But how did they know the shirt was in the bundle? And why would they kidnap Elena, too? Despite Carlos’s protestations, I feared it was possible Elena was working with Sitri, was somehow in his thrall. If so, I would have to exorcise her as well. Maybe I should open a new business: vintage clothes and demonic exorcisms, at your disposal.
Renna said that Maya inadvertently kicked this whole thing off by opening the box that contained the shirt. There had been an attempt to safeguard the photographs with knot magic; maybe the shirt had been protected by magic that had faded as well. So maybe there were some guards on Alcatraz—and certain prisoners such as the Albright brothers—who had worked for Sitri many years ago. Przybyszewski might have changed his mind and tried to pull away—resulting in the feeling of bad juju in his house, and in his early death.
I had cast Sitri out of the School of Fine Arts a while ago, but he might well have enjoyed an eternal portal on the cursed island of Alcatraz. He and his Feather People, the legions of his lesser demons. They would have grown stronger over the years from the misery of the prisoners.
When we arrived at Aunt Cora’s Closet we found Bronwyn alone in the store. She told us Duke had just run out to pick up some sandwiches.
“May I tell Bronwyn?” Maya asked me excitedly, then looked at Oscar.
“Tell me what? Oh, do tell!” urged Bronwyn. “I love secrets!”
I glanced at Oscar, who nodded as he trotted over to his pillow for a post–Chinese food nap.
“Oscar’s not a regular Vietnamese potbellied pig,” said Maya.
“Of course he’s not!” Bronwyn gushed, her voice taking on the gentle tone she reserved for animals and small children. “He’s our special itty-bitty Oscaroo, isn’t he?”
“Well, yes. But he’s also a whole different critter. He’s a shape-shifter.”
Bronwyn laughed.
“I’m serious. He can talk, and everything.”
Bronwyn looked from Maya to me, then to Oscar, then back to me.
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Really? No!”
“Yes!” Maya said again, starting to laugh.
Bronwyn looked at me. I nodded.
The bell over the door tinkled as Selena walked in.
“What about Selena?” Bronwyn whispered.
“She already knows,” I said.
“About what?” Selena asked.
“Oscar’s true self,” I said.
Selena shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is. We have a bunch of animals at the shelter way cuter than him, in either of his forms.”
Selena had been volunteering with animals at the shelter, and the work had, by and large, improved her capacity for empathy and compassion. But not toward Oscar, apparently.
Bronwyn stared at Oscar, who was fast asleep and snoring on his pillow. “How does he . . . I mean, how does it happen?”
I smiled. “When he wakes up, I’m sure he’ll oblige you.”
“That’s really something. Should I . . . could I tell Duke?”
This was the problem with spilling secrets, I supposed. It was hard to tell where to stop.
“I asked Oscar for permission to share his secret with you and Maya. Let’s wait and ask him about Duke when he wakes up. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” said Bronwyn. “There are plenty of coven matters that I keep to myself; Duke doesn’t have to know everything. I’m a woman of mystery, after all. . . .”
The bell tinkled as Duke strode into the shop with a paper bag and a newspaper in hand. In his late fifties, he had salt-and-pepper hair and the physique of a man who had worked with his hands his whole life. He used to be a professional fisherman and still kept a small boat on the docks in China Basin.
After we all traded greetings, Duke set the newspaper on the counter and started to unpack the paper bag, handing Bronwyn her sandwich.
I tilted my head to read a bold headline: Local Billionaire Kyle Cheney Pulls Disappearing Act. I pulled the newspaper toward me to read the rest of the article.
“Did you hear about this?” I asked no one in particular.
“I heard it on the radio,” Bronwyn said with a nod. “No one’s seen him since yesterday afternoon. They don’t know where he’s got to.”
“That’s not long enough for him to be considered missing, is it?” I asked. The article didn’t say much, only that unnamed sources had reported Cheney had missed a number of appointments, that he was on medication, and that he had been acting oddly lately.
“Probably went off for a little alone time on his own private island somewhere,” said Duke.
“But he’s putting on the huge shindig out on Alcatraz!” Bronwyn declared, as though Cheney disappearing was the height of rudeness.
“That’s so strange,” I said. “I met with Cheney’s assistant this morning, and he didn’t say anything about it.”
“Why would he?” Duke asked. “A corporation would most likely try to keep this sort of thing quiet, so as not to spook the shareholders. Probably went into rehab. Or again, I vote for hiding on a private island.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” I said. “Speaking of islands, could I ask you a question about the tides in the bay?”
Duke’s eyebrows rose. “Sure. What about them?”
“Are they consistent? I mean, could you figure them out by the phases of the moon or something like that?”
“I suppose you might be able to, if you knew enough about such things. We always kept a tide log on the boat. It’s also published in the newspaper . . . or at least it used to be, back in the day. Not sure about these days. I know it’s available on the Internet.”
“Has Bronwyn mentioned to you that I’ve been out to Alcatraz recently?”
He nodded. “She’s filled me in. Terrible. But Bronwyn tells me your friend has been found, and she’s okay?”
“We hope so,” I said, reminding myself to call Carlos and check in. “Thank you. I’m trying to figure out if the Alcatraz prisoners who escaped into the water could have gotten to shore.”
“You and hundreds of others over the years, I imagine. There’s a force in the bay called Dead Man’s Current. If you get caught in it, it’s almost impossible to overcome if you’re in the water, or even if you’re on a small craft. It’ll pull a person out to the open sea, not slowly, but surely. There are periods of time when Dead Man’s Current is not as strong, though, so from the island of Alcatraz you might be able to push north to the shores of Marin, or maybe to Angel Island.”
“Wouldn’t it be depressing to succeed in escaping Alcatraz, only to wash up on another island?” said Bronwyn.
“Angel Island’s much bigger than Alcatraz,” said Duke. “And it’s separated from the mainland only by the relatively narrow Raccoon Strait. If you managed to navigate through the tides and currents from Alcatraz to Angel, you could walk around to the other side of Angel Island and have a straight shot over to Tiburon. That trip in the northern waters of the bay, from Marin County to any of the islands, is easier than any other approach, as a matter of fact.”
“So you’re saying a person could have escaped from Alcatraz that way? And lived?”
“It would be risky, but it’s possible,” he said. “Although, I don’t mean to cast aspersions, and I certainly didn’t know the guys, but the Albright brothers didn’t seem like the sharpest tools in the shed. I always wondered if they had a little help.”
Bronwyn beamed at Duke. “He knows so much about everything, even Alcatraz. Darling, are you sure you won’t go on the ghost hunt with me?”
“History is one thing, ghost hunts quite another,” he said with a smile and a shake of his head.
* * *
• • •
After we closed up shop, I hurried upstairs to my apartment. I was looking forward to seeing Sailor to
night. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to talk. I wanted to ask him what he thought about Sitri, and the cupcakes, and Alcatraz. I wanted to kiss him and feel his arms around me.
But then he called to cancel.
“I’m so sorry, Lily. Please believe me when I say it’s unavoidable. Tomorrow night, for sure.”
Oscar had disappeared again as well.
So Sailor had bowed out tonight, and Oscar had better things to do than to hang out with yours truly. I wandered around my empty apartment for a few minutes, straightening a few things and feeling sorry for myself. I had become so accustomed to being surrounded by others—friends, family, familiar—that I sometimes felt at loose ends when on my own.
Then I glanced at my Book of Shadows, the gift of my ancestors, a tangible reminder of my connection to others, and gave myself a stern talking-to. You spent years as a solo act, Lily. Remember how long it took you to open up and accept friendship and to build a sense of community? Well, the flip side is that sometimes you will miss them when they’re not around. But that’s no reason to feel sorry for yourself—that’s a reason to appreciate what you have. Buck up, witch, and make yourself useful.
Fine. I certainly wasn’t going to sit around waiting for boyfriends and gobgoyles to show up and amuse me. I had plenty to do.
Starting with those benighted cupcakes.
Bringing the pink box Smith and Jones had taken to Renna and Eric, I drove to Renee’s bakery. Not only did I want to keep the cupcakes out of Oscar’s hungry gullet, I wanted to use them as Exhibit A when I confronted Renee about them. But when I got there the shop was dark, the cheerful yellow CLOSED sign still hanging in the window. The note and little pot of salve I had left were gone, but otherwise there was no sign of her.
Where else might I find her? It dawned on me that I had no idea where Renee lived. I peered through the shop’s front window. The display cases were still well stocked with brightly frosted cupcakes, and one shelf held savory meat pies. Renee had once dosed me with one of those meat pies.
My stomach growled at the memory; much as it pained me to admit it, the meat pie had been delicious.
It made me realize how long it had been since I’d eaten. I had skipped lunch in favor of dueling with Renna and should have taken Maya up on the offer of the Chinese food leftovers. My kitchen cupboards were bare despite my shopping trip with Selena. It was tough to make time for the routine parts of daily life, like grocery shopping, when chasing down demons.
And if a growly stomach weren’t pedestrian enough, I needed to pee. Pretty badly.
I tried the doorknob, just in case. Locked, of course. But there might be a way around that. I wondered how many laws I would be violating if I entered Renee’s cupcake shop and did a little snooping. I remembered seeing delicate bottles of lachrymatory salts on a display with her souvenir silver spoons. I’d like to take a closer look at those. But . . . getting into the shop wouldn’t be that easy, would it? Renee was a powerful practitioner; surely she had cast some sort of supernatural protection over her store in case a nosy witch showed up in search of lachrymatories and a restroom.
Indecisive, I hunched over and peered through the window again, cupping my hands around my eyes to see better. The poster for the Festival of Felons hung proudly on her back wall.
“Busted,” a voice behind me said.
I jumped, whirled around, and staggered back against the door. I nearly released a blast of power, stopping myself just in time.
Aidan Rhodes. Golden hair shimmering in the early evening sun, periwinkle blue eyes twinkling. It reminded me that I almost never saw him out and about in the daylight; he was more of a middle-of-the-night owl because it was harder for him to maintain his glamour before the sun went down.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded, trying to still my heart.
“What are you doing here?” he asked with a smile.
“Looking for Renee, obviously.”
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t meet with Renee without me. I know she seems like an innocuous cupcake lady, but she’s quite powerful, Lily. Don’t underestimate her.”
“Yeah, well, that’s all well and good in theory, but you’ve been hard to pin down lately.”
“Just for a couple of days.”
“Those were a couple of very long and eventful days.”
“You spilled a drop of your blood on my book.”
“No, I didn’t. Noctemus did. Tell her to keep her claws to herself, will you?” The salve had done its work; the scratches were still visible, but no longer inflamed.
“My point is, something’s been started in motion.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Could be. A witch like you has to be very careful about her blood. So, what are you doing here?”
I shrugged. “I’m not entirely certain, but we probably shouldn’t talk about it right here. Suffice it to say, I wanted to talk with Renee and since she wasn’t here, I thought I’d take a look around.”
“You don’t think Renee would have taken precautions against such things?”
“I imagine she has. But still. I need a bathroom.”
He let out a silent chuckle.
“Well, in that case . . . after you.”
We both felt the wall of protection, but like the spell I cast each day over Aunt Cora’s Closet, it was gauged at stopping someone intent on vandalism or decimating the cupcake inventory, not a determined witch and her friend, a powerful warlock. Our combined powers could overcome it without much trouble.
But if Renee still kept the lachrymatories here, she would have set up a much stronger kind of protection. Something magical, and possibly violent.
Unfortunately, I had left my Hand of Glory at my apartment, so we might be bested by much more prosaic concerns, such as how to defeat the dead bolt on the front door.
Aidan and I were leaning over, examining the knob and the locks, discussing whether our combined magic could open them and whether this situation was worth taking the risk of combining our magic—the effects of which sometimes got out of hand—when the strong beam of a flashlight lit up the little alcove that had dimmed in the fading light of day.
“Hey, you two!” came a voice. “What’s going on?”
Dangitall.
We turned to face two young men in security guard uniforms. One was slightly taller than the other, but otherwise they were both thin and nondescript. They were blinking and squinting, wavering a bit on their feet, as though they had just awakened from sleep, or were currently under the influence. Perhaps both. I mumbled a quick spell, hoping I would be able to influence them. It didn’t always work, but given their condition I thought I might be able to sway them.
“Hi,” I began. “Sorry about this. We—”
“Oh, hey, we know you, right?” said guy #1.
“Yeah,” said guy #2. “From the Haight—you’re the vintage dress chick.”
“Yes. Yes, I am the vintage dress chick. Indeed I am.” I snuck a glance at Aidan, who seemed amused by this turn of events. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Sorry if we scared you,” said guy #1.
“Yeah, sorry,” said #2. “We got a call about some suspicious characters lurking in the doorway.”
“And we saw you on the security camera, see?” Guy #1 gestured to a camera tucked under an eave. “So, like, are you . . . looking for something, or whatever?”
“I’ve got a wicked hankering for a cupcake,” I said. “Also, I need to use the bathroom.”
“Dude,” said #1.
“Um . . . can’t help you with the cupcakes, I mean, Renee was pretty firm about not letting anyone in. But I guess you could use our bathroom,” said #2. “The security desk is right next door here, in the construction zone. There’s a bathroom in there.”
“Thanks,” I said. “That would be really great.�
�
They led us into the neighboring shopfront. It had been gutted, the vintage clothing long since cleared out, and I was enough of a businesswoman to wonder what had become of the former owner’s exquisite inventory. A glance at the rather clueless security guards numbers one and two, though, assured me it wasn’t worth posing the question to them. They waved me into the small restroom down a short hallway.
When I emerged, Aidan and the security guards were hunched over a set of blueprints laid out on a large worktable. They were stamped with a line drawing of a cupcake, and in small print it read: A division of Co-Opp Industries.
Kyle Cheney hadn’t just invested in Renee’s Cupcakes, as Seth had told me. He had acquired it entirely.
“Yeah, Renee’s hiring for the kitchen and counter help,” #2 was saying.
“It’s pretty awesome,” said #1. “I haven’t had a job in, like, forever. There’s benefits and everything, if we last past the probation period.”
“You were hired by Kyle Cheney?” I asked.
“Not, like, by him in person or anything. But he’s got this company that hires people—sometimes they recruit at the soup kitchens and shelters. The dude’s trying to give people a chance. It’s pretty awesome.”
“That’s totally awesome,” Aidan agreed.
“I heard Cheney’s gone missing,” I said. They both shrugged, blank looks on their faces.
“Has anyone asked you to do anything else?” I asked them.
“Like what?”
Like make a sacrifice to a demon?
“Oh, just anything. Maybe something that seems out of the ordinary . . . ?”
The young men exchanged a glance and shook their heads.
“Mostly it’s just security,” said #1. “We’re not always here in this location, though. We’re gonna be working out on Alcatraz in a coupla days for a big festival, which is pretty awesome.”
“The Festival of Felons?”
They nodded.
“Do you know how we can get in touch with Renee?” I asked. “I’d really love to talk to her.”
“Dude,” said #2. “I’ve got her phone number, and she comes by occasionally, but since the shop’s closed for the remodel she hasn’t been around much.”
Bewitched and Betrothed Page 22
