CHAPTER TWO
San Francisco, California
the present
The sun disappeared from view as if swallowed by a hungry giant as Guerrero's Eldo entered the Webster Street Tube linking Oakland to Alameda Island. Chance rode in the back with Julia. Winston rode shotgun. Two days had passed since Julia agreed to present Chance's request for a meeting to her coven. They were on their way to speak with a representative of the Sisterhood.
Chance hated the Webster Street Tube. The fluorescent light-lined tunnel was one of the few means of accessing Alameda Island by automobile. 4,500 feet long, built sometime in the 1960s, it lacked the elegant art deco entryway the parallel Posey Tube carrying traffic the opposite direction boasted. Its featureless concrete walls funneling traffic into the tube reminded him of a solitary confinement cell.
Supposedly, the two tunnels were earthquake proof. Chance tried not to envision tons and tons of water turning the tunnels into a death-trap if the walls crumbled anyhow.
Mainly to distract himself, he said, "So tell us more about this Endora we're going to meet. Does she have a last name?"
Julia gave him a look. "Most people do."
She had already explained Endora was the person upon whom the writers of the old television comedy Bewitched had based the show's scheming mother-in-law. But without a surname to include, Guerrero's computer search had turned up nothing relevant.
Julia side-stepped the name issue, saying, "I suppose you could call her a…vice president. You have no idea how fortunate you are she agreed to see you at all, never mind at such short notice."
"And she decides if we can undertake this operation."
"Not exactly. She decides whether the endeavor merits being brought to the attention of those who would make that decision."
"Oh. A sort of mid-witch. As opposed to a sandwich - OW!" Chance rubbed his bicep where Julia had pinched him.
"That wasn't funny, Christopher. You better not say anything like that to her or you could spend the rest of your very short life catching flies with your tongue."
It seemed like forever before they saw blue sky again, but at last Guerrero guided the Eldo from the tunnel and followed Julia's directions to a cul-de-sac off Central Avenue.
"There's her house," Julia said, pointing. "The gray Queen Ann."
Guerrero pulled to the curb, killed the engine, and exited the car. He beat Chance to the rear passenger door by a good three seconds and handed Julia from the seat.
Chance gazed at the house as he followed Guerrero and Julia up the flagstone walk, Winston at his heels. Although somewhat smaller than its magnificent neighbors, Endora's home possessed the same intricate hand-crafted ornamentation. A miniature turret on the second floor boasted a - what else - witch's hat roof, topped by a Direct TV receiver disguised as a weathervane.
Technically a 'Painted Lady', it was anything but the multi color Victorian era mansion upon which the name was commonly bestowed. He'd never seen a Painted Lady with less colorful paint. Nevertheless, its elegant, understated pale gray and gold leaf color scheme made its brilliantly painted neighbors look garish.
To reach the stained glass double door entry, they passed beneath an enormous horseshoe arch with radiating spindles looking far too fragile to be carved from any kind of wood.
Maybe they were spun sugar, Chance mused, recalling the gingerbread house hidden somewhere in Golden Gate Park.
A uniformed maid answered the door-chimes. She showed them into an old fashioned parlor complete with lead crystal chandelier, delicate rosewood and brocade settee with matching chairs, and a ceiling-high pipe organ in one corner. A green flame burned in a fireplace made of carved white quartz veined with pure California gold.
"Please make yourselves comfortable," the maid said. "Endora will join you presently."
Julia claimed a chair, crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. The men glanced uncomfortably around, seeking furniture sturdy enough to bear their weight.
"Don't worry," Julia said, "nothing will collapse. Even if it did, we'd just spell it back together."
They no more than got settled when Endora swept in. They swiftly got to their feet again. Julia stepped forward to make introductions.
Endora did indeed resemble the sit-com character named for her. Or more aptly, the actress who portrayed Endora, Agnes Moorhead. She had Moorhead's smoker-husky voice and regal bearing. Her flowing caftan in swirls of blue and silver might have come straight from the program's wardrobe department. The greatest difference was her hair, a midnight black with a single white strand winding through the elaborate braid coiled atop her head in a coronet.
"How do you do," Endora said as she shook hands with them. Chance thought it sounded more like an interrogation than a greeting.
He calculated she must be at least in her eighties, but gut instinct suggested she was far older. No one would guess it from her hands, skin as young-looking as a girl's, fingers supple as a Black Jack dealer's.
"Now then," said Endora as she took command of the room from a perch on the pipe organ's bench, "tell me what this is all about."
... ... ... ... ...
"You do realize," Endora drawled, her husky voice dripping undisguised scorn, "this is a fool's errand. When you intervened on Wyatt Earp's behalf, you corrected an imbalance requiring adjustment. Otherwise your attempt would have failed. The assassination of John F. Kennedy in this universe, tragic as it was, was meant to happen."
There was a long silence. Then, feeling a little like a schoolboy called upon to recite, Chance stood.
"Are you so certain of that? If Jacqueline Kennedy found a way to contact us, how can you be sure whatever guiding force you accept as All Powerful hasn't seen an opportunity to correct something that shouldn't have happened in the first place?"
"Oh, man," Winston said, "you spent too much time with those monks at Port Cartier."
Endora held up a silencing hand. "No, I believe Mr. Chance has a valid point. It is very strange that Mrs. Kennedy was able to reach you, even assuming Nikola Tesla did create such a device as she apparently discovered."
The elder witch sat in silence for a time, eyes closed, lips pursed. Chance felt an itch developing on his left buttock and wanted desperately to scratch it. He knew if he did, she'd know.
"At the very least," Endora said at last, "I believe we need to ascertain how she managed to contact you. But before I can agree to help you with anything, I must consult with my…sorority." She hesitated over the word, as if finding the term as yet too new for her to speak it as nonchalantly as she would 'coven'. "I will do that, and inform you of their decision." She stood. "Gentlemen, I believe we are through for now."
They stood and the maid appeared to escort them to the door.
Three days later, Chance answered the office phone.
"It's me," Julia said, sounding bubbly and excited. "Endora asked me to call. She wants us all at her residence tonight. Ten PM sharp. I wouldn't be late if I were you."
"Wanna come over tonight and make sure I leave on time?" Chance asked, picturing Julia in her slinky black negligee. "Say seven o'clock?" First a leisurely dinner, then maybe an hour or two left over to…enjoy each other's company. "I'll chill some champagne and-"
"If I do, we'll both be late getting there. That would be a very…uncomfortable situation."
"Tell you what. I'll set a reminder on my cell-"
Click. He was talking to a dial tone.
"Red, you are one stubborn woman!"
A little before ten PM, Chance, Winston and Guerrero arrived at Endora's gilt and gray mansion. Chance could scarcely believe it was the same house. Lighted from within, exquisite stained glass windows, all but invisible in daylight, glowed like a frozen sunset. The golden trim sparkled with reflected color. He stole a second glance at the roof to see if the shingles had turned into Necco wafers or ginger pastilles.
A black and silver Harley Davidson motorcycle was parked at the curb. Guerrero passed by with a somewhat condescending glance - it wasn't an Eldo, after all. As Chance and Winston walked past, it produced a resounding back-fire.
"What the hell!" Winston shouted, flinging himself backward.
Chance leaped the curb, his head snapping left then right, his hand snatching for his pistol. Then he heard Julia.
"Cedric! Shame on you! Don't you do that again!" She stood beneath the horseshoe arch, shaking an admonishing finger at the now aphonic Harley. Beside her, Guerrero struggled to maintain a straight face.
"I might have known," Chance muttered. Then he uttered a low whistle as he took in Julia's body-hugging black leather riding garb.
"Come along, you guys," Julia said. "Endora doesn't like to be kept waiting."
As before, a uniformed maid ushered them into the sitting room. Soon Endora joined them, this time clad in poppy red. She waived for the men to sit, but remained standing herself.
"I have consulted with my coven. We have ascertained there are vital circumstances of which you are unaware. Before we can proceed, I must have your most sacred oaths to protect the secrecy of what I am about to reveal." She gave them an arch look. "Not that anyone would believe you if you told."
After a moment, Chance said, "It's policy to keep all our clients' information confidential."
Endora snorted. "We are hardly on a par with your everyday clients. Our secrets are valuable far beyond some mere mortal's Swiss bank account number. We have labored many decades to project the image of a few eccentric souls who practice nude midnight revelries but are otherwise harmless. If our true powers were discovered, we would be hunted down and tortured for our knowledge. We survived one Inquisition. I doubt we would fare as well in this modern age.
"If you desire our cooperation, you must swear never to reveal what our assistance was, nor from whence it came. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly," Chance said. He stood and placed his hand over his heart. "I do solemnly swear to protect the secrets of the Sisterhood. If necessary, with my life."
"That will do nicely. So say you all?"
Winston, and after a moment's hesitation, Guerrero, stood also. "I do," each said.
Chance felt a sharp pressure change in his ears, as if flying an airplane that suddenly lost a thousand feet of altitude. Guerrero and Winston stared at him. They'd felt 'it', whatever 'it' was, too. Something had taken notice of their replies and deemed their words an unbreakable vow.
Endora rang a small bronze bell on a nearby side table. As if waiting in the hallway, the maid appeared with a tray holding a silver coffee service, thick ceramic mugs, and a plate piled high with chocolate chip cookies. "Please help yourselves," Endora said. "This may take a while."
With the air of a master storyteller getting good and comfortable, she settled into a wideseat armchair upholstered in chocolate and gold brocade.
"Now, then. My story begins in 1917 when Rose Kennedy gave birth to a son, a weak and fragile infant not expected to live. He was named John Fitzgerald. At the same time, somewhere on the California coastline, a Nereid captured and seduced by Joe Kennedy, Senior, was birthing her own child, a red-faced and squalling halfling she named Jack…."
... ... ... ... ...
"Let me get this straight," Winston said when Endora concluded her narrative. "Shortly after their birth, the babies were switched. The…halfling Jack grew up to be president John F. Kennedy? No way, no how, did that ever happen."
"Are you suggesting," Endora said, "that I have been untruthful?"
Her icy tone made Chance fear for Winston's continued existence as a two-legged being.
"Oh, no Ma'am. Not at all." Winston gave her his politician's grin, then his pissed-off cop's scowl. "I'm sayin' whoever fed you that story is full of bull."
Endora smiled in return. It was not a pleasant smile. Chance held his breath and waited for Winston to poof into a toad.
"What say you, Mr. Chance?"
Diplomacy, he thought. Tact. Charm. Crossed fingers. He swallowed.
"I'd say it does sound pretty far-fetched. But so do the concepts of time travel and parallel universes…." He shrugged. "It is kinda hard to believe the 35th president was…found in a cabbage patch."
At this, he had to strangle an overwhelming urge to let loose a full-blown belly laugh.
"Actually, it was a tide pool along the shoreline at Point Mugu," Endora said. She pointed a finger at the cookie plate. A cookie rose and glided into her outstretched hand.
At this, Winston's eyes bulged, but his voice remained steady as he said, "Wait a minute. What in hell is a neery-id, anyway?"
"Julia," Endora said, "our friend seems rather unfamiliar with the lore of the Sidhe. Would you kindly give him the Condensed Book version?"
"Yes, of course. Mr. Winston, the Sidhe, or the fairy folk as you probably learned to call them as a child, consist of a vast assortment of magical beings. The world of the Fae, which includes Nereids, is divided into two realms. They are the Seelie, commonly considered the 'good' fairies, and the Unseelie, the 'dark' fairies who delight in causing mischief.
"The Nereids are sea nymphs, not to be confused with Selkies or Sirens. They're Greek in origin, offspring of the Titan Nereus, and were highly prized as brides. They were married off to such notables as Poseidon and the Cyclops Polyphemus. Their descendants migrated over the centuries, some finding their way to Ireland where they sought sanctuary with Queen Mab - queen of the Unseelie - when the increased use of iron in shipbuilding threatened to poison them all. A few followed lovers to the New World, but they remain allied with the Unseelie Court."
"Oh, I get it. Kinda like Santa and his elves."
Julia gave Winston the smile of a teacher whose dullest student had just solved the riddle of the Sphinx. "Exactly!"
"Endora," Chance said, "If the babies were switched and Rose Kennedy raised the halfling, what became of the genuine JFK, the boy Rose gave birth to?"
"An astute question, Mr. Chance. According to folklore, when a human infant was exchanged for a Fae child, the Fae mother took the human child to raise as her own. But the Nereid whose baby replaced Rose's son had no way to care for a full-blood human, especially an ailing one. She probably drowned it."
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the indifferent tick of the humpback clock on the mantelpiece.
"So all this makes it okay to assassinate Kennedy?" Guerrero said, startling them all with his vehemence. "What does his biology matter? His history, his track record is what counts, whether he was Rose Kennedy's son or someone else's."
"Or something else's," Winston muttered.
"Not…okay," Endora said. "But that brings me to the matter I called you here to discuss. My sisterhood has examined other universes where Kennedy did not die in Dallas. In some instances, Lee Harvey Oswald missed completely. In most, however, Kennedy was shot but not killed. Rather, he suffered brain damage which in turn either incapacitated him, or severely altered his personality."
She paused to sip her coffee.
"In the worlds where his personality altered, he became a power-hungry warmonger who sought world domination through whatever means necessary. We believe, Mr. Guerrero, this is due in part to his genetic makeup. Among the Unseelie a thirst for blood is not uncommon.
"For the most part, he was removed from office before he created world chaos. In some instances, however, his intentions were not discovered until it was too late. From omens we observed, this world is one which would have suffered apocalyptic damage, had Kennedy survived."
"You said sometimes Oswald missed," Winston said. "If you can send Chance back in time, why can't he eliminate Oswald from the equation altogether? No Oswald, no bad shot, no brain damage, no personality change. No apocalypse."
"If only it were that simple. However, neutralizing Oswald after so much time has passed would unquestionably result in a …traumatic restructuring of this world as we know it." She looked straight at Chance. "Oswald must be allowed to make his attempt. That is not all. In the universes we studied, whether the Dallas attempt is successful hinges on whether Oswald is or is not the lone gunman. Where he succeeds, he has help."
Guerrero leaped to his feet. "Are you saying we're supposed to help that little turd?"
"Please sit down, Mr. Guerrero. Let me finish. Since our Kennedy did die, Oswald must have had help. The other shooters were never captured. Never identified. And yet witness after witness saw things happen that never appear in the Warren Report. Things that must happen to insure this world does not deviate from its intended path. I am saying it is most probable your team is the catalyst needed to insure what was meant to be, happens.
"To that end, Mr. Chance, my sisterhood will assist you."
Chance didn't know what to say. He hadn't bargained for any of this. When he promised Jacqueline Kennedy he'd try to help, he believed he might prevent an assassination that devastated an entire world. To accomplish the one thing that would give total absolution for his many crimes. Now, if Endora could be believed, he must not only not save Kennedy, he must take part in killing him.
"You can't do it, dude," Guerrero said. "You can't help them kill Kennedy."
"It's already done," Chance reminded him. "Whatever we decide, we've already done it."