Not that I noticed. I was a mite distracted.
“Maybe Renee was telling the truth,” I said. “Maybe she’s not responsible for any of this. What if Wind Spirit wants to work with Renee? I thought the coincidentia oppositorum had to be a male and female, but according to Calypso, that’s not true. Gender’s fluid, after all—I remember Wind Spirit saying that once herself! So maybe Wind Spirit is making a play for power. Maybe she knew Tristan had come to town to work with Renee, and wanted to stop him.”
“So she could take his place and rule with Renee?” Oscar asked.
“Exactly.”
“But she’s a girl. Tristan was a big guy. How’d she beat him up?”
“According to Carlos, Tristan was already sick by then, so it’s likely he was in a weakened state. And Wind Spirit is stronger than she looks. She has a black belt in some form of martial art; Bronwyn mentioned Wind Spirit was all muscle under those baby-doll dresses she always wears,” I said, starting to weave the threads together. “The fake Sailor kept checking a watch—maybe the clock was ticking on how long Wind Spirit could sustain the glamour. Also, Patience said Renna thought the fake Sailor looked short. Maybe Wind Spirit couldn’t get the glamour quite right. I wonder if she’s left-handed. . . .”
“All these people trading places with other people.” Oscar shook his head. “It’s a downright shame, is what it is.”
“Hey!” I said so loudly that Oscar jumped. “Sorry. But it just occurred to me: You’re a shape-shifter.”
“Yeaaaah . . . ?”
“Is that anything like a glamour?”
“What are you talking about?”
“When you’re in your piggy guise, is it a glamour of some sort?”
“Like you just said, I’m a shape-shifter.”
“So it’s not the same thing?”
He started snickering, then cackled loudly as tears of mirth ran down his scaly cheeks.
“You absolutely slay me when you say things like that!”
I blew out a frustrated breath and sat back in my seat. One of these days I was going to lock myself in Aidan’s office and read every tome in his library, and then I would go to Calypso’s house and read every book in her library, and then I would know things. All the things. What was real and what was not, what was merely magical, and what was impossible.
Even so, not everything I wanted to know would be found within books. Probably I needed another decade or two of instruction with Graciela’s coven. Imagine what I could learn, how powerful I could become. . . .
I wrenched myself out of that daydream as we reached the Golden Gate Bridge. That sort of thinking was dangerous. Just as the wild, savage ocean met the serene bay under this bridge, the wide-open world of magic could entice a person to explore too far. Where currents became irresistible, and the force of the tides might drag a person out to parts unknown, drowning her in the process.
Then again, I was a witch. Last time someone attempted to drown me, I popped up like a cork.
Witches don’t sink.
* * *
• • •
Aunt Cora’s Closet was closed up tight by the time we got back to the city, though Haight Street was hopping as usual on a Friday night. A thick layer of fog had rolled in off the ocean, blanketing the streets and sidewalks and lending a spooky atmosphere to the neighborhood. I kept thinking of that parrot, so long ago, telling me to go to San Francisco, but to “mark the fog.”
An inebriated couple sang “Over the Rainbow,” loudly and off-key, as they reeled down the sidewalk; I brushed past them and quickly let myself—and Oscar—into the shop. I could hear them crying out, “Oh my God, a pig!” as I quickly shut and locked the door, waved without turning around, and scurried into the back room.
I was in no mood for fun this evening.
As we hurried up the stairs, my mind raced. What should I do with my concerns about Wind Spirit? Should I ask Carlos to check her out? As usual, my suspicions were based on very little substance.
I would call Bronwyn first, I decided. For all I knew, she might have been with Wind Spirit when Tristan was attacked, and could offer her coven sister a hard- and-fast alibi.
“I’m feeling a mite peckish, how ’bout you?” Oscar said as we entered the upstairs apartment. “I thought Calypso was gonna whip up something good in that mortar of hers, but it turned out to be nothing but some crazy-ass glamour magic.”
“There’s some lasagna in the freezer; why don’t you preheat the oven while I make a call?”
Then I went into the bedroom and dialed Bronwyn’s number. I explained to her I had reason to suspect Wind Spirit was involved in Tristan’s death, and in setting up Sailor.
Bronwyn sounded stunned and stammered, “I—I just can’t imagine how that could be true, Lily. I mean, I . . . Wind Spirit is an initiate to the Welcome coven. We’re all about peace and light.”
“I know it’s hard to imagine, Bronwyn, but maybe she was just using you, and the coven, to get close to what’s going on. Or as cover, so no one discovered her motives.”
“I simply can’t believe it.”
“I know it’s hard to wrap your mind around. But sometimes friends aren’t all we would want them to be. Of course, I could well be wrong, but if you give me her last name and a phone number, I could ask Carlos to speak with her and see whether or not there’s anything to worry about.”
“Carlos will speak to her personally?”
“You know he’ll be polite, and discreet. It’s . . . You’re right—I’m probably wrong. But we have to check this out. Just imagine if I’m right.”
“Of course.” Bronwyn gave me Amy’s last name and phone number. “What will this mean for the Magical Match Tea? She’s part of the steering committee!”
I didn’t point out that the entire coven was part of the steering committee. “We’ll be fine. Oh! See, that’s another thing—remember how insistent Wind Spirit was that we should serve Renee Baker’s cupcakes at the Magical Match Tea?”
“They really are wonderful cupcakes, Lily. I don’t understand why you’re so mistrustful.”
I realized it was difficult not to fill my friends in on all the goings-on. How best to tell them what I feared about the cupcake lady?
“I have reason not to trust Renee, Bronwyn, and so do you. I can’t fill you in on all the details right now, but please believe me when I say she’s not what she seems.”
“If she concerns you, Lily, that’s good enough for me. We can make our own cupcakes, after all!”
“I believe I’m down for three dozen cookies, as a matter of fact.”
“Oooh, your special macadamia nut chocolate and butterscotch chip?”
“Of course,” I said with a smile. “I’ve already bought all the ingredients. Oscar and I will whip up a batch right after dinner.”
“Wonderful! Oh, by the way, did you pick up your messages? Maya found something she thought might interest you, about that symbol she was researching. She left a note with your mail.”
“Thanks, I’ll go check it out.”
As I hung up, I wondered whether it would be better not to involve Carlos. After all, what could I tell him? That Wind Spirit was stronger than she looked, and that she was fond of cupcakes? I could hear him laughing now. Carlos was far too polite to actually laugh at me, but he’d give me that incredulous look of his, which was even worse. I could mention the mushrooms, I supposed, but that was about the only possible tangible link to Tristan’s murder.
Maybe it would be better to talk to Wind Spirit myself at the Magical Match Tea and try to coax her to admit her involvement. I had it on good authority that I could be very persuasive. . . .
While I sat on my bed, pondering, my gaze alighted on the closet door. It was slightly ajar.
I hadn’t left it that way.
I knew I hadn’t left it tha
t way. I might leave dishes in the sink, toss my nightgown in a corner, or let my Keds lie where they fell, but I was a nut about closing drawers and closet doors. It was the result of early training; in Graciela’s house, there were things that had to be kept secured behind closed doors.
I surged off the bed, threw the closet door open, and looked for the shoe box.
Gone.
“Did I hear something about whipping up some cookies?” Oscar called out from the other room.
“Oscar.” I ran into the living room. “Did you go into my room, or my closet?”
“’Course not. I haven’t even been around for the last day, remember? What’s wrong?”
“My shoe box is missing.”
“The creepy one? No offense, mistress, but no great loss as far as I’m concerned.”
“It’s important, Oscar. Who could have taken it? Among other things, whoever came in here was able to overcome my protection spells. Think about it that way.”
“Good point. See what happens when Oscar isn’t on the job? You think I’m just sitting around, but I provide what I like to call ‘preventive services.’ You sure you didn’t leave it somewhere else?”
“I’m absolutely sure.” I sneezed once again. Had Renee really cast a befuddling spell over me? And if so, had it dulled my senses enough so that I couldn’t call out to the Ashen Witch? Had it diminished my abilities even to cast protection over my store and home?
Unsure where to even start looking for the shoe box, I decided to check out the information Maya had left me.
“Oscar, I’m going down to the shop to get the mail. Want to be my guard pig?”
Oscar’s green eyes widened. “You’re really that spooked, mistress?”
“Just trying not to act a fool, as my mother used to say. If someone was able to waltz in here and take something from my closet, all bets are off.”
“All right, then,” Oscar said, puffing out his chest. “Let’s go.”
We descended the stairs carefully, keeping our eyes and ears peeled. We had rushed through the store earlier, so now I looked for anything that looked out of place. I flicked on the lights in the back room and the store, but everything seemed as serene as ever. Oscar made a big deal about trotting through all the aisles of the shop floor and investigating behind the mannequins.
I was checking behind the register when I noticed Oscar had opened the door to the mini-fridge.
“Pretty sure no one’s hiding in there, Oscar,” I said.
“You never know,” he said with a quick cackle. “In fact—Wind Spirit.”
“Excuse me?” I went to join him in the back room, and Oscar ran to hide behind my skirts, pointing toward the green linoleum-topped table.
Hiding underneath the table was the witch named Wind Spirit, formerly known as Amy.
Chapter 26
I stroked my medicine bag, assessing the situation. According to Bronwyn, Wind Spirit was a martial arts expert. And if she had been ruthless enough to go after Tristan Dupree, she was more than dangerous—she was homicidal.
Then again, I had Oscar with me. Currently he was cowering behind my skirt, but I’d seen him in action; once Oscar got riled, he was a force to be reckoned with. Still, what if Wind Spirit had a weapon? Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her baby-doll dress, so I couldn’t be sure. Even a gobgoyle couldn’t fend off a speeding bullet.
“Wind Spirit. What are you doing here?” I demanded.
She shook her head, but said nothing.
“Come out from under there, and let’s talk,” I said, trying to keep my tone steady and as light as possible. “What are you looking for? Did you come for the shoe box?”
She continued to stare. I realized her eyes looked hollow, as blank as those of the “Sailor” who wasn’t actually my fiancé. A shiver ran down my spine.
“Are you . . . are you the doppelgänger?”
She shook her head again and jumped out and up from under the table. Now I was sure. It was Wind Spirit, and yet not Wind Spirit. Her face looked like her, but she seemed much smaller than she had before. It was confusing, disorienting to see her like this.
She moved slowly, lurching toward us, her movements jerky, as though her muscles were rusty or out of practice. Oscar and I stumbled back another couple of steps. I could hear my familiar mumbling: “Gack! She’s like the Mummy!”
Yes, she was creepy, but I thought of what Aidan had said: Maybe the doppelgänger had chased me all over Chinatown because he’d been trying to communicate.
“Amy!” I yelled. I never could get used to her new name. “Stop, and talk to me. Tell us what you want.”
And then I remembered the boy in the Chinatown apothecary telling us that the supposed “Sailor” didn’t—couldn’t?—speak. I grabbed Selena’s drawing pad and pencils, and handed them to the “Amy,” who was still clumsily moving forward.
As she reached out to take them, I noticed something shiny tinkled on her bracelet. It was the little silver bell charm Amy had given to Selena.
Just then I saw a silverfish scurry past Amy’s foot. I followed its path to the old shoe box, sitting open under the table. It crawled inside.
“Selena?” Oscar said.
When I looked up, “Amy” had become Selena. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she was furiously writing on her drawing pad: I’M SELENA!!!!! DON’T KILL ME!!!!!
“Selena?” I said, relief warring with anger in my chest. “What in the world . . . ?”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
“How did you even know about the box, or where to find it?”
She flipped the pages on her drawing pad to show me a sketch of the box sitting on a shelf in my closet.
“I told you, I see things sometimes. I don’t know why. It’s not like I ask for it. I could tell it was your closet because of the old green suitcase. That’s the only place I’ve ever seen one like that.”
“Do you mean to tell me you’re running through the streets of San Francisco at this hour, breaking into my shop, and my apartment, and stealing things from my closet?”
She exchanged a guilty glance with Oscar. He shrugged in response, as if to say,“She’s got a point.”
“When you put it like that, I guess it sounds pretty bad,” said Selena, twisting her mouth. “But nobody tells me anything, except for weird things like ‘Don’t trust Sailor if he comes around,’ even though Sailor’s supposed to be part of the family. It’s confusing.”
“That’s no excuse, young lady.”
“Also, these bugs are silver, and I love silver. But I accidentally stepped on one. He’s okay, though. He crawled back into the box.”
“And when you stepped on the bug, you changed?”
“I couldn’t talk, and I felt funny, and you started calling me Amy, and then I saw my reflection in the chrome of the table leg, and then I sort of freaked out. It wasn’t me.”
I blew out a long breath. Now that my heartbeat was returning to normal, relief was winning out over anger. In fact, the situation was starting to feel pretty funny. But still. I was the grown-up.
“Does your grandmother know where you are?”
“I told her I was sleeping over here so I could help you move things tomorrow.”
“Let me see the charm Wind Spirit gave to you.”
She held out her slender wrist, and I clasped the charm and tried to feel for vibrations. Nothing felt off, or strange. Probably it was pure chance that Selena had taken Amy’s image for a moment, since she was wearing something that had once belonged to Wind Spirit.
“All right, let’s go upstairs and get some dinner. But this isn’t the end of this. I’m going to give your grandmother a call and we’re going to talk about you lying, and stealing, and sneaking out at night—you hear me?”
&
nbsp; She nodded, eyes downcast. I noticed a small smile on her face, and looked to see Oscar aping me from behind.
“Oscar,” I said, “you are not helping the situation.”
They both cracked up.
I couldn’t help but smile along with them as I grabbed the shoe box and my mail, turned off the lights, and shepherded my two unrepentant wards up the stairs.
“Hey, Selena, guess what,” Oscar said. “Lasagna for dinner! And after, we’re gonna make cookies!”
“Cool!” said Selena.
It was always dangerous to solicit Oscar and Selena’s help making cookies. Odds were good not much of the actual batter would wind up as cooked cookies. Still, there were always more chips where those came from, and I had another night to bake before the tea, if need be. The truth was, if I couldn’t have Sailor by my side, I could use a mellow evening with my familiar and Selena, just being normal. Or what passed as normal for the likes of us.
As I followed them into the apartment, I sorted through the pile of mail and phone messages. Bills, advertisements, a postcard from the Grand Canyon sent by Graciela.
And the note from Maya:
Hey boss lady,
I don’t know if this is what you’re looking for, but the Da Pinchi Code sign was taken from an ancient mark known to have been a witch’s sign, in a town not far from Salem, during the witch hunts. It seems to be connected to a woman who was burned at the stake, which was actually very unusual back then—most were hung. Her name was Deliverance Corydon.
So much for my hopes for a normal evening.
* * *
• • •
The next day I went down to Aunt Cora’s Closet, bleary-eyed despite two big cups of strong French roast. I hadn’t slept much last night. I hadn’t made cookies, either, despite Oscar and Selena’s whining.
Instead, I had installed the two of them in front of the TV to watch a movie, and then spent most of the night consulting my Book of Shadows, brewing, and making protective sachets and talismans to pass out to my loved ones. Aidan kept warning me that I had defeated Deliverance Corydon too easily, that part of her had somehow become a part of me. But I hadn’t wanted to believe it.
A Magical Match Page 25
