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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

He explained.

Apparently, not all witches were evil.
 
Some were actually good, like Paisley White, who lived in one of the great lumber baron’s mansions overlooking the Penobscot River, which separated Bangor from Brewer.
 

If only because of its sheer size, it was an imposing house, but it also was a beautiful house that featured one of Bangor’s most prized private perennial gardens and an indoor pool that was rumored to be among the most spectacular on the East Coast.
 

The house was pure white and one of the more stunning examples of the many Victorian mansions that dotted the city.
 
I’d driven by it and admired it since I was a kid, but I certainly never knew that a witch owned it.
 
And that she was more than four hundred years old.

Before we left Jim’s, he gave Paisley a call and asked if we could drop by for a chat.
 
She agreed and suggested that we stop by in an hour for drinks.
 
When Jim hung up the phone, he told me she was giving him an hour because she likely knew he was a mess and expected him to “clean up.”

“Guess I better take a shower.
 
I haven’t seen Paisley in over a year and I know she likes her men clean and groomed.”

I saw my opportunity to finally put a polish on Jim and waved my hand low at my side.
 
I trimmed his hair, his beard and eyebrows, fixed the stains on his teeth and gave him a wash.
 

I imagined him in a casual navy blue suit with new shoes, socks and underwear.
 
Gone was the smell of beer and cats; now he just smelled clean and the effect was kind of shocking.
 
He looked younger.
 
He looked good.
 
Beneath what always had been a physical wreck was actually a handsome man.
 
You could see that he probably was a catch in his youth.
 
Though I’d long gotten past the creepy vibe he once gave me before our bond tightened, there was nothing creepy about him now.
 
He looked dapper.
 
Who knew?
 

“What the hell did you do to me?” he said.

“A favor.
 
I cleaned you up.”

“What did you that for?”

“Because Paisley likes her men ‘clean and groomed’.”

He ran his hand through his beard, which now was clipped close.
 
“Where’s my beard?
 
Why did you get rid of my beard?
 
I’ve been growing that out for years now.”

“And you know what, Jim?
 
I think the people at Judy’s are probably tired of seeing it fall into your soup.
 
Or your beer.
 
Your choice.
 
Why don’t you just stand in front of a mirror and have a good look at yourself before you keep running your mouth without knowing what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t own a mirror.”

“Well, there’s a surprise.”
 
I imagined one on the wall beside us.
 
“There,” I said, pointing at it.
 
“Have a look.”

He turned in front of it, but instead of taking a step back, he took a step forward.
 
“Holy shit!”

“That bad?”

He turned his head from one side to the other and then faced the mirror and pulled down on the jacket’s lapels.
 
“I look twenty years younger.”

“More like ten.”

“I’ll take the ten.”
 

“But I could make it twenty.”

“I said, I’ll take the ten.”

He looked down at his new shoes, his clipped fingernails, his khaki pants.
 
Then he looked up at me and lowered his voice.
 
“I don’t want to say this while Betsy’s listening,” he said, referring to his beloved trailer, which somehow had earned a spot in his heart.
 
“But I actually could get laid looking like this.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That’s exactly the point.
 
One of these days, you’ll understand that it’s the main point.
 
It’s the only point.
 
It’s
the
point.”

“You’re pathetic.”

He gave me a once-over.
 
“What about you?” he said.
 
“Paisley’s not going to like seeing you in jeans and a T-shirt.
 
You need to step it up.”

I didn’t know much about fashion, but I watched enough television to know what looked good, which is why Jim looked so good right now.
 
I ran through some movies I’d seen recently and remembered one with George Clooney in it, but dismissed it.
 
Too old.
 

I ran through a few other movies but couldn’t come up with anything memorable.
 
And so I tapped into the amulets and asked them to inform me what was the latest trend that what would look best on me.
 
Immediately, I was wearing a sharp-looking yet casual brown suit by Prada.
 
I looked at myself in the mirror while Jim whistled.

I tried not to show it, but I never thought I’d look this good in my life.

I turned to him with a smile I couldn’t suppress.
 

“You clean up good,” he said.

“We both do.
 
Think she’ll approve?”

“Hell, I think she’ll try to get one of us in bed.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

When we arrived at Paisley White’s house in my new but less-showy car, a silver Toyota Prius, we were met by large black metal gates and a call box, on which was a red button I pressed to announce our entrance.

The voice that replied was a man’s. “Yes?”

“We’re here to see Ms. White,” I said.

“And who is ‘we’?”

“Seth Moore and—”
 
Before I could finish, the gates started to swing open.

“Drive to the entrance.
 
Wait there, please.”

The drive up to the house was majestic, particularly in twilight.
 
Paisley White’s house was illumined by hidden floodlights that made it look almost as if it was some sort of gleaming Victorian church.
 

All around it were the colors of fall, from the enormous maple trees bursting in flashes of deep red and bright orange to the fiery bushes banking the house to the late-blooming flowers growing low in front of them.
 

The cobblestone drive looked as if it had been freshly sprayed with water and it shined in the light.
 
Even the air smelled different here.
 
It was sweet and fresh, almost as if Paisley White herself had cocooned her property in a fragrance that was uniquely its own.

I pulled the car up to the house’s grand entrance and stopped in front of a set of wide granite stairs.
 
I looked through the driver’s side window and saw a strapping young man coming down the steps in a black suit that matched his coal black hair.
 
He looked perfect to me, like some sort of Italian model.
 
He opened my door and immediately I felt intimidated.

“Welcome,” he said.
 

I stepped out of the car with Jim.
 

“Ms. White will join you in the parlor.
 
Edward will take you there.
 
Meanwhile, I’ll park your car while he sees to the refreshments.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Jim said.

The man looked at Jim and nodded politely, even though I doubt he’d ever been called ‘buddy.’

Another man came through the twin set of mahogany doors.
 
He was wearing an identical suit as the man now driving away in my car, but this man was blond and much taller.
 
He also was young, somewhere in his thirties, and looked as if he was a movie star.
 
Chiseled face, a perfect smile and eyes so blue, you’d swear he was wearing colored contacts.
 
Only he wasn’t.

“I’m Edward,” he said.
 
“Welcome.
 
If you’ll follow me, I’ll let Ms. White know you’re here.”

The house was like a museum and on one level, I was certain that the paintings on the walls, the vases on the tables and even the tables themselves should belong in a museum.
 
The floors were made of the most intricate inlaid wood I’d ever seen.
 
The walls were flanked in dark wallpaper that looked like textured velvet.
 
A row of lit chandeliers stretched down a long corridor that had retained its original woodwork.
 
Nothing here was painted save for the ceilings, which were at least fourteen feet high.

“This way, please.”

We took a left and entered the parlor.
 
And again I was overwhelmed.
 
I’d lived in a trailer my whole life.
 
But this?
 
This was magnificent.
 
I’d heard stories about the Bangor mansions while I was growing up, but I never knew something like this existed.

It was brisk outside and there was a fire roaring across the large room in a massive fireplace whose mantle was made of carved black marble.
 
Thick red curtains hung at the tall windows.
 
There were two sofas in the center of the room, each facing the other with a coffee table between them.
 
They were covered in red velvet.
 
We sat on the left sofa.

“Would either of you care for something to drink?” Edward said.

“I’ll take a scotch,” Jim said.

“Any particular kind?”

“Something as old as Paisley will do.”

“I’ll make sure to ask her if we have anything that old in stock.”

“Appreciate it, buddy.”

He turned to me and I raised my hands in defeat at him.
 
His eyes softened.
 
“And how about you?
 
The same?”

“I’m not old enough to drink.”

Jim scoffed.
 
“He’ll try a Manhattan.
 
Time the boy had something stronger than Kool-Aid, if you ask me.”

I looked at him and without thinking, my knee-jerk reaction was that my parents would kill me if I drank.
 
But the moment I thought of my parents, the words died in my throat and I felt an unexpected chill as Edward nodded and walked away.
 
I was aware of Jim watching me and he screwed up his face.
 
“What’s the problem?
 
It’s just a drink.
 
And it’s you’re first.
 
Glad I’m here for it.”

At that moment, Paisley White swept into the room.
 
She was a gorgeous-looking blonde in a black, form-fitting pant suit, lips the color of blood and skin that seemed to glow as if lit from within.
 
As she approached us, she pulled her long hair off her shoulders and said to Jim, “It has nothing to do with the drink, you old dog.
 
You just reminded him of his parents and now he’s missing them.
 
Aren’t you, Seth?”

I nodded.

“Regardless of how they treated their own bodies, they wouldn’t approve of him having alcohol.
 
Am I right?
 
Of course, I’m right.
 
But regardless of his bad manners a moment ago—scotch as old as me—I’m with Jim.
 
Take the Manhattan.
 
Chew the cherry.
 
Enjoy your life.
 
If we can send our kids to war at eighteen, we sure as hell should allow them to have a drink at eighteen.
 
Just drink in ways that Jim doesn’t.”

“And how’s that?”

“In moderation.”
 

She held out her hand to me, which I shook.
 
Her hand was delicate but her grip was firm, which I liked.
 
“I’m Paisley,” she said, stretching out her name with obvious relish.
 
“Paisley White.
 
Aren’t you glad we finally met?”
 
She didn’t give me time to say I didn’t know who she was until about an hour ago.
 
I was, in fact, too entranced by her to say anything.

“You’re going to be happy, you know?
 
You’re going to be over the moon that we met.
 
You’re going to be dreaming about me and thinking about me and you’re going to blush at your own thoughts.
 
But I don’t blame you.
 
Hell, look at me.
 
I’m older than this damned country and I’m still one of the hottest broads around.”

Her eyes flicked over to Jim and she soaked him up in a glance.
 
“And look at you, you big stud.
 
I haven’t seen you looking so good since I was three hundred years old.
 
Give or take a few decades.
 
When was the last time we saw each other?”
 

Jim smiled.
 
“About a year ago.”

“A year ago?
 
Well, shit.
 
Time goes fast, doesn’t it?
 
But I sure remember that night.”
 
She put her hand on my shoulder.
 
“You know, Seth, I’m over four hundred years old now.
 
That’s a lot of miles for this bag of bones to carry, but I make do with what I got.”
 
She lifted an eyebrow at me.
 
“What do you think about what I got?”

“I think you’re amazing.”

She lifted her arms above her head.
 
“Hear that, Jim?
 
Seth thinks I’m amazing.
 
I adore him already.
 
I think it’s perfect that you brought him by to meet me.
 
The one thing missing in my life is youth.
 
I walk around this damn palace with its creaky antiques and faded ideas, and the youngest person working for me is somewhere close to two hundred or something.
 
Sure, he has abs of steel and the face of a god, but all he wants to do is get on a horse and trot around a field like he did before I turned him.”
 

She started to slink around the room, tracing her fingertips along tables and chairs as she moved toward the fireplace.
 
“I feel so out of it,” she said, lifting her arms at her sides in a kind of defeat.
 
“I feel unconnected, like I don’t know what’s hip.
 
I used to know.
 
I used to care what was new.
 
What was the latest.
 
What was now.”
 

She swung around and pointed her finger at me.
 
Her blonde hair followed suit and curled around her face in waves.
 
“But I bet you know what’s hip, don’t you, Seth?
 
I bet you could breathe some new life into me, maybe even teach me what this new century is about.
 
Would I be disappointed by it?”

“In the century?”

“Well, yes, silly.
 
I’m certainly not disappointed in you.
 
Look at you.
 
You’re like a vision.
 
Where ever did you get that body?”

“I made myself this way.”

“You too?
 
Well, it worked.
 
And you’ve got an eye.
 
Did you do it with Jim’s amulets?
 
Those things are peppered with power.
 
I can feel them humming on you from over here.
 
And you’ve got a way with them.
 
I can tell.
 
They’re why you’re here, aren’t they?
 
You’re here because of those troublesome little amulets, which never cease to attract attention from the wrong types of people.”

I was aware of Edward coming into the room with the drinks.
 
He handed me a martini glass filled with amber liquid and a cherry resting on the bottom of it.
 
I’d never had alcohol before.
 
I was uneasy about drinking because of what drinking had done to my parents.
 
I watched Jim take his scotch and Paisley take what looked like a martini.
 
She came over to us and held up her glass.

“A toast,” she said, clinking her glass against ours.
 
“Here’s to new adventures.”

“What new adventures?” Jim said.

“Oh, please.
 
You’re here because of those bothersome little black-hearted filthy witches.
 
You’re here because they want those amulets around your neck and they’re willing to kill for them.
 
You’re here because you think Paisley White has the moxie to help you sop this mess up.”
 
She lowered her glass and sipped.
 
Jim and I followed suit and I had everything I could do to force the alcohol down my throat.
 
It burned and almost caused me to choke.

She watched me swallow hard and nodded at my drink.
 
“You’ll get used to it.
 
It won’t always taste like a mouthful of trouble.
 
And you’ll also get used to me, because I’ve decided to help you.
 
Together, we’re going to create a war like none other.
 
And, baby, I need a war.
 
It’s been too long since I kicked up a little dirt and reminded people how powerful Paisley White is.
 
Just because I’m a good witch doesn’t mean I float around in a pink bubble and start rambling on about Oz.
 
And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be bad for the right cause.”
 
She plucked the olive out of her drink and popped it in her mouth.
 
“Isn’t that right, Jim?
 
Paisley knows how to play dirty.
 
Paisley can bring the fire and, if she wants to, she can even set the whole town ablaze.”