Page 73 of The Sisters of Crimson House

“It’s not everyone that can make Walgreens chic. Bravo.” Charley scanned her sister’s face for any threat, any sign of disturbance. Celeste followed closely behind, keeping a watchful eye on her niece. Right now Miranda looked like the most beautiful woman in the room who seemed mildly bored to be there. Just like old times. Where normally that would inspire Shakespearean-level jealousy on her part, Charley landed on cautiously optimistic. This could work.

She smiled up at her aunt, noting that she’d changed into a simple black tunic and matching pants. “No costume?” she asked Celeste, who quietly surveyed the crowd.

“I’ve found that loose clothing gives you better options,” she said with a shrug.

Charley felt her adrenaline surge. Better options for what?

“I can last maybe three hours in these boots, and the clock is ticking, so let’s go do your show, yeah?” Miranda said with a smile.

Charley struggled with what to say. Break a leg? Don’t break anyone else’s? Instead she locked eyes with her aunt, who gave her a terse nod. It was time. Charley gave her sister’s hand a quick squeeze.

“You look like Mom in that dress,” said Miranda, stunning her with such a sincere smile, it made Charley’s eyes water.

“Time to cry later,” she said, carefully wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “Let’s go put on a show.”

***

Charley stood before the audience in the parlor on a makeshift stage, studying their crowns and wings and costumed flourishes. She felt more than a little dizzy, as if the universe itself had collapsed in on itself and she was staring through time at the fifteen-year-old Charley perched on the sofa with her mother and father by her side, not knowing that everything was about to change. Deep breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began. She found Celeste in the back of the room, and took a steadying breath. She could do this. “Eight years ago marked the finale of the Bryde Family Halloween Spectacular. It was the unwitting end of an era defined by so much loss. The loss of my parents, Charles and Nicole Bryde Reynolds. The end of the Bryde dynasty, our family scattered and scared but surviving. The death of our matriarch, Sadie Bryde. She should be the one standing here welcoming all of you tonight, warning you not to interfere with what may happen onstage. Sadie’s not here.” Charley took another deep, steadying breath. She ran her fingers over the lines on her palm, taking in the collective strength of her family. “But I believe she is here with us in spirit, and I think she would want the show to go on. So tonight we honor the late, great Sadie Bryde with what I hope is a new tradition: the Bryde Sisters Halloween Spectacular.”

The crowd greeted the news with cheers and applause.

“Tonight, you lucky chosen few are about to witness history in the making, if the fire marshal doesn’t shut us down for a zillion violations.” The audience laughed, charmed, ready to be entertained. “Miranda Bryde is here to make believers out of every last one of you.” Charley scanned the crowd and made eye contact with Zavier and Astrid, who watched from the back of the room, both wearing proud smiles and giving her a thumbs-up. “Miranda is our conduit to the world beyond, and soon, she will reach out to the other side. Who she will bring back is anyone’s guess.” She said a quick prayer that Celeste’s wards would hold, that her mother and Sadie would be backup in case things went south. She looked over her shoulder to Miranda, who stood just off the stage, giving Charley a nod and a smile. Her sister was ready. “Please help me welcome the one and only Miranda Bryde.”

The audience applauded as Miranda stepped onto the stage. Even in plastic horns, she looked beautiful, powerful. She stood next to Charley, giving her sister a nod before facing the crowd.

“I’m taking suggestions from the audience,” Charley told the dozens of faces staring up at her. “Who would you like Miranda to contact?” Charley spotted a man in the audience with a kind face and hopeful smile. “You, sir.”

“Marilyn Monroe!” he announced to scattered applause.

Charley looked at Miranda, who wrinkled her nose.

“I’m interpreting that as too obvious. Get creative.”

A woman dressed in a silver sheath called out “Princess Diana!” The audience oohed in appreciation.

“Hmm. Good,” pronounced Charley, surprised to see Miranda still shaking her head. “But harder?”

“Nancy Reagan!”

Charley couldn’t help herself. “You really want to spend your evening chatting with Nancy Reagan?” The audience laughed, the hum of the crowd rising as they debated candidates to win Miranda’s approval. “C’mon, folks. Dazzle me. Get creative.”

The audience shouted out suggestions.

“Aleister Crowley!”

Charley nodded in appreciation. “I’m pretty sure he’s booked up tonight. Who else?”

“Justin Timberlake!”

“He’s still with us, ma’am.”

“Attila the Hun!”

“Maybe let’s spare my sister the violent warlord.” Charley laughed with the crowd, feeling her body buzz from the adrenaline. It felt good up here. It felt right in this room, with these people.

“Margaret Humphreys.”