Page 60 of The Witching Hours

Sincerely hope this finds you well. I know your students miss you and are hoping for your speedy return.

My very best,

Catherine Campbell

P.S. Please feel free to contact me by any means.

Under my postscript I included my phone, address, and email, then took the letter to the post office and paid for overnight delivery with signature release and texted Nick with the update.

ME: If all goes according to plan, he’ll get my letter tomorrow and answer right away. Nothing to do now but wait.

NICK: Good detective work. If the source still lives in The City, I’ll call that lucky.

ME: So true.

I stowed the car in the parking garage, but didn’t go straight home. Instead, I walked over to the stone-cold creamery for an anxiety-reduction treat aka an ice cream cone. I spared noconsideration for health or dignity when I ordered vanilla bean ice cream hand mixed with junior mints and coconut in a fudge dipped waffle cone.

Sitting on a bench where I could see boats coming and going, I decided to thoroughly enjoy my decadent splurge by calling it lunch. The games we play.

Enjoyment was cut short by Nine. He appeared out of nowhere, which is par for usual, and sat down next to me on the bench.

“What do you want?” I addressed him directly, making no effort to disguise my irritation. His response was to turn his head toward me and smile. I learned early there’s no point to engaging in a staring contest with the characters. They win. Every time.

The feeling that my wonderful new life and marriage were being threatened was digging in and taking hold of my emotions. As dread settled even more firmly into my solar plexus, all desire to finish my gourmet ice cream evaporated. “Ugh!”

I stomped toward the nearest trash receptacle where I threw my half-eaten cone on the way by. I cursed myself for not fully appreciating the freedom I’d enjoyed for ten years. How could I have taken it for granted?

Happily, there were no more incidents that day. The next day I made a point of being attached to the phone and picking up whenever it rang. The first three calls fell into the nuisance category: random sales, scammers, and con artists. But the fourth was Mr. Caras.

“Catherine? It’s Mike Caras. I got your letter.”

“I’m very glad you did. How are you?”

He chuckled. “Okay. This isn’t dangerous work, just labor intensive. So. The time limit turned out to be real.”

“It did.”

“It was actually my aunt who helped out before. She’s still alive, but in her seventies. I can give her a call to see if she’s up to repeating what she did before.”

“I’d be so grateful. I’m newly married and don’t want this to be a problem for us. They barged into our bedroom while we were asleep. It was traumatizing for him.”

“Traumatizing? Wait! Are you saying he can see them?”

“Yes. The two of you are the only people who’ve seen them and let me know about it. I used to have suspicions that a few strangers knew, but chose to play dumb.”

“It’s quite a coincidence that you’d end up married to somebody with the sight. How did he take it?”

“Surprisingly well. He picked up his phone and called 911.”

Mr. Caras laughed. “He did? You got a cheeky bastard. Good for you.”

Cheeky bastard?

“What happened?” he asked

“The Jack tried to wrestle the phone away from Nick, but it turns out that Nick is territorial. And determined. He got slammed into a wall and bruised. Good news was the call went through.”

“Impressive. Good for him.”

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