures, and fabric art, all an alluring backdrop for the jewelry, which still managed to shine in a mesmerizing fashion.

  “Bellissima,” Bette gushed.

  “It really is,” Margo agreed. “Just from the window outside, I could tell there was going to be a wonderful collection here. I just never came in because . . . because I just knew it was pretty upscale and a little out of my budget.”

  “Don’t you worry about buying anything. I get plenty of online commissions and sales. I can hardly keep up.”

  Margo smiled. She was glad to hear it. Fifteen years ago, you could have described most of the artists in Oyster Cove as struggling, if not outright starving. Like most others living in a New England tourist town, they had to pull in enough income during the summer months to last through a long, cold winter.

  But then Hollywood it girl Susan Sidwell had driven through, and she had been enchanted with some of the local boutiques. Not only did she leave with as much jewelry as she could carry, but every red carpet appearance in the following year had featured an Oyster Cove creation.

  “Susan, who are you wearing?” reporters shouted.

  “Oh, this is one of those fabulous treasures from that amazing town, Oyster Cove. You wouldn’t believe the talent there,” Susan raved.

  And from that moment on, Oyster Cove artists had entered a new age of prosperity. Everyone opened a website, and while formerly, they had been stigmatized by only being Cape Cod adjacent, they now became a destination and an in-demand brand. Summer crowds had increased tenfold, a benefit for all in the tourist industry.

  “But I still like folks to stop by. Guess I just like to show off my stuff. ’Course, if you were interested in that pendant in the window, I can cut you a little discount. Just for the residents. Nothing the tourists need to know about.”

  There wasn’t actually a resident discount, but even though they were strangers, Delphine could tell that Margo was doing poorly, and her heart went out to the poor girl.

  “Fifty percent off. Now, it doesn’t get any better than that.”

  “Oh, wow! That’s . . . well, I guess I really can’t pass it up.”

  Delphine put the pendant around Margo’s neck. “That is exactly where it wanted to be. A match made in heaven.”

  “Absolument,” Bette agreed.

  “Oh, my dear. Your accent is quite good. Have you been to France?” Delphine asked.

  “Not yet. But one day. Just making sure I’m ready.”

  That one day was unlikely to take place while Margo was still alive. Neither sister could bear the thought of Margo meeting her final end without Bette to hold her hand. Normally, that was the grim thought that went through Margo’s head at least once a day. But holding this lovely pendant in her hand and letting its comforting weight fall against her skin left her inexplicably cheered. She thanked Delphine profusely and excused herself and Bette to leave and make their way to work.

  Bette’s job was evening manager at a hotel right on the boardwalk. Margo’s “job” was a dream come true. Her great aunt had died over four years ago and had left everything to Margo—this particular relation being on Margo’s father’s side. Margo had sometimes felt guilty that Bette didn’t receive a share and indeed had tried to give her one, which Bette wouldn’t hear of . . . perhaps because she felt guilty that she got the good heart.

  Margo had used her inheritance after her great aunt died to buy an art house movie theater. It was located about six blocks away from the beach and luckily situated right between Clarissa Butler’s wildly popular eatery, The Clam Shack and a large coffeehouse on the other side. The three businesses boosted one another’s bottom line considerably with customers meandering from one place to the next. Clarissa and Margo had even come up with a joint promotion for slow winter weekdays—Tuesdays through Thursdays—the daily fish special at Clarissa’s and your choice of movie for fifteen dollars.

  As Margo walked through the scenic streets of Oyster Bay, one colorful storefront after another caught her eye. The upside about a town that had evolved around impoverished artists was that they had left their creative mark at every turn . . . painting, sculpting, mosaic art, 3D figures jutting out from the building. . .

  Her own theater was no exception. As she approached it on this particular day, she admired its Art Deco exterior for the umpteenth time. A lot of those vintage pieces had taken months to track down. And the twin pastel green, pink, and black mosaics of the Chrysler building that stood at either side of the entrance were the work of a local artist whom Margo wanted to hug every time she saw her.

  There was more artwork inside. Margo so admired and wanted to support the local artists that she had dedicated a large portion of the interior wall space to effectively function as an art gallery, changing monthly to showcase as much of the local talent as possible and usually attracting a small handful of commissions for every exhibit.

  It was a small theater, but Margo wanted it to be a homey, sociable place. She had three separate sitting areas with inviting sofas and plump chairs in the waiting area. It was nice to see people meet for their film half an hour early, just hanging out in those cozy waiting areas.

  It made for great people watching—particularly, the families. Margo knew that a husband and children were not in the cards for her. Nor traveling, adventurous activities, or the sheer joy of planning for the future. But she contented herself with every ounce of vicarious enjoyment that was to be had from watching others live out their energetic, sprawling, lucky, lucky lives.

  And it wasn’t as if her life hadn’t come with some satisfactions. The theater itself was her proudest achievement. It consisted of three viewing rooms, one dedicated to foreign language films, one to indie films—and both of these with renovated booths and tables and a BYOB policy—and the largest room was dedicated to golden oldies. Although, customers were constantly debating whether a film that came out in 1980 could be called an ‘oldie’. Well, that was before Margo was born, so it certainly felt old. Classics was probably a less problematic term.

  It was the true oldies that had been her mother’s favorites. The mother she had never known. But her great aunt had told her as much as she could remember about Nora Bailey. Nora’s all-time favorite film was All About Eve. Hence, she named her first child after Bette Davis and planned to name her second after the great and fictitious Margo Channing, the middle-aged, sharp-tongued whirlwind whose unimaginable self-possession and confidence never failed to leave Margo feeling a tad inadequate for failing to live up to her namesake.

  Margo and Bette had watched the film over and over, trying to reach out for any possible connection to their late mother. Which naturally led to all Bette Davis films, weeping buckets during Dark Victory, and the belief that their mother’s personality was something akin to Charlotte Vale from Now, Voyager—after she grew a spine, of course. It was that film that convinced Bette that she needed to see Rio de Janeiro and then the whole world.

  Davis was followed by Katherine Hepburn and then Cary Grant—Holiday!—and by then, they were hooked. When it came to choosing what kind of business for Margo to start, it was a no-brainer. She called it Margo’s Movie House. Not self-named for the normal gratifications of ego, but to create something that would outlive her short life. Something that would say, Margo Bailey was here.

  *****

  “We’ve got five bucks riding on this, and if anyone knows this, it’s going to be you,” a flirtatious college boy told Margo.

  His smug buddy waited expectantly. Margo shook her head. She was expected to know everything about mov
ie trivia. Hadn’t these fellas heard of Google?

  “Okay, before Gwyneth Paltrow and that guy were in Shakespeare in Love—who was supposed to play those parts?

  Margo sighed with relief—an easy one. “Julia Roberts and Daniel Day Lewis.”

  The smug guy’s mouth dropped open. “You gotta be kiddin’.”

  “Popcorn’s on you, buddy,” the first guy crowed. “I know my movies.”

  “You certainly do,” Margo said, trying not to ogle this fellow’s broad shoulders. He was way too young for her. And she certainly wasn’t available for a romantic development.

  “Excuse me! Excuse me!” Ruby Townsend practically shoved those young men out of the way. She was breathing so hard from a record-breaking sprint from her car that she could barely get her next words out.

  She was a very familiar face to Margo—Doctor Svenson’s young assistant. She had dropped by to catch a movie on a number of earlier occasions. But why was she in such a lather today? Ruby locked eyes with Margo, who let out a gasp as she realized the only possible reason for such a dramatic entrance.

  “We have a heart for you, Margo. Surgery’s at ten p.m. You need to leave. You need to leave right now.”

  In a daze, Margo asked Ted, the projectionist, to take over the ticket booth, and she let Ruby drag her out to the car. For the first time, Margo Bailey felt as if her life story had the potential to rival the best of movies. Was it too early, too foolish to start dreaming about happy endings?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lilith hovered in the operating room aghast for eight consecutive days, watching as every bodily component of her corpse that could be removed was removed.

  “Adrenal glands! Pituitary glands? Am I a frog for dissection?”

  She wanted to reach out and squeeze the life out of the doctor. How dare he dismember her without so much as her written permission. Not that she had any conceivable use for her remains. But witch or no, it was a disturbing sight.

  For his part, Dr. Svenson was practically giddy. Lilith Hazelwood’s organs exceeded his wildest expectations. They were just so amazingly robust. No other word for them. If he had known better, he would assume that they were from a twenty-year-old. Nothing would go to waste. If it didn’t have an immediate transplant destination, it was to be put on deep freeze for study.

  Lilith was somewhat mollified. After all, it was much like she was considered comparable to a Nobel prize winner whose brain is prized for study. But look at these unworthy girls who were receiving her organs. Her powers were being scattered, diluted amongst these weak, slow, clueless, pathetic girls.

  “You’re keeping the brain?” another doctor wondered.

  Dr. Svenson had been obligated to recruit surgical teams from all over Cape Cod and the Boston area to complete this marathon of operations.

  “Scientific study,” he answered evenly. “Her family has given consent.”

  “Anything special about her brain?”

  “She was a remarkable woman. I think her brain is going to give us some extraordinary insights into the vast range of human potential.”

  All told, there were eight recipients of these lifesaving, life-changing procedures. (And eventually, there would be a ninth.) But exactly how life-changing, even Dr. Svenson could not foresee.

  Lilith’s interest in her body was not idle. She had been murdered. She needed to know who had done it and she needed a means of seeking sweet vengeance. But she would need earthly assistance. And who better than one of these girls who owed her their life? Oh, she would press one of them into assistance and when the time came, they would have no choice in the matter. Who would be the likeliest, strongest candidate? It was too soon to tell. First up was Margo Bailey.

  *****

  Even before she opened her eyes, Margo lay in the hospital bed listening to her new heart beat. Normally, this would have terrified her, primarily because so many things terrified her. But this heartbeat had a soothing and emboldening effect on her. She opened her eyes, and hands clasped together, she put her hands on top of the new organ. The area was tender, perhaps even a bit painful. Funny that she took it in stride when pain used to send her into such a panic.

  More important than any discomfort was the strong, powerful rhythm beneath the skin with the dizzying promise of boundless strength and energy. Still in her dressing robe, she made her way to the door and peered into an empty hospital corridor. No one was about. The transplant operations were still ongoing and demanded everyone’s attention. Margo wondered how long she’d been there. Where was the doctor? What was it like outside? All of a sudden, she just had to know.

  At first, she made a slow patter across the cold floor, all the while delighting in her new heart’s ability to handle all challenges. She sailed right past the front desk attendant before the woman could even react.

  “Wait! Stop! Miss Bailey! Stop!”

  But Margo was not inclined to turn back. These were her first moments of hope, of existing in a body that would not fail her. All the world had to be seen and felt through the eyes of this lucky new creature, this new Margo Bailey. And like a dog straining at the leash, her new heart really seemed to want to be let loose. She continued her soft jog with a loop around the hospital grounds and became aware after a few moments that there was a large group of people running and screaming behind her.

  It would surely only take them a moment to catch up. Other people were always faster and stronger than herself. But the new heart urged her on and she couldn’t resist. She broke into a sprint, her heart pumping as fast and as hard as she needed it to. She didn’t stop until she’d arrived back at the front of the hospital, where Dr. Svenson stood, whom she made a beeline for. His mouth dropped, and Margo was thrilled to be able to share the moment with him. The doctor’s eyes filled with tears and Margo threw her arms around him.

  “Thank you, Dr. Svenson. Thank you for everything. I think I’m ready to go home now.”

  The posse that had been chasing her arrived, huffing and puffing, some collapsing on the ground. Margo noted their exhaustion with amazement. She had always a wanted a heart as strong as everyone else’s. But to be stronger than others? That was a possibility she could barely comprehend. Dr. Svenson examined the healthy young woman before him. This was no ordinary success. This was the power of the witch’s heart. But what lay ahead for her?

  “Be careful, my dear. You don’t want to overtax your new heart.”

  But anyone looking at her dazed and dreamy expression would suspect that Margo Bailey had no intention of slowing down. Not now.

  *****

  Bette was quite prepared to play the nurse for as long as need be. She had requested to take several days off work to fetch and carry meals and drinks, do the dishes, laundry, whatever she could to spare Margo from too much exertion. When she rolled out of bed the first morning after Margo’s return, she tiptoed into the hallway, not wanting to wake her sister unnecessarily.

  Margo’s door was open and Margo was nowhere to be seen. A frantic search through the small two-story house revealed that Bette was completely alone. She ran outside frantically.

  Behind their lavender gray Nantucket-style beach home, there was a sight to be seen. Margo was perched at the top of a tall ladder all the way up to the edge of the roof, and she appeared to be repairing some loose shingles.

  “Margo,” Bette called out softly, not wanting to startle her sister. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Good, you’re up. I need to hammer this on and I was worried all the noise would wake you up.”

  “Are you loco?”

  “Just give me two minutes,” Margo said.

  She cheerily hammered two loose shingles back into place and swiftly descended the ladder without a moment of hesitation.

  “Now we won’t need to have to pay to have it repaired. It was a really easy fix.”

  “You could have fallen,” Bette fussed.

  “But it’s a really good ladder. And I’ve got good balance.”
>
  “You just had a life-saving operation. I don’t know if this is really the right time to turn into a daredevil.”

  “I just wanted to test myself. To test the new heart. Just to stand on the bottom rung, and if that was okay, to go up one more rung, and then one more. I knew I could stop as soon as I got scared. I never thought I’d make it past four rungs. And then all of a sudden, I was touching the roof!”

  “But you always said that ladders make you nervous.”

  “They did. They absolutely did. And my old heart couldn’t stand being nervous. But Bette . . . my new heart! I think it will stay strong even if I’m doing something scary. The thing is . . . this wasn’t a very good test for it because it just didn’t feel all that scary.”

  “Oh, it’s bad enough. You’d never get me up that ladder.”

  Margo tried to suppress a big smile, but to no avail. She could handle something her older sister could not!

  Bette shook her head. “I’m starting to think I didn’t really need to take any days off.”

  “Oh, no. I’m glad you did. After breakfast, I was hoping I could get a little practice . . . driving your car.”

  “My car! My . . . Margo, you haven’t driven since you were sixteen.”

  “Yeah, but I still have that license. And it’s about to expire, so I could use a little practice before I take another driving test.”

  “Do you remember the last time I took you driving? I kept telling you . . . a little bit faster, try to go faster. And you said, I am going faster. And I said, you really need to try to get up to twenty-five miles an hour.”

  “Very funny. I was sixteen and I didn’t know how to do anything. Things are different now. Way different.”

  “All right, but only if we go out somewhere secluded. Nothing to run into. And if we run into something, you pay all the damages. I must be out of my mind.”

  Bette was only pretending to be put out. The sight of her fragile little sister tackling the daily chores of life with gusto was a thrilling contrast to the walking on eggshells existence of their past twenty years together.