An Ill Wind

by Christine Pope

  He pressed the fob to unlock the doors. Once they were inside and putting on their seat belts, he shook his head. “Why not stay here? We’d have to find a new place to stay in Temecula anyway, since we’ve already checked out.”

  “Stay in Tijuana?” Judging by her expression, Cassandra didn’t look too excited by his suggestion.

  “Sure,” he replied. “I know I’ve got my passport and everything, but I can’t help thinking that the fewer times we go back and forth over the border, the better. If we stay in Tijuana, there are probably fewer things that could go wrong and keep us from meeting from Sister María Whatsis tomorrow morning.”

  “Consilio,” Cassandra said absently. Now she was frowning slightly, as if wrestling inwardly with all the possible upsides and downsides of staying here in Baja for the night.

  “Whatever. There have to be a few decent hotels here, right?”

  “Probably. I mean, Tijuana gets a lot of tourists. Let me check and see if there are any rooms, though.”

  She dug her phone out of her purse. A few more suspicious characters wandered past the car, and Tony wondered if he should just send the vehicle back to the restaurant where they’d eaten lunch, since that was the only destination here that was currently programmed into it. However, since those passersby kept going once they realized the Fiat had a couple of people sitting in it, he figured it was probably safe enough to sit here…as long as it wasn’t for too long.

  “Found something,” Cassandra said. “But the only room they have available is their presidential suite.”

  Ouch. He had money, but there was no need to go crazy. “How much?” he asked.

  She chuckled. “Relax. It’s Baja. A presidential suite in a four-star hotel isn’t much more than we were paying for our room in Temecula.”

  Well, then. That put a different spin on things. A night here with Cassandra, in one of the city’s fanciest hotels? Who knew what might happen?

  “Go for it,” he said.

  11

  She could have been at a luxury hotel in downtown Phoenix, or maybe even Los Angeles, although they hadn’t made it that far during their whirlwind trip to Southern California. The room was large and clean and modern, with a television embedded in a wall that separated the sleeping area from the sitting area, a huge bathroom with marble countertops, and elegant shutters opening on a balcony that offered an absolutely breathtaking view of downtown Tijuana.

  Just one catch…there was only one bed. An oversized king with a pristine white duvet, the kind of bed that invited you to sink down onto it, sure, but….

  “I can sleep on the couch,” Tony said quickly, apparently noting her dismay.

  The couch was an enormous velvet Chesterfield affair, certainly long enough to accommodate Tony’s tall form, but Cassandra didn’t like the idea of making him sleep on a couch, no matter how luxurious it might look.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” she replied, trying to keep her tone as light as possible. “That’s a really big bed. I’m pretty sure we can both fit on it without kicking each other in the middle of the night.”

  He grinned, offering a flash of white teeth she’d come to appreciate more and more. While he was handsome at any time, there was something about that smile….

  “Are you saying you’re a kicker?” he asked.

  “No,” she said at once, trying not to sound offended. “I actually don’t move around very much. So I really don’t think there’ll be a problem.”

  “If you say so.” He went to one of the closets — the suite was equipped with two — and set his single piece of luggage on the rack inside. “What now?”

  There was a question. It wasn’t quite three, way too early to even think about eating. She really wasn’t used to having a lot of time on her hands that she needed to kill, but here they were. They had to figure out something to do to keep them occupied until the next afternoon.

  Well, she supposed they could simply go exploring, just like regular tourists. A little shopping wouldn’t hurt, either, since the replacement clothes she’d purchased in Santa Fe were too heavy for Tijuana, let alone El Salvador…if that was where they actually ended up.

  “We can wander,” she said. “It should be safe enough as long as we stick to the touristy parts of town. Is that okay?”

  “Sure,” he responded. “And then we can come back for drinks. There’s a rooftop bar here.” He waved a hand at the hotel brochure that sat on the table in the sitting area.

  As much as she would have liked to shoot that idea down, Cassandra knew her chances of dissuading Tony from having rooftop margaritas at sunset was roughly the same as having their book thief show up on the doorstep of their hotel room and offer to hand over the stolen grimoires. “Sounds like fun,” she said, although she guessed she didn’t sound nearly as enthusiastic as Tony would have liked.

  His grin widened, but he didn’t comment. “Then let’s get going.”

  They decided to walk because it was a nice day, and the hotel was located on a wide, tree-lined street that seemed to invite strolling. It was hard to believe this upscale area was in the same city as the ghetto where the convent was located, but then, she supposed almost every city had its rich and poor neighborhoods.

  And she had to admit that Tony seemed up for just about anything. He was just as content to wait while she went into a boutique and picked up a couple of embroidered, boho-looking sleeveless tops as he’d been when she stopped into a jewelry store and made a purchase of a pair of earrings that would have made Frida Kahlo proud, intricate drops with silver birds and little pieces of polished pale pink coral.

  Cassandra knew she didn’t really need the earrings, but they went with the embroidery on one of the tops she’d just bought, and she knew for a fact that the price was better than anything she would have paid in the U.S. Besides, it felt good to do something so frivolous, to act as though she had nothing better to do than spend an afternoon shopping. Once they’d met with Sister María Consilio, there was a very good chance she and Tony would have very little opportunity to do something so silly and fun.

  Their wanderings had slowly taken them out of the touristy district where the hotel was located, and into what seemed to be a neighborhood more for locals, with panaderias whose fresh-baked goods smelled sweet and succulent even as you walked past their open doorways. After her huge lunch, Cassandra wasn’t hungry yet, but she had to fight the urge to go in and fill up on all sorts of unnecessary carbs.

  Tony obviously noticed as well, because he sniffed the air appreciatively and said, “Maybe we should go in and get a few things for breakfast.”

  “The hotel provides breakfast,” she pointed out, and he looked a little crestfallen.

  “Right. I’d forgotten about that.”

  However, they’d only taken a few more steps before he perked up and pointed at a small stucco building across the street. In the window was a neon sign depicting an outstretched hand.

  “Let’s get our palms read,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”

  She had more than a few misgivings about that. “Oh, come on — you know most ‘psychics’ are just civilians looking to make a quick buck. Anyone who’s a real witch doesn’t advertise her services like that.”

  “So?” He stood there, hands in his pockets, rocked back slightly on his heels, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “We’ll know that going in, so it’s not like she can upsell us on something, right?”

  Cassandra wanted to ask how he was so sure the palm reader in question was a woman, but in general, it was usually women who owned those sorts of psychic-based businesses. “I don’t see what the point is if we know in advance that she’s not going to tell us anything useful.”

  “Because it’s something to do,” he said. “That’s all. I’ll pay.”

  “Like I care about that.”

  “Still. It was my idea, so I should pay for it.” He reached over and took her free hand, the one that wasn’t holding her packages, and tugged on it. “Com
e on.”

  Maybe it was the sensation of his fingers twined with hers. Or maybe it was the devilish grin he sent her, movie-star incandescent as he stood there with the sunlight shining on his near-black hair and his laughing eyes nearly hidden by his sunglasses. Whatever the reason, Cassandra decided it wasn’t worth protesting.

  Besides, she had realized just then that she really liked him holding her hand.

  Uh-oh.

  They waited for an opening in traffic, then hurried across the street. Once they were safely on the other side, Tony let go of her hand, casually, not making a big deal of it. She gave him an uncertain smile because she wasn’t really sure what else she should do. For all she knew, he’d only reached out to her to offer a little extra encouragement, and then had kept holding on because he’d realized the street was busy enough that it was safer for them to hold hands until they’d crossed.

  Either way, she thought she could still feel the pressure of his fingers on hers, which was really silly. She was an adult woman, not some kid with a sixth-grade crush.

  Adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder helped a little. Now that they stood in front of the palm reader’s storefront, Cassandra could see the bead curtain that obscured the building’s one window overlooking the street, and the little sign in the window that said, in both English and Spanish, that the shop was open every day except Sunday, 11 a.m. to 6 p.m., with other hours available by appointment.

  “Great, she’s open,” Tony said, and leaned forward to press the buzzer next to the door.

  So much for going about this logically. It might have been nice to mentally prepare herself, to think of something innocuous to ask the palm reader that didn’t involve anything having to do with witches, warlocks, or stolen grimoires, but she wasn’t given that chance, because the door opened almost at once.

  The woman gazing out at them didn’t look much like a civilian’s idea of a fortune teller. She was probably in her late thirties or early forties, elegant rather than beautiful, with her long nose and sharp cheekbones. Her black hair was pulled back into a low chignon at the back of her neck, and she wore dangling earrings not unlike the ones Cassandra had just purchased, except set with garnet beads rather than coral. No gypsy shawls or wild colors, either, but a plain black dress with a low, rounded collar and full mid-calf skirt.

  However, the most striking thing about her was the immediate zing Cassandra felt somewhere on the back of her neck, the little tingle she always got whenever she first met another witch or warlock. Tony obviously felt it, too, because his eyes widened.

  “You’re — ” he began, but the strange witch immediately shook her head.

  “Don’t,” was all she said — in English — but it was enough to silence him. Opening the door wider, she stood aside, an obvious invitation for them to enter.

  Well, they’d gone this far. Besides, Cassandra wanted to know why a witch was working so openly as a fortune-teller. Usually, her kind did everything they could to conceal their powers.

  Once she’d shut the door behind them, the woman said, in perfect English, “I am Consuelo Vega, of the Navarro clan. I had not heard that any American witches or warlocks had been given permission to visit Tijuana.”

  Of course she hadn’t, because neither of them had bothered to ask. Inwardly, Cassandra had been hoping that she and Tony would be in and out so quickly that no one would have time to take note of their presence. She hadn’t counted on staying here overnight.

  Not that she would have even known who to contact. She supposed that Marisol Valdez, prima of the Santiagos, probably would have had the information for the Navarro clan’s leader, just because their two territories were contiguous.

  Well, done was done, so about all Cassandra could do was pray that she and Tony hadn’t made too serious a gaffe. “We’re sorry about that,” she said. “Honestly, we’d planned to come to Tijuana for a quick day trip and then leave, but our plans changed.”

  For a moment, Consuelo was silent, appearing to take their measure. Then she nodded, and a faint smile touched her red-lacquered lips. “Yes, I can see there is no harm in you. But…I fear you may bring harm to yourselves, if you continue on your current course.”

  “What do you mean?” Tony asked. His expression was still open, friendly, but Cassandra had noticed the way his eyes narrowed slightly before he spoke. “Are you a seer?”

  “That is my gift,” she replied. “And I see some kind of darkness following you, even though that darkness is not within you.”

  Although a chill inched its way down her spine, Cassandra couldn’t help thinking that the seer’s words seemed like a fairly accurate assessment of the situation. “We have something we’re handling,” she said carefully. “That’s about all I can say about it.”

  Consuelo smiled. “You may keep your secrets. Although I have to wonder why you would come to visit a teller of fortunes if you did not want to know what the future held for you.”

  “Well, we didn’t know you were a witch,” Tony put in, smiling his most charming smile. “We thought you were a civilian and it was just something we could do for fun.”

  That smile didn’t seem to have much effect on the Navarro witch. She crossed her arms, lifting an elegant eyebrow at the same time. “Even civilians sometimes have more insight than you might imagine,” she told him. “In general, it is not a good idea to ask questions of anyone unless you are prepared to hear the answer.”

  Cassandra couldn’t argue with that statement. Trying to look contrite, she said, “I’d be happy to speak to your prima if that would help.”

  “It is no matter,” Consuelo replied with an elegant lift of her shoulders. “The prima is my sister, and so I can guess what she would say to you. Which is…you have a pass this time, but do not let it happen again.”

  These words were somewhat reassuring, although they still held a vague threat. Right then, Cassandra understood that she and Tony needed to conclude their business here the next day and then get out, no matter what else happened. “We understand,” she said. “Right, Tony?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Really, we would have come and gone already, except the person we needed to speak to is out of town until tomorrow. After that, we’ll be out of your hair.”

  This comment made Consuelo frown slightly, but then she nodded. “Interesting idiom,” she said. “But appropriate, I suppose. Now,” she went on, her tone becoming more brisk, “which one of you would like your palm read?”

  Cassandra and Tony exchanged a glance. “I don’t think that’s necessary — ” she began, but Tony stepped forward, hand outstretched.

  “I want to.”

  That small, secret smile touched the seer’s lips again. “Excellent,” she said. “This way.”

  She led the two of them through a beaded curtain and into a smaller room toward the back of the building. In here, the walls had been painted a deep reddish-brown, and very old-looking religious icons and crosses hung everywhere. A single bookcase of pale oak was placed against the far wall, and on top of it were a series of carved soapstone candleholders, each of them containing a single lit votive.

  “You can sit over there,” Consuelo told Cassandra, pointing toward a bench that occupied the spot along the wall next to the door. “Please do not speak during the reading.”

  This command vaguely irritated her, because even though she’d never had any reason to visit a palm reader, she knew enough to watch silently and not interfere. She gave the seer a brief nod and sat down on the bench, setting her purse and shopping bags next to her.

  Consuelo led Tony over to a small table covered in an embroidered shawl. A pair of armless chairs had been placed on either side of it, and she went around the table and sat down behind it, leaving the other chair for Tony. He seated himself as well, looking vaguely uneasy now that he’d committed to this course of action.

  Well, this was all your idea, Cassandra thought sourly. Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.

  “
Your hand, please,” Consuelo said, and Tony extended his right hand to her. For a moment, Cassandra recalled how good it had felt to have those strong fingers holding hers, and wondered if the Navarro witch might be thinking the same thing. But no, that was foolish. Consuelo had to have held hundreds of hands during her career.

  For a long moment, the seer didn’t say anything, only peered down at Tony’s upraised palm, her brows drawing together slightly. At last she spoke, her voice quiet, musing. “You have a long lifeline,” she said as she traced along the line in question with the tip of one finger.

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” he asked, obviously doing his best to sound cheerful.

  “Yes, but you see this bifurcation here?” She stopped, finger resting on a spot that Cassandra couldn’t see from her current vantage point. “This means you will face a great upheaval, something that will change your life forever. I think this will happen in the very near future.”

  Despite herself, Cassandra couldn’t quite hold back the little shiver that slid down her spine. All right, one could probably argue that Consuelo had simply put two and two together and had deduced it wasn’t mere sightseeing that had brought the two of them here to Tijuana, but still….

  “Sounds good to me,” Tony said, sounding supremely unconcerned. “My life was due for some upheaval, frankly. What else?”

  “You’ve walked a solitary path,” Consuelo went on, staring down at his palm again. “Or rather, although one could say you’ve never allowed yourself to be truly alone, at the same time that is all you have been.”

  The easy smile Tony had been wearing seemed to slip a little. “I didn’t know we were going to be playing riddles.”

  “This is not a riddle. It is only the truth as your palm tells it to me.” The seer paused there, her gaze moving past him to rest on Cassandra for a moment. “It also tells me that you can have no chance of success if you do not allow yourself to be open to another.”

  “Got it,” he said, as casual as though Consuelo had just given him directions to the corner store.