Page 21 of No Charm Done

Elias was already on his feet, straightening his tie with wounded pride. “Yes, blame the passenger when the driver crashes the car. I suppose that’s what passes for logic in your era?”

Unbelievable, she thought. Belinda certainly hadn’t been wrong about the handsome factor, but my gods what an ungrateful prick. “Listen, Shaw⁠—”

“No, you listen, sweetheart. Pull yourself together and open me a portal back to 1926. I have important business to attend to.”

“First of all, I’m not your damned sweetheart. Secondly, it doesn’t work like that. I told you back in the Void that I had one trip, granted to me by the single most annoying god in the universe. There is no ‘portal me back to 1926.’ Witches can portal across distances, not time periods. You need special skills for time travel, and I was given just one dose. But you had to go and ruin it, barking orders about 1926 right in the middle of my spell.”

“Because you were taking me to the wrong damned century!” He gestured wildly. “I told you where I needed to go. Simple instructions. But I suppose following basic instructions is too much to ask of a child like you.”

“A child?! This child just got you out of an interdimensional prison that no one has ever gotten out of, ever. All the trouble I went to, just to rescue your sorry behind. And look at the mess we’re in!”

He brushed his jacket, irritated. “Typical witch. Something goes wrong, blame the magician.”

“Oh, that’s rich. I should have left you in that waiting room.”

“I don’t disagree. At least there I knew what damned century I was in!”

“You were in no century, you smug little Gatsby-wannabe. You were literally in the middle of nowhere. Now you’re somewhere, and you can’t even manage a thank you.”

“Oh my. Thank you ever so. What a tremendous help you’ve been!”

“Fine.” She turned away. “Figure it out yourself.”

“Couldn’t agree more. I’ll get by just fine, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me—you know what, forget it.” Luna stomped away, headed anywhere far from him. “Have a nice life, Shaw. Try not to end up back in the Void.”

He called after her. “Try not to portal yourself into a volcano.”

Fury propelling her forward, Luna marched out of the park. She emerged onto a sidewalk and⁠—

Stopped dead.

New York City’s Avenue A stretched before her, bathed in amber streetlights. She’d spent enough time with the subway coven to recognize the East Village neighborhood immediately. Crusty brick tenements and fire escapes lined the street. But the buildings looked shabbier than she remembered. And trash was piled high on the sidewalks, higher than she’d ever seen before.

A yellow cab rumbled past—one of those classic Checker cabs from old movies, with the distinctive stripe and bulbous shape. Not the sleek Camrys and Priuses that dominated New York City streets when she’d last visited. Thick summer air pressed against her skin, tinted with the smell of garbage and car exhaust. A kid pedaled by on a banana-seat bike, his transistor radio broadcasting muffled disco beats.

“Okay then,” she murmured, “so I’m definitely in the past.”

Across the street was a sign for Ray’s Candy Store, its glass door and small service window glowing warmly. Next door was a butcher shop with Cyrillic letters spelling out “Київські Ковбаси.” Row upon row of sausages and smoked meats hung in the window.

People shoved past her on the sidewalk, and Luna found herself staring. A woman strutted down the avenue in bell-bottom jeans so wide they could have doubled as parachutes, her hair feathered in perfect Farrah Fawcett wings. A guy in a leather jacket passed by, his hair slicked back like Elvis, followed by a group of teenagers in ripped T-shirts and safety pins.

I’m in the Seventies, she marveled. Meaning I’m not even born yet. Hell, I don’t think my parents have even met each other yet.

Her gaze landed on a streetlamp on the corner, plastered with concert posters. Even from this distance, she could make out the CBGB logo at the top. She squinted, her heart leaping when she spotted familiar names: Television. Talking Heads. Blondie. The Ramones.

Holy shit! Of all the places to accidentally end up. A grin spread across her face, despite her lingering anger at Elias. Maybe I can catch Blondie before I figure out how to get home. Scarlett’s going to freak—she’ll be so jealous. Oh gods, I just hope it’s not the night of⁠—

Every light on the street went dark at once.

Streetlamps, apartment windows, neon signs . . . all went out at the same time. Absolute darkness. Luna could hear shouts of confusion, the squealing of brakes, and a car smashing into a line of garbage cans. Someone screamed.

“Come on,” Luna groaned into the enveloping darkness. “Why’d I have to land on blackout night?”

She stood frozen on the sidewalk, listening to a city plunged into chaos. The sirens were already starting up; fire trucks and ambulances were heading out for what Luna knew would be a very long night. Her old friends Hector and Diego had told her stories about this night: July 13th, 1977. How their older siblings had carried them through the darkened streets, how the power stayed out for twenty-five hours. A thousand fires and thousands of arrests citywide. Those first responders had no clue what they were in for.

At least she’d landed in the East Village. From what the twins had told her, the neighborhood greeted the blackout with a sort of street-party aplomb, rather than with looting and violence. Hector and Diego fondly recalled eating themselves into stomach aches due to all the free ice cream handed out by bodega owners.