Page 81 of No Charm Done

And they were throwing candy.

They threw the candy methodically, little arms moving in repetitive arcs: reach into bucket, grab candy, throw candy; reach into bucket, grab candy, throw candy. Faces blank and porcelain, unblinking, ignoring the real kids scrambling for candy below. They just kept on. Reach, grab, throw. Over and over.

A pile of candy had accumulated at their feet. It spilled over the edge of the float, creating a cellophane-wrapped drift on the grass below.

Townsfolk had gathered, about a dozen or so, most looking bemused. Some were taking photos. A few stood with arms crossed, trying to reckon whether this was Oak Haven’s usual level of weird or if they should be calling someone.

The brass band hit a crescendo. The children threw candy. The papier-mâché eagles spun.

Luna’s eye twitched again.

“Luna!” Her mother’s voice cut through the noise. “Luna, thank the gods . . . You need to meet Chuck!”

Kelly Melrose stood beside the float, flanked by Scarlett and Delilah. All three looked like they’d been there a while and were deeply, profoundly tired of “Stars and Stripes Forever.”

But it was the man dressed as a revolutionary war general who made Luna stop walking.

He was excessively handsome. Absurdly, almost violently so. Square jaw. Bright blue eyes. Teeth so white they could serve as emergency road flares. Every feature perfectly symmetrical. He was, in fact, so handsome that he went around the horn and back to ugly.

When he saw Luna, his face lit up like she was an old friend returning from the Battle of Yorktown.

“Luna Melrose!” He strode forward with his hand extended, and Luna had no choice but to accept his overly aggressive handshake. “Chuck. Chuck Harrison. I’ve heard so much about you! That pitch in New York—magnificent. Truly inspired work.”

Luna blinked. “How do you—I mean, that was this morning⁠—”

“Word gets around.” He shrugged. “I’m highly connected. I do venture capital . . . you know how it is. When she told me about your operation, I said to myself, I said, ‘Chuck, this is the revolution to back!’” All this with the breathless energy of a golden retriever finding tennis balls.

Luna looked at her mother. Kelly’s features were deliberately arranged in a neutral expression, which generally meant she was about two minutes away from hexing someone.

“Chuck is Louise’s investor friend,” Scarlett said, her tone suggesting this explained everything but also nothing.

“That’s right!” Chuck beamed. “And let me tell you, I’ve been doing this a long time. Earned my first real cheddar in ’76, actually. We’re talking big bucks, major scratch, real lettuce, and serious bread. I bring home the bacon, I make the dough, I’ve made enough moolah to choke a horse.”

He’s like the Inuit, Luna thought, with their supposed thousand words for snow. But the only thing falling from Chuck’s sky was money.

“What can I say, Chuck Harrison just has a nose for investments. I bought Apple at thirteen cents! Can you believe it? Watched those shares turn into major cabbage.”

Luna couldn’t help imagining what deeply confused comment Elias would’ve made about an “apple” costing a dollar and a half. It broke her heart a little not to hear it.

“Hang on,” Scarlett said skeptically. “Thirteen cents? When was Apple stock that cheap? Like, over forty years ago?”

“Give or take!” Chuck’s goofy grin didn’t waver. “Also got in early on Microsoft. Later Amazon, Google, Facebook—every time the next big thing came along, Chuck Harrison was there with his wallet open. You develop a nose for it, you know? Where the green’s going to be. Where the coin’s going to land. Where the bread gets buttered.”

Delilah studied Chuck and didn’t bother pretending she liked what she saw.

Ignoring her, he gestured broadly at the green, the float, the world entire. “Magnificent! It’s all magnificent. This CastR thing has great potential! And not just the magic, either. No, I’m talking about the audience. See, most investors, they think about revenue. Market penetration. Bo-ring! What matters, truly matters, is attention. It’s the attention economy, ladies! Attention is worth more than cash, more than gold, more than every cryptocurrency combined. Gotta get me those eyeballs, get them gathered together, all focused on one thing? Eyeballs are power. Eyeballs are America.”

Scarlett frowned. “You haven’t asked if the app even works.”

“Doesn’t matter!” Chuck said this with such cheerful confidence that Luna almost believed him. “Maximum attendance, maximum energy—that’s where the real value is. That’s the revolution! That’s what the Founding Fathers fought for!” He gestured at the float behind him, where mini George Washington had just beaned a local kid in the head with a Tootsie Roll.

“I’m pretty sure,” Kelly said dryly, “there was more to the American Revolution than that.”

“Not much more!” Chuck laughed like this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Oh, history teachers love to yammer on about ideals. But you know what it really came down to? Capital. Freedom has always been about capital, ladies. Men like me got sick of paying taxes to some George fella, all the way across the sea. I mean, who died and made him king, know what I mean?!”

Little Ben Franklin’s candy bucket abruptly ran empty, and he began to cry. It wasn’t a normal child’s cry—no slowly building whimper, no gulp of air before the wail. Just instant, high-pitched sobs, as though someone had flipped a switch labeled “DISTRESS.” But the brass band kept playing. The other children kept mindlessly throwing candy, their movements uninterrupted.

Chuck’s smile flickered for a split second, then he was all brightness again. “Well! Duty calls. Can’t have my patriots running low on ammunition.”