A Magical Match

by Juliet Blackwell

  Caterina reappeared through the beaded curtain that separated the shop floor from their private quarters. She was carrying a canvas shopping bag, which held two smaller brown paper bags. She set it on the counter in front of me.

  “One of your friends forgot this when they were checking out earlier,” she said without preamble.

  “Oh, um, thank you,” I said.

  She shrugged and went back through the curtains.

  Hervé leaned toward me and whispered: “Not your biggest fan.”

  “Yeah, I get that. Sorry. I hope my coming here doesn’t make things difficult for you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Who left the bag, do you know?” I asked as I peeked within the first paper bag. There was a little figure in a coffin, and a hexing candle. They weren’t from Hervé’s shop but from the botanica—a sort of Mexican herb and magical-supply store—across the street. The second bag held various dried herbs.

  “Wind Spirit, I believe she’s calling herself.”

  “Wind Spirit?”

  “She used to go by Amy.”

  “Yes, I know she did. I didn’t realize you knew her.”

  “I don’t know her well. She comes into the shop from time to time.”

  “I don’t know why that surprises me. . . . A lot of people come to you for supplies, right?”

  “True.”

  “What does she buy from you?”

  “Last time it was a cookbook, if I recall.” He took a copy off a nearby shelf and handed it to me.

  “I didn’t know you sold cookbooks.”

  He grinned. “Very special cookbooks. Look up voodoo bread pudding and love sauce.”

  “What’s love sauce?” I asked as I flipped through the pages. “Or . . . do I want to know?”

  “Basically it’s a slightly sweet bread with sauce. Orris root gives the bread a subtle violet aroma. The sauce is made from brown sugar, butter, and rum.”

  “Nothing not to love about that.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But when you say it’s a voodoo recipe . . . ? Does that mean it’s harmful, or special in some way?”

  “You tell people it’s a love potion, and they’ll bake anything.”

  I smiled, but his words made me think of Renee with her cupcakes.

  “Besides, you know as well as I do that if one is able to focus one’s intent through true belief, one might just infuse that bread pudding with actual feelings of love.”

  I flipped through the book. “There are a few negative recipes in here as well.”

  “Sometimes love goes wrong,” Hervé said with a grin.

  “Are they actually poisonous?”

  He shook his head. “No, of course not. Just contain a few nasty ingredients . . . but I have the sense you’re used to things like that. Anyone who brews knows that things can get a bit pungent, from time to time. A secret ingredient, secret revenge.”

  “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” I said, glad in that moment that Caterina didn’t have her husband’s powers.

  He smiled. “We all have our ways, Lily.”

  Chapter 22

  That night I felt lonely. No Oscar snoring above the fridge, no sound of boots on the stairs telling me Sailor was on his way up. I was also anxious and frustrated. Again, I sat for a while with my Book of Shadows, but it didn’t speak to me. I was finding it hard to concentrate. My mind ping-ponged from thoughts of Sailor to the grandmas on the bus, to what Renee had put in the meat pasties, to what Aidan had told me about his past, to my role in vanquishing the current threat, to Calypso.

  Had her love for Aidan made Calypso vulnerable, the way Aidan told me my love for Sailor diminished me? Or had it made their coalition stronger, and if so, why did she back out and leave everything to Aidan?

  I could feel my energies scattering, like Selena’s typically did. I wasn’t sure whether it was due to Renee’s spell, or Sailor being in jail, or the urgency of needing to find the killer. . . . What I did know was that it wasn’t helpful in any way.

  Maybe I needed to make myself a Gutta Cavat Lapidem talisman.

  Enough. Time to go back to basics. I stepped out to my terrace, pulled on my gardening gloves, grabbed my spade, and spent some time communing with my garden under the light of the waxing moon. Even when I was a young, out-of-control witch, plants had calmed me, while the rich soil soothed me. Graciela had explained it was because I tapped into—and contributed to—the ancient earth energy. That was my skill, my gift, my soul.

  I worked the soil for nearly an hour, pulling weeds, pruning and shaping my herbs, bushes, and small potted trees. Before I realized what I was doing, I had started to gather snippets of plants in my basket: mugwort, jasmine, willow, oak leaves, holly berries, mistletoe, yarrow, broom, orris root, ivy, shamrock, rose, and heliotrope. Ingredients I knew well.

  I returned to the kitchen.

  Quietly, calmly, I began to cast a spell—not for Sailor, or against Renee—just for me. For strength and wisdom. For inner quiet, so I could remain open to the wonder of the night sky, and serve as the conduit between it and the earth beneath my feet. I filled my cauldron with river water and put it on the stove to boil. I chanted while crushing a few of the plants with my stone mortar and pestle, giving my thanks for their sacrifice. I added the rest of the ingredients to the brew, whole. I dropped in a dollop of goat’s milk, a pinch of cayenne, a smidgen of black pepper, and a dash of Tabasco sauce.

  After I stirred for a while, the brew began to swirl on its own, and then came to a rolling boil. I cut a small X into my palm and added the secret ingredient: three drops of my own blood.

  As always, a great puff of steam exploded out of the pot. I looked up toward the ceiling to search the fog for the face of my guiding spirit, the Ashen Witch.

  But she didn’t appear to me.

  The Ashen Witch didn’t come.

  Long before I even knew what I was, long before I knew who she was—ever since I could remember—the Ashen Witch had come to me when I brewed.

  When I looked down into the now-calm brew, I saw herbs floating atop the water. They formed a shape like Sailor’s doodle, the one I’d asked Maya to look up for me. The one the busload of witches seemed to be making with their path.

  The one Patience thought was a demon’s sigil.

  * * *

  • • •

  As I headed over to Jail #2 for visiting hours the next morning, I kept trying to come up with some way to convince Sailor to go back to work for Aidan. I didn’t think I could handle this alone, and Aidan had a point: Working for him had to be a better option than rotting in prison. Right?

  I was so wound up by the time Sailor shuffled in that I just blurted it out.

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Aidan is the one behind all of this?” was Sailor’s response.

  “No. What are you talking about?”

  He shrugged. “Think about it: It gets me back into his employ, brings you closer to him, and spoils Renee’s plans, all at the same time. Seems to me he has plenty of motive. Also . . . Aidan’s very good at glamours. Maybe he’s my mystery twin.”

  “Could a glamour be used that way? To actually change someone’s appearance like that, so completely?”

  “You tell me. This is witchcraft—it’s your strong suit. Remember?”

  “Yeah, well, I might be experiencing a few glitches recently,” I said. “But . . . wait a minute. I was with Aidan that night. It wouldn’t have been possible.”

  “Think about it: you were with him in the evening, but the murder happened in the afternoon. He could have gotten back to his office by then. Or knowing Aidan, he would more likely have gotten someone else to do his dirty work. Maybe someone who wanted to get in good with him . . . ?”

  I didn’t want to admit that Sailor might be right . .
. but it did make a certain amount of sense. Was Aidan that ruthless? And if it was true, where did that leave us?

  “So, what time is your arraignment today, do you know?” I asked.

  Sailor gave me a sardonic smile. “Changing the subject, are we?”

  “No, I just wanted to know what time to be here for you. I want to post your bail, take you home, and then attend to some of the other items on my to-do list. Not the least of which is how to exonerate the likes of you.”

  “You sure it’s not because you don’t like anyone to speak ill of your precious Aidan Rhodes?”

  “Sailor, are you kidding me? You’re going to choose this moment to be jealous of Aidan?”

  “I wouldn’t say jealous. . . .” He trailed off with a shrug. “I just don’t enjoy being a member of this supernatural ménage à trois we seem to have going. Anyway, to answer your earlier question, the arraignment hearing has been postponed.”

  “Postponed? But . . . this is ridiculous. Until you’re arraigned, I can’t bail you out. How long can they hold you without charges?”

  “Forty-eight hours in California. But if the prosecutor can show good cause, she can ask for an extension.”

  “What’s the good cause, in this case?”

  “Apparently there’s a question as to whether Dupree died from the injuries sustained in the beating.”

  “But . . . what do they think killed him, if not that?”

  “All I was told was that the medical examiner had some ‘concerns.’”

  “Well,” I said, blowing out a breath, “maybe that’s good news, then, right?”

  “When you’re facing murder one, any news is good news.” Sailor cast a quick glance over at the sheriff’s deputy, who appeared to be staring at the wall. “Here’s the odd thing: There’s a rumor going around that the prosecutor’s office received a couple of boxes of cupcakes.”

  “Cupcakes,” I repeated. “You’re thinking Renee dosed the prosecutor’s office? Why would she want to help you?”

  “I have no idea, but that’s the scuttlebutt.”

  “And you believe it?”

  He shrugged. “I kept seeing red dahlias, and fungus, so it would fit. And these guys in here would have no reason to lie to me, as far as I can tell. Especially about something like cupcakes.”

  “Renee might be angry with you for what happened to Tristan. We think it’s possible he came to San Francisco to work with Renee, to be the other half to her coincidentia oppositorum.”

  “We?”

  “Aidan and I.”

  “Uh-huh. And what makes the two of you think that?”

  “Jamie mentioned it, and then Renee confirmed it.”

  “So we might have to consider the sources.”

  “True. But Aidan thought it was a good possibility. He says there aren’t that many options for Renee, so she might have recruited him.”

  “Imported him all the way from Germany, like a BMW? I can believe she’s put out a global search, but was Tristan that well respected?”

  I shook my head. “That thought struck me too. So if they’re lying, then what does that tell us?”

  He gave me a barely there smile. “You mean you haven’t figured it all out yet, supersleuth?”

  “Not hardly,” I said softly.

  “I’m kidding,” he said, his voice gentle. “It’s been less than two days, Lily. You’ll get this.”

  “One other thing: I saw something at your apartment yesterday.”

  “You went to my apartment?”

  I nodded. I wasn’t going to fill him in on the details of getting chased by his look-alike; he had enough to worry about.

  “I wanted to see if I could pick up any clues. The police had tossed it pretty well.”

  “Looking for evidence.”

  “Exactly. There were some doodles on the table near your bed; did they mean anything to you?”

  “I kept seeing that image in my trance, right before the police arrived. I was hoping you might be able to interpret it for me.”

  “Maya’s working on it. I also noticed your jewelry box was empty.”

  “Men don’t have jewelry boxes. We have cuff link boxes, or valet boxes.”

  “Because you have so many cuff links? Or a valet, for that matter?”

  He gave me his crooked smile. “As you would say, ‘not hardly.’”

  “So, what did you keep in it?”

  Now he frowned. “Wait. You say it was empty?”

  I nodded. “I found it open and empty. What did you keep in it?”

  “My father’s watch.”

  “The one you told me you saw in your vision?”

  “The very one. I don’t have many keepsakes.”

  “I know you don’t. I’ve seen your apartment before it was tossed, remember? You hardly had anything in it, other than books.”

  He looked troubled. “Maybe the police took it into evidence, for some reason. I’ll have Petulengro check for me.”

  “So, once I manage to spring you from the hoosegow . . .” I trailed off, unsure how to approach this.

  “Lily? You’re not breaking up with me over a little thing like a murder charge, are you?”

  I let out a bark of laughter. “Don’t be silly.”

  “I can’t help but notice you’re not wearing the ring I gave you.”

  “Patience needed it, just temporarily. To help her try to find your double.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Who knew? All I needed to bring you two together was to get busted?”

  “I wouldn’t say we’re best buddies, but we’re working together. Nonetheless, I honestly think I need Aidan’s help with this. Would you at least consider agreeing to go back to work for him? It might well be the only way.”

  A curtain came down over his face. His eyes turned cold and flat, reminding me, ever so slightly, of that horrifying look-alike.

  “Is that so?” he murmured.

  “Yes, it is. And Patience agrees. Aidan said he’d pay you well.”

  Silence. Sailor just stared at me, his gaze cold.

  “I’m . . . I’m not saying you should agree, necessarily. But if the choice is between being convicted of murder or working with Aidan, then—”

  “As I said,” Sailor interrupted, “it’s only been a couple of days. Let’s see what you can come up with, first.”

  “I can’t. . . . There are no visiting hours tomorrow. I won’t be able to see you unless you’re arraigned, and I guess that might not be until Monday.”

  He gave a curt nod. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on trying to figure this out.”

  “I miss you.”

  He smiled. “Miss you, too, my little witch. I’ll be home soon.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The bad news was that I couldn’t spring Sailor on bail. And that he was annoyed with me for suggesting he work for Aidan, but I wasn’t going to think about that part now.

  The good news was that, maybe, the prosecutor was considering lesser charges than murder one.

  I spied a small bank of pay phones at the jail. I fetched the roll of quarters I kept in my car for parking meters, and started making phone calls. I tried Sailor’s lawyer first, and this time got through.

  Henry Petulengro was brief and efficient. His voice didn’t betray a lot of emotion.

  “This is the dream, in homicide cases,” he said. “Turns out the victim died of some preexisting condition, something like that. Suddenly murder one turns into simple assault.”

  “But Sailor didn’t assault anyone,” I insisted.

  “Sure, right. I’m just saying, it’s a whole different ball game.”

  “So what happens now? When will I be able to bail Sailor out?”

  “We have to wait and see what the new complaint agains
t him looks like. Probably not over the weekend. But this is good news, Lily. Try not to worry. And do me a favor—ask Sailor’s aunt Renna to stop threatening to hex me if I don’t get him off.”

  “Renna’s threatening you?”

  “It’s not like I’m not getting enough pressure from my wife. I’m doing the best I can.”

  I thanked him, told him I’d see what I could do about Renna, and hung up. I was frustrated. Yes, it was good news. But still it wasn’t the news I wanted. I wished Petulengro had said that Sailor would be coming home for dinner. That my fiancé would be in my arms tonight. That this was all a terrible misunderstanding and, oh, by the way, there was no overarching threat posed by a cupcake lady and your cold is merely a case of allergies and all will be well.

  As Graciela used to always say, If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. I had to deal with the way things were. I had to find a way.

  Maybe I needed a different angle. I deposited two more quarters and called Patience.

  “What do you know about the Russian psychics in the Richmond District?”

  “That’s like asking what I think of the witches of Texas,” Patience responded. “I’m going to guess there’s a lot of individual variation.”

  “Okay, yes, of course you’re right. It’s just that Jamie—the guy who works for the cupcake lady—mentioned he used to run some sort of scam with some Russian psychics, so I was wondering . . .”

  “I see what you’re getting at. I happen to know one person, named Juna. Short for Eugenia. Her grandmother used to have a Russian bakery out in the Richmond.”

  “Do you think she’d talk to us?”

  “She’d talk to a goat as long as it paid her hourly rate. I’ll set it up.”

  “Thanks. Also, Sailor’s lawyer, Henry Petulengro, wants Renna to stop threatening to hex him.”

  Patience let out an exasperated breath. “She always does that when family’s in jail. I don’t know why she thinks it’s helpful. I’ll talk to her.”