Spellcasting in Silk: A Witchcraft Mystery

by Juliet Blackwell

  * * *

  I finally coaxed her away from Betty’s clothes, but Selena showed little interest in anything else as we went upstairs to my apartment. She didn’t seem to notice my good luck and protective charms: the urn of stinging nettles at the front door of my apartment over the shop, or the mirrors, or the botanical nosegays that hung from black ribbons.

  “Can I watch something?”

  “Pardon?”

  “On TV.”

  “I don’t have cable—but there are a bunch of DVDs on the table there.”

  “Oh. Weird.” She plopped down on the couch. “I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll start the hamburgers. Want to help me?”

  She didn’t answer, already absorbed in hunting through the stacks of DVDs. I had been collecting these for Oscar in an attempt to keep him busy and out of trouble. As I headed to the kitchen, I reflected upon the benefits of an electronic babysitter.

  Speaking of my gobgoyle, I kept expecting Oscar’s face to appear out of his nest of blankets over the refrigerator. I respected his privacy so I never peeked into his cubby. But when he didn’t come out at the smell of cooking hamburger, I knew he had gone out for the evening. Too bad; I would have liked to have heard his take on the young witch.

  I called Selena to the kitchen table and set a cheeseburger, fresh melon and strawberries, and a tall glass of milk in front of her. She dove in, shoveling the food in her mouth like a starving child.

  I hesitated to ask her too many questions, but I needed some answers.

  “Did you know Nicky Utley, Betty’s daughter?”

  “Betty’s daughter ran away with the military,” she mumbled around a mouth of cheeseburger. “Her son did, too. But it was okay because they were with their dad and Betty was a free spirit.” Selena licked a dab of ketchup from the side of her mouth.

  “And did you know the grown-up Nicky?”

  She shrugged. “A little. But Lupita said Nicky only pretended to like her mother to get Betty’s stuff.”

  “What stuff in particular?”

  “The house and everything.”

  “I sure would like to talk to Lupita, sugar pie. Do you have a phone number for her?”

  She shook her head and gulped her milk.

  “No idea at all where Lupita might be?”

  She shrugged. “She got engaged, or married or something. I haven’t really seen her since then. But . . . she’s like that.”

  There was sadness in her words. I had the distinct sense that Selena had been shunted around from one person to the next. Ursula was in jail, her friend Betty had died, and Lupita had disappeared.

  “I spoke with Ursula the other day,” I said. “She’s doing just fine, and she asked about you.”

  Selena stopped chewing, midbite. Her eyes were wary.

  “Would you like to go visit her?”

  She didn’t respond but resumed eating.

  I reached out and stroked her head, then gently tugged one of her braids, and smiled. “There’s plenty more if you want another burger.”

  “Ursula’s with the police?”

  “For now, yes.”

  “The police . . . they were mean when they took Ursula away. Lupita always told me never talk to police.”

  Great. That sort of attitude was not going to be helpful.

  She polished off the last of the sesame-seed bun in silence, then started in on the fruit. She was so small I didn’t know where she was putting it all.

  Plate clean, Selena followed me into the living room, where we made a bed for her on the couch. I tucked her in and she resumed watching the DVD she had chosen earlier, one that I liked but was far too tame for Oscar’s taste: Charlotte’s Web.

  Before I had finished cleaning up the kitchen, she was fast asleep.

  I stood over her for a moment, watching the slumbering child and feeling the weight of guardianship settling upon my shoulders. What would I do if Ursula was convicted and sent to prison? That probably wouldn’t happen—but what if it did? Was I really willing—was I even able—to take on this teenage witch?

  I went downstairs to use the phone in the store, so I wouldn’t be overheard, and called the only person I knew with experience raising a miserable, out of control, annoying, adolescent witch.

  My grandmother Graciela.

  “I’m not convinced she knows what she’s doing,” I said after giving Graciela the lowdown on Selena’s situation. “Certainly she has power, but . . .”

  She laughed and muttered something in Spanish that translated loosely into: “What goes around comes around.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Your best. That is all any of us can do.”

  “Do you think I should take Selena on if Ursula is sent to prison?”

  “I don’t know. I will tell you this, though, m’ijita: Beware the poltergeists. Remember the time in gym class?”

  I winced. I could have gone the rest of my life without remembering that particular incident—but how could I forget? Basketballs flying through the air, then popping with ear-shattering booms. Kids running every which way, screaming, a few laughing hysterically, contorted faces looking at me, fingers pointing.

  Nothing quite like adding wild supernatural energy to the trials of being a kid coping with acne and pubescence.

  Selena was strong enough to cause the havoc in Ursula’s store. Might she also have accidentally—or even on purpose— harmed the customers of El Pajarito?

  “Any advice?” I asked.

  “You remember the Gutta Cavat Lapidem charm? It requires a teardrop talisman. I think . . . I think it’s in your Book of Shadows, page 176, between the lavender sleeping charms and the one about growing pains. Carve a talisman, imbue it with the charm. That will help.”

  “Okay, thanks. Oh, one more thing before I let you go: How’s my mom? She’s been on my mind lately. Have you seen her?” I sent my mother a check every month, but never heard from her. I was flat-out too chicken to call her since it was pretty obvious she didn’t want any contact with me.

  “I see her at the Piggly Wiggly sometimes. But she hides behind the toilet paper display, doesn’t want to talk to me,” she laughed.

  “Next time you see her, tell her, um . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say Tell her I love her. So I concluded lamely, “. . . tell her I’m thinking of her.”

  Graciela sighed. “I will if you wish me to, but she may see that as a threat, mi querida.”

  True. This was a sad state of affairs.

  “In that case . . . just tell her I wish her the best.”

  After hanging up, I dialed Carlos. He didn’t answer, so I left a message on his voice mail.

  “Two things: first, I found Selena. I know you’re probably duty-bound to turn her over to the care of Family and Children Services, but I guarantee you, Carlos, she’s better off here with me. She’s . . . a handful. A magical handful, if you know what I mean. Second, I think she might be responsible for the situation in Ursula’s store. It might well be poltergeist activity connected to Selena’s energy. So if you could give me a few days with her, maybe I can reverse, or at least stop, the damage.”

  I tried to think of what else to say, but it was hard to know how to end a message like that.

  “All righty, then . . . I guess that’s about it.”

  I hung up but lingered behind the counter, looking around the peaceful shop floor, dimly lit by the streetlamps on Haight Street. Not all that long ago, I had been very much like Selena. But now . . . I had a group of steady, loyal friends, and my power had grown stronger—not just more controlled, but more robust. I could feel it. I was proud of Aunt Cora’s Closet, and had grown to adore my adopted city and state. For the first time in my life, I could truthfully say I was happy. Surely, I was meant to help Selena find her path, as Graciela helped me to find mine.

  I jumped when the phone rang.

  It was Carlos, calling to say he would be right over.

  * * *

  This time, h
e accepted my offer of a cup of tea. We sat with our steaming mugs at the linoleum table in the back room of the shop.

  Carlos took notes as I recounted everything Selena had said. He told me he’d had no luck hunting down Lupita. He’d gotten in touch with a dozen Guadalupe Rodriguezes, but none was the woman we were looking for.

  “So Selena can stay here with me for a while?” I asked.

  Carlos nodded. “If I can trust your take on the situation—and I think I can—then I have to agree that putting the girl in foster care isn’t a good idea. So I’ll keep her current whereabouts to myself for the time being. But Lily—I’m goin’ out on a limb here. If anything happens to that child and the brass learn I knew she was with you, I can kiss my career good-bye.”

  “Understood. I appreciate your confidence in me,” I said.

  “And I’ll need to talk to her, sooner rather than later.”

  “I figured as much. But again, I’d like you to trust me when I say I think it’s best to give her a little time. She’s pretty freaked out, and I don’t think it would help her to open up if she felt like she was being questioned by the cops. No offense, but whoever picked up Ursula left a pretty vivid impression.”

  He frowned. “Okay, I’ll leave it for a few days. But I’ll need to talk to her eventually.”

  “I know. Just let me get her settled, and we’ll work up to it. So, what about Betty North’s will? Who did she leave her estate to?”

  “That’s a complicated question. She had a will, but recently wrote a new one. Problem is, the new one’s being contested, as it appears not to have been properly executed.”

  “And who were the heirs in the wills?”

  He hesitated. “I’m sorry. I can’t discuss that with you at this juncture.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I couldn’t help figure out this possible homicide without all the pertinent information, but then I remembered that Carlos didn’t want me figuring it out. That was his job. I was in charge of quelling the chaos in Ursula’s store, and in taking care of Selena, at least for the meantime; nothing more.

  Still and all, it was mighty frustrating.

  “But . . . you’ve considered inheritance as a motive, I imagine?”

  He nodded but said nothing.

  “I know you knew Gary and Nicky from church,” I began. “But I’m wondering . . . You did check him out, didn’t you?”

  “You already asked me that. Of course I checked him out. Why don’t you stop beating around the bush and tell me what’s on your mind?”

  I felt scummy repeating what Knox had said—it felt as if I were betraying a trust. Still, Knox hadn’t asked me not to tell anyone, so I plunged ahead.

  “Gary Utley had an affair.”

  “I know. He told me. Cried like a baby.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Yeah, I guess it is. I just assumed you didn’t know. Doesn’t it make him seem suspicious?”

  “It’s a red flag, of course it is. But I gotta tell you, Lily, a lot of people have affairs. Maybe even most people. But that doesn’t mean they kill their spouses. Anything else?”

  “You mentioned there were witnesses to Nicky Utley’s jump off the Golden Gate Bridge?”

  “Yeah, one guy reported it, and three others hung around to give statements.”

  “And they didn’t see anything . . . out of the ordinary?”

  “All they saw was Nicky jumping. Believe me, this was one of the first things we checked out.”

  “Could you give me their names? Maybe I could talk to them?”

  “They were all tourists, from out of the country. But like I just said, I questioned them all carefully. They didn’t see any magical hoo-haw, nothing like that.”

  “Magical hoo-haw?”

  “It’s a technical term. Homicide cop lingo.”

  I smiled. “All right. Thanks for stopping by, Carlos. I hope I didn’t get you out of bed?”

  He shook his head. “I was right down the street. Thank you for finding Selena. I’ll rest more easily knowing she’s not out on the streets somewhere. But Lily . . .” He hesitated, as though searching for the words. “Don’t make me sorry that I went against policy and let her stay here.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And . . . be careful. Don’t go snooping around.”

  “Who, me?”

  “I’m serious, Lily. This whole case feels hinky. The fact that we can’t locate Lupita Rodriguez might mean she’s involved, but it also might mean she’s been disposed of, just like Nicky Utley and maybe even Betty North. There are too many bodies that seem to be connected somehow. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I nodded. “Yes, Inspector. Hinky means not good. Got it.”

  He gave a final nod, and left.

  * * *

  As I passed by the kitchen I noticed my Book of Shadows, still splayed on the counter. It was opened to a quote from Anaïs Nin:

  And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud

  was more painful than the risk it took to bloom.

  The first time I read those words I was torn between embracing my powers and wishing I could reject them. Was Selena my most recent challenge, as Graciela had said? Was it time to reexperience my childhood trauma, but from the perspective of an adult?

  As I flipped through the book to see what else it might reveal, I alighted upon a photograph of me with Graciela, when I was in middle school. It had been taken not long after the gym class debacle, if I remembered correctly. There weren’t many pictures of us—like Yasmin at the botanica, Graciela was superstitious about photos, and wary of those who took them. Although a photograph—mere paper and chemicals—wasn’t anywhere near as powerful as a lock of hair or fingernail clippings, it could be used by a talented spellcaster to focus intent. It simply wasn’t smart to have one’s countenance shared with anyone other than a trusted family member.

  In the photo I was unsmiling, dour, skinny, standing on the stoop of the humble little house I shared with Graciela. My grandmother smiled slightly for the camera, chin jutting out in her stubborn way. The image captured well the gentle strength in her dark eyes.

  At the time I was already several inches taller than she, though I hadn’t realized it. She loomed large in my life, as in my memory. My medicine bag was strapped to the waist of my younger self, and I held another charm bag in one hand. Looking closely, I spied a teardrop talisman like the one Graciela recommended I carve for Selena.

  “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” I said under my breath, as I flipped the book open to page 178—my grandmother was off by only two pages; how did she do it?—and then stayed up carving and casting over a special talisman for Selena. The teardrop shape centered energies, and the Gutta Cavat Lapidem charm calmed them, rather than allowing them to flail about in a crazed, ADD-sort of way.

  I chanted as I placed the tear-shaped talisman around the sleeping girl’s neck.

  “With this talisman I do glean, calm and serene the spirits who clean. Les suplico, ma tzitzimitl, ma timocuitlahui. Grant this child rest, just as is best. So mote it be.”

  I repeated these words, faster and faster, until they all ran together and I could feel them swirling and cohering, forming a cone of protection over Selena’s sleeping form.

  She roused for a moment, stared at me with blank, uncomprehending eyes, and then rolled over and went back to sleep.

  * * *

  The next morning I rose early and brewed coffee. A sleepy Selena joined me in the kitchen, taking a seat at the table but remaining silent.

  “Good morning, sugar pie. How are you? Did you sleep all right?”

  She shrugged. I made her a mug of hot chocolate with cinnamon, then brought out a dozen eggs, corn tortillas, and fruit and started making breakfast.

  At the smell of food cooking Oscar bounded down from his cubby over the refrigerator. His big, bottle glass green eyes were a little bleary, making me wonder
what he’d been up to last night, and how late he’d gotten in.

  It took me a moment to realize—Oscar hadn’t transformed into his piggy form. He remained in his natural state even as he pulled out a chair and joined Selena at the table.

  He stared at her. She stared at him. His eyes narrowed, and so did hers.

  Oscar turned to me. “First you bring home a cat, then a toddler, and now a . . . uh . . . ? What do you call it?”

  “She’s a girl, Oscar. A . . . almost a young woman, aren’t you, Selena? Also, she’s right here with us so we can speak to her directly.”

  Selena started mumbling, chanting a curse.

  Chapter 18

  Oscar’s chair screeched as he reared back, snorted, and made some sort of sign with his long fingers, as though staving off a hex.

  “Mistress!” Oscar shouted. “Make it stop! It’s hexing me! I’ll hex you right back, you little—”

  “Hey! Knock it off, both of you! Selena, Oscar, there’ll be none of that in my kitchen. No hexing allowed. Am I clear?”

  Selena rolled her eyes and Oscar looked disgruntled, but both fell silent. I hurried to put plates of food in front of them, and in this, at least, they had something in common: They both dug in with abandon.

  I sat and I sipped my coffee, watching while they finished their meals.

  “Selena, would you like to take a shower?” I asked in my most diplomatic tone, as it was clear she hadn’t had access to clean clothes in a while.

  “No.”

  “Would you rather help me with the dishes?”

  She didn’t reply, so I sweetened the deal. “I hung a pretty bathrobe I think you’ll like in the bathroom. And after your shower, we’ll go downstairs and you can choose a new outfit from the store.”

  That got her attention.

  “Anything I want?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “From the whole store?”

  I nodded.

  She seemed to mull it over. “I want to wear my brooches.”

  “That’s fine, you can pin your brooches on your new dress, or whatever outfit you choose.”