Tarnished and Torn

by Juliet Blackwell

  While Sailor concentrated on reading the jewelry, I rummaged rather dispiritedly through stacks of miscellaneous items. There was paperwork for the fair and receipts from shipping. But then I unearthed a number of letters, like the ones I had seen on Griselda’s desk at the inn. The handwriting looked the same as in the list of witches’ names I had taken from Zeke.

  I picked up a letter I had seen before; it wasn’t written by Griselda, and was instead from her sister, Carlotta.

  “Can you read this?” I asked Sailor, handing him the note.

  “I don’t read German,” he said, handing it back.

  “I thought you understood all languages? You said something about understanding your landlord’s Cantonese . . . ? ”

  “That’s if someone’s speaking and I can read their thoughts. Written language is a whole different ball game. Only thing I can tell you about German is they capitalize just about all the nouns.”

  I looked over at Carlos, who shrugged and shook his head. “Took enough French in high school to order a café au lait, but that’s about it.”

  The only part written in English was the last sentence: “If All Else fails, remember to have a Pleasant Day.”

  “Why would the last sentence be written in English?” I wondered aloud. Both sisters were native German speakers. Neither man ventured a theory.

  “Carlos, I meant to ask you: Was Griselda wearing jewelry when she was found?”

  “In that bag there.”

  Sailor had just emptied an evidence bag chock-full of tarnished silver jewelry—along with one yolk-yellow woven hair amulet. That must be the charm she had been using to mask her supernatural abilities, I thought.

  Sailor hunched over the pieces, concentrating. After several moments of watching for a reaction, I realized I was just gazing at the way his lashes swept down over dark eyes and how his large hands fondled one item after another with long, graceful fingers.

  Concentrate, Lily.

  Also among Griselda’s papers was a CityPASS and a tourist map of San Francisco stamped with Compliments of Morning House. Written in red pen were directions on how to get to the Cow Palace by public transit. There were several red circles around various locales in the city, including the corner of Haight and Ashbury—where my shop was—and a location near Fisherman’s Wharf that might have been the Wax Museum. Finally, a red arrow indicated the Bay Bridge, which led to the East Bay and Oakland. Renna lived in Oakland.

  According to the shipping receipts, Griselda had sent the heavy boxes of jewelry directly to the Cow Palace. So she and Johannes bought CityPASSes to get around the city on public transportation. Nothing suspicious about that.

  Except that Johannes didn’t have a pass until Monday. Or, more likely, he’d simply lost his at some point in all the confusion.

  There seemed so much I didn’t know about all of this. I decided to turn it around and try to specify what I did know. Griselda was killed Sunday during the jewelry show. Someone ransacked her room. Johannes moved to the youth hostel on Ellis. Already he wasn’t looking well, according to Dwight at the front desk. Tuesday Johannes met up with Shawnelle and they went sightseeing.

  That was four days ago. He could have gone to meet anyone, hidden the ring anywhere since then. He had referred to the powerful practitioner as a “she.” It wasn’t much, but I should check in with Aidan and check on the list Zeke had, to see how many women were on his list of practitioners who might be strong enough to hold the ring.

  I looked up to find Sailor’s gaze on me. I lifted my eyebrows in silent question. He shook his head.

  Nothing. No fire opals, no magical rings. I had expected a bust, but it was no less disappointing for having been anticipated.

  Before we left, I turned to Carlos.

  “The man I mentioned seeing at the Gem Faire, Jersey Gene with the Jelly Beans? He was at the Hyatt today when Johannes jumped over the railing. He threatened him.”

  “Threatened him how?”

  Good question. I tried to remember exactly what he said. The thing about Gene was that it was clear he was up to no good, but it was hard to pinpoint anything. Had he even spoken to Johannes, or just looked at him with that creepy smile?

  “It was . . . an implied threat. Gene also teaches kids to fire dance in Golden Gate Park—in fact, I’m headed over there right now. This guy’s bad news.”

  “You don’t like fire dancing, I take it?”

  “Trust me on this one: I imagine most fire dancing would be beautiful, but this isn’t like regular old dancing. I don’t know what he’s doing, but it’s not normal. And it’s not good.”

  “You have anything on him other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  “Not really.”

  “A last name, maybe?”

  I shook my head. “But I think he’ll be in the park in an hour with the fire dancers.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll speak with Inspector Leibowitz and see if it rings any bells. And if I get a chance, I’ll stop by the park, or at least send over a couple of uniforms, see if anything’s up.”

  “Thank you.”

  “SFPD, here to serve.”

  • • •

  I couldn’t talk Sailor out of going with me to the fire dance, but at least he conceded to let me cast over him, to keep him free of the demon’s thoughts.

  Oscar lurked silently on my kitchen counter while I looked up a spell in my old leather-bound Book of Shadows and brewed.

  Once the concoction had boiled and concentrated, I had Sailor drink a thimbleful and then instructed him to wash his hands, face, and hair with the brew.

  Afterward, Sailor stood in the middle of my kitchen, arms outstretched on either side, while I chanted.

  Unfortunately for me, he was supposed to be bare-chested for this part.

  “Could you take off your shirt, please?”

  “With pleasure,” he said with a sardonic smile as he started to unbutton his blue chambray work shirt. “You sure this is part of the spell?”

  “Just do it.”

  He handed me the shirt and I placed it on the counter, trying my best to ignore the way it was warm from his skin and carried his scent. If I’d been alone I would have held it up to my nose and cheek to revel in it. And then I probably would have slept in it.

  I was one pathetic excuse for a witch.

  His chest was well muscled. His skin had a natural olive tint. Black hair grew across the width of it, tapering down to his stomach. I was in the middle of spell casting and concentration was crucial, but there was no way I could look at that chest and not remember the one hot, steamy, glorious night we had shared.

  I blew out a breath.

  “Everything okay?”

  I nodded, swallowed hard, and closed my eyes, forcing my thoughts back to the task of opening and maintaining my magical portals. Once I focused, the energy slid through, like sinewy snakes passing from me to my ancestors and back.

  I jabbed the tip of my finger with a needle and drew an X over his heart with my blood. Sailor’s heart thudded reassuringly under my hand; I could feel it resound through me, its movement pulsing for a brief moment through my own veins.

  He would be protected as well as I was from the demon’s thoughts. He wouldn’t be able to read Gene’s mind, which was too bad, but it just plain wasn’t worth the risk.

  Once Sailor was taken care of, I turned my attention to Maya.

  After much begging, cajoling, and something akin to subtle threatening, Maya finally agreed to stay with her mother and Bronwyn. Ostensibly they needed her to help them with the quinceañera alterations, but in reality I had recruited them to help me keep Maya from Golden Gate Park and the fire dancing. Without going into detail, I told Lucille that I thought Gene was some kind of cult leader and that he did not have his followers’ best interests at heart. That was e
nough for her.

  Everything was much as before when we arrived at the park: the informal gathering of mostly young people, painting one another’s skin, banging on drums, chatting and laughing. One woman had made fairy chains of tiny daisies and was distributing her garlands to the crowd. She placed one on my head and I was about to take it off when I noticed Sailor looking at me, a half smile on his face.

  “Looks good. You would have been an adorable hippie, back in the day.”

  I left it on.

  And just as last time, a ululating woman welcomed the setting of the sun. The lampposts remained dark. Sometime later, as true dark overcame us, Gene appeared to greet the crowd and lit the pots and torches of the dancers.

  They whirled and danced, hopped and rolled, their fire making crazy designs in the air.

  “This doesn’t feel good,” said Sailor quietly as we watched the action.

  “They’re just getting started,” I replied. Sure enough, just as they had last time, the crowd seemed to slip into a sort of trance, mesmerized by the fire.

  “Can you get a handle on what he’s after?” I asked Sailor.

  He shook his head, frowning. “Not really. He’s . . . There’s something going on. The dancing energy is building, and I think your pal Gene over there is trying to piggyback on it.”

  “Like the power of a circle?” Covens relied on the power of forming a circle and focusing their intent to create enough energy to manifest magic.

  “Something like that. But with one serious difference: this is not chosen by the participants. They’re being manipulated, not exactly against their will, but without full knowledge of what they’re agreeing to.”

  I nodded. That made sense.

  As the frenetic movement ratcheted up, I looked over to see Gene staring at me and smiling.

  “There,” I said to Sailor, nodding in Gene’s direction. “That’s what he does. I think he’s using the energy to channel something . . . maybe the demon?”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “Since he hasn’t found the ring yet, maybe he’s just entertaining his master or adding to his energy somehow?”

  Silence. I turned around to see Sailor had already taken off and was striding over to where Gene was standing. I hurried to catch up. Gene just smiled serenely as we approached.

  “I see you’ve become quite the devotee,” Gene said. Gone was the Jersey accent. Instead his voice had a different inflection; something foreign I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “I saw you here last time. You fought my spell. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

  “Are you responsible for what happened to Renna Sandino?” Sailor asked, his voice low and threatening. I looked at him askance, wondering whether he really thought he could just haul off and punch a demon’s human minion.

  Gene barely even noticed Sailor was speaking. His eyes were for me alone. As was his message.

  “You think to go after me? What about your friend over there?” He gestured over near the edge of the eucalyptus grove.

  And there stood Maya, smiling and staring at the fire dancers. What in the world was she doing here? When I turned back to Sailor, he appeared to be just as enthralled with the dancers as everyone else.

  “Your young friend is just about mine now,” Gene continued with a shrug. “These kids, they’re seeking direction in life, and I give it to them. They become mine to use. Your sweet little Maya there, she’ll do as I say now. I got her to come here tonight against your wishes. Did I not?”

  “You leave her be. I command you.”

  “You and what supernatural army? I command legions.” His voice changed, grew deeper. “‘I flamed amazement; sometimes I’d divide. And burn in many places.’”

  I recognized that quote from somewhere. Then it dawned on me . . . Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It was spoken by Ariel, the fire elemental. One of the disconcerting things about demons is that they are often well read, and have a wicked sense of humor.

  “Listen. Leave her alone, and I’ll work with you on finding the ring. That’s what you’re really after, right? How about I find the ring, and you release her and my father? And Clem.”

  His smile grew. He threw his head back and started to laugh, a kind of deep, frightening sound that dipped below the range of normal hearing, stinging my ears, making my head ache and my heart pound. I slapped my hands over my ears, but not before I heard the clopping of horse hooves on pavement and looked around to see two uniformed officers on horseback come down the pathway into the clearing.

  They looked at the half-clad young people dancing and spinning and drumming, and shook their heads in a “young people today” sort of attitude.

  Until clothes started to catch fire. A few screams rang out, but the dancers mostly laughed, seemingly unconcerned by the flames. The police officers jumped off their mounts and ran to assist them.

  Sailor, having suddenly snapped out of his stupor, ran to help as well.

  When I turned back, Gene was gone.

  Chapter 21

  Once I had taken Maya back home to Bronwyn and Lucille with strict instructions to keep her in their sight at all times, I strode off toward my car with great purpose.

  White-hot anger flowed through my veins when I thought of Gene—or Xolotl, really—threatening Maya. My father and Clem and Zeke, for that matter, had made their own deals with the demon Xolotl, had entered into agreements based on their own greed or stupidity, but they were grown men. Maya was grown, too, but she seemed more vulnerable somehow. And besides all that, she was my friend and therefore under my protection.

  And then there was Johannes . . . that poor young man’s fate was in my hands as well. And Renna and Eric deserved vengeance.

  “Lily?” I heard Sailor’s voice behind me. “Where are you going?”

  “To meet up with an old friend of mine.”

  “You don’t have any old friends.”

  “Maybe ‘friend’ isn’t the right word. I’m headed to the San Francisco School of Fine Arts. You coming?”

  Sailor reared back slightly. “Woah, hold on there. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Will you help me?”

  “If you’re signing up for a painting class, sure thing. But why do I have the sense you’re thinking about waking up a certain demon you once bound and banished?”

  Arriving at my vintage Mustang, I put the keys in the door lock and looked at him over the roof of the car.

  “Are you coming or not?”

  “Will that spell you cast earlier keep me from being susceptible? Since I fell into the trance, I assumed it had worn off.”

  “Fine. Don’t help. I’ll do it myself.”

  “Stop it, Lily. You said yourself that if my thoughts meld with a demon’s . . . I have no way of protecting myself, of keeping him from riding on whatever abilities I have. I could end up hurting you.”

  “You saw him, Sailor. You felt him. I can’t stop that thing by myself. Not without that ring, anyway.”

  “I agree he’s bad news,” said Sailor. “Although any demon who quotes Shakespeare can’t be all bad.”

  I didn’t laugh at his feeble joke.

  “I could feel the surge of power through Gene,” I continued. “I cannot go up against him by myself. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let him take Maya.”

  “He’s trying to trap you. Can’t you see that?”

  “Maybe so. But the demon at the School of Fine Arts, Sitri, he’s bound to me. If I call him correctly, he has to bend to my will and assist me. I’d be powerful enough with him in my corner. I’ve got plenty of supplies in the trunk, and if I keep focus . . .”

  I climbed in behind the wheel.

  “Lily, stop it. You can’t control Sitri alone.”

  He came around to the driver’s side as though to stop me, but I gunned the engine and sped down the street.
<
br />   I found a parking space on Chestnut Street and started climbing the hill toward the San Francisco School of Fine Arts. I was scared but determined, driven by anger.

  Aidan Rhodes was standing in front of the main set of double doors.

  Dammit.

  “Sailor called you?”

  “Imagine my surprise,” Aidan said. His voice, though smooth as always, radiated annoyance. He was dressed in a tuxedo, as though Sailor had interrupted him during the opera or some fabulous dinner. Aidan liked to hobnob with the city’s upper crust. “I thought Sailor wasn’t speaking to you. I’m not sure how he knew what you were up to, since he claims to still be in New Mexico, as per our agreement. But I guess you called him . . .?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask why you didn’t call me?”

  “Because I don’t trust you.”

  For a brief moment I thought I saw hurt in his sparkling blue eyes. But then he gave me a sad smile and responded, “Well, relationships are tough. Sometimes you wind up trusting the wrong person. Anyway, you don’t have to trust me to ask me to help you.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Here’s the thing,” Aidan continued. “I’m not going to let you contact Sitri.”

  “I think I can handle it. I can’t find the ring and Maya’s in trouble. This is the only way. Unless you have the ring?”

  “I’ve already told you I don’t. You don’t think if I did, I might have mentioned it?”

  I shrugged.

  “Think about what you’re doing. You share more with your father than you know. You are both arrogant enough to think you can control a demon.”

  “Sitri isn’t elemental. I can do it.”

  “It isn’t worth the risk.”

  “We could do it together. You and me.”

  “I tried something similar once with your father. Remember? It’s an unholy alliance. I repeat: It’s not worth the risk. I guarantee you.”

  Had I been able to cry, I believe I would have shed tears of pure frustration. I was at my wit’s end. I didn’t know what else to do, was afraid for Maya, and even of losing my father again.