Enthralled

Enthralled, Chapter Two

Enthralledby ScribeChapter ThreeGil considered keeping the shop open, since there were still a few frantic, last minute shoppers roaming the streets in the early evening, but he ultimately decided it wasn't worth the bother. He didn't need the money, and quite frankly, the cheeriness of people rushing home to be with their loved ones was beginning to wear on him. He tried to tell himself it was annoying, but the truth was that it made him feel oddly wistful, and that wasn't a natural state for a warlock.

He locked the door and padded from the commercial space back to his apartment, not bothering to pull the curtain all the way shut between the two areas. Ohe whe was in his private space, though, he just stood, looking about. He couldn't think of anything in particular that he wanted to do. He wasn't really hungry, he didn't want to bathe this early in the evening, he'd read everything of interest in the house twice. He clicked on the radio for a moment, spinning the dial restlessly, never pausing long enough to hear more than a snatch of talk or music, before finally snapping it off with a sigh.

He felt a soft brush against his bare feet and looked down to find Pyewacket rubbing against his leg. "Talk to me, Pye." The cat mewed, and Gil frowned. "God, can't you talk about anything but food or sex?" Pyewacket chirped. "No, food and sex does not count as a different conversation. Well," he walked over to his bar and began mixing a drink. "When in doubt, have a cocktail." He poured gin and vermouth into a pitcher and began to stir it. Pyewacket sneezed, and he glanced down at the cat. "I know I said 'a' drink." Pyewacket sneezed again. "Yes, I'll probably drink it all. It might not solve my boredom, but I'll be too smashed to care. And do stop looking disapproving--if I want that, there are plenty of my seniors around to give it to me."

There was a knock at the front door, and Gil immediately put down the swizzle stick he'd been agitating the pitcher of cocktails with and headed for the front of the building. Pyewacket made a croaking sound, and Gil paused, his hand on the drapery. "I know I closed up, but God, Pye--whoever it is has almost got to be more interesting than drinking alone." He peeked through the slit in the curtain.

Shepherd Henderson was pressed close to the glass, hand shielding his eyes as he peered into the depths of the room. Gil felt a spark of pleasure. "I was right--he's much more interesting."



Shep was disappointed when he found the door to the shop locked. *Perfectly reasonable,* he thought. *After all, it's after five on Christmas Eve. I suppose I can go down the block to that diner. It isn't much of a walk.* It really wasn't much of a walk, but he found himself feeling more disappointed than he'd expected. He hadn't encountered the shop's owner since that brief morning meeting almost two weeks ago, and he'd been rather hoping to actually 'meet' him--perhaps even have a little conversation. It might be difficult after then holidays. It would be fairly quite at the office after the rush to have the new books out for Christmas, but Merle seemed intent on taking up all his free time with wedding plans and a round of entertainments planned by her friends. He was beginning to think that if he had to go to one more coil pil party where he had to mingle with people he didn't know and didn't care to know, he might just scream.

Shep was about to turn away, but gave one more knock on the glass. He felt a small lurch of happiness when the curtain across the back of the room parted, and the young blond man stepped out. He paused for a moment, regarding Shep with a questioning expression. Shep gave a small wave. When the man didn't move, Shep crooked his finger pleadingly. Shep might have been mistaken, but he thought that the corners of the man's mouth curled just a little, and he came to the door, unlocking it. Shep started talking the moment the door opened. "Look, I'm sorry to bother you like this. I know it's Christmas Eve, and I'm sure you have things to do, or places to go, but I just need a minute of your time."

One eyebrow quirked. "Last minute gift?"

Shep remembered the randy pottery piece the young man had showed him through the glass. "Oh. Oh, uh--no. No, I was hoping... Ya see, I'm a new exchange, and there seems to be... I've never heard anything like it in my life, but I was trying..." *I'm babbling.*

"You want to use my phone?"

Relief washed over him. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Of course not." He opened the door wider, stepping aside. "Do come in."

Shep entered the shop, saying, "I should introduce myself. Shouldn't expect you to let a total stranger into your home, after all. I'm..."

"You're Shepherd Henderson."

Shep blinked in surprise. "That's right."

"From upstairs."

He blinked again. "How did you know...?"

"Where you live? I saw you going upstairs, remember? There are only two apartments up there, and I know one of the occupants."

"But I don't recall having told you my name."

He smiled. "As I said--I know one of the occupants."

Understanding dawned. "Oh. Queenie?"

Gil nodded. "Queenie. The phone is back here." He started to lead Shep toward the curtain. "I only keep one for business and personal use--saves money."

"Don't people bother you a lot like that?"

"No, not really. I'm only called by people who know who they want to talk to."

"I wish I could say the same thing. Uh... Look, I'm sort of at a disadvantage here. You know my name, but I don't..."

Gil stopped in front of the curtain. "How rude of me." He offered his hand. "Gilbert Holroyd." Shepherd took his hand. It was long fingered and smooth--almost elegant, but his grip was firm. "My friends call me Gil."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Gil."

Gil opened the curtain a little farther and led Shep into the living area. He gestured toward a table by the sofa. "There's the phone--help yourself." As Shep went to the phone, Gil went back to the bar. "I was just about to have a cocktail. Would you like one?"

Shep had picked up the receiver and was dialing. "Hm? Oh, no... no thank you. I'm going to be going out soon, and Merle will probably want to have drinks then. I should wait." Gil nodded silently, scooping ice cubes into a chrome shaker. Not wanting to seem unappreciative (and not wanting to put him off), Shep amended, "Perhaps I could take a rain check?"

"Certainly." Gil twisted the top on the shaker and agitated it vigorously, then strained the crystal clear liquid into a glass. "Any time."

Shep had reached an operator. "Hello, Operator? Yes, I need to speak to someone about trouble on my line. When I try to... Yes, I'll hold." He sighed. "They can let you talk to people all over the world in an instant, but if you have any sort of problem, you have to wait to have it taken care of."

"It's the way of the world, I suppose." Gil strolled over and sat on the sofa beside him, leaning back comfortably. He'd crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his knee, and he noticed Shep looking at his bare feet. "I hope you don't mind. I don't like shoes--I avoid them whenever possible."

Shep shrugged. "This is your home--you should be comfortable." He found himself thinking that Gil Holroyd's feet were a lot like his hands--pale, well-shaped, and a lot smoother than most men's he'd seen. He thought that it had to be rude to stare at your host's bare feet, so he cast about for something else to look at, zeroing in on a book lying on the coffee table. He picked it up, scanning it. "Magic in Mexico. Have you read it?"
Gil nodded, sipping his drink. "Yes."

"What did you think of it?"

Gil frowned. "Mm... it was fairly well written, and entertaining, but..."

"But?"

"Well, it really was full of tripe."

"Really? It was pretty popular--a best seller."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. I'm just saying that it's inaccurate."

Shepherd turned the book over, revealing the author's photo on the back. He was a roguish looking man, rather handsin ain a rumpled, basset hound sort of way, with a thick moustache, a mop of dark hair, and sleepy, amused eyes. "Sidney Redlitch is supposed to be the modern day expert on this stuff. He's written Charms in China, The Glamours of Great Britain, now this--all best sellers." The Siamese cat heeen een before trotted into the room. It regarded him, tail twitching, hea headed in his direction with determination in its gait. "Oh. Uh..."
"Pyewacket." The cat jumped up on the arm of the sofa, then on the back. He walked across behind Shep, pausing to sniff fastidiously at his hair. "Friendly little thing, isn't he?"

"You don't know him at all. As I was saying, maybe he has contacts, but they probably just fed him a lot of half-baked information, told him whatwantwanted to hear. Tourist stuff."

The cat had managed to squeeze his way down onto the cushions between Shep and Gil. It was staring at him with an unwinking blue gaze that was quite unnerving. "Ya think?"

"Yes, I do. Real witches aren't likely to go spilling their darkest secrets to an outsider." Shep was watching him. He sipped his cocktail. "Or so I would imagine."

"So you think...? Oh, hello, Operator. Yes, I'm having trouble. Well, I'm not sure what's wrong. That's why I'm calling you. Describe it? It worked fine yesterday, and then today... Yes, I can hear something on the line--the thing is, I have no idea what I'm hearing. No, it isn't a dial tone--I'd recognize that. Not a busy signal, either. It sort of sounds like speaking--almost. Uh-huh. No, I don't know what language." He smiled at Gil. "Goblin, maybe."

Gil sat up a little straighter, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. *That sounds like one of Queenie's pranks.*

"Well, I'd appreciate it. Yes, the number is Longwood 5-7665. That's right. I'd appreciate it." He hung up. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Is that all you need?"

Shep watched as Gil licked a film of alcohol off his upper lip. *What I need... Oh, the phone. Who did I need to call so urgently?* "No, I suppose that's it." There was a pause. *Say something, Shep!* "So, you don't like Redlitch?"

"I didn't say that. I'm sure he's a perfectly nice man. Just--misinformed. You're a publisher, aren't you?"

"How did...? Queenie." A nod. "Yes, I am. We aren't as big as some of the publishing houses, but we're solid and well-respected."

"Is he one of your authors?"

Shep laughed. "Oh, I wish! The man's had three best sellers in a row. No, I understand that his contract is up with Magic in Mexico, but I doubt he'll be looking for a new publisher. I wish I had a chance to talk to him."

"Would you like to meet him?"

Shep's interest sparked. "Do you know him?"

"Not really, but you never can tell who you'll run into in my circle. If you like, I'll see what I can do about introducing you."

"Really? That would be wonderful."

The bell on the front door rang, and almost before the door shut, brisk steps were coming across the floor. "Gil, honey, you'll never believe what I did! You know our new tenant upstairs? Well, he was VERY inhospitable when he found me quite innocently trying to be a good neighbor, so..." Queenie stepped through the curtain, spotting Shepherd sitting with Gil. Neither said anything, but Gil arched one eyebrow as Queen mou mouth opened and shut a few times. "So there you are!" continued Queenie heartily.

"Yes, here his is," drawled Gil. "He seems to be having trouble with his phone line. Very sudden, very odd trouble. What do you suppose could have caused it, Queenie?"

The plump man's eyes shifted. "I have no idea. You know I'm hopeless with mechanical things."

"Hoss wss would be the word. Shep, though you may have met Queenie, I'm sure you weren't formally introduced. That so seldom happens during a break-in. This is Queenie--my aunt." Shep gave him a quick, startled look. "I'm sorry--my uncle."

Queenie flipped his wrist. "Aunt--uncle--we're blood." He almost bounced with excitement. "Gil, I'm going to The Zodiac Club in just a few. Come with me!"

Gil shook his head. "Oh, I don't know."

Queenie's expression crumpled. "Oh, but you have to! Nicky will be playing there tonight, and he's so proud. Besides, simply everyone will be there."

"The Zodiac Club?" said Shep. "I don't recall ever having heard of that."

"I'm not surprised," said Gil.

"What kind of a place is it?"
"It's a dive."

"But it's fun!" chirped Queenie. "Oh, do come, Gil! It won't be nearly as much fun without you." When Gil didn't answer, Queenie turned appealing eyes to Shep. "You persuade him, Mister Henderson."

"Me?" said Shep, puzzled.

"Yes, tell him he needs to come out and socialize." Queenie pis his hands on his hips, looking at Gil sternly. "He spends far too much time by himself. It isn't good for him. It makes him brood."

"Well, that can't be good," said Shep cheerfully. He stood up. "I have to go get ready for my own date."

"Miss Kitteridge?" said Queenie brightly.

Shep cleared his throat, remembering the letter Queenie had quite obviously read. "Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Gil, Mister Shepherd is getting married."

Gil felt a tiny chip of ice settle in his stomach. "Is he, now?"

Queenie blinked at the level, cool tone, and said hesitantly, "Yes... I thought I told y... I guess I didn't."

"That would have been gossip, Queenie. Gossip isn't nice, now is it?"

Shep was looking back and forth between the two men, bewildered. The older man seemed chastened, as if he were being scolded. "I should go now." He started toward the curtain. "Think about going out, Gil. It isn't good to be alone on Christmas Eve." He hesitated just before stepping through the curtain. "I... Um, I'm going to hold you to that rain check."

Gil nodded. "I wish you would."

Not quite sure how to respond, Shep gave a small wave. Queenie, eyes darting between Shep and Gil, twiddled his fingers. When he heard the door shut, Queenie turned excitedly to Gilbert. "So it's 'Shep' already, is it? Perhaps my first impression of him was wrong. He seemed much nicer down here than he was up there, and..."

"Queenie." Gil's voice was cold, and the older man stuttered to a halt. "Queenie, what did you do to Shep's phone?"

Queenie's bottom lip poked out. "Things go wrong with telephones all the time. Why would you think I had anything to do with it?"

"Because I know you. What did you do?"

"I didn't." Gil stared at him silently. "Just the tiniest thing--I'm surprised he was upset at all." More silence. "Honestly, Gil, it wasn't much."

"Queenie, you magiked his phone."

"No. Yes. Just a little."
Gil sighed, looking martyred, but his voice was firm. "I've told you and told you--you can't do that here."

"But you do."

"Not often, and I can control it Queenie. You can't."

Queenie looked wounded. "That isn't nice, Gil."

"But it's true." His shoulders slumped a bit at his uncle's hurt look. "Darling, you just can't. It's far too dangerous. It wasn't so bad when we were living out in the country--aside from that one fire. But we're living right among the Mundanes here--they're all around us. If you keep on, someone is going to notice that something isn't quite right, and I can't have that. None of us can risk it."

Queenie lifted his chin. "If I can't do magic, I'll leave, Gil. I mean it. I'll move into a hotel."

Gil folded his arms. "If you must."

Now Queenie looked dismayed. "You mean you'd really let me go?" He didn't quite stamp his foot, but he came close. "No, this is my home. I won't go."

"Then you can't do magic." Queenie looked rebellious, and Gil's voice became hard. "I mean it, Queenie. If you stay here, no magic. And remember, if you disobey, I'll make you sorry you did." His voice softened, but it was a dangerous softness. "You know I can make you sorry, don't you?" Queenie nodded reluctantly. "Promise me you won't do magic." The older man looked away, and Gil said sharply, "Queenie, swear to me!"

"I... I swear." Queenie sniffed. "But I think you're very cruel, Gil."

Gil heaved a resigned sigh, went, and put an arm around his uncle. "I don't mean to be, dear, but one of us has to be practical--you know that." Queenie shrugged, looking away, bottom lip trembling. "I'll tell you what..." Gil gave him a squeeze. "Let me put on my shoes, and we'll go out to The Zodiac Club and see Nicky."

Queenie immediately brightened, pique forgotten. "Oh, wonderful! You'll see, Gil--you'll have a marvelous time."

Gilbert slipped his shoes on, grimacing in distaste. "I'm sure I will." He got up and followed Queenie toward the front of the store. "In any case, I'm sure it will be better than sitting here alone."

As he locked the door behind him, Queenie said, "You like Mister Henderson, don't you?"

Gil said quietly, , I , I rather do."

"Why don't you take him?"

"Queenie," Gil said patiently, "he's engaged."

"So?"

"So I don't make a habit of breaking up relationships."

"Why ever not?"

"Because it isn't right, Queenie."

Queenie seemed to ponder this. "Really?" he said doubtfully.

Gil shook his head affectionately, thinking that Queenie, even though she had lived among the Mundanes for more years the hae had, had somehow managed to remain blissfully ignorant of the human emotional entanglements, morals, and ethics. "Really."