“No worries, Lily. We’ll be careful.”
“Good—oh, and one more thing. What’s Carlos’s cell number?”
I jotted it down and hung up, relieved to think they could hold the fort, the whole gang of them together. I was reasonably sure my protection spell over Aunt Cora’s Closet would be enough to at least give Not Sailor pause, but still.
Then I called Carlos and gave him the rundown.
“Well, that explains a couple of weird 911 calls we were getting from Chinatown,” Carlos said. “So let me get this straight: You’re talking doppelgänger now?”
“No, of course not. There’s no such thing as doppelgängers. I don’t think. But a Sailor look-alike, for sure.”
“Isn’t that what a doppelgänger is?”
“I’m not certain, actually. I think the situation may be . . . complicated. All I’m saying is there’s someone out there who looks like Sailor, and dresses like Sailor, but isn’t Sailor. And he may have my keys.”
“All right. I’ll send a patrol car by the store. You’re sure this Sailor-who-isn’t-Sailor will be going after the store?”
“I’m not sure of anything at the moment,” I said. “In fact, probably not; at least, I can’t think of a reason why he would. I just . . . think it pays to be cautious.”
“You’re right about that. In fact, there are some new developments in the case.”
“There are?” My heart pounded. “Are these new developments positive or negative?”
“Can’t say yet. Anyway, I’ll go over to Sailor’s apartment with a couple of uniforms, see if this look-alike clown is still there, or if we can recover anything.”
“Thanks. Could you do me a favor as well? I left a couple of things there. A woven backpack full of stuff including my wallet and keys, and an . . . unusual candleholder.”
“How unusual?” he asked, and I heard trepidation in his voice.
“Pretty unusual. And valuable. Please, if you find my things, I really need them back.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I returned to Brandy Ho’s, where Patience had already downed her martini, ordered another, and was tucking into a tall golden mound of salt-and-pepper fried calamari.
“Adrenaline crash,” she mumbled. “I need fuel. I ordered noodles, too.”
I sipped my Coke. She pushed the plate of calamari toward me. “Have some.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care. You need to eat. And drink up—it’ll help.”
Listlessly I picked up a piece of calamari. I was not a happy camper. I was no closer to getting Sailor out of jail, there were mysterious “new developments” that Carlos couldn’t tell me about, and now my other friends were in danger. And the memory of “Sailor” who wasn’t Sailor coming up those stairs, no recognition in his eyes, blank stare . . . it gave me the willies.
“On the positive side,” said Patience, “at least we know we’re not dealing with a case of possession.”
“Excuse me?”
She shrugged. “It occurred to me as a possibility, since I ‘saw’ Sailor at the hotel. It really did appear to be him. But presuming he’s still in jail, we can cross possession off the list.”
“Oh, well . . . that’s good, then.”
“As I was saying to you, I couldn’t read your mind if I wanted to,” said Patience. “Most people think in pictures, some in words, but a witch like you . . .”
“What?”
“Not only do you have your guard up all the time—and it’s a very effective guard, too, kudos—but a witch like you thinks in scents and symbols. I wouldn’t be able to figure them out even if I could access your thoughts.”
“If I’m so guarded, then how do you know what my thoughts look like?”
“Hey, don’t get upset with me. I wasn’t trying to snoop around in your mind. Most of the time you’re guarded, but when you’re really upset or emotional, you throw out images and scents.”
“I do? That’s . . . weird.”
“Not really. You wouldn’t believe the way most people’s thoughts appear. I could tell you stories that would curl your hair.”
“Must be why yours is so curly,” I said, and she actually gave me a little smile. Sipping her second martini, Patience seemed to have recuperated from our adventure. I wished I could say the same. Although I hoped I projected an outward calm, inside I was going crazy.
“So, when we were running,” said Patience, “you threw out a picture. Something that looked something like . . .” She sketched a symbol on a paper napkin. It was similar to the drawings I had seen on the notepad in Sailor’s bedroom.
Seeing it now, I realized what it reminded me of: the strange thread web covering the map in the store where we had traced the route of the busload of witches from Texas.
Chapter 17
“Is it a demon’s sigil?” asked Patience.
I shook my head. “If someone with magical power sketches the sigil, it could be enough to summon the demon. Sailor wouldn’t have been stupid enough to do something like that.”
“But Sailor’s not magical, Lily. Not technically. Neither am I. We’re psychics. There’s a difference. We don’t conjure. Magical folks have the power to change reality; we only have the power to read it.”
“But when you and I combined forces, I could feel your energy.”
“I have remarkable powers of concentration due to my training. I’m able to combine it with others. That’s what you were feeling.”
“What about astral projection? That seems capable of changing reality.”
“No, it doesn’t—that’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you. Astral projection, like psychic ability, reads reality. It doesn’t change it. A person might take the information gathered and make decisions that change reality, but the psychic’s act of projection doesn’t, by itself, affect anything in the real world. . . . See the difference?”
I nodded, a bit stunned. I’d always lumped psychics in with magical folk, but what she said made sense.
“But my point is this: Because psychics aren’t magical per se, we can draw a sigil without summoning a demon. My aunt Renna, on the other hand, would have to be as careful as you are. She’s great at hexing, that sort of thing, as you well know.”
“Okay, important safety tip. But I still doubt that this image is a demon’s sigil.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I think my grandmother’s coven is taking a circuitous route on purpose, making this symbol. I can’t imagine why they would do that.”
“I don’t know a lot about demons, but aren’t there some good ones?”
“Good ones?”
“Helpful ones. I mean, students used to call on demons to help them with their studies, or artists called on them for creativity. Things like that, right?”
“I’m no demonologist, either, but you’re right that people sometimes call on demons for help. It’s tricky, though. They’re only helpful if they’re kept in line, and that’s no easy task. Almost always, those who summon demons aren’t powerful enough to control them, and so the demon ends up turning the tables and controlling the person, instead.” I gazed down at the symbol, and shook my head. “No, I think it’s more likely something else. Could it be some sort of protective sign?”
“You’re the witch. You tell me.”
“I hate to say it, but I guess it’s time to go to Aidan for help. I need to ask him if he knows what the sign is, and . . .” I sneezed.
She fixed me with a hawkeye. “You might want to try some of those Chinese herbs for colds.”
I shook my head. “I don’t get colds.”
“Uh-huh.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. My thoughts wandered back to Sailor’s apartment, wondering what Carlos would find and how I might gain acce
ss to whatever he found. Patience was staring at the tabletop, arranging crystals of table salt into little patterns. Good thing she really wasn’t magical, I thought, or merely by drawing things in salt, she might wind up spellcasting by accident.
She looked up at me. “I don’t suppose the point of all this could be to get you out of the picture?”
“Me?”
“Maybe someone’s trying to keep you occupied and therefore out of the way.”
“Out of the way of what?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “But didn’t that weasel with the cupcakes—”
“Jamie.”
“Whatever. Didn’t he say Tristan came to San Francisco to work with Renee-the-cupcake-lady?”
I had wondered about that as well. Could Tristan really have been the male practitioner to Renee’s female? Had he been after the lachrymatory in the shoe box? A contribution to her collection of grief and tears, an offering to her foundation of power?
“So maybe now she’s angry with you, sending cupcakes and a fake Sailor to confuse you and keep you busy. Out of her way.”
“But wait,” I said. “The Sailor look-alike killed Tristan, right? If Renee is manipulating the look-alike, and she wanted to make Tristan her male counterpart, then why would the look-alike kill Tristan?”
“Good point.” She sat back, defeated. “So much for playing junior detective. I need another drink.”
“Have one—you’ve more than earned it,” I said. “But I have to get back to the store, plus I’ve got an appointment at four to look at some wedding dresses.”
Patience let out a bark of laughter. “You really are a piece of work. You outrun a Sailor look-alike one moment and try on wedding dresses the next?”
“At this juncture, it would feel good to cross one single item off my to-do list. Anyway, lend me money for a cab?”
“A cab in San Francisco? Dream on. You’ll be waiting an hour. I’ll get the food to go, and call us a Lyft. I’ll go back with you.”
Before we left, I asked Patience to pick up the napkin with the sigil on it and place it in the center of my old-fashioned embroidered cotton handkerchief. Then I tied the handkerchief’s corners together, wrapping the napkin up so I wouldn’t physically touch it.
“Why are we doing this?” she asked.
“I don’t want to take any chances in case it really is a demon’s sigil. If I carry it on my person, I might accidentally invoke it.”
She looked skeptical. “How does a person ‘accidentally’ invoke a demon? I would think it would be pretty complicated.”
“For a normal person, sure. But I think we both know I’m not particularly normal. You know how, in moments of stress, a person might pray or say, ‘Oh please oh please oh please’?”
She nodded.
“When I do that, I could focus my intent enough to set off a chain of events I didn’t fully intend. It’s been known to happen.”
“So you’re like a ticking time bomb ready to go off.”
“I have the sense neither of us walks the easiest path.”
Once we got back to Haight Street, Patience left to speak with Renna and ask if she was able to see anything useful, as well as to make sure as many Rom were lined up to help as she could get. As Patience sashayed down the street, her swishing skirts turning plenty of heads, I realized I was glad to have her on my side. On Sailor’s side, to be more precise, as I was fairly certain she wouldn’t go out of her way to help just me. But that was good enough. All I wanted right now was to get Sailor out of jail, figure out what the hell was going on, and find a wedding dress.
I glanced at my watch. I had just enough time to check in with the gang at Aunt Cora’s Closet, and then head over to the estate sale. Fingers crossed, one of the dresses would be perfect. That way I’d be all set—just in case I could find a way to spring my man from jail in time for the handfasting.
I always love coming into my shop, to be greeted by the hustle and bustle of business and by the scents of fresh laundry and the rosemary and lavender sachets I hung on the rods. But on a day like today that sensation was multiplied many times over. The shop was crowded, but not with customers. Selena was there, along with Bronwyn and her boyfriend, Duke; Conrad and his friend Shalimar; Maya and her cousins Kareem and Richard.
“Lily!” Bronwyn called out, as she hurried over and gave me a big hug. “I’m so glad to see you safe. What in the world is going on?”
“I, uh . . . ran into an old acquaintance,” I said, though my attention was diverted by Oscar. Instead of greeting me as he usually did, he was lying on his silk pillow and making strange sounds.
“What’s wrong with Oscar?” I asked.
“He’s been doing that for a while. I’m starting to get worried about our little guy,” said Maya. “It sounds sort of like that hollow cough that dogs get.”
A loud, indignant snort, emanating from the direction of the purple silk pillow, expressed Oscar’s displeasure at being compared to a dog. Then the sounds began again.
It didn’t sound like kennel cough to me, though. It sounded like he was giggling—in a porcine sort of way. What was up with him?
Unless . . . it wasn’t Oscar? What if Oscar had a look-alike, too? I could only imagine the havoc it could wreak. Was a look-alike spirit capable of copying any individual it chose, or did every person—and gobgoyle—have his or her own unique counterpart?
“Sailor’s lawyer called back,” Maya said.
Dang, I’d hoped to speak with him.
“He left a message,” Maya continued, handing me a note saying there was an arraignment scheduled for tomorrow morning at ten.
I tried Petulengro’s number, but got voice mail again. I made a face, then saw Maya was watching me.
“I know, I know,” I said as I hung up. “I really need to get a cell phone.”
“I’m just saying . . . you run around town a lot, so it’s hard for folks to get in touch.” Maya gestured with her head and I followed her into the back room for privacy. We spoke in hushed tones. “Lily, I don’t understand. You’re saying there really is a Sailor look-alike walking the streets of San Francisco?”
“I’m afraid so,” I said. “I just . . . I’m not sure how to explain it to everyone.”
Maya nodded slowly. “How about an evil twin?”
I smiled. “Sounds like the plot of a soap opera.”
“I grew up watching a lot of ‘stories’ with my mom while she sewed. I know it sounds far-fetched, but how else are we going to warn folks that someone who looks just like Sailor isn’t to be trusted?”
“Good question. So, you’re okay with all this?”
“Okay with it? Not at all. But I saw him in the Lucky Moon. It was Sailor, but . . . not Sailor. It makes no sense, but I assume from the way you’re acting and the fact that Sailor’s been arrested that there’s something supernatural going on.”
When first we met, Maya didn’t believe in magic. She’d been exposed to a lot in the last year, and had been on a steep learning curve. I thought about Patience’s question, whether Maya might have abilities of her own, but I truly didn’t think so. She was simply highly intelligent, and had come to understand there was no way to explain the unexplainable . . . other than magic.
“I really don’t want—or need—to know the details,” Maya continued. “And I don’t want to freak everyone out, but I do want them to be safe.”
I nodded. “I agree with you there. Okay, let’s go with . . . creepy look-alike cousin.”
Maya grinned. “Yes, that’s so much easier to believe than an identical twin. Whatever you say, boss.”
I took another moment to call Selena’s grandmother, briefly explained what had happened, and asked her to be particularly wary of anyone who looked like Sailor, or any strangers that might come into her and Selena’s lives in the near future.
>
Then I joined the group in the shop and tried to explain why they should take care around anyone looking a lot like Sailor.
“I don’t think it will be a problem, but I want everyone to take precautions.”
“A couple of officers stopped by about ten minutes ago,” said Bronwyn. “They said they’ll cruise by occasionally, keep an eye on the place.”
“That’s good. But they won’t be here twenty-four/seven, so let’s stay on guard, all right? No working alone. I’d rather close the store altogether than have someone here by themselves. Understood?”
Bronwyn and Maya nodded. Conrad shook his head, blew out a long breath, and said, “Duuuuude.”
“Oh, hey, Conrad, did you overhear the conversation I had outside the other day with Sailor and a stranger? The time Carlos arrived and joined us?”
“The fight?”
“It wasn’t a fight, exactly.”
“Sounded like a fight.”
“I’m going to take that as a yes. You didn’t happen to mention it to anyone, did you?”
“No, nobody.”
I hadn’t thought so.
“Except . . . Let me think. . . . I think Wind Spirit came by right after. It’s possible I mentioned it to her, just, like, in passing.”
“Wind Spirit. You’re sure?”
“Yeah, dude. She used to be named Amy, and Wind Spirit doesn’t seem to fit her, in my view, but whatever she wants—am I right? Also, that doughnut dude was there.”
“What doughnut dude?”
“Not doughnuts . . .” He frowned, as though the word escaped him. “Cupcakes! That’s what it was.”
“The cupcake dude? Do you mean Jamie?”
“Right, Jamie. That’s the one.”
“He came by? Was he with Wind Spirit?”
“Not ‘with her’ with her. Least, I don’t think so. Not that the Con is always up in everybody’s business or anything like that.”
“Did he say anything? Do anything? Did Wind Spirit?”
“Don’t really remember. I think they just happened to be passing by. Everybody loves the Haight—am I right?”
A Magical Match Page 16
