by Iris Kincaid
So much for seclusion. Not a chance. Margo wanted to zip up and down the freeway. “Let’s have lunch in Falmouth and then drive back.”
“Margo, you’re not just stronger, you’re . . . different.”
“I’m not different. I just don’t need to be so careful anymore. I don’t need to keep worrying about the things I can’t do.”
“So . . . the Prada glasses?”
The green tinted, black and silver rimmed designer sunglasses were Margo’s prized possession, certainly her most expensive indulgence.
Like all other acquisitions, it was bought on the understanding that Bette would inherit it after Margo’s untimely death. They were super cool. And Margo had always known they would look fantastic on her sister.
“Forget about it. My glasses! My glasses! I’m going to be needing them for the foreseeable future. And for the unforeseeable future. As a matter of fact, I intend to wear those glasses to my seventieth birthday party. So, you just get your beady eyes off them.”
The sisters laughed and couldn’t stop. What a turning point for Margo. Such confidence about the future, and why not? Her endurance was remarkable and her frame of mind followed suit. There would be no more grim updates to her will. There was no reason to think that her strength and vitality were going to wane anytime in the near future.
Lilith was not so impressed. Strength. Endurance. Energy. Those were small matters. Though she smugly remembered hearing all the world around her complaining of being tired and knowing that to be a completely foreign sensation to her—as was fear, which she was happy to see the girl slowly discovering. But endurance and attitude were not going to be enough, not even close. This girl needed skills. And with Margo not being connected to the witch community, their development was going to require some planning.
*****
It was a big day for Lilith Hazelwood. In the morning, there was to be an estate sale of her lifelong home and all its possessions. In the afternoon was to be her funeral. It was actually quite an unofficial estate sale. But it was a long-standing tradition for witches in this community to protect their practices and secrets by stripping the home of their dead of any incriminating evidence of magic crystals, wands, herbs, and most especially spell books, all the tools of the trade, so to speak. Not that the average citizen of Oyster Cove would be able to accomplish much with them, but such findings often led to public hysteria. Besides which, there might be some unexpected treasures that they could actually use.
There were some dozen witches milling around the large house. None of them had been inside before. It was unexpectedly cheerful. They would’ve bet good money that Lilith’s home would reek of gloom. Instead, it was tidy, cozy, even downright tastefully decorated. The English country design appeared to belie a nostalgia for times gone by . . . plush velvet sofas, gleaming polished wood, a large brick fireplace, and, most surprising, floor to ceiling bookcases, filled with vintage reading. Could Lilith possibly have admired the words of lowly humans? Or was the impressive collection just for ambiance?
None of the witches there had actually been friends of Lilith. She had made it very clear throughout her long life that she had no need of their friendship. Some disliked her, but most admired her from a fearful distance as the pinnacle of witchly accomplishment.
There were a couple of dozen spell books, which were quickly spirited away, but not much else, and that was a testament to Lilith’s innate powers. She had not required the enhancements that most of them used to channel their strengths such as talismans or amulets. Her abilities emanated from her mind and body with little need for assistance.
By the time the witches allowed the general public to come in, they had satisfied themselves that all signs of their community were safely under wraps. Most of them had made their exit by mid-morning. After all, they had a funeral to attend. Being such a small community, it was obligatory to pay one’s respects—even though no one could have been entirely sure that Lilith would have attended theirs.
But a few lingered behind and were still there when Margo and Dr. Svenson entered. Margo had begged the doctor for some kind of information or connection to the woman whose death had given her this powerful new lease on life.
She entered the house awestruck, overcome with reverence and gratitude. All the while that she’d been waiting for a heart to be available, she had never lost sight of the fact that someone would have to lose their life in order for her to have a chance to live. Now she was standing in the home of the woman who had made that sacrifice. There would never be an opportunity to meet her or to thank her, nor even to thank her relatives, since the doctor said there were none. But she did want to find a keepsake, something to remind her of the woman to whom she was indebted.
She wandered out onto the back porch and spotted the perfect thing, a blue vase that reminded her of a seashell. She would give it a place of honor in her own home. As she was about to reenter the house, she was met at the back door by Delphine Sykes, who was looking at her with the oddest expression.
“My dear girl, you’re looking so well. You’re practically glowing. This is quite some difference from when I saw you last.”
Margo nodded happily. “That seems a lifetime ago.”
Delphine drew closer, and her mouth dropped in amazement. “I had no idea that you’re one of us. How on earth did I miss it?”
Margo tilted her head in confusion. “One of us? Who is us?”
Delphine examined her sharply. “Your powers. I can always sense them, but . . .” It was clear that Margo had no idea what she was talking about. “What has happened to you, Margo?”
“I got a heart transplant. I’m going to be healthy now, as healthy as anyone else. Maybe even healthier. I came here today . . . I don’t know, I guess it may sound silly, but it was the woman who lived here whose heart I have. Her name was Lilith Hazelwood. Did you know her?”
Delphine shook her head in amazement. “Indeed I did, my dear. We were acquaintances of long standing.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss. I’d love to hear more about her one day, when you’re ready.”
“I had no idea that Lilith Hazelwood was an organ donor,” Delphine said pointedly. “Who conducted the operation?”
“Dr. Svenson,” Margo said proudly. “He’s right in the next room.”
“I must congratulate him on his stunning success,” Delphine said innocently. “He must be a very talented man.”
“Yeah, you should do that. I keep thanking him over and over, but he’s just amazing. He should hear it from someone else too.”
Delphine left to accost the good doctor, who was in Lilith’s kitchen, hoping to find some clues to her unusual existence. After all, it was he who had made her body a part of so many lives. He didn’t regret it for a moment, but he did wonder about the ramifications. Hmm. Graham crackers and Nutella in her cupboard, much like his own pantry. Somehow, he never would have figured Lilith for a sweet tooth.
“Dr. Svenson. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Delphine Sykes. And I would like to know who gave you permission to slice and dice and dismember Lilith Hazelwood? Is it your policy to disregard conventional protocol when it comes to members of a particular community?”
Dr. Svenson’s eyes flew wide open. “I take it that you are a member of this community.”
“I am.”
“Was Lilith a friend of yours?”
“Lilith Hazelwood did not have friends. She had no need of friends.”
“And Margo Bailey? You know her well?”
“Not well at all. I only knew that she was doing very poorly, and now . . .”
“Yes, now. You see how she is now. How beautifully she is doing now. I have no apologies for my actions, and I’m prepared to accept any and all consequences from the authorities, as well as from yourself. The health and future of that girl are the only justifications I needed.”
“Bit of an outlaw, aren’t we, Dr. Svenson?” Delphine mused.
“She has a go
od heart now, and I suspect you also have a good heart.”
The doctor’s affection for Margo was enough to dissolve Delphine’s irritation.
Delphine sighed. “If you’ll excuse me, Doctor, I have a funeral to attend.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The funeral was surprisingly well-attended by some thirty witches, which was almost the entire witch population of Oyster Cove. Lilith herself hovered nearby, which was to be expected. A handful of attendees were keenly aware her presence. It was not such an unusual thing to be able to see ghosts. Much rarer was the ability to hear them. Many who did not have this ability counted themselves lucky. Who wanted to spend their time talking to unhappy ghosts? And if a ghost is hanging around, they’re probably unhappy.
Delphine was not so lucky. Lilith made a beeline for her.
“Delphine Sykes. I call on your assistance.”
“Lilith. I can’t tell you how . . . how shocked we all were to find out . . . umm . . . assistance?”
“You have met this girl, Margo Bailey. My body lives on. My heart still beats. My powers are still there. Under the surface, but weak, dormant, untrained. You must teach her spells, tools, mind, emotion, and control. She will never have my full abilities, of course. But to even have a fraction of them is a seed that might grow to unimaginable size, given the right guidance.”
“But why do you care? Who is this girl to you? Unless I’m mistaken, she is a complete stranger. How can you benefit from this? And why are you still here?”
“Have you not wondered about my demise? I hope you’re not foolish enough to think that it was a natural accident. Dark forces were at work . . . an enemy I wasn’t even aware of. But I must know. I must find out who, and I must have my vengeance. I call on this favor from someone who owes me her life.”
“I?”
“The girl.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Lilith. She seems an unlikely candidate. There’s very little darkness in her. And I think she has certainly experienced enough trauma in her young life already.”
“What of your own life?” Lilith demanded. “There’s something out there powerful enough to have killed me. Surely, you can take an interest in that.”
Delphine couldn’t deny it. “Yes, that is something that poses a danger to all of us. Anyone who was able to kill you may strike any of us, at any time. Of course we need to know. But Margo Bailey doesn’t deserve to be in danger. And it will take some time, at any rate, for her to learn and accept what she is now. She is likely to be frightened. There’s no guarantee that she can handle it.”
“She will. You will see to that. Do not let me down, Delphine Sykes.”
At that moment, both of their attention was drawn to a new arrival to the funeral. It was Fiona Skretting, long regarded as the second-most powerful witch in Oyster Cove. Only now, she was indisputably the first. She stood at a distance from the other attendees and looked upon the proceedings with what could only be regarded as smug satisfaction. Delphine and Lilith regarded one another. Lilith bristled.
“I will try,” Delphine promised.
*****
Margo had returned to work almost immediately. Convalescence was unnecessary, and she was infused with health and energy, so why not? At the end of this particular evening, it occurred to her that she had the strength to take care of many of the things that she’d delegated before, for fear of exertion. Such as the garbage.
It had been a long time since she was in the back alley. As she was about to fling the garbage bags into the small dumpster, she heard a small screech near her foot. A beige and white tabby cat darted away.
“Oh. Sorry about that.”
She noticed the smell wafting from a bag of trash from The Clam Shack, smells that must have been irresistible to a feline.
“All right, all right, I’ll give you a hand.”
Hmmm. Margo had never given cats much thought. Dogs, on the other hand . . . she had wanted a dog since she was very young. But her great aunt wouldn’t hear of it. It was bad enough that she was raising two young girls at her advanced age. She certainly wasn’t going to add a dog to the mix.
Their neighbor had gotten himself a sweet little dog. Margo hadn’t even known what type of dog it was. Some mix that even Mr. Phillips wasn’t sure about, since it had been a rescue dog. A little terrier in it, for sure. It was a nice, manageable size—perfect for an eighty-two-year-old man who could pick him up, if necessary, and also not have to contend with a strong behemoth dragging him around the neighborhood.
But Margo admired them from a distance. After she was grown, she was so certain for a while that she would get one, but she got sidetracked by opening up the theater. And then, two years ago, Mr. Phillips died. Oh, how forlorn that dog had been. One of the neighbors volunteered to take him in for a while, but he was constantly jumping their fence or breaking away from its leash to stand on his old front porch and howl at the front door.
What heartache for the poor thing. First to endure his first bout of abandonment before his rescue. Then to lose the security and love he had found with Mr. Phillips. Margo so wanted to take him in and provide him with a warm, secure place to the end of his days. Except . . . she had had no assurance that he wouldn’t outlive her. How awful that would be for a poor dog who had already been through so much. To deal with the death and disappearance of yet another owner! She couldn’t do it to him.
So she watched with mixed feelings as an ad at the local café landed him a permanent home across town. Good for him. At the time, she also thought—good for her, too. Another important lesson learned. No long-term commitments. No deep attachments. No setting anyone up to be devastated by her departure. Not if it could be helped.
But now, all the old concerns and restrictions were falling away. She could get a dog if she wanted to. Too bad she wasn’t really interested in a cat. She carefully opened the garbage bag and pulled out a nice piece of fish.
“Here you go, buddy. You’ll like this.”
The cat paced before her nervously, sometimes advancing and snarling and then backing away, looking at her helplessly.
“What is your problem? This even looks good to me, and it’s garbage.”
Sighing, she got on her knees and held out the piece of fish. To her surprise, the cat came to her immediately and wolfed it out of her hands.
“That’s what I thought. Shall I see if we can find another one?” She stood up and the cat screeched again and ran away.
“This is why I never wanted a cat,” Margo said. “You’re crazy.”
She located another piece of fish, but again, the cat paced back and forth, moving forward and screeching at her and backing away. Weird. Again, she got on her knees, and the cat ran in to gulp down his second course. Margo stood again, to be met with more screeching.
It only took a few more repeats of the odd pattern of behavior for Margo to figure out the rhyme and reason behind it. Any time her foot came near him, the cat was terrified. When she reached for him with her hand for food, he was okay, and when she reached for him with her hand to pet him, he was okay, but coming too close to her foot put him on high alert. This cat had been kicked. So often, that human feet terrified him. How awful. He needed someone to be kind to him. And in that moment, Margo became a cat person. She found another small handful of food, gathered the cat tightly in her arms, and took a cab home.
*****
The newcomer gingerly explored his new surroundings. Their living room was a pillow and cushion filled shabby chic decor, which had no shortage of soft things for a feline to nestle on. Thankfully, there was no black furniture, or they’d have had to start vacuuming twice a day. Instead, the cat complemented the green and beige color scheme rather nicely.
Bette shook her head. “It’s a cat. It was supposed to be a dog. It was always all about the dog.”
“I know. But he shouldn’t be out on his own without anyone to take care of him. He’s so scared of everything.”
“That’s a good name for hi
m—Scaredy-Cat.”
“Lovely. No, you are not going to call him Scaredy-Cat. He’s been through enough. I can’t think of a decent name though. You have to help me out.”
Bette looked off into the distance. She had quite a good imagination. Margo was sure she would nail it.
“Got it! New heart. New cat. Newhart. It’s a name! Perfect to celebrate all your new beginnings.”
“You mean Newheart. Is that with two Es?”
“No, you don’t want him to be a freak. Just regular old Newhart.”
It was fitting, Margo couldn’t deny. New cat. New life. Newhart.
*****
Margo had just left the veterinarian. He’d given Newhart a full checkup and a psychological screening. Being the victim of abuse and abandonment, Newhart was filled with insecurity. Margo would need to keep him close and provide constant reassurance. Even leaving him alone at home was probably not a good idea at this stage of his development. They really needed to bond.
So, it was with Newhart tucked in his cozy little carrier that Margo strolled down the boardwalk. A figure that she spotted several yards ahead made her come to a dead stop. It was Russell Knox, a face from her past that never failed to fill her with shame. She’d only seen him at a distance in the last few years, and before then, not since high school.
The day seared into her memory was of Russell being bullied by three larger kids as she was headed home from the library. They were from her eighth-grade cohort, with Russell being a year younger than the rest. Such moments were the worst thing about her old weak heart. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she were the only one to suffer from her limitations. But in that moment, she hadn’t had the strength or the courage to offer help when it was badly needed.
They were poking fun at his clothes, of all things. It appeared his crime was having pants that were too short and a little too tight. Margo had suspected that this particular fashion crime owed more to pinched financial resources than to lack of fashion acumen. But those oafs hadn’t cared. They seemed delighted to stumble across something worthy of their scorn.
