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“What is… DNA?”
“Right. I forgot you wouldn’t have heard of it in 1912. It’s the stuff our bodies are made of, I guess. Genetic structure. Cells and stuff. Like it comes from your bloodline… if someone’s Italian… or Japanese or whatever, and who they’re related to.”
“Oh. I understand now. And you are ashamed of your heritage?”
“No. Not ashamed, per se. I just… It’s notwhoI am. I want to be so much more.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I love books. I lovestories. Books are a special kind of magic. They spark the imagination, take you to far away worlds, and they make you feel so many wonderful things. You know, they say someone who reads books lives a thousand lives, but someone who doesn’t read, only lives one. I read that on an internet meme.”
Montgomery only hummed in thought, turning his gaze to the side. After a short time, he spoke, but didn’t look back at Willow.
“My father left when I was but two years old. I don’t remember him, but Mother always said he was handsome.” He snorted derisively at the thought. “She only ever had good things to say about him even after he’d abandoned us without a penny. He never deserved her praise.” He lowered his gaze and his face grew cold as if the anger was washing over him anew. “He was Irish. My mother was Scandinavian, though she didn’t talk about it much or share any family traditions with me. And when I was thirteen, she died.”
“I’m sorry,” Willow said softly. “How horrible it must have been, to be so young and alone.”
“I made my way,” he said in a hard tone. “I had a found family. People I met through the years. Folks who stayed in my life, not because they had to. But because they wanted to.”
He looked at Willow now, and had such an expression of misery, she couldn’t help but feel a pang in her chest. As infuriating as he was in the afterlife, she had to admit, he was dealt a crappy hand while he was alive.
“So, yes,” he continued. “I understand what it is to leave one’s ancestry behind in order to move forward.”
“Did you ever see your dad again? Maybe he’s your unfinished business.”
“He showed up here one day, after he’d learned of the saloon’s success. Oh, he put on a good act, crying and repentant. Saying he’d turned over a new leaf. But what he really wanted was money.”
“What a jerk.”
“Quite right. When I caught him stealing, I threw him out and told him I never wanted to see him again. He’s not my unfinished business, I can assure you.”
“That really sucks,” said Willow, and Montgomery cringed a little at her liberally modern vocabulary. But surely he’d be used to slang by now. He’d been around in the sixties, after all.
Willow returned to her Kung Pao chicken, but with such a heavy subject hanging in the air between them, she felt the need to clarify something.
“Witches aren’t evil,” she said. “Not any more evil than regular humans, anyway. It’s not like we go around casting hexes on people. Magic is just a convenience, like when you can’t be bothered to do laundry or put on makeup. And when we want to pretend we’re Jedis.”
She shrugged with amusement.
“Esme uses herbs for healing and some fun little spells. But nothing bad. Of course, just like everyone in the world, therearewitches who are inherently bad. Just like not all Irishmen are bad just because your father was.”
“You call your mother by her first name. Why?”
Willow blinked, never having thought of it before. “I dunno. She likes it that way. I think it makes her feel young. She does look more like she’s my sister than a mom.”
“My mother always seemed old,” said Montgomery dolefully. “But she was only thirty-one when she passed. I remember her wrinkles and thinning hair. The harsh life she lived, I suppose.”
“Tell me about your found family. Who were they?”
Willow had done as much research as she could, but there was no mention of a wife or children. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a family. They didn’t keep good records back in 1912—especially in small towns like Mysthaven, Connecticut.
Something in Montgomery brightened as he replied, like he was recounting his good days.
“The patrons of the bar were my people. My regulars. But also, friends.
We had a grand old time, me and the fellas. Walter, Roy, and Sam. What trouble we’d get into as boys. Harmless pranks, really. We’d put up fake signs on shop windows and such. As a youngster already working to support myself, I suppose it was a way to blow off some steam. I’m not terribly proud of my antics, but I have no regrets. We were inseparable, even as we became responsible adults. Walter married the girl next door, and Roy was a confirmed bachelor. And Sam. He was with me the day I opened the Moonstone.”
He looked at Willow then. “I’m happy you kept the name.”
