Thursday, 23 May 2019, Evening
Paxwood, Whatcom County, Washington, USA
Eyewitness: Kerry
My mother pulled into the driveway at the same time as me.
“Were you out looking for Char?” she asked as she stepped out of her car.
“The Musos told you?”
She nodded. “I had a chat with the police chief to make sure officers on patrol keep an eye out for her. Her parents really hope they’re just being paranoid, so they’re not ready to file an official missing persons report, even though I told them they don’t have to wait forty-eight hours. I’m not the mayor yet, but I’ll use all the clout I’ve got to mobilize the town if Char hasn’t surfaced by midnight.”
“I wish I could do more to help.”
My mother gave me a hug. “Best thing we can do right now is rest up and stay clear-headed. If you think of something that might explain this, tell me. Anything, no matter how small. Even the tiniest whisper of an uncomfortable feeling about a person who’s been hanging around Char, or anything she said she was worried about.”
I wasn’t about to tell my mother that most likely Char was about to be sacrificed to a demon in a haunted house, but it was okay because a one-armed swordswoman would bring her home safe. Neither of us needed that conversation.
“Thanks.”
When I collapsed onto my bed, it was strange to think it was still Thursday. The same Thursday when Char had been so cold to me at lunch. The same Thursday I’d gone to Paxwood House with Mx. Cardoso and discovered Sleeping Handsome.
I hadn’t even told Rowen about Sleeping Handsome or the magic well. Hopefully, she’d check with Mx. Cardoso.
Once Char was safe, I’d make it completely clear to Mx. Cardoso and Rowen that I was out. I wasn’t equipped for this, and my heart couldn’t take it if I just kept getting people hurt, let alone if someone…
That wasn’t worth thinking about at the moment.
I’d find other safer stories to pursue. Ordinary, mundane things. The ghosts and the faeries would take care of their own stories.
I turned over in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, and as I did, the moonlight through the window illuminated a sticky note attached to the diamond bookshelf on my desk.
It was a little wooden shelf with four interlinked squares sitting on their corner instead of flat on one side. Just big enough to rest some paperbacks or my journals of handwritten research notes.
The sticky note read: “Thanks for encouraging me to take a chance.”
I remembered.
The first day of high school was always Freshman Day. During the assembly, Char and I sat shoulder to shoulder.
“This auditorium is amazing,” I said. “So much better than assemblies in the cafeteria.”
Although we’d get paper schedules in our homeroom classes, after the assembly, most students already had their digital schedules pulled up on their phones. The district used the same app, same accounts, same passwords from middle school to high school, so the process was familiar.
“I signed up for the culinary class, but I’m in shop,” Char said, furrowing her brow. She’d been so excited about doing a cooking class in school, being able to come home and talk about techniques with her chef mother. But when she tilted her phone toward me, her schedule listed Workshop, with the name Cardoso as the teacher.
“Wait. Cardoso.” I looked up at the stage lined with teachers, and sure enough, among the mix, there was one of the Cardosos. The youngest of the family. The kid genius was back from college already? “That’s the shop teacher, there.”
“Okay, but I wanted culinary arts. I’ve got to talk with my counselor,” Char said.
But the assembly was getting started, and we were getting hushed. I bumped Char’s shoulder.
“We’ve got the same English class fourth period, so we’ve got the same lunch, and your shop class is after, so I’ll walk you to there.”
“Thanks.”
In English, we swapped stories and annoyed our teacher with our familiarity. Lunch passed smoothly. The high school cafeteria proved to have the same quality of food as the middle school, since it all came from the same central kitchen at the heart of the school district. Then it was time for Char to go to shop class.
As I walked with her, I told her everything I knew about the Cardoso family, how they established the first auto shop and gas station in town, the names of the brothers and what they were up to, all of it.
“If you decide you want to switch out, I get it,” I said. “But you can also give it a chance, just for the experience. It’s only one hour, and you can probably switch at the semester break if you don’t like it.”
Char shrugged. “What do you even do in a class like this? Study engines?”
“Anything your heart imagines, carpentry to machinery, we find ways to make it possible,” Mx. Cardoso said. Neither of us realized they were right beside us, coming back from their own lunch. “Mx. Cardoso, they/them. You’ve got my family history memorized better than me, you know.”
Mx. Cardoso had a five o’clock shadow and long hair in a ponytail, a flowery blouse, and men’s trousers. They defied gender conventions, so I knew I hadn’t misheard them.
“Kerry, she/her,” I replied.
“Char, also she/her.” Char blushed. “I hope I wasn’t being insulting.”
“You’re a student in an elective she didn’t choose because the elective wasn’t even on the list when you made your selection,” Mx. Cardoso said. “That’s the least concerning thing to be confused about. No offense taken.”
Close to the end of the semester, Char gifted me the diamond bookshelf as a thanks. The next school year, she’d loved shop so much that she signed up again. Whether it was working with her hands or working with Mx. Cardoso, or a combination of the two, she’d found something she enjoyed by trying something new. And she learned not to back down from a challenge, too.
I’d gotten Char, Adrien, and Mx. Cardoso hurt. When I tried to talk to Char at lunch, I’d swallowed back my words, just like I had when I took her on that New Moon investigation. But could I really leave it at that because things were hard? Could I live with myself if I wasn’t there?
I could decide whether to leave all the magic stuff behind and embrace normalcy after I saw this through. I needed to help Char, so I could tell her how I felt with nothing between me and the message. If she rejected me, I could move on. If she died tonight, I never would.
I swung out of bed and put on my shoes, then approached my mother’s bedroom door. “I… I’m thinking I’m going to head over to the Musos and wait with them? Is that okay?”
I half expected her to hold me tight and never let go, worried I might vanish in the night, but she gave me the softest smile.
“Check with them first, but if they’re okay with it, you can go. Trust your gut, and if anything feels off at all, make sure you’re somewhere safe. Here or the Musos. Okay?”
I worked so hard to build that level of trust with my parents, prove they could trust me to operate independently, so even when I went a little off script, they’d know that it was usually with good reason. This time, I wondered whether I deserved my mother’s confidence at all.
Once I had the Musos’ invitation secured, I drove straight to Char’s house. Both of her parents hugged me as I came in, and I could see the concern heavy in their hearts.
“She’s never been out late like this before,” her mother said. “I know we’re probably being silly. She’ll appear any time now.”
“I don’t think you’re being silly,” I said. “I’m worried, too. Can I look around her room? Maybe I’ll spot something you might not.”
“Go ahead.”
Char’s room was more or less exactly how I remembered it. She had a desktop computer, no laptop, settled on her desk. She always made her bed in the morning. Her polka dot bedspread looked almost out of place, unless you knew she chose it because of Yayoi Kusama, the Japanese artist who communicated so much with her use of dots and repetition. A couple of theater posters featuring her father’s costuming work adorned the walls, along with a menu from the first restaurant where her mother worked as head chef. Her inspiration board was almost exactly how I remembered it, an eclectic mix of fashion design, artwork, crafts, and recipes to try.
She kept the fabric and supplies she was gathering for specific projects in neat, organized project bags in her closet. The bags were just reusable shopping bags from an assortment of stores. When she had everything for a make, she’d take the bag out and get to work. If there wasn’t room for any more project bags, she kept the idea sorted away in her notes or posted on her inspiration board. Everything in her room had a place.
So, that grocery bag at the foot of her bed, up against the wall, stood out to me. If it was an active project, she’d have it on her desk or in the family room where the Musos’ craft supplies lived. If she were still collecting supplies, it would be in her closet. What was it doing there?
I picked it up gingerly and set it down on the bed, then looked inside. I found salt, iron nails, bundles of dried herbs sorted into bags and labeled, candles, incense, even a small bottle of crystal clear water with gold text and a cross that identified it as holy water. Along with all this, there was a spiral notebook with her own handwritten notes, all about natural protections against ghosts and evil spirits.
Had she been conducting her own research? Why?
I shouldered the bag and left the room, already spinning my excuse.
“My mom just sent me a message, and she wants me to come home,” I lied as I came back down to the living room, where the Musos were sitting, his arm around her shoulder.
“That makes sense, honestly. I think everyone might want to hold their child a little closer today. Be safe, Kerry.”
There were so many things I had wrong. I had something wrong about Char, too, based on this bag of supplies. And I had Adrien Morgan all wrong. As a chosen guardian, he’d be an invaluable ally—if he was even up to help.
As I got back into my car, I called Mx. Cardoso.
“Did Rowen call you already?”
“Yes. We’ll take care of things.”
“Meet me at the hospital. We need to check on Adrien Morgan, too. Anholts and the vampire lawyer might have done something to him.”
“That’s a good thought.” Mx. Cardoso didn’t pause for a second to question me any further. We both understood that time was of the essence. “I’ll meet you there.”
