“Me! Simon! Everett, I’m not dead! I don’t know what’s happened, but—”
Everett cut him off. “Look, whoever you are, this isn’t funny.”
“No, no, it’s really—”
Click.Simon frowned at Shanna, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He dialed the number again.
“I won't be responding to pranks.” Everett hung up.
“Call someone else?” Shanna suggested.
“Yeah. Yeah, good idea,” Simon said, and she hated that she felt proud, like she’d been noticed and her achievements acknowledged.
He dialed another number; this time, the reception. Same thing—as soon as he introduced himself, the receptionistthought it was a prank. He called more people with the same results, typing in numbers so rapidly Shanna could barely follow him.
“You know all the phone numbers by heart?”
“Of course I do,” he said, not looking up from his phone. “It’s my company.” He set down the phone and hid his face in his hands, letting out a tired sigh. “It’s my company, and nobody will answer me.”
The way his voice hitched up at the end, Shanna had to physically hold herself back—grip the backrest of the chair—to keep from going to him and trying to console him. He wasn’t her Simon anymore. He was a stranger whose life she’d mucked up, then saved with the help of witches more competent than she was.
“Would a video call help? They could see it’s really you,” she tried.
He looked up. “Yes! Why hadn’t I thought of it?”
“It’s fine. You just woke up after a long sleep,” she said with an encouraging smile.
“Speaking of which, I should shave before I call them. They’ll never believethis”—he circled his finger around his heavily stubbled face—“is me.”
“Bathroom’s over there.” She sat down as he disappeared into it, only to be jolted back to her feet when, a minute later, the sound of crashing, yelling, and cursing came from behind the door.
Shanna rushed in. Simon was fine, but the metal shelves over the sink had collapsed, leading to a landslide of bottles and cans in the sink.
“I didn’t even touch it, I swear.” Simon lifted his hands. “This, and the car—it’s like I’m cursed.”
Shanna slumped her shoulders. “It’s not you. It’s me. I get bad luck.”
“What do you mean?”
“This.” She pointed at the mess in the sink. “It happens all the time. Things will break, or I’ll bump into them. Back in Vegas, my brief waitressing career was a long list of disasters. But I’m not sure why it’s suddenly extending to you.”
Simon glanced at a razor left on the sink. “I probably shouldn’t shave right now.”
“Probably not.” Imagine if, after all this, he cut himself and bled to death because of her bad luck.
“All right.” Simon checked his appearance in the mirror and brushed his hair back. “This will have to do.”
They returned to the kitchen, where he attempted a video call to Everett—only for a consistent beeping to announce the call couldn’t get through. “They blocked me,” Simon said in disbelief. He tried all the other numbers—nothing. “They’ve actually blocked me.” He paced around the dining table. “Can I try your phone?”
“You can, but it doesn’t support video calls.”
“How the hell wouldn’t—” He paused as she handed him her worn-down brick of a phone. “This isn’t a smartphone.”
“It’s from this century, though.”
He only shook his head.
“The accidents accompanying my existence,” she said, “particularly extend to technology.”
