Witching Hour

by Skylar Finn

  “What is that?” I said, mystified.

  “I don’t know,” said Tamsin. “That definitely doesn’t look electrical, that’s for sure.”

  “You think it’s magic?” I said in a hushed voice, frozen on the sidewalk.

  “Only one way to find out,” Tamsin said. I thought it was maybe a little presumptive, given our earlier discussion about a strange new entity potentially stalking me, but Tamsin was eighteen, headstrong, and unstoppable. She tugged the door handle, and when it gave way in her hand, she pulled it open with a long, low creak and disappeared inside. I had no choice but to follow.

  9

  Avant Garde

  “Cameron?” Tamsin called.

  I bumped into her as I stepped over the threshold. “Watch it, Shaggy,” she whispered. “We don’t know who’s in here with us.”

  “Where’s the light coming from?” I whispered back. It seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.

  “It feels like magic,” she whispered. “Strong magic.” The light suddenly went out, plunging us into darkness. I stumbled back and immediately stepped on Tamsin’s feet, then fell into a clothing rack. The hangers rattled loudly as the clothes tumbled to the floor.

  “What’s your problem?” I felt Tamsin’s hands close around me in the dark and pull me to my feet. “When did you get so clumsy, anyway? You’re like that girl in Twilight all of a sudden.”

  “You know you’ve read it,” I said as I fumbled around on the floor, trying to re-hang the clothes I pulled down. “Don’t act like you don’t know her name.”

  “Who is it?” A third voice cut through the darkness. It was Cameron. I imagined us as a cartoon, three sets of eyes wide in the dark room.

  “It’s us,” Tamsin called back. “What’s going on in here?”

  Cameron entered the room holding a long, tapered candle aloft in a candle holder. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked innocently.

  “Why is it dark?” I asked.

  “And what was that weird light in here?”

  “What light?” he asked. “This one?”

  “It didn’t look like that,” Tamsin said impatiently. The candle light cast shadows on our faces, her normally round cheeks cut into high, angular planes. “It was different.”

  “Girl, what are you talking about?” Cameron set the candle on the counter. He went around and flipped the wall switch behind the register. The shop flooded with light and I blinked, temporarily blinded by the sudden illumination.

  Tamsin glanced around. There was no sign of the light we’d seen from the street.

  “I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “Is there anyone here with you?”

  “Nobody here but us chickens,” he said.

  Tamsin looked unsatisfied, but resigned. I’d also thought the light was otherworldly, but Cameron didn’t know what we were talking about. I was prepared to let it go for the time being, though I knew the presence of other magic would weigh heavily on her mind. I was used to dismissing the random odd occurrences I experienced that had no apparent explanation, operating with a lifetime of denial on my side.

  “Do you have anything good?” I asked. “Tamsin wants to go to this art gallery tonight.”

  “Do I have anything good?” Cameron placed a hand to his chest, as if I’d injured him. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Something for an art show,” I said. “There’s somebody she wants to impress.”

  “So you want to look like a knock-out, but like you didn’t even try,” said Cameron knowingly.

  “Exactly,” said Tamsin. The thought of Cristo immediately distracted her from whatever concern the mysterious light might have incited. “These people are all older, more sophisticated, and more important than I am, so I need to look really good.”

  “First of all,” I said as Cameron flipped through the racks. “They are not more sophisticated than you are just because they think they are. They only are if you think they are. And they’re definitely not more important than you.”

  “Sis, all those aging vampires would kill to be your age, with bright shiny futures still ahead of them,” said Cameron. “People straight up sell their souls for immortality. You already have what they want.” He pulled a sheer black dress and what looked like a tuxedo jacket from the rack I’d recently decimated with my clumsy fumbling in the dark. “Try this.”

  Tamsin disappeared behind the velvet curtain of the dressing room. Cameron blew the candle on the counter out. “Who’s she trying to impress?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Her teacher,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

  “Lord help us.” He sighed. “Let’s hope she fails miserably at ruining her life with that one.”

  “I don’t know,” I said mildly, only a little sarcastic. “Maybe he’ll turn out to be the love of her life and they’ll walk the earth as soul mates.”

  “Hee, hee!” Cameron chortled his elf-like little laugh. “Maybe I’ll grow an extra ear tomorrow and run away to join the carnival.” He glanced towards the dressing room. “Let’s not be catty. Maybe they are soul mates.”

  “I’m not being catty,” I said with a shrug. “I just think he’s probably the devil.”

  “Wait, you mean like…literally?” Cameron looked at me with wide eyes.

  “No, not literally. I just think he’s probably a manipulative liar for whom the undue admiration of young women has become a kind of narcotic; a balm for his aging ego.”

  “Well, as long as she’s not having Rosemary’s baby.” He shrugged. “It’s unsurprising, if you think about it. Teacher porn is a popular subgenre in the world of erotica …so I’ve heard.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that, too,” I said casually.

  “What are you guys talking about?” called Tamsin from the dressing room.

  “Nothing,” we called back simultaneously.

  She swept the curtain back and came out, nervously tugging at the hem of her dress. “Do you think it’s too short? I think it’s too short, maybe.”

  “I think it’s just short enough.” Cameron went over and pulled a lint roller seemingly out of nowhere. He quickly rolled it over the tuxedo jacket shoulders and stood back to eye her critically. “Yes. Yes, that’s it.”

  “You look amazing,” I said sincerely. “Much too good for Cristo.”

  “Cristo?” Cameron exclaimed. “You guys are going to the Autumn in Phoenix show?”

  “Yes!” Tamsin practically squealed. “Are you?” She shot me a look that said I told you he was famous. I gave a noncommittal shrug.

  “I’ve had the flyer for weeks!” He plucked the card with the headless bodies on it out from under the register. “I was just getting changed when y’all got here.”

  “By candle light?” I asked, perplexed.

  “I find it romantic,” he said defensively. “As if I live in a better time than my own.”

  “No one’s judging you,” said Tamsin. “You live your best life however you see fit. I’m just so excited you’re going! We can all go together!”

  “Yay,” I said.

  “Don’t be such a Debbie Downer,” Cameron scolded me. “It’s not like you were doing anything, anyway.”

  The gallery was small and crowded. It wasn’t even technically an art gallery, but a vegan hot dog shop that was also a used bookstore, which I guess was supposed to make it more chic. But really, it just made everything smell like soy hot dogs and old books. The combination of this, along with Cristo’s artwork, felt like an assault on my senses.

  The headless bodies picture was the first thing we saw when we walked in, massively blown up and stretched across the back wall of the store. The air was thick with smoke from people openly smoking joints inside. It was also cloudy, with banana-scented puffs of vape juice dissipating into the air. We’d only been there thirty seconds and I already wanted to throw up.

  “Where is the wine,” mumbled Cameron, glancing from side to side. It was less of a question and more of a mandate. Meanwhile, Tams
in was preoccupied by her search for Cristo while pretending not to look for him at the same time. She gave quick little glances back and forth, then went back to studying the photographs on the wall with the stem of her glasses tucked thoughtfully in her mouth.

  I saw a table covered in bottles shoved against a wall in a nearby alcove and made a beeline for it. I surveyed the tiny plastic cups with dismay and took one of the coffee mugs next to the air pot instead. I filled it to the brim with wine as Cameron appeared beside me and did the same.

  I drained the first mug standing at the table and refilled it. Only then did I feel prepared to face the situation in which we found ourselves. Cameron felt otherwise.

  “Ugh! What is this?” He made a face as he sipped his wine. “I thought these people were supposed to be glamorous. This tastes like three-buck Chuck.” He tossed the remainder of his wine in a nearby potted plant and fixed himself a gin and tonic (heavy on the gin) from the open bar, which was little more than a series of bottles scattered across a folding table with a red tablecloth.

  “We should get back to Tamsin,” I said. I threw my second wine into the plant with Cameron’s. “Can you fix me one of those, too?”

  Gin in hand, we made our way back to the main room. I gazed at the pictures displayed with dismay: more headless bodies. Headless bodies playing golf, headless bodies at a board meeting. Headless bodies throwing a headless body into the trunk of a Ferrari.

  “Isn’t he amazing?” said Tamsin admiringly.

  “I believe it’s a commentary on capitalism and the greed of corporate culture,” I said, sucking gin off my lime.

  “You do?” asked Cameron. “I see it as more of a statement about our biology in a state of revolt against our souls.” He wrinkled his nose at the body in the bathtub holding a glass of Merlot. “I thought this body thing was like, one picture. Not a whole series.”

  “Don’t ruin this for me,” Tamsin hissed at us through gritted teeth just as Cristo appeared. He seemed to materialize out of nowhere and glided over to us on feet like wheels. I glanced at the floor. How was he moving?

  “Tamsin.” He sighed blissfully as he stopped beside us. “My most talented student.” He squeezed her shoulder and I choked back a gag. I was a little drunk.

  I wondered how old he was. It was hard to say. He had smooth tan skin and appeared to be aging well—late thirties, or late forties? I honestly couldn’t tell. It wasn’t that creepy, the difference in their ages. It wasn’t even the fact that he was charged with educating her and probably should have kept the two separate out of the archaic practice of applied ethics, if nothing else.

  It was his bottomless black eyes and the way he seemed to insinuate himself in the very air around her, as if he wanted nothing more than for her to belong to him and him alone. I shivered. He reminded me of the handsome vampire who moved to Sweet Valley and seduced Jessica Wakefield.

  “Cristo,” Cameron gushed. He could rub elbows like no one I knew. “I just love what you’ve done here. It’s simply fabulous.”

  “Cameron of Cameron’s Boutique!” Cristo embraced him and kissed both of his cheeks. “My warm and loving friend. I have bought so many scarves from you, but you are never there when I come by.”

  “That was you?” Cameron gasped. “I wondered where all my leopard print scarves were going.”

  I eyed Cristo. He was dressed head to toe in black, again, which I guessed was a thing with him—except for the jaunty little leopard scarf around his neck. Cristo turned to me. He seemed to gather immediately that any attempt to hug and kiss me would end with a slap to the face.

  “Ah, Tamsin’s lovely cousin!” I still couldn’t place his accent. I wondered if he made it up. “My fine auditor friend. Did you enjoy my class?”

  Tamsin turned to me with murder in her eyes. But I had no intention of either disappointing or embarrassing her.

  “I loved it,” I said, plastering a broad, phony smile across my face. “Your concept of spatial relations is so invigorating.”

  He placed a hand to his heart. “That’s what I always say to myself before I begin a class. I am so happy you could see it, even as an outsider.”

  This struck me as a little backhanded, but Tamsin looked relieved. I drained the rest of my drink. Cristo turned to Tamsin, looking into her soul with his bottomless eyes.

  “I couldn’t be happier that you are here,” he said. “Come, let me introduce you to some people you simply must meet. I have been talking so much about you.”

  “We’ll be at the bar,” I said, giving Tamsin her space instead of trailing her like a mother hen. She cast a grateful glance over her shoulder as I tugged Cameron back to the alcoholic alcove near the front door.

  “Are you sure that was wise?” he asked. “Most snakes swallow their prey whole. There’s little time to escape, even if you wanted to. Which she doesn’t.”

  “She’ll be fine,” I said, even as I spied on them from across the room. “She can handle herself.”

  “He does have exceptional taste,” Cameron admitted. “I know few straight men secure enough in their masculinity to wear leopard.”

  “Straight men? Does anyone even hang out with them anymore?” I heard a nasal laugh behind me. Cameron immediately paled.

  I turned to see a small but beautiful man in a smoking jacket and giant glasses. He looked like Idris Elba met up with a shrink ray.

  “Hello,” I said, puzzled at his sudden appearance. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Are you working here?” he asked me disdainfully. “Let me answer that for you: of course you’re not. My goodness, child, stop letting society condition servitude into you. You’ll never catch me offering to fetch and carry anything for anybody here, now will you.” It wasn’t a question. “Is it any wonder that women continue to be the only oppressed majority, with that attitude?” he continued ruthlessly.

  I felt confused and guilty. “I was just wondering if you wanted some gin,” I said meekly.

  “Obviously, I want gin, child.” I was pretty sure he was six to eight years younger than I was. “Cameron here is going to prepare it for me, aren’t you?” He removed an enormous purple-and-gold glittering vape from the inside pocket of his smoking jacket and took a deep puff. He looked at Cameron pointedly. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” he demanded.

  Cameron grimly set about making a cocktail for the mysterious stranger, looking utterly defeated. “Sam, this is…Montgomery Dupont.” He narrowed his eyes while he pronounced the name, as if it pained him, while he squeezed lime into a plastic cup.

  I knew there was something familiar about him. I remembered Cameron talking about him at the estate sale like a feared enemy. Something about him blogging about grandma clothes.

  “I see you’ve gone vintage as usual, Cam,” said Montgomery, accepting the cup as Cameron handed it to him. “That’s darling. Coco Chanel?”

  “Halston,” said Cameron.

  Montgomery laughed. It was a long, wicked laugh that began warmly and ended on a cruel note. “Forgive me. I’m simply illiterate when it comes to anyone dead. You know they all wore blood diamonds and fur, so I really can’t fathom paying homage by draping them across my woke body. But that’s just me.” He smiled happily at Cameron. I could tell he enjoyed tormenting him so much that he genuinely liked him, but Cameron just looked miserable.

  “I’m wearing Esprit,” I told him, just to distract him from Cameron. I would paint a target on my chest to protect him. “I once shopped at Wal-Mart for an entire month. Recently. I found the styles simple, classic, and accessible, in addition to being virtually free. Although I did have to throw them away after washing them once. I’ve heard of sustainable fashion, but I don’t know what that is. I had a pleather jacket by Kathy Ireland in the seventh grade.”

  Montgomery turned away from Cameron, who shot me a grateful look. Montgomery surveyed me, his eyes filled with sorrow.

  “Oh, my dear heart,” he said. “Let us adjourn to the fire escape. There is
hope in heaven for even the most lost of little lambs.”

  After a three-hour lecture from Montgomery Dupont and several gin and tonics, I felt like my world had been permanently altered. I’d lost track of Cameron, who I assumed was keeping an eye on Tamsin. I was startled when he reappeared.

  “Where’s Tamsin?” I asked. “And did you know I was using the wrong moisturizer?”

  He glanced at me pityingly. “Oh, honey. Everyone who knows you knows that, except for you.”

  I made a face at him. “Is she okay?”

  “I’m right here.” Tamsin materialized on the fire escape, climbing out after Cameron. Her face was flushed with red wine and infatuation and her eyes glowed. “Please stop treating me like a toddler who’s wandered into the street, Sam.”

  “Now, she—she is fabulous,” said Montgomery solemnly, indicating Tamsin. “You should make this girl your style icon.”

  “Were you thinking I was going to go home with Cristo?” Tamsin asked me. “Because I didn’t.”

  “I didn’t think that,” I said, softening. “You’re so much more street-smart and tough than I ever was. I know you can take care of yourself. And if that’s what you want to do, it’s your business. It’s not my place to judge you based on my own experiences.”

  Montgomery gasped. “You could have gone home with Cristo?!” I shot him a dirty look. He ignored me, eyeing Tamsin with approval. “Only a true G would turn down a god,” he said.

  “That’s what I always say,” said Cameron, sounding subdued.

  “My stars, you’re not still mad about those blogs, are you,” said Montgomery. “It’s just clickbait; you know this. I really am mad about your store. Old as everything in it is.”

  Cameron brightened considerably. I looked down at my phone and squealed before I could stop myself. Everyone turned to stare at me.

  “Sorry,” I said apologetically, embarrassed for myself. “Peter’s home.”

  I let myself into Peter’s apartment with the key he gave me. Peter was sitting at the table, across from the picture window that comprised one wall of his apartment. I hugged him from behind, burying my face in his shoulder. He always smelled like clean laundry and soap.