It’s a shame that Jack can’t tell Shelly what’s up, because being Shelly, I bet she’d believe him.

On the surface, anyway, Shelly reminds me a bit of the whimsical Jilly Coppercorn from urban fantasy author Charles de Lint’s Newford tales. Jilly is always ready to believe the most outlandish explanations for anything, and tends to be correct in doing so. (I highly recommend said stories, for the record.)