Chapter Ten

Angel owed Judith a drink at the Dragon's Crown for being right about her mother's persuasiveness. He watched them approach down the center aisle, impressed with Guinevere in spite of the simultaneous sense of dread gathering in his stomach. Now he would have his mother back in tow. She really hadn't seemed much of a bother to Father Mur-

"Can I help you?" a young woman asked. She was wearing clerical robes and was holding a tablet in one hand and behind her, the door to Father Murray's office swung shut like she'd just come through it. She seemed slightly harried.

"No, thanks," Angel said, confused. Guinevere and Brona reached them as he asked, "Isn't Father Murray in today?"

"No, he's on vacation this week," she replied. "Mediterranean cruise. Completely out of reach until tomorrow evening. If there's something I can help you with in the meantime…?"

Oh. Well, then. "...No thanks," Angel said again. "He's just...going to have some very strange messages when he gets back. You can tell him to ignore them."

She nodded and said goodbye, hurrying off with half her attention on her tablet.

Which left the four of them standing there staring at each other.

"Um," Angel said quickly to break the silence. He indicated to Judith with his hand. "This is Judith. Cole. Judith, Brona Magann."

Judith looked like she was about to offer her hand but then remembered that she couldn't, so she inclined her head the same way her mother had done with a "Pleasure to meet you." Brona returned it with, "And you."

Just as the standing there and staring at each other started to make a comeback, Angel shifted and gestured toward the doors. "Well, we should…"

"Actually," Guinevere said, "if you wouldn't mind I'd like to use the ladies' room."

Angel minded quite a bit, but he obviously couldn't say so, so he nodded and Guinevere headed off toward the sign for the bathrooms next to the Fellowship Hall. The silence resumed. The awkward shifting commenced. Even Judith seemed at a loss for words, and that was a new experience on Angel.

Eventually, he remembered that it would be considerate to fill Brona in on who knew what, so he said quickly, eyeing the door to the bathroom, "Judith knows everything, by the way. How...I'm a vampire...and you're...kind of a ghost…" Smooth and tactful, that was Angel.

"A vampire with a soul," Judith added. "That's an important qualification."

"Right," Angel agreed quickly, grateful to her. The more people who said it mattered, the more weight it would add. "But Guinevere is just visiting from Limerick, so she...doesn't. Know."

Brona nodded, taking that in.

"Not that people from Limerick can't know," Angel continued because he didn't know how else to continue. "It's just that I've known Judith a long time - and her son - and so they know, but I only just met-"

"Angel," Judith interrupted calmly.

"Right," he agreed. "Not important."

Brona seemed to be considering him carefully. "You can enter church grounds," she observed.

"Yeah. It's a public building," he replied. "All are welcome."

Brona nodded, letting that sink in. "That was why you were asking to be invited in last night," she realized suddenly. "To enter the… The home. It truly wasn't a brothel."

"A what?" Judith asked, looking at him.

"A home," Angel repeated to her. "Not a brothel. We just established this. But yes," he said, turning back to Brona. "That was why I asked if I could come in. I needed to stop the curse kicking in at midnight."

Brona tilted her head a little sideways. She opened her mouth to speak, but mercifully the bathroom door opened and Guinevere appeared again. Angel turned and led the way toward the doors before anyone else could say anything and he held them open for everyone to file through.

"Dear," Angel heard Guinevere say quietly to Judith, but before she could continue, Judith interrupted with a bit of irritation,

"Yes, Ma, I know, I'm sitting in the back with you."

Angel almost smiled knowingly.

Angel ended up dropping Judith and Guinevere off at one of New Galway's more popular shopping districts on the way home, thanking the elder for her help and also promising to release William back to them as soon as he could.

"No," Judith told him before getting out of the car. "He's doing important things. He should be with you."

Angel glanced quickly at Guinevere, who was already waiting on the sidewalk. He lowered his voice. "You sure?"

"Of course," she replied, just as quietly. "I used to live with the woman. I'll be fine." She gave him a smile and a pat on his forearm, and then said again to Brona that it had been nice to meet her, and slid across the seat and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

As soon as the door closed, Brona let out a breath like she'd been holding it the whole time and asked, "What is this contraption?"

"A car," Angel replied, adjusting the mirror so he could see out the back again. "'Course, back when they were invented, we called them 'horseless carriages.' Didn't think they'd catch on, to be honest. Too expensive and loud." He pulled out into the late afternoon traffic.

After a moment, Brona murmured, sounding weary, "So much has changed. It's difficult to…"

"I know," Angel replied. "Sometimes it's even difficult for me to… And I lived through it."

They turned a corner onto one of the busier roads. Brona said softly, staring out the window beside her, "And now this is your life…"

Angel's fingers played with the bottom of the steering wheel, the edges of his nails dragging lightly over the surface. "I've made the most of it," he replied softly. Then he remembered that for the better part of the last 200 years, he hadn't made the most of it. He'd only...existed. Settled. Seen to it that Connor was happy. Before that had been a brief stint as a Champion. Before that, 100 years of misery. Before that, 150 years of murder.

"You've made something of it," Brona agreed. "I'm not certain what 'the most' is in a case like this."

Angel let out a huff of laughter. "Yeah, me either," he agreed.

Silence fell again. Angel let his mother stare out the window at the people and buildings, alone with her thoughts and he with his. His only plan was to take her back to his flat, where the boys were researching and - he thought but wasn't sure - attempting to contact Cordelia to follow up on her vengeance demon connections. It wasn't the kind of environment he really wanted to bring Brona into, but he didn't see what other choice he had.

"Is anything left?" Brona asked quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

Angel blinked and looked at her. "Of Galway? Sure. The original town is still there, just off that way." He gestured west. "Most things outside the wall are gone, though. Our house, our church… I can't even find where they were."

She turned to look at him curiously. "You haven't been here the whole 462 years, then?"

"No," he replied. They slowed to a stop at a red light and Angel left his hand on the gear shift when he moved it to neutral, gripping it. "I left shortly after…" he shifted uncomfortably. "After. I hadn't actually been back until about 40 years ago." He glanced sideways at his mother, stomach clenching almost to nausea. "I brought my son to live here. Land of his heritage."

"Your-" Brona stared at him, stunned. "I didn't realize vampires…"

"They can't," Angel replied. "It should have been impossible. Doubly impossible; his mother was a vampire, too." The light turned green and Angel started forward again. "The vampire who turned me, actually." He took in a deep breath. "I'm obviously not Catholic anymore, but that...Connor's birth...sure made me believe in something."

"Connor?" Brona repeated quietly.

"Yeah. After Grandfather."

In his peripheral vision, he thought he could almost see a smile on her expression. Something in his stomach released its clench a little bit.

"Would you…" Angel swallowed and tried again. "Do you want to go see him?"

Brona looked at him with a deeply calculating gaze. Angel turned onto the street he lived on.

"Yes," she said after a seemingly eternal moment. "I would."

Angel drove right past his building and turned left, toward Connor's retirement home.

"I know Angel loves his books," Calder said wearily, closing the one in his lap, "but I'm beginning to think they're kind of useless."

"They're not useless," William replied, just as wearily. "They're just...slow. Nothing in that one about interdimensional communication?"

"Nope," Calder replied. "But honestly, Will, even if we do figure out how, which dimension are we going to call? It's not like Cordelia left us her address. We should have asked the other night..."

William grumbled, "Aren't guides supposed to be accessible?"

"Only at the last dire second, I think," Calder replied.

William stood up from the couch where he and Calder were sitting and began to pace the living room, like Angel often did when he was thinking. "What if we just...pray?" he suggested after a minute. "That's like interdimensional communication, right?"

Calder shrugged. "I guess that's the idea…" he agreed slowly. "You try it."

William stopped pacing in the middle of the room, shoved his hands in his pockets, and closed his eyes. The only prayers he knew were from various holiday masses he'd gone to when they visited his grandmother as a child. He didn't think Cordelia would get the message through an Our Father or a rendition of Silent Night.

"Dear Cordelia," he started. It sounded more like a letter than a prayer, but at least the message pointed in her direction, now. "We think this foot mutilation curse thing might have something to do with vengeance demons and we would really like to ask you some questions about it - as a professional consultant, not as a cheap way to get answers for our mission. Just to be clear. If you could come by as soon as possible, we'd really appreciate it. Thanks. Sincerely, William Cole and Calder Lauchley."

William peeked his eyes open. Calder was sitting on the couch in front of him, looking around to see if anything happened. William glanced around, too. Angel's flat was completely still.

"Damn," William muttered.

"It was a good try," Calder told him. "Maybe it takes some time. You did say 'as soon as possible.' Maybe right now isn't possible."

"Yeah," William agreed, shoulders slumping. "Maybe I should have gone to church with Angel and Mum and Maimeó . Maybe churches boost the signal."

"I still can't believe you did that," Calder told him. "Arranged it, I mean."

"Why?" William pulled his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms across his chest. "They were all being immature about everything. I was tired of it, and Angel will definitely thank me later. Maybe not for fifty years, but he will thank me."

Calder tilted his head and shrugged with one shoulder. "Depending on how it goes, maybe," he replied. "But come on: Angel killed his mother. He drank her blood from her neck. Would you forgive your kid if they did that to you?"

William tapped his foot on Angel's hardwood floor, thinking. It was hard enough picturing himself having kids, much less getting killed by one of them. "Angel forgave Connor," he reminded Calder. "And I bet my mum would forgive me. So yeah, I hope I would."

Calder lifted his eyebrows and he shrugged again. "I don't know, man. You have to have a pretty good relationship with your kids for that to work out. Angel's never talked about him and his mum, which doesn't exactly point to stellar."

"It also doesn't point to crappy," William replied. "And anyway, Angel's a totally different person now. Even if human-him didn't have a good relationship with her, that doesn't mean that now-him can't." William unfolded his arms, sighing. "Look, it's done. They're at church and whatever's happening is happening, and we have a curses to figure out."

Calder nodded, eyeing the stack of books on the apothecary table with an already-bored expression. He groaned in frustration and rubbed at his forehead the same way William had seen Angel do before. "Okay," Calder sighed through his hand. "What do we have? A probably-cursed store/object/maybe-but-probably-not person." He held up a thumb for this point and a finger for each proceeding one. "Or a probably-not-but-maybe possession: Some entity that targets people who just bought a pair of perfectly-fitting shoes at one particular store. The store is independently-owned, so we can't check if other branches have had the same problem. The shoe brands and manufacturers are dead ends. There is no common thread between size, style, color, or any other factor we can think of. The victims also have no common factor, although there's only been one man."

"Do you suppose he's transitioning?" William asked suddenly. "Maybe the thing homes in on higher levels of estrogen in the body."

"He had a pretty deep voice," Calder replied skeptically. "If he is, he's been on T for a while. Also, he wasn't wearing a shirt and I didn't notice any surgery scars. I mean, it was dark and I wasn't exactly looking, but if he did, it'd be long healed." Then he added quickly at William's disappointed slump, "But that could be something to look into anyway…"

William knelt down by the apothecary table and pulled one of the scraps of paper they'd be using to jot down notes to write it down.

"Let's see…" Calder continued, thinking. "The curse/possession starts exactly at midnight and stops at 12:01. If the foot-slicing doesn't happen in that time, it tries again by the next night."

"Let's cross possession off, Cal," William said. "What kind of ghost can take over multiple people at once?"

"One that has mind powers?" Calder guessed. "Oh! What if it's a person, like a sorcerer or something controlling people from afar!"

William perked up at the idea. "Someone who knows who found perfect fits at the store, like an employee or something-"

"-Or Ms. Sheffield," Calder suggested.

"Or Ms. Sheffield," William nodded, getting excited. "They could slip something into the box like a hex bag or something-"

"-And that ensures the curse keeps starting every midnight-"

"-Or gives the sorcerer-or-ess a way into everyone's minds at midnight, controlling them!"

William stood up on his knees as Calder leaned forward. "But mind control over multiple people is difficult, so they can only do it for a minute before they have to rest and try again the next night!Damn we're good!"

William leaned over the table to high-five Calder. "Come on! Let's go find Ms. Sheffield!"

Angel had to park under the covered entrance of St. Anthony's, too. He wasn't supposed to, but the sun was still too high to park in the lot and the staff knew about his bursting-into-flames condition. He'd told them when he'd moved Connor in, figuring it was easier that way. Connor was their longest living resident by far, and if the way he'd managed to charm the staff hadn't allowed Angel any perks (like being able to park by the front door), then the steady stream of rent he promised sure did.

Angel led Brona in through the automatic doors (she'd whispered, "Goodness," when they opened in front of them) and veered to the right toward both the hall where Connor lived and the reception desk. No one was there at the moment, so Angel went up to the sign-in kiosk. It lit up as he approached, recognizing the signal from his Palm, and automatically signed him in. Angel tapped the "And Guest" button on the screen and signed Brona in, too. He wasn't quite sure why; it wasn't like she would need to be accounted for as an incorporeal being. It just seemed right. Then without a word, Angel led her toward Connor's room.

They paused outside his door. On the way over, Angel had explained the essentials of Connor's story and condition to the best and most succinct of his ability: that there had been a prophecy of Connor's birth and destiny, that Darla had given her life for their son, that "very very bad things" happened which "would take way too long to get into," but that ended with Connor's destiny being taken away again before he was even 25. He explained that Connor had struggled with depression on and off for most of his extended life, but eventually dementia began to set in. "And now he's happy, I guess," Angel had finished, "since he doesn't remember what made him sad."

The recounting of Connor's story sparked that familiar, deeply-rooted fury in Angel's gut again. It never really died, but remembering it stoked the embers and his insides sometimes ached with the fatigue of it. But how could there ever be a different, more appropriate reaction? It was his son.

Connor's door was open and Angel could hear the TV on in the room. He turned to Brona, thinking about saying something about what to expect, but then he decided that she could just follow his lead. It wasn't like any harm could be done.

Angel rapped his knuckles on the door as he went in. "Connor?"

Connor was asleep in his chair, mouth hanging half-open. His wispy white hair drooped in front of his eyes like a fresh dusting of snow and his bony, purpling hands twitched at the blanket on his lap like a cat gently curling its paws.

Angel turned off the TV and pulled an extra chair over for Brona to sit on. She stared at Connor with a silent, unreadable expression, and Angel had to tell her about the chair to get her to notice it. As she sat down, Angel reached out to tenderly brush the hair from Connor's eyes, and he jerked awake.

"Sorry, sorry," Connor said in his gravely old voice. "I must have nodded off. Where were we?"

"Nowhere," Angel replied. "We just got here. Sorry to disturb your nap."

"Oh," Connor visibly relaxed. "Good. I thought I was being rude."

"Not at all," Angel told him, smiling as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Connor, I want you to meet someone." He nodded toward Brona. "This is Brona Magann. She's...family." Angel had been about to say your grandmother but some days when Connor grappled with confusing things he got upset, while other days he just shrugged it off as a lost cause. Angel wasn't quite willing to test which it was going to be today just yet.

"Family?" Connor repeated, turning stiffly to look at Brona. "Hello, there. My family or your family?"

"Our family," Angel replied.

Connor looked at Angel, now, confusion darkening his Magann brow. "Are we family? Oh that's right, we are. I remember." He paused and then asked, "How are we family again?"

Angel smiled. "Let's just leave it at 'family' for now, okay?"

With effort, Connor shrugged and looked back at Brona. "And she's family, too?" he asked, trying to make the pieces fit.

"She is," Angel replied.

Brona stirred in her seat; her first movement since sitting down. The unreadable expression was starting to loosen, revealing awe and something like reverence. "Hello, Connor," she said softly. "I'm very glad to meet you."

"And you," Connor replied. "You look like you're going to a party."

Brona looked a bit confused, so Angel said, "Because of your dress."

"Oh," she said, looking down at herself. "No, this is just what I decided to wear today."

Connor grunted with interest. "You must be very sophisticated, then. Where do you live?"

Brona opened her mouth to answer automatically and then seemed to be caught off guard. Of course. She didn't 'live' anywhere. "Here," she answered after a moment. "I'm from Galway."

"Oh really? I haven't seen you around town. 'Course, I don't get out much." He glanced at Angel.

Angel smiled at him. "We go for a drive at least once a week, Connor."

"Once a week," Connor scoffed, although there was a twinkle in his eye. "I used to go out every day."

"Would you like to go out every day?" Angel asked.

Connor thought about this for a moment. "Nah," he finally said, waving his hand dismissively, like he always did when that question came up. "I'm too old for that."

"And how old are you, Connor?" Angel asked him. The answer was always interesting. Sometimes, he was aware that he was impossibly old for a human. Other times - Angel suspected when he'd been particularly social with the other residents - he guessed something far younger.

Connor thought about this, too, opening and closing his mouth in indecision over his answer. Finally, he said, "Well, over a hundred…"

"That's right," Angel nodded. "How far over?"

Again, Connor deliberated, occasionally looking to Brona like she might give him a clue. "A hundred and ten?" he finally guessed.

"Try two hundred and thirteen," Angel replied.

"I am not," Connor said incredulously.

"You are," Angel insisted.

"He's bluffing," Connor said to Brona. "Two hundred and thirteen. I don't remember how old I am, but I'm old enough not to fall for that! "

Angel smiled in amusement. "Alright, then, if you say so. So what did you do today, Connor?"

"God only knows," Connor replied, shrugging. "I might've written it down…" He turned his left hand over, palm up, and tapped the silver bracelet on his wrist, bringing up the holographic projection of his Palm. Brona jumped slightly and stared at it in wonder. Connor bumbled through bringing up his notes with a muttered "damn technology" (though his bumbling was more due to poor coordination than the tech itself. Connor had been quite good at it a few decades ago).

"Here we go," he finally said, adjusting in his seat and magnifying the lettering so he could read it. "Breakfast was fine. French toast with blueberries, and they were very ripe. Then we went out in the gardens and there were a lot of birds singing. Then Norm and I played chess, which he won on account of being able to remember how to play. Lunch was fine, I guess, though it doesn't say what we had. Then there was TV in the common room and someone brought a tiny horse in to say hi. Oh! " Connor's eyes lit up as he remembered. "You should have seen it, Angel: a miniature horse, here inside the building! I've never seen such a thing!" (He had, actually, since the owner brought the horse in several times a month.) "Very well-behaved. It didn't even shit on the floor!"

Angel chuckled and asked if he got to feed the horse anything.

"Didn't have anything to give it," Connor replied. "If I'd known, I'd have swiped an apple from the kitchen."

Connor went on for a while about the horse, whose name was Peanut (he hadn't written it down, but Angel remembered from previous descriptions). After the horse's visit, Connor had come back to his room and fallen asleep in front of the TV, which of course brought them to now. Then Connor asked about Angel's day.

"Very, very strange," Angel admitted. "I'm trying to solve a mystery, actually." So Angel told Connor the story of the foot mutilations, which Brona listened to with increased interest. "So now we have to figure out how to stop it before midnight," Angel finished. "There aren't enough of us to save everyone's feet."

Connor stared at Angel for a long moment and then burst out laughing. His guffaws were croaky and wet-sounding, and though he occasionally coughed with the effort, he laughed until tears leaked out of his eyes.

"What?" Angel asked, grinning even though he didn't know what was funny.

"Feet!" Connor gasped. "You hear stories about saving the whole world- Life and death! The universe will explode! And you have to save feet! "

Angel chuckled and then joined in the laughter a little bit. He supposed it was sort of funny, though everything had felt so dire lately. Maybe that had to do with his mother more than the foot curse.

Angel looked at Brona, and she was staring at him with an unreadable expression again.

"What?" Angel asked her, this time.

Brona folded her arms across her chest and gave him a look that said that she'd raised a smarter son than this. "Do you not recall your fairy tales, then?"

Angel frowned in confusion. "Huh?"

She gave a light sigh and said, like he was the world's biggest idiot, "Cinderella."

And suddenly, Angel felt like the world's biggest idiot. Of course. The perfectly fitting shoes. The casually bloodless slicing off of toes or heels. God, Angel realized, even the name of the shop. Enchanted Evenings.

"Oh my god," he whispered.

Connor was now coughing so hard that Angel had to go get him his bottle of water to sip. As Connor drank through the straw, Angel placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry Connor, we're going to have to go."

Connor nodded, still coughing lightly with his mouth around the straw and waved them off.

"Are you okay? Should I get someone?"

Connor nodded then shook his head, then waved them off again.

Angel bent and kissed Connor on the top of the head. With his free hand that wasn't holding the water bottle, Connor patted Angel's side. "I'll see you tomorrow," Angel promised.

Connor stopped drinking his water and the coughing had calmed down enough for him to say, "I hope you'll tell me how the foot story ends. I bet it's good."

Angel smiled and affectionately ran his hand over Connor's head, promising he would. Then he turned to Brona and nodded.

"Would you give us just a minute?" she asked, looking up from her chair.

Angel glanced from her to Connor. "Sure," he said uncertainly. "I'll be in the car." Part of him wanted to hover in the hall and eavesdrop, but another part said that if it was something he wanted to hear, why would she want to say it alone? A thousand reasons, maybe, but he needed to talk to the boys anyway. And giving Brona a moment alone with her grandson was probably the least he could do for her.

He left.

Ms. Sheffield was suspiciously hard to track down. William and Calder started by going to Enchanted Evenings, but Lydia the clerk said that she'd run out on some non-specific errands some time ago and wasn't back yet. They tried calling her, but she didn't answer.

They were lingering outside the shop, debating if they could come up with a believable reason they'd need to search the back office when Angel called.

"Cinderella," was the first thing he said, and William groaned. It took Calder a few seconds, but then he groaned, too.

"We'll stop by Ferguson's," William said as he and Calder turned and started heading for the nearest tram stop. He asked Angel how things were going.

"Surprisingly well," Angel replied. "It's making me nervous."

"Where are you?"

William could see on the screen that Angel was in his car, but couldn't tell where the car was, so when Angel said, "In my car," William could help the short sigh of exasperation.

"At St. Anthony's," Angel added. "She wanted to meet Connor."

"Oh," William said, surprised. He shot Calder a triumphant I told you glance. "So it's really going well."

"And it's making me really nervous," Angel replied. He glanced out the window to his side. "What would a ghost want to say alone to her 213-year-old grandson she'd never met that she couldn't say in front of me?"

Calder leaned over to look at the screen. "Sorry about your dad, I did my best?" he suggested.

William hit him in the arm since Angel couldn't. "Maybe she just needed a minute, Angel," William said. "It's a lot to take in."

"Yeah," Angel said hesitantly. "Maybe. Meet you back at my place?"

William agreed and they hung up.

"How weird has that got to be?" Calder asked as they reached the small shelter of the tram stop.

William tapped the call button for the tram that would take them south, down Ballybaan Road. "Weirder than we can guess," he replied. "I mean, my mum gets all uptight about her mum judging her for things she thinks she's done wrong and whatnot, and that's just a divorce. At worst. Angel actually killed his mum. Plus, he's a vampire and a criminal of practically every sort. She's got a reason to judge him."

"And now she's having a moment alone with her grandson: 'the best thing Angel and Darla ever did,'" Calder finished. "Sorry about your dad, I did my best seems like a pretty good guess, now, doesn't it?"

William rolled his eyes.

"Do you suppose he could make up for it?" Calder asked, a little more seriously. "I mean, if she sees he's good now. That he's repentant and trying to live a good life? I mean look, he's in the middle of this investigation to help save people…" Calder hesitated and then added, "-'s feet. And he's taking care of his son and keeping his section of town pretty well monster-murder free..."

The tram came and as they climbed on board (the little payment stand beeped in acknowledgement as they passed, the signals from their Palms deducting fare from their accounts). Calder continued, "And it's not like he's living the same kind of drinking, fighting, seducing-all-the-women-he-can-find kind of lifestyle, right?"

William suddenly burst out laughing. He laughed all the way to their seat and kept laughing until Calder prodded him, saying that they were getting weird looks.

"Cal!" William cried, wiping tears from one eye. "I forgot to tell you about Gemma Moon!"

And while they rode to Ferguson's, William recounted Angel's brief but colorful description of why he'd been covered in glitter and smelled unusually delicious the night before. Soon, Calder was crying with laughter, too, and they nearly missed their stop.

"So his mum shows up," Calder repeated, wheezing, as they disembarked from the tram, "thinking she's in the afterlife, and the first thing she does is follow her wayward son to a sex nest that he has to get invited to in order to stop someone from cutting off their own toes! I couldn't have invented anything better!"

The tram pulled away and they took a second to get their bearings and head off toward Ferguson's.

They laughed together the rest of the short way to Ferguson's, where they finally sobered up into the serious Investigating Champions they were supposed to be and pushed their way in the door. Ferguson glanced up at them from where he was restocking feathers in a bin and gave them a nod. William counted that as a victory in his cred column: Ferguson didn't try to sweet talk customers he knew or respected.

William and Calder turned down the aisle of books where they knew they'd find volumes on fairy tale monsters and stopped dead in surprise.

Ms. Sheffield looked up at them, a heavy red tome in her hands. She smiled. "Cinderella, right? Already there, boys."