Page 40 of No Charm Done

“—telling you, Nine, that storm’s coming in from the northeast, not the southwest⁠—”

“Horse feathers! Look at those clouds, Ten. Any fool can see⁠—”

“Any fool except you, apparently⁠—”

“Gentlemen,” Kelly called out as they approached. “I’d like you to meet our distinguished visitor, Mr. Elias Shaw.”

The argument stopped mid-sentence. The men turned toward the visitors with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion. The eldest of the group, a man with a deeply lined face like a map of every storm he’d ever weathered, slowly rose from his chair. “Elias Shaw, I’ll be damned. You’re a long way from Chicago, son.”

“Do I owe you money?”

“No, sir. Name’s Earl Williams, but most folks call me Nine on account of I’m the ninth earl in the family line. Great-great-great-grandson of the original earl. He was a pirate, if you can believe it. And these reprobates—” Nine gestured to his descendants “—are Ten and Eleven. All of us boys married witches, which is why I’m still kicking at 121.” He extended a gnarled hand. “I knew your reputation back in the day. Selling all that swampland to a big shot like Upson Burke. What kind of fool move was that, anyway?”

Elias blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected anyone in this sleepy hamlet to know about his past. “Uh, let’s call it a moral imperative. Burke destroyed my family, so he left me no choice. How do you even know about that?”

“Hoo, boy. Any man with sense kept track of the great ones.” Nine’s grin revealed teeth that had seen better decades. “Being born here in Oak Haven means I never got to experience it firsthand. Can’t leave town, you see. None of us non-witches can. Step outside the town limits and you forget everything about this place the minute you’re gone. The spell keeps the town safe from folks who might not appreciate our unique way of life. But it does mean a man spends his whole life reading about the world instead of seeing it.”

What a prize idiot I’ve been. Here he was, wallowing in his own displacement, when this man had lived through the twentieth century as a spectator. At least he’d tasted the real thing before losing it. “That must have been rough.”

Nine settled back into his rocking chair. “Rough? Son, it was downright torture some days. Reading about all that excitement, the whole world gone wild with possibility? And me, stuck here watching it all.” He gestured at the deserted street. “Don’t get me wrong, Oak Haven’s a damn fine place. Good people, beautiful countryside, and I got myself a wonderful wife who’s used her magic to keep me around far longer than I deserve. But a man can’t help wondering what it would’ve been like to dance at the Cotton Club or catch a Cubs game at Wrigley.”

“Course, we did our best to bring some of that excitement here to Oak Haven,” Nine continued. “Had ourselves some real doozies of parties in the Twenties. You boys weren’t even around,” he said to his progeny rocking away on the porch. “Hoo boy, Oak Haven witches knew how to throw a wing-ding, I’ll tell you that. Music that played itself, drinks that never went flat, dancing until the sun came up. And the fashion . . .” He whistled low. “Even here in the sticks, our ladies knew how to dress. Hemlines up to here, beads and pearls, hair bobbed short as you please. No offense to present company—” he flicked his head in Kelly’s direction “—but they don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

Elias immediately thought of Luna. Not that she dressed anything like a flapper. But something in her attitude reminded him of those bold women of his time. Sharp comebacks always had at the ready. Pure flapper spirit in modern dress. Hell, he thought, she’d have been right at home in the Green Door Tavern, making the other dames turn pretty green themselves.

“You know what I miss most?” Nine said. “The music. Real music, I mean. Not this nonsense they play nowadays. Give me Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra, or better yet, King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band. That was music you could feel in your bones.”

“I saw Louis Armstrong play once,” Elias offered. “At a little club in New Orleans, must have been 1925. Just a young fella, but when he played that trumpet . . .” He shook his head. “It was like listening to pure joy.”

“What about Bix Beiderbecke? Ever hear him play?”

“Once, at a private party on the North Shore. Rich folks trying to buy themselves some culture, you know the type. But Bix . . . hell, that man could make you weep with a single note.”

“Damn right! Say, you’re welcome here anytime, Shaw. Reckon it must get lonesome sometimes, being the only one who remembers.”

“Thank you. That . . . that means more than you know.”

“I reckon I do, actually.”

Kelly, who had been chatting with the other Earls, turned to them. “Nine, I hope you’re not filling Mr. Shaw’s head with too many tall tales about⁠—”

She never got to finish the sentence.

A crash of thunder, and the afternoon light took on a sickly, greenish cast. Cheerful flowers in Williams Hardware’s window boxes began to wilt, their petals curling inward. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled.

Three figures materialized in the middle of Main Street. Identical black suits and top hats and tiny round sunglasses and, most alarming of all, identical expressions of grim determination. Each carried a staff topped with what looked like a crystal that pulsed with malevolent light. The tallest of the three stepped forward, aiming his staff directly at Elias. When he spoke, his voice carried across the street with unnatural clarity.

“Elias Shaw, by order of the High Council of Magicians, you are to return with us immediately, to face judgment for your unauthorized departure from the Void.”

Shaw froze. Oh no, he thought. Rattle the bars, summon the wardens. After spending a century having been caught, he’d forgotten the feeling of being hunted.

But Nine was on his feet immediately. “Like hell he is.”

Kelly stepped forward, her entire demeanor shifting from hostess to lioness in a heartbeat. “Thugs aren’t welcome in Oak Haven. Leave. Immediately.”

The lead magician reminded Elias of every loan shark he’d ever met: politeness wrapped around a lead pipe. “Mrs. Melrose, isn’t it? We have no quarrel with you or your quaint little town.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have a constant quarrel with our little town. I’ve begun to suspect you exist for no other reason.”