Sailor’s people were Cale Rom, originally from Spain. Many Rom—but certainly not all—dealt in magic and divination, which had helped them to survive centuries of harsh mistreatment and attempted genocides. I didn’t know enough about Rom culture to understand the subtleties in differences among the groups, but I knew one thing: Many in Sailor’s extended family were powerful psychics.
The last time I was here, Eric and Renna had been assaulted and left to die, and their house had been set on fire. I had arrived in the nick of time and been instrumental in rescuing them both, but I got the distinct impression Renna held me partially responsible for what had befallen them. There was no denying that life in the magical community had been calmer before I came to town.
And previous to that, I had failed to keep a promise to Renna, though I sort of came through in the end in a different way. But that didn’t count.
Anyway, suffice it to say I wasn’t Renna’s favorite person. Happily, Eric was the one who answered the door.
He was dark, short, and stocky but athletic-looking, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with the logo of UC Berkeley Bears.
“Lily,” he said. “It’s been a while.”
“Eric. It’s good to see you.”
“Patience mentioned you might be stopping by. And Renna just saw your arrival in the cards.”
“May I come in?”
He nodded and stood back, waving me in.
“Something to drink?” Eric offered as we walked into the kitchen. A large accordion sat atop a tall stool; it featured ornate scrollwork and gold leaf, the beautiful details of an antique instrument.
“No, thank you. I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit. I’m concerned about Renna. Was someone able to help her last night at the family meeting?”
He shook his head. “She’s been a little . . . difficult.”
“More than usual, I gather.”
He gave me a wry smile. “She’s a handful at the best of times, true, but nothing like this. She’s always been stubborn and impatient, but never . . . cruel. That’s new.”
“What else?”
“She occasionally speaks in tongues and has started swearing—a lot. Then there are the night terrors . . . but mostly she’s just not herself. For instance, her altar’s a mess. That’s the first thing I noticed, as a matter of fact. She never neglects her devotions.”
An aversion to sacred things was common among those in thrall to a demon. Within the Christian church that often meant desecrating religious icons. For Renna, it would be her altar.
“When did this start?”
“A few days ago.”
“Patience said it began after she did a reading for two men?”
He nodded and handed me a thick, leather-bound appointment book.
“I was just leaving when they arrived, so I barely saw them, but it’s written here in her agenda: She noted it was a ‘DR,’ a discovery reading. Usually that means someone is searching for something, a misplaced heirloom, for example. That sort of thing.”
Renna’s handwriting was distinctive, with a backward slant and looping letters. She had written the names Smith and Jones at the appointment time, followed by the letters DR-ALCSHRT, as well as a phone number. I recognized that number—it was the same one the man calling himself Jones had left with Emmy Lou Archer.
“I have no idea what the abbreviation ALCSHRT refers to,” he said. “I’m just guessing whatever is happening is somehow connected to that appointment. She was her old self before the reading, but when I came home later that day she called me a series of filthy names and locked herself in her room.”
“Did you try calling the men?”
He nodded. “Number’s disconnected. Patience had someone trace it; it belonged to a burner phone.”
“What did they look like?”
“Coupla white guys, midtwenties, maybe. Nothing special.”
“Height? Hair color? Anything?”
“I’ve been racking my brain. They didn’t really register, to tell you the truth. They were casually dressed . . . seemed like average height. One had medium brown hair, the other was taller and sort of reddish hair. . . . One might have had some piercings. . . . I’m sorry, I truly didn’t take note.”
“What about the camera by the gate? Do you have photos of them?”
“I’m embarrassed to admit it, but that camera’s not connected to anything. It’s just for show, keeps the nosy neighbors at bay and makes clients more respectful.”
“And I take it Renna hasn’t been able to tell you anything more about what happened during the reading?”
“She won’t talk about it.” He shook his head, picked up the accordion, and slipped the strap over his head. He began to play a soft, slow tune. “The only thing that calms her down is the music. She doesn’t want to talk, barely wants to eat, and hardly sleeps at all. She just stays in her room. It’s clear she’s struggling with something, and I have no idea how to help her.”
“Is it all right if I go speak with her?”
He searched my face for a moment, and I could have sworn he was trying to read my aura. Finally, he nodded. “If you wish. But be prepared.”
I held up my backpack. “I came with supplies.”
“I hope those are some powerful supplies,” he said softly as I headed down the hallway to Renna’s room, where she had read for me, what seemed like a long time ago.
Pausing outside the door to ground myself, I stroked the medicine bundle tied to my waist and breathed deeply. I knocked softly and opened the door.
Chapter 19
The first time I met Sailor’s aunt I had been shocked that she did her readings in the sanctity of her bedchamber. I have always kept my personal space separate—and safe—from strangers. But Renna’s talents were very different from mine, and she gleaned some of her psychic faculties from the intimacy.
When I’d been here before, the room had been carefully staged for readings, with a table in the center, covered in a thick woven brocade, a shallow bowl of water atop which floated rose petals, beside a live toad and a human skull. A stack of oversized tarot cards, soft and dog-eared from use. Her private altar had been set up in a large corner cabinet, with candles and incense, offerings and mementos of loved ones.
The deck of tarot cards still sat neatly on the table. But otherwise the room was a shambles: Papers, herbs, books, and clothing were strewn willy-nilly about the floor and atop the chests of drawers. The sheets had been ripped off the bed and lay in a heap on a crumpled throw rug, and words in a foreign language had been scrawled on the bedroom walls in what looked like dark red lipstick.
Renna was a large, curvy woman easily ten years Eric’s senior. Power had emanated from her before, and even more so now. But at present her power, like the state of her room, was scattered and chaotic.
“Lily Ivory,” Renna said with a smile, her voice hoarse. “It’s been a long time.”
“Good to see you, Renna. I wanted to stop by to say hello and, should you be so inclined, offer you a dress of your choosing from my shop for the wedding—”
She started giggling and dancing around me, throwing rose petals and chanting:
I’ve seen you where you never were
And where you never will be
And yet within that very place
You can be seen by me
For to tell what they do not know
Is the art of the Romani.
She had chanted that song the first time we met, but then it had been part of her act, a way to set the stage for the reading. Now it had a decidedly creepy edge. Renna wasn’t possessed in the classic sense—her head wasn’t spinning or anything like what happened in Hollywood movies. But she was definitely not herself.
I could tell she was fighting it. Her forearms were covered in scratches, and as she stared at me she yanked
out strands of her hair.
I was guessing that Smith and Jones were two of the legion beholden to Sitri, and they had—maybe intentionally, maybe accidentally—passed the contamination on to her. Renna was too powerful, and too spiritual, for a creature like Sitri to easily hold in thrall. It was more like an infection, as though she’d fallen victim to a demonic cold.
On the other hand, someone like Renna would be quite a prize for a demon precisely because of her powers.
“Come, Lily Ivory, take a seat and let me read for you.”
Watching her carefully, I sat at the table. Eric’s accordion music wafted down the hallway, the sounds soothing and strengthening.
“You remember what to do?” she asked.
I nodded and made a sign upon the cards, coming down with a fist first, then a chopping motion. I repeated the motion three times.
In a practiced move she spread the cards out on the table in a smooth arc.
“Choose one,” she said.
I did so, and she took it from me and smiled.
“Three of Cups. Cups Cups Cups! That’s all there is these days! Love, sex, feelings, sex, relationships, sex.”
“You said that last one already,” I said.
“Oooh, but look: It’s reversed.” She shook her head and made a tsking sound. “Such a shame. It means the cancellation of celebration, and those around you going behind your back. How are Sailor and his lovely Amanda these days?”
I blinked. When dealing with demons—or those influenced by demons, to whatever extent—it was critical to maintain one’s self-control, to not allow them to get into your head, to push your buttons.
But who in the Sam Hill was Amanda?
I stroked my medicine bag and kept my voice steady. “Who is Amanda?”
She chuckled and winked. “A beautiful woman, very sophisticated. Lovely auburn hair. Pretty, pretty Amanda. Plain little Lily.”
I tried to ignore the insult.
“Pick another card.”
I picked one, and Renna held it up and studied it.
“Who is she to Sailor?” I demanded.
Renna turned the card toward me with a flourish: the Queen of Cups, a beautiful redheaded woman sitting on a throne.
“Sailor’s queen, of course. His wife.”
A few items flew about the room before I gained control of my emotions. Given the state of Renna’s chamber, I doubted anyone would care so I didn’t bother to clean it up. Instead, I concentrated on my composure.
“You mean his ex-wife,” I said.
“Hmmm, maybe, maybe not.” Renna gave me a cat-who-swallowed-the-canary smile. “Some can’t see the forest for the trees. So sad. Pick another card.”
This one was another Cups.
“Oooh,” she cooed. The sound was getting on my nerves, though I tried to ignore it. “The Eight of Cups represents disappointment and sadness, walking away from a relationship.”
“Which could mean Sailor is walking away from his ex-wife and toward me.”
“I doubt you’re the Queen of Cups,” Renna said, a sudden edge to her voice. She started pulling cards out of the deck and flinging them down faceup on the tabletop, one after the other. “Look at this: The Five of Cups—dreams dashed, mourning over something lost. Four of Cups, ennui and boredom, dissatisfaction. Six of Cups—looking back to one’s past with nostalgia. And the only major arcana is the Tower.”
She threw it at me. The Tower card displays a scene of destruction and violence, a tower on fire, stones tumbling, a man falling to his death.
“You chose those cards, not I,” I said.
Renna glared at me. She seemed to choke as though something were stuck in her throat, and then her eyes rolled back in her head. She started making strange, guttural sounds, her tongue waving back and forth in her mouth. She held her arms straight out at both sides and began spouting something in Latin and other languages I didn’t recognize.
It was undeniably freaky, but I’d encountered this sort of thing before, years ago. I felt confident that it was just for show, to put me off.
I stood up and studied some of the papers scattered about the room. I didn’t see a sigil, but did find two drawings of a catlike face with wings, and many others of cups and water. All were symbols associated with Sitri.
Renna stood up suddenly and started raking her arms with her fingernails.
“Renna, stop that,” I said. “You’re hurting yourself.”
“Get him out!” She grabbed me and whispered fiercely: “Listen, Lily: When Maya opened the box, she started the countdown. You must fuse your astral energy to physical combat! You can’t see the forest for the trees! Use the salts!”
Then a change came over her face, she relaxed, her eyes closed halfway, and she leaned toward me with a seductive air. I had also been through this before; it was decidedly creepy to be kissed without one’s consent, especially by someone possessed by a demon.
This time I was prepared. I slipped an auribus teneo lupum amulet over her head, holding her tight as she tried to pull away. Then I pressed my medicine bag hard against her skin, allowing the crystals and nails within it to make a temporary mark in her flesh, all the while chanting a protection charm. She screeched, an inhuman sound, then slumped, panting, in my arms. I lowered her to her bed.
I sprinkled saltwater on her, anointed her arms and forehead with ash and a salve made from olive oil and rosemary, and drew a pentacle in honey over her heart.
Renna’s tension seemed to ease; her panting and twitching subsided, and she fell into slumber.
That was all I could do in the moment. I took a scarf from around her neck and tucked it into my backpack. When I got home I would cast a separation spell. Like the one I was doing in preparation to confront Sitri, the spell would take several days to come to fruition. But I was confident I would gain the upper hand; I wasn’t alone in this battle, after all. Renna was fighting from her side as well, and she was not a woman to be gainsaid.
I turned to leave, then paused and removed all the Cups cards from her tarot deck.
Weary but relieved, I slipped out of the bedroom, shut the door behind me, and joined Eric in the kitchen. My eyes fell on something I had missed before: a pink bakery box from Renee’s store.
Eric put his accordion down and looked at me hopefully. “How did it go?”
“I believe this was an accidental possession,” I explained. “In fact, ‘possession’ is the wrong word for what’s happening. One or both of the men who came to consult with Renna are in thrall to a demon, and because of her sensitivities she absorbed some of their vibrations. Sort of like when you sit by a fire and the smell of smoke lingers on your clothes for a while.”
“Will she be all right?”
“I think so, yes. She’s fighting it, too. I placed an amulet around her neck, and I took one of her scarves and some of her cards, and when I get back to my place I’ll use them to start a separation spell. It will take a few days to come to fruition, but then she should be back to normal.”
“I really don’t know how to thank you,” said Eric.
“I’d like to take these cupcakes with me, if you don’t mind.”
Surprise registered on Eric’s rugged face. “I, um . . . Sure, help yourself.”
“Have you eaten any of them? Did Renna?”
“I didn’t, but I’m not certain about Renna. I don’t think so, though—she hasn’t been eating, and there are still a dozen cupcakes in the box.”
“Were there a dozen cupcakes originally, or was it a baker’s dozen of thirteen?” I asked.
“I never looked,” Eric said.
I opened the box. There were twelve beautifully decorated little cupcakes, but I couldn’t tell if there had originally been one more.
“Where did they come from?” I asked, pretty sure I knew the answer.
> “The guys who came to talk to Renna brought them. Smith and Jones.”
Smith and Jones were treading on my last nerve. Who were those guys?
Chapter 20
I was relieved to find Maya and Oscar waiting in the car by the curb when I left the pink house. I was tired and fighting a headache, which I often experienced after dueling with spirits. I called it my “witchy hangover.”
Maya, no doubt picking up on my mood, offered to drive us home. I accepted with pleasure and climbed into the backseat to keep an eye on the box of cupcakes. As we crossed the beautiful new Bay Bridge into San Francisco, Maya peppered Oscar with questions, interacting as easily as if she’d always known he was a gobgoyle. He was hunkered down in the footwell so people in other cars wouldn’t be able to see him, and slurped the leftover Chinese noodles while chattering excitedly about where he came from, why his mother was suffering under a curse, possibilities for our honeymoon gargoyle-seeking expeditions, and plans for the upcoming wedding.
Oscar was sweet to Maya in a way he rarely was with me, I noticed.
Meanwhile, I was lost in thought. I could only hope that Renna hadn’t eaten any of the “fairy cakes.” Because if she had ingested an ensorcelled cupcake I might not have diagnosed her correctly, which would affect the separation spell. If the two men who came to speak with Renna were connected to Sitri—and I was convinced they were—did that mean that Renee-the-cupcake-lady was also working with Sitri?
The connection seemed irrefutable. Smith and Jones had gone to Renna for help. In her appointment book, Renna wrote DR-ALCSHRT next to their names. It seemed logical to assume that DR referred to “discovery reading.” Did that mean ALCSHRT was an abbreviation for “Alcatraz shirt”? If so, then Smith and Jones had asked for Renna’s help in locating Ray Perry’s inmate shirt, and she must have sent them to Emmy Lou Archer—but Maya had gotten there first. Then Emmy Lou told Smith and Jones about Aunt Cora’s Closet, and they were sitting in their white van outside waiting when Elena walked out.
Bewitched and Betrothed Page 21
