Utterly Charming

by Kristine Grayson

  He signed the preliminary confidentiality documents and then they walked to the hotel. When they entered the gold-trimmed double glass doors of the hotel and stepped into the mahogany and gold lobby, he got visibly nervous.

  Nora suppressed a smile. Did he think this was an elaborate seduction?

  “You can relax, Professor,” she said. “I’m holding the meeting here so that you know as little as possible, should you decide to back out of this.”

  He nodded, a tight nervous movement that meant he wanted to believe her but didn’t really. They entered the elevator and went to the eighth floor.

  As they stepped off the elevator, she could hear her mother’s voice, muffled, but filled with an unmistakable exasperation. “Bidet!” Amanda was saying. “It’s a bidet!”

  “Oh, shit,” Nora whispered. She had taken care of all the bathroom explanations, and Emma hadn’t liked a one of them. Nora sprinted for the room door, which wasn’t too far from the elevator, and unlocked it. The professor still stood near the elevator.

  “I do not understand ‘bidet.’ It makes no sense, if there is this toilet already.” Emma. And she was raising her voice.

  “Come on,” Nora said to the professor, and then pushed the hotel room door open. “We’re here!”

  “Thank heavens!” Nora’s mother said from the bathroom. “Will you explain to this child—”

  “Mother,” Nora said. “Both of us are here.”

  “Oh,” Amanda said.

  “The professor would like to meet his pupil,” Nora said as the professor came in the room. She closed the door behind him. They were in a suite, with a small living room complete with couch, two easy chairs, a desk, and a large television set.

  The professor frowned at Nora as if he couldn’t quite imagine what he had walked into.

  Emma came out of the bathroom. She was wearing her own pair of jeans (she had decided she liked jeans) and a loose-weave top that Nora’s mother had found at some outdoor clothing stand. She looked angry, as she often did when confronted with cleanliness rituals. Bodily functions were not her strong suit. At that moment, Nora promised herself that it was up to Amanda to explain tampons and gynecologists to Emma. It was about time Amanda explained those items to somebody; heaven knew she hadn’t explained either to Nora.

  Emma said, “I still do not comprehend all these items for such simple functions. It would seem to me that one sink and one hole in the ground would be sufficient—”

  “Emma,” Nora said, loudly, hoping to drown out the rest of Emma’s words, “this is Professor Jeffrey Chawsir. He wants to meet you. He is considering helping you with your education.”

  Emma peered at him. He peered back, apparently not impressed by her beauty. Nora stared at him. He was the first man who hadn’t looked at Emma as if she were a supermodel come to life.

  “What sort of help do you need with your education?”

  “Ah, everything,” Nora’s mother said from the bathroom. “The girl is a blank slate.”

  “That is not true,” Emma said. “I am very well educated for my time.”

  “Your time was a long time ago, sweetie,” Amanda said as she came out of the bathroom. She stopped when she saw the professor. Their eyes met, and Amanda actually blushed. Nora had never seen Amanda blush, not in thirty-five years, not through four husbands, and certainly not when anyone else would have blushed. “Jeffrey.”

  “Amanda.” He held out his hands, took hers, and brought her in for a kiss that lasted a moment too long to be formal. Emma looked at Nora and raised her eyebrows. Nora shrugged in return.

  The professor stepped back. He was blushing, just like Amanda was. “I never thought I would see you again.”

  “Never is a long time when you get as old as we are.”

  “You haven’t aged a day since I saw you last.”

  Nora’s mother laughed. “You still have that wicked way with a lie.”

  He took her hand and led her to the couch. “I didn’t realize you were in Portland.”

  “I have been for decades,” Amanda said, making the word sound like “days.” “I didn’t realize you were either.”

  “I’m not. I’m in Eugene, teaching medieval studies.”

  “Medieval studies. You’ve always enjoyed the past.”

  “Still enamored with the future?”

  Nora’s mother sighed. “Not like I was.”

  “Mother?” Nora asked.

  Amanda glanced at the professor. “Jeffrey and I went to school together. High school.”

  “And part of college,” he said.

  Amanda looked down. “I don’t like to think of that.”

  Nora had no idea her mother had gone to college. She had always insisted that Nora go, saying that without it, a girl had to depend on her man.

  He kept Amanda’s hand clasped in his. “Your daughter wants to hire me.”

  “I know,” Amanda said. “It’s to help me.”

  “Actually,” Nora said. “It’s to—”

  Amanda shot her a look that meant be quiet in every language known to man.

  “—help me,” Emma said.

  “I’m caring for the girl,” Amanda said. “And believe me, she needs some help.”

  Emma scowled at that. Nora did too. “Let me tell him, Mother.”

  “No,” Amanda said. “You two leave us. We’ll discuss this.”

  “I can’t take Emma out of here, Mother,” Nora said.

  “That’s all right,” the professor said. “I’ll take the job.”

  “You don’t even know what it is,” Nora said.

  He smiled. “I know all I have to,” he said.

  ***

  So they became a strange foursome, Nora, Emma, Amanda, and the professor. They worked out a system where Emma got her daily dose of education, Nora got her work done, and the professor and Amanda rekindled their friendship, whatever it had been. When Nora arrived home at night, she heard from Emma about all the wonderful things she had learned, from the evolution of clothing (one day’s lesson) to an overview of the history of the western world (one week’s lesson). The professor seemed to understand that his pupil was odd, and he obviously didn’t agree with Amanda’s explanation of why, but he didn’t quiz Emma either, and he never brought it up to Nora. He simply did the work, and in doing so, calmed Emma more than Nora or Amanda ever could. It seemed that knowledge gave Emma strength, real knowledge, knowledge she could question, not the superficial knowledge that Blackstone had promised her.

  Nora respected that about Emma. Emma seemed for all her apparent youth and confusion to know herself real well. She knew how she functioned, she knew how she learned, and she knew who she was, despite her drastic change of time zones. Nora wasn’t that grounded in her own world. She couldn’t imagine being that grounded in someone else’s.

  They spent a month like this. A month in which no one mentioned magic, or Blackstone, or Sancho—who hadn’t even cashed his check—or Ealhswith. Nora wouldn’t let her mother relax her vigilance, and neither, strangely, would the professor. Emma had no real desire to explore much beyond the apartment, the parks, and selected portions of the city. Those seemed to be more than enough for her, which, when Nora thought about it, made perfect sense.

  They had finally settled into a routine, and Nora felt as if she could put the strangeness of the past month behind her, as she had put the original meeting with Blackstone and the subsequent burning of that neighborhood behind her. Her mood improved, her workload felt good, and the divorce was progressing.

  And then, everything changed.

  ***

  It began with a call from another attorney. Hank Geffon was an older man, known for his work in difficult cases. He was good. He was expensive. He was quite apologetic.

  “Nora,” he said. “Do you have a client named Emma Lost?”

  “Yes,” she said. She was in her office, in the middle of some dictation, finishing a preliminary report in a case that she hoped wouldn’t go past the
judge. The question made her stiffen. How had another attorney learned of Emma?

  “Do you know her mother, Ally Swith?”

  “Ally Swith?” Nora asked, instantly on alert. Ealhswith? These people and their fake names. “My client’s mother is dead.”

  “Hmm,” Hank said. “I think we have a problem here, Nora. I’m going to have to send over some documents, unless you want to let me know how to reach Emma Lost.”

  “No can do, Hank. My client guards her privacy.”

  “So I hear.”

  Nora’s hands had become clammy, but she had good control of her voice. “What else do you hear?”

  “That Emma Lost has been institutionalized for the past decade or more. My client says she’s tried this before. She’s been declared incompetent. My client says that she’s Emma’s legal guardian.”

  “And she’s her mother?”

  “That too.”

  Nora couldn’t remember what Sancho had put on the birth certificate. To be completely honest, she hadn’t looked. Not that it mattered. The damn documents were fake.

  “You’re right, Hank. We do have a problem. Who is this Ally Swith?”

  “She says she’s your client’s mother.”

  “I mean who is she, Hank? What does she do? Where does she live? Where’s she from?”

  “Nora, I think we’re getting into an area we should avoid.” His tone was ever so slightly patronizing. She felt her shoulders relax an inch. He didn’t know. And he hadn’t thought to ask.

  “I don’t think it’s anything to avoid,” Nora said.

  “Let me send over the documents, and you can look them over. Then call your client. We’ll proceed from there.”

  He hung up. Nora stared at the phone for a long time, then swore softly under her breath. She should have known better than to trust Sancho. Hadn’t Max said, all those years ago, that Sancho had worked for Ealhswith? What if he’d been working for her all along? Nora had taken the documents because it was easier, because she didn’t have to do it herself.

  She closed her clammy hands into fists and counted to ten. She was getting way too worked up. She wasn’t keeping her usual professional calm. Why? Because she already felt guilty about those documents. Maybe they could save her. Maybe Sancho had already taken care of those things.

  Not that she would want them introduced as evidence in court. That would be all she needed; turning in fake (illegal!) documentation to a judge.

  But not every case went to court, and as good and expensive as Hank was, he really hated to sweat. If she made him think this case would be difficult, then she might have him, no matter what Ealhswith did.

  Slowly she unclenched her fists. Her breathing was becoming regular. What was it that Max told her, early on, during her first difficult case? There wasn’t anything that a good attorney couldn’t overcome. It wasn’t about the truth, it was about the story and whose story was the best. If it did go to court, Nora’s story would be the best, plain and simple. If. Court was a big if.

  “Damn,” she whispered again. She should have known that Ealhswith went away too easily. She had trusted it, had thought those simple words were enough to drive the woman away. She hadn’t thought it through. The woman had fought Blackstone for the custody of Emma for a thousand years. Why did Nora think she would suffer a different fate?

  And what the hell was so important about Emma anyway that Ealhswith was willing to fight that hard? It wasn’t about parenthood—she wasn’t Emma’s mother, or even her stepmother—and it couldn’t be about mentoring. You’d think that after, say, two hundred years, even the most dedicated teacher would give up.

  No. There had to be something else. And she would find out what it was.

  ***

  “That’s it for the first volley? That’s it?”

  Ealhswith paced around Hank Geffon’s huge office. It was ostentatious, with too much brass trim and mahogany furniture. A man’s office, a place that projected the wrong kind of power.

  What had she been thinking coming here?

  “Trust me, Mrs. Swith. We must proceed slowly.” Geffon’s unctuous voice grated on her nerves. She turned, wondering if he would look better as a monkey or a mouse. He was fat and balding and wore a suit that was worth more than his sofa.

  A snake. Some sort of reptile. Something without a voice box.

  Her fingers twitched, but she held them tightly against her. She couldn’t change him, not here, not in his office.

  “Slowly?” she said. “All we’ve been doing is go slow. I came to you a month ago.”

  “First, we had to draw up the papers. And find your daughter’s primary psychiatrist.”

  That had been a trick. The weasly little man from the nearby mental institution had looked surprised as each and every word about Emma had come out of his mouth. He’d even sweated. Ealhswith had had to work on repressing a smile. It was so easy to make these creatures lie.

  He looks like he had something to hide, Geffon had said.

  No, she had thought. He had nothing to hide at all.

  “Your conversation just seemed too polite to me,” Ealhswith said. “Why didn’t you let her know we have them dead to rights and that she should let me see my daughter?”

  “I did.” Geffon folded his hands. “Trust me, Mrs. Swith. Your daughter will be back in your custody by the end of the week.”

  Ealhswith whirled, facing all the LeRoy Neiman limited editions on the wall. What had she been thinking, hiring this man? He couldn’t even afford originals. As if anyone would want originals of athletes. Ealhswith nearly spit to show her disgust.

  “Who knows what my daughter has been through?” she said, attempting to keep her voice level. Her fingers were still twitching. “She could have been irreparably harmed by now.”

  “I showed you the detective’s report,” Geffon said. “Nora is a good and dedicated attorney, and she seems to have taken a personal interest in your daughter for some reason.”

  “She hasn’t gotten her professional help, though, has she?” Ealhswith said. “Emma needs her doctors.”

  Geffon sighed. “Right now, Emma seems fine.”

  “Emma is not fine! She thinks she’s a witch from the Dark Ages. Who knows what she’ll do!” Ealhswith added just enough panic in her voice to sound like a worried mother. She kept her back to Geffon so that he wouldn’t see how calm she actually was.

  “Mrs. Swith, if we don’t take the proper legal action in the proper manner, the court could overturn your petition. I know Nora. I tried to hire her for this firm once. She’s one of the best attorneys in the city, and she’ll make sure every i is dotted and every t is crossed. If we don’t do the same, you could lose custody of your daughter.”

  Ealhswith clenched her fist. Becoming a snake was too good for this worm. Maybe she’d change him into an actual worm. A night crawler, or half a dozen night crawlers. Then she’d sell him for bait.

  Instead, she turned and let her anger show in her eyes. “Are you saying, Mr. Geffon, that I need a better attorney?”

  His mouth opened slightly. The worm obviously wasn’t used to being questioned. “No,” he said. “I’m saying that I’m more than a match for Nora if you let me do my job.”

  Ealhswith suppressed a sigh. She had no idea the wheels of mortal justice ground so slowly. Too slowly for her. But now that she had them in gear, she wouldn’t stop them.

  Although she would take a new tack.

  “Is your detective’s report accurate?”

  “Of course.” Geffon bristled for a moment, and then she shared her most cunning look with him. It seemed to calm him. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because, if the report is true, your fine attorney friend is leaving my daughter with a professor and a woman with no discernible occupation, who seem to spend their days taking her to various parks. Is that the proper treatment for a mentally ill girl?”

  “No,” Geffon said. “I’ve mentioned it in my report. I could get a local psychologist to commen
t on the inappropriateness, though. You realize I’ll have to add that to your tab.”

  “Of course,” Ealhswith said. She didn’t care about the money. Let the worm spend a small fortune. It wouldn’t matter in a day or so anyway. What did matter was that she take action on her own.

  And she already had a plan.

  A plan Ms. Nora Barr left open for her.

  Ealhswith was uninvited—in Nora Barr’s home. But Nora Barr didn’t control the public parks.

  Ealhswith rubbed her hands together. Sooner or later, even the best opponents made a mistake.

  ***

  Lunch at Quixotic was apparently very good. That was Nora’s first thought as she circled the block several times, looking for a good parking space. The tiny lot beside the restaurant was full. Quixotic wasn’t too far from Powell’s Bookstore, just off Burnside, on one of the side streets that had been undergoing part of the neighborhood renovation. The building was old, but the decor was new. The neon outside made the entire place very appealing to the young crowd, but the hint of wood and greenery made it comfortable for adults as well.

  The line going out the door was the thing that looked daunting to Nora. She doubted the owner would have time to talk.

  She hesitated. Was she really here to discuss Ealhswith, or had she decided that she had gone too long without seeing Blackstone? Was she here for a Beautiful-Man Fix or to get information?

  Beautiful-Man Fix. That was what it had to be. She could have called him. It would have been smarter to call him. In fact, she would do that.

  She switched her briefcase to her other hand and started back to the car. At that moment, a familiar nasal voice said beside her, “You know, he’s got a table set aside for you.”

  She looked down. Sancho was standing at her right, near her briefcase—in fact, she had almost whacked him with it—and he was staring up at her. He was wearing a seersucker jacket and matching pants. They looked very seventies. She wondered if that was his decade of choice, or if he were merely going through all his light fashions—from all the centuries—during the hottest part of Portland’s summer.