“I noticed she still has cupcakes on her shelves,” I said.
“Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate.
“Do you happen to know where she lives?” I asked.
They both shook their heads.
“I do,” volunteered Aidan.
“You do?”
“Of course I do.” He seemed amused that I was surprised. “I know everything, remember?”
“Duuuude,” said one of the men. “That’s awesome.”
Chapter 21
“Shall I drive?” Aidan asked as we left the shop under construction.
“Yes please. I’m too hungry to drive. I wasn’t kidding about hankering after a cupcake or one of those meat pies. Not that I would eat one, because: Renee. But still.”
“We could always skip trying to track Renee down and go out to a nice dinner instead.”
“You’re acting awfully casual, given what’s going on. Surely you’ve heard about what’s been happening on Alcatraz and the signs of the demon—the one from the San Francisco School of Fine Arts?”
He gave me a Look. Of course he knew.
“What can you tell me about Kyle Cheney?” I asked.
“Rich guy, filthy rich. Tech money. Philanthropist.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t trust anyone with that much money,” said Aidan.
“That’s not true,” I said, defensive. Then reconsidered. “I guess it’s sort of true. Seems to me that too much money’s a little like too much magical power: It leads to corruption.”
Aidan just smiled.
“Cheney’s offices are in the pyramid building, which, according to Oscar, sits at the top of a truncated triangle.”
“Which means what, exactly?”
“I don’t know, but it’s an interesting factoid.”
“Aren’t there a lot of different businesses in the pyramid building?”
“Yes,” I admitted grudgingly. “But Cheney also invested in Renee’s Cupcakes.”
“Indeed.”
Cheney had invested through Co-Opp Industries, which was no co-op. Could it be referring to the coincidentia oppositorum? If Kyle Cheney and Renee Baker joined forces, they would make a powerful combo: With his money and philanthropic reputation he was trusted in the community, and no one ever suspected the friendly cupcake lady was capable of casting spells through her baked goods. With Kyle’s money funding her store’s expansion, Renee would be able to affect even more people.
And the timing of his—and Renee’s—disappearance was interesting, right before the Festival of Felons. Maybe they were too busy trying to take over the world to attend to business as usual.
“Listen, Aidan. I’m worried that things are ratcheting up. . . . Is it possible Kyle Cheney’s upcoming Festival of Felons out on Alcatraz might be the setting of some sort of mass demonic sacrifice?”
“Of course.”
“It is?” I had been hoping I was wrong. Panic loomed. What was I going to do? How did I even begin to approach something like this? I wasn’t prepared; it was too soon. I needed to touch base with all of our magical allies. . . . The MoonWish spell wasn’t even complete. What would I—
My thoughts were interrupted when Aidan pulled his shiny Jaguar into an In-N-Out Burger drive-in. I ordered a cheeseburger—animal style—and extra-crispy fries.
“Better?” Aidan asked after I wolfed down the burger and finished off the last of the fries. By now we were in the East Bay, caught in the perpetual bumper-to-bumper traffic on Interstate 80.
“Mmm, much better. Thanks.” I sighed, dabbing at a drop of ketchup that stained the bodice of my dress. “You know, the traffic around here is a nightmare.” Continually congested freeways were the bane of the Bay Area, and of course the worst at rush hour. “Hey, as chief magical guy around here, can’t you do something about that?”
He smiled. “I guess I have a few other things to attend to, first. I’ll leave that up to the urban planners.”
“Not sure there was a lot of urban planning with regard to these freeways,” I groused, feeling like a local. Locals were forever talking about traffic.
Once we passed the heavily populated towns of Berkeley, El Cerrito, and San Pablo, the buildings started thinning out, leaving more empty fields and rolling hills covered in dried grasses, studded by an occasional California oak tree.
“Anyway, an upcoming battle is hardly a surprise,” said Aidan. “Though the inclusion of a demonic power is, I’ll admit, a new angle to deal with. But we’ve been seeing warnings of this on the horizon for some time now. Sailor’s organizing his friends and relatives, and I’ve been working on solidifying the other alliances. A battle like this is no one’s idea of fun, but we’ll prevail. Or not, in which case it’s doubtful we’d survive, so I don’t suppose we’ll care.”
I stared at him. He wasn’t kidding.
“As I’ve told you,” Aidan continued, “your arrival was the tipping point.”
“So, you’re saying that I really am attracting all of this to San Francisco? I feel like a magical Typhoid Mary.”
“I was thinking more like a magical hot spot.”
“Hot spot?”
“It’s a place people can get Internet.”
“Or a place where fires start.”
“True, but an Internet hot spot is sort of a conduit for things, was my point. So it’s not that you’re carrying the typhoid, you’re just allowing it to pass.”
“I’m not sure I like that interpretation any better. But . . . at least this would mean that the prophecy refers to me and not to my alleged brother.”
“What alleged brother?”
“You don’t know? I thought you knew everything.”
“Are you serious?” Aidan looked beyond worried; “panicked” might be a better word. His knuckles went white, and I could see his glamour shift slightly to reveal the painful-looking scars he usually kept hidden. Aidan was never worried, much less panicked. What was going on?
“Aidan? Talk to me. Is he bad news?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “But we’ve proceeded from the assumption that you’re the one named in the prophecy. If that’s wrong . . .” He trailed off and seemed to be thinking. Finally, he relaxed his grip on the wheel. “I suppose we’ll just have to address that when, and if, said brother arrives in our fair city. What do you know about him?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. My grandmother’s coven told me he existed, but even they don’t seem to know much else.”
We drove in silence for a stretch, passing huge oil tanks and more rolling hills. Aidan took an exit off the freeway with no signs of life other than the occasional oak tree and dry brush. After a few more minutes, we came to the entrance of a gated community. Aidan paused briefly to speak to the guard in the kiosk, and we rolled into something called Kinkade Village.
“It’s named for the painter Thomas Kinkade—do you know his work?”
“He’s the one on all the puzzles and calendars? The ‘painter of light’?”
Aidan nodded.
“Isn’t his art a little . . . cheesy?” I asked.
“That all depends on your point of view. Not for the residents here, obviously. They even have a slogan: ‘Calm, not chaos. Peace, not pressure.’ Nothing wrong with that, if you ask me.”
The faux Victorian, pseudo French provincial, and pretend New England cottage-style homes were nestled close together; steeply gabled roofs were covered in faux-slate tile, the fronts decorated with gingerbread trim, sweet porches, and stone facades. Streetlights were made to look like old-fashioned gas lamps, and the concrete sidewalks were stamped to look like cobblestones. Most of the gardens consisted of small patches of verdant green lawns bordered by rosebushes and enclosed by white picket fences.
“It’s kind of . . . odd, isn’t it?” I aske
d.
“You don’t find it charming? It’s meant to be charming.”
“Maybe it’s just the association with Renee. Something made to look one way—sweet and charming—with something else entirely lurking just below the surface.”
“And speaking of Renee,” said Aidan as he pulled to the curb, “here we are.”
Renee’s cottage was pseudo New-England-cottage-by-the-sea, except that we were nowhere near New England, much less the sea. There were pansies in cute little pots on the porch, and I wondered whether she had always yearned for a place like Calypso’s beautiful farmhouse. This seemed like such a pale imitation of that kind of genuinely calm, peaceful place.
“So now what?” I asked.
“Let’s go see if she’s home,” he said, climbing out of the Jaguar. I did the same, and we mounted the porch steps. The place was lit up like a Christmas tree, but no one answered the tinkling sound of the doorbell.
I leaned over and tried to peek through the window, but my view was obscured by lace curtains. I couldn’t make out much more than overstuffed furniture and plenty of tchotchkes—and several vases full of calla lilies. Alcatraces.
For the second time that evening I considered breaking in and searching Renee’s place, but what exactly was I expecting to find? It was highly unlikely Renee would leave any obvious supernatural weapons or detailed plans for mystical dominance just lying around. What we really needed to do was to speak face-to-face, to see if we could come up with any sort of diplomatic solution to our conflict, some way to avoid the upcoming war.
“It was worth a try,” Aidan said as he plucked a red rose from the vine encircling a porch column and held it out to me.
“I don’t want anything of Renee’s, thank you,” I said.
He smiled and put it in his buttonhole. Not for the first time I wondered how such a beautiful man could still seem so masculine, even while sporting flowers. But then, as my San Francisco friends would remind me, no need to get hung up on the gender thing.
“Renee will know we’ve been looking for her,” he said, leaning against the white-painted balustrade. “It might be a case of waiting until she gets in touch with us. Or the battle, whichever comes first.”
“You’re saying she won’t be willing to talk?”
He shrugged. “She hasn’t been particularly open to a diplomatic solution so far, unless you count asking you to throw in with her.”
I snorted. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”
“I think once she realized she couldn’t defeat you, she hoped to get you to join her, somehow. Be careful; I don’t think she’s given up on trying to lure you over to her side.”
“Do you really think she and Kyle Cheney are linking to form the coincidentia oppositorum?”
“It would make sense.”
“And that means . . . what does that mean, exactly?”
“That they’ll be a force to be reckoned with. If you’re right and the demon we knew from the School of Fine Arts is back, and the Festival of Felons is a celebration for him, then the showdown will take place then.”
“I’m doing a five-day spell—it won’t be ready until the full moon.”
“Let me check in with a few people to be sure, but you may have to speed things up by one night. You can supercharge the spell with a blood sacrifice tomorrow night, if it’s almost ready.”
“What do you suggest?” I occasionally did blood magic, but that was different than sacrifice—that was using my own blood. An actual blood sacrifice meant taking the life of a living creature. Even killing spiders made me shudder.
“My sacrifice wouldn’t be the same as yours; this is a very personal thing. You should look it up in your Book of Shadows.”
I gazed out over the faux-fairy-tale village. We were discussing blood sacrifice while standing on a porch overlooking a street out of a Thomas Kinkade painting, nestled in the dry golden hills of Northern California. It was surreal, and more than a little disconcerting.
“Where do you live?” I asked Aidan.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Best bet for finding me is at my office.”
“Surely you don’t live at the wax museum, though. Where—”
A golf cart pulled up, and two security guards hopped out.
“Good evening,” said one. These burly guys didn’t look as if they would be as easily influenced as the guards at Renee’s construction site. “We got a call about a disturbance.”
“Our apologies,” Aidan said smoothly. “We certainly did not intend to disturb anyone.”
“No, of course not,” I said. “Do you know if Renee’s around?”
“Don’t know, and wouldn’t tell you if we did,” said the guard. “Time for you to go.”
“Fine,” I said. “We were just leaving.”
“See that you do,” said the other guard.
We descended the three porch steps and got back into the car. The golf cart followed us until we passed through the gate, which closed behind us.
“Sheesh, a little overzealous, weren’t they?” I said. “But I suppose I should be getting back home, anyway.”
It was disappointing that I wouldn’t see Sailor tonight, but I had plenty to do: I needed to charge the spell against Sitri, cast a separation spell for Renna, and brew for Conrad’s morning tonic.
Also, I supposed I should spend some time with my Book of Shadows and ponder the possible blood sacrifice.
“Me too,” Aidan said, checking his watch as he pulled onto the freeway. It was nearly eight o’clock, and the traffic had died down. “In fact, I have an appointment with Sailor and Amanda tonight.”
“Sailor and Amanda? As in Sailor’s ex-wife?” I demanded, my voice scaling up.
He nodded.
“What are you doing for him, or for her? Or for him and her?”
He gave me a scathing look. “You know very well I can’t tell you that, Lily. Confidentiality and all that.”
I pressed my lips together in irritation. “I’m about to marry the man, so I think I have a right to know why he and his ex-wife are meeting with you.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said with a slight inclination of his head. “So ask him.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?” I said to myself as much as to Aidan.
“I imagine he didn’t want you to feel jealous. But enough about your boyfriend.”
“Fiancé.”
“Whatever. Listen, I have to tell you something,” he said, his voice serious. “It’s no secret that I’ve been losing strength. I don’t know whether it’s related to the prophecy, the upcoming battle, or something more organic, but I will need to leave town for a while. I’ll be leaving you in charge, like last time.”
“I’ve gotta say, I didn’t love being the boss.”
“There isn’t anyone else who can do the job, Lily. You know where I keep the Satchel—though to tell you the truth, I’ll be calling in most of those markers for support in the battle. In any case, you’re welcome to use my office while I’m gone for meetings and that sort of thing. Or feel free to borrow things, as you’ve done in the past.”
“Oh, yeah, speaking of that, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I was in your office the other day—”
He waved off my excuse. “It’s not a problem. We’ve got to work together at this point. Noctemus knows you’ll be in and out; she won’t scratch you again.”
Wanna bet? I thought. “Does she talk?”
“Excuse me?”
“Does Noctemus talk?”
“Of course not.”
“My familiar talks.”
He smiled. “Oscar’s not a typical familiar, as you well know.”
“Then how do you and Noctemus communicate?”
“It’s more by intuition, perhaps a little mind r
eading. Like the relationship between any human and pet, really, but more so.”
“I’ve never had a pet. Anyway, back to you leaving me in charge: I’m not great with bureaucracy.”
He cast me a quick grin. “That’s the worst part of the job. There are other aspects that are more rewarding.”
“Like what?”
“Like keeping San Francisco from falling into the wrong hands. Keeping magical folks safe, to provide them with a haven. This can be a cruel world for misfits, as you very well know. You think San Francisco’s openness is an accident? It’s not easy to remain welcoming to those who are different, who might disagree with your belief system. And yet that’s what makes the City by the Bay so special.”
I smiled. “You’re waxing poetic tonight.”
“Must be the gibbous moon,” he said. “Only two more nights till it’s full.”
Two more nights. Did we have two more nights?
Chapter 22
Aidan dropped me off near Renee’s cupcake shop, where I had parked my car. I considered going to Sailor’s apartment in Chinatown and waiting for him to come home. But that felt like I was setting up a confrontation. Also, what if Amanda arrived at his apartment with him? Just the thought of it made my stomach clench; I didn’t trust what might happen with my magic in the heat of the moment.
I had to have confidence in him. I did have confidence in him. In us.
So instead I stopped by the grocery store and stocked up on supplies, for real this time. Not only did I want to keep Oscar happy, but I needed items for the increasingly intricate offerings for the MoonWish spell against Sitri.
Back at my place, I found solace in the rote pleasure of putting away groceries and filling the larder. I prepped Conrad’s brew for tomorrow morning and then switched on some music and took my time cooking a big pot of shrimp and okra gumbo to leave out as tonight’s offering for Sitri. Oscar should know what it was and why it was out, and even he respected the sanctity of offerings such as this. But just in case, I penned a sign: DEMONIC SACRIFICE! DO NOT EAT!!!
Casting a spell is not as easy as simply uttering the words. It takes a lot of energy to focus one’s intent sufficiently to alter reality, and lately I had been feeling depleted. So prior to spellcasting, I took a long shower, washed with lemon verbena soap, and dressed all in black. I knelt in front of the table, lowered my head, closed my eyes, and focused on the sound of my own breathing for a full five minutes.
Bewitched and Betrothed Page 23
