Page 50 of The Witching Hours

I blinked rapidly. It had never occurred to me that there were other aspects to Wonderland reality.

“I didn’t know there were other characters like this.”

He smiled. “You call them characters? Very apt. And why not? That’s what they are after all.” After a slight pause, he said, “Yes. There are others.”

“You know how to reach these, um, spades and get them to help?”

“I think I have the basics, but I need to do some research and some consultation.” I wanted to ask who he’d be consulting, but reasoned that if he wanted me to know, he would’ve told me. “I’m sure you’re wondering how long that will take?” I nodded. “I’m guessing two to three weeks. I want to talk to somebody I know of in Marin County who could offer guidance. Coincidentally, I’d been planning a trip to San Francisco over Thanksgiving.”

“That is a lucky coincidence. I mean lucky for me. Thank you.”

Mr. Caras treated me to another kindly smile. “It’s not just for you, Miss Campbell. I don’t like ‘characters’ hanging around when I’m teaching class.”

I giggled a little. It was such an enormous relief to talk about this openly with another human.

“Any questions?” he asked.

“A couple maybe.” I took a deep breath. “Is there any chance this will just make them mad?”

“You mean could it make things worse? Out of the frying pan, into the fire?”

I grinned. “Idiom. Right?”

“A plus, Miss Campbell. Yes. That was an idiom. To answer your question, I’m not sure, but I’ll get an answer to that before we make a final decision on how to proceed. Fair enough?”

“Yes. Fair enough.”

“What’s your other question?”

“How are you able to, um, see what I see?”

“Oh,” he said. “Well. My family is gifted in the way you are. I might be the least talented in that department. Some of us would be quite formidable in a fight with these intruders.”

The phrase “gifted in the way you are” caught my interest. “So, are there a lot of people who could see them?”

“I don’t know how many because all of us are never going to come forward and offer ourselves up for some kind of group study. But the main thing is, you are not the only one.”

I understood that I’d have to accept that as the best answer I could get. “I appreciate this so much.Verymuch.”

When he stood to go, I followed suit. So to speak. As we walked toward the door, he said, “Let’s consider our war council adjourned for now. When we meet again after Thanksgiving, I’ll have more to tell you.”

I nodded enthusiastically. I probably liked the description “war council” more than a nice girl should. “Thank you.”

“You can hold the rest of your thanks for a successful outcome. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Thanksgiving is a strange holiday when you stop to think about it. Perhaps there was a serious significance attached to it at one point, but in modern times it’s just a day dedicated to turkey, excess, and dragging out the tableware that nobody wants anymore and has to be washed by hand. Don’t let me fail to mention the gathering of people who have nothing whatsoever in common except family ties. Like I said. Strange.

I dutifully followed the instructions of my mother, grandmother, and two aunts as part of the femme brigade that makes holidays happen. The Cheshire Cat pussyfooted the length of the dining table winding in and out of serving dishes placed just so. At one point his tail knocked over a candlestick with lit taper. One of my uncles, who’d been a jock and still had good reflexes caught both stick and candle before they touched the heirloom white linen tablecloth. The save was roundly cheered, and everyone was so impressed they forgot to wonder why the candlestick had toppled.

My eyes jerked to what the cat monster was doing next. He’d sat next to the cranberry sauce and was waiting for me to look. When he had my attention, he dipped a paw in, licked the red treat from his lips and grinned his too-big grin made even more hideous by being stained cranberry-red. I’d thought my hatred for Cheshire Cat had reached its limits, but I was wrong. Breaking my own rule about looking when others were present, I allowed myself a vengeful stare that conveyed the malice growing blacker and thicker in my chest. I was forced to quietlywatch various family members consume a holiday delicacy that had recently been desecrated by cat paw.Ew. Ew. Ew.And I couldn’t warn them away.

I fantasized about grabbing his tail and spinning in a circle like a discus thrower before launching him into a concrete wall then beating him senseless with the wood-braced tennis racquet I’d found in my grandmother’s attic. That old tennis racquet was heavy when it was in the brace, just right for someone my size to do major cat damage. The vision made me smile just as broadly as the cat. That reaction caused his smile to falter as his eyes widened from his usual smirky slits to big, round, and surprised. Instead of vanishing instantly, as usual, he faded slowly while looking confused.

It wasn’t as satisfying as a beatdown, but it made my day, nonetheless. When the thrill of that small victory began to fade, I realized there might be a seed of something important in the silent exchange between cat monster and me. So, I made a mental note to tell Mr. Caras the next chance I got.

I didn’t see the cat, or any characters, again that whole weekend which made it an actual holiday for me.

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