What did it mean that Deliverance’s sign kept showing up? Was it a harbinger that I would become evil, like she was? Is that what had happened to Deliverance Corydon? . . . Had she once been a well-meaning witch who was seduced by malevolence, until she became demonlike herself?
And why in the world was a busload of elderly coven members making her mark with their path?
A terrible thought occurred to me: Could the grandmas have been kidnapped, somehow? Were they safe? Anyone could have been sending those text messages, right? How could I be sure?
By midnight I had worked myself into such a tizzy I even called and woke up poor Maya, who assured me that the grandmas had indeed sent the pictures of themselves having a grand old time in various locales, and that it was highly doubtful they had been kidnapped. I apologized and urged her to sleep in the next day. After all, I had extra labor in the form of Selena, and Aunt Cora’s Closet wasn’t going to be open for regular business on Saturday, anyway.
Instead, we were going to clear the place out to get it ready for the Magical Match Tea on Sunday. The plan was to move most of my inventory into Lucille’s Loft for the event, then set up small folding tables and refreshment stands here in the store. On the one hand, I could hardly believe we were going ahead with the Magical Match Tea, given everything else that was going on. But the more I thought about it, the more I was sure it would give me the chance to catch Wind Spirit in an unguarded moment.
Speaking of Wind Spirit, seeing her double last night had knocked me for a loop. But in the end, I didn’t think the apparition was anything more than chance. Selena had been fooling around with the silverfish, and happened to be wearing the charm Wind Spirit had given her, so she took on Wind Spirit’s appearance for a few minutes. That was all there was to it.
I was pretty sure.
When Bronwyn arrived—cream cheese and two dozen bagels in hand—I asked her to remain discreet about my suspicions.
“Does this mean you’ve reconsidered? I really don’t think dear Wind Spirit could be—”
“Let’s just say I’d like to keep a low profile.”
“I understand,” she said as she laid the bagels out on a platter. “Oh, how is poor Sailor doing? Has there been any progress on his case?”
“Sort of,” I hedged. “I’m still working on it.”
Duke arrived, and on his heels came Conrad with Shalimar and three other friends happy to work for food.
Every time someone asked how Sailor was doing, my stomach clenched with anxiety. All I could say was that things were still up in the air, but that we might be getting closer to figuring things out. Fingers crossed. I handed out the talismans, and hung the sachets around the store, explaining that we still had to be on our toes, especially if someone showed up looking like Sailor. Or Renee-the-cupcake-lady, for that matter.
I wore an apron over the old cotton dress I usually donned for doing laundry. Bronwyn and Duke were clad in jeans and sweatshirts, and Conrad and several of his “gutterpunk” friends wore their everyday attire. Maya, of course, had refused my offer to sleep in and showed up early along with everyone else, also wearing moving clothes. She waved off my apologies for robbing her of sleep.
“Maya, could I ask you about the symbol you found? You said it was connected to Deliverance Corydon?”
“Yes, isn’t that wild? I found a reference in a book by a Berkeley professor who had done research on the witch hunts. I even tried calling him, but it turns out he’s no longer at Cal.”
“Did the sign have any particular meaning that you could find?”
She shook her head. “Just that it was associated with her, and I guess whoever came up with the Da Pinchi sign based on it.”
“And what does it mean in the Da Pinchi Code?”
“I wrote it down: ‘a rich house, worth burgling, but high risk.’”
“Huh. That doesn’t tell us much.”
“No, it doesn’t. Oh, also, you’ll be glad to hear that Graciela’s coven checked in this morning,” she said as she put a thumbtack in the wall, not far from Napa, as I’d predicted. “They’re going wine tasting today. And their path has definitely formed Corydon’s sign,” said Maya as she looped red thread around the tack. “They said they’d be here tomorrow, for sure. They were in a dead zone for talking, but I texted them about the sign, and whether they were kidnapped.”
“You did? How did they respond?”
“‘LOL.’”
“‘Lots of love’?”
“‘Laugh out loud,’” she said, chuckling. “The thing is, Lily, with you I don’t know if that’s a joke, or you’re serious.”
I smiled in return, but didn’t clarify. Oscar often said, “OMG,” but otherwise I wasn’t exactly up on my texting acronyms.
“So, let’s get to work, shall we?” Maya said.
We trooped next door and, with the help of Lucille and her seamstresses, pushed the sewing machines and worktables to the very back of Lucille’s Loft, opening up space for the racks and the shelf contents we would bring over from Aunt Cora’s Closet. Lucille had already moved the custom orders to the front of her shop, and every once in a while one of her clients would drop by to pick up her dress, excited about tomorrow’s event.
Which reminded me: “Lucille, who is Renee Baker bringing to the tea as her match? You made their outfits, didn’t you?”
“I really don’t know,” Lucille said. “Renee gave me the measurements for her match’s outfit, but she didn’t come in for a fitting.”
“That seems odd,” I said.
Lucille shrugged. “It happens that way sometimes. People get busy.”
“Has she picked up the dresses yet?”
“No, I have them here.” Lucille held out a large dress, along with a smaller one. They were made of matching material, colorful little cupcakes somersaulting across a beige background. Cupcakes. How unexpected.
I tried holding Renee’s dress in my arms, hoping to sense any wayward vibrations. No luck. I doubted she had worn it long enough for me to sense anything, anyway—and the befuddling spell I was suffering under didn’t help.
The smaller dress could have fit Amy—Wind Spirit—though I couldn’t be sure. Would it even make sense that she would come with Renee? Wouldn’t that be an obvious tip-off to me? Or would that even matter? Once Renee allied herself with someone magical, I imagined it wouldn’t remain a secret. So far, her intentions to mount a challenge to Aidan had been surprisingly straightforward.
Despite everything, I relaxed as I spent a pleasant day with friends, a welcome change from business as usual. We turned up the music—Maya had put together a great mix of upbeat hits from the eighties and nineties—and busied ourselves packing and hauling, fueled by bagels and chips and soda. Luckily Lucille’s Loft was right next door to Aunt Cora’s Closet, so we were able to roll some of the racks over just as they were, full of hanging clothes. Smaller items such as hats, scarves, and gloves were packed in boxes, which we then stacked on the worktables in the rear of Lucille’s shop. We carted over armfuls of dresses, skirts, blouses, and coats that weren’t on racks, stashing them atop workbenches or on clean blankets laid out on the floor.
We covered my main display counter with a heavy brocade cloth; it would serve as a refreshments stand. The shop was nearly emptied of merchandise, but I kept the too-fragile-to-wear dresses hanging on the wall as art pieces, their gossamer skirts fanning out. We outfitted the mannequins in the store’s window displays in sets of matching dresses that hadn’t been purchased for the tea. When, at Maya’s suggestion, we fitted them with hats and gloves, they looked very smart.
By early afternoon, we were done. Duke ordered pizza and the whole crew sprawled on the floor of the shop admiring our handiwork, and taking a well-deserved food break before starting on phase two of the preparations: giving the place a good scrubbing. I wanted to take this rare opport
unity to clean thoroughly—using both standard and magical means. Sweeping and mopping under and around racks of clothing is no easy feat, and though I “cleansed” the shop every morning, given the circumstances, I thought it best to add a little extra magic. After the shop had been thoroughly vacuumed, mopped, and wiped down, I smudged widdershins, then sprinkled saltwater deosil, all over the store.
Next we set up several small folding café tables, and ringed the room with long tables for refreshments. There wouldn’t be enough room for everyone to sit at a table, but we wanted at least some chairs for those who needed them. Tomorrow morning we would put out the fresh flowers, dishes, and silverware. I was happy to have a reason to put all that vintage cutlery Selena had been polishing to good use.
I had noticed Conrad and his friend Shalimar whispering throughout the day; she seemed to be urging him to do something. Shalimar left after our pizza feast, and I asked Conrad if everything was okay.
“Dude, I’mma turn twenty-five next month,” he said. “I wanted to ask you . . .”
“Would you like to hold a party here?” I asked.
“Naw, it’s not that. It’s more like . . . I’m, like, tired. I was thinking I want to change things. Maybe visit my mom.”
“I didn’t know you had a mom.”
“Dude. Sure. We . . . we haven’t been close; but lately I’ve been thinking. I mean . . . a person never knows what’s gonna happen, y’know? I’m not getting any younger, and neither is she. It’s easy to act like you’ve got plenty of time, but when you really think about it, no one really knows how much time they have.”
“You are a very wise man, Conrad,” I said.
His words made me think of my own mother. Yes, I was anxious to see her, but part of me had been hoping she wouldn’t come. It was going to be hard to face her—wonderful, but hard. In some ways it was tempting just to avoid the whole thing. But Conrad was right. How did I know how much time I had, or how much time she had? I had faced disaster, and even death, several times in the past couple of years. I couldn’t take life, or time, for granted. None of us could.
“So, when you say you want to make some changes,” I continued, “what do you mean?”
His eyes shifted around the newly cavernous shop, as though he was embarrassed. “Dude. Sobriety. You’ve offered to help me get sober, before.”
Inside, I was jumping up and down in excitement. But I didn’t want to come on too strong, afraid to scare him off. So I played it cool. I kept my focus on the glass front of the display counter I was cleaning. “Oh, sure.”
“Is that, like, difficult?”
“Making any sort of serious change in life is always difficult,” I said. “But sometimes that’s an indication of how important it is to do.”
He nodded. “I guess I’m up to the challenge.”
“I know you are.” I smiled, and hugged him. Conrad was shaggy, his clothes threadbare. But he was kindhearted, and intelligent, and a good friend. “And I’ll be there beside you, every step of the way.”
“Thanks, Lily.”
“It will be my honor, and my pleasure. Now, care to help me set up some tables?”
“It will be my honor, and my pleasure.”
* * *
• • •
We had started our day before eight, so by four we had finished all we could do in preparation for the big Magical Match Tea. Tomorrow we would do all the last-minute tasks, like laying out food and flowers. Tonight everyone had baked goods to make, not to mention matching outfits to perfect, so we dispersed early.
I drove Selena back to her grandmother’s house, and we had a long talk about enforcing rules. We decided Selena would come to the tea tomorrow, but be grounded for a week after that. And any further shenanigans—especially putting herself in danger—would mean she might not be allowed to attend my wedding.
Afterward, I hurried back home to bake a few dozen macadamia butterscotch chocolate-chip cookies and wash all the silver cutlery Selena had polished, and I also wanted to brew to help Conrad.
And then I would brew for our safety tomorrow at the tea. I was profoundly worried about the Ashen Witch not appearing the last time I’d brewed, but I didn’t know what else to do but what I’d always done. I flipped through my Book of Shadows, but found no answers. How should a witch respond to such a thing?
As Oscar and I were finishing up our third batch of cookies, I asked: “Oscar, you know how my guiding spirit shows up when I brew?”
“It’s awesome when she does that!”
“What do you . . . I mean, what would it mean if . . . I mean . . .”
“Mistress?”
“What if she didn’t show up?”
He blinked.
“What if she started not showing up?” I rephrased as I used the spatula to transfer a dozen cookies, hot out of the oven, onto the rack to cool. Oscar’s huge eyes followed the progress of each and every cookie.
“I never heard of that,” he said.
“Surely I can’t be the first—”
“Oh, I dunno. Seems to me you’re the first at a lot of things.”
“You’re saying it couldn’t happen?” I gestured with the spatula. “Once a guiding spirit, always a guiding spirit?”
“Pretty much. Maybe she’s just being shy. Or maybe you just didn’t notice her, somehow.”
“Maybe. Hard to imagine, though,” I said as I deposited the empty cookie sheet into the sink. I sensed movement behind my back. “I’m serious, Oscar—you’ve already eaten at least a dozen cookies’ worth of batter. Those are for the fund-raiser tomorrow, and it’s a good cause. So no more cookies, understand?”
“Yes, mistress.” He grumbled something about me having eyes in the back of my head.
“Oscar, I’m not your mistress anymore. You know that, right?”
He nodded. “And I’m not supposed to call Master Aidan ‘master’ anymore. I remember.”
“Right, because he’s not your master. But . . . do you ever miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Working for Aidan.”
“How do you mean?”
“I just wondered if you would ever consider going back to work for Aidan.”
His bottle glass green eyes grew even bigger than normal, and started to glitter with the beginning of tears. “I won’t eat any more cookies! I promise! Don’t send me away, mistress!”
“No, Oscar, that’s not what—”
He hopped up onto the sink and started scrubbing the cookie sheets. “Let’s get this kitchen spic-and-span, shall we?”
“Oscar, honestly, I appreciate the help, but—”
“Yup, you and me, mistress. We’re gonna make cookies, and clean up right after, and—”
“It’s not about that. Oscar, would you please calm down and listen to me?”
“It’s that mandragora, isn’t it? I never liked him. He’s the sneaky sort, going behind a guy’s back—”
“No, I promise you. Finnall belongs to Calypso. This isn’t about replacing you, Oscar. I’ve told you before: You’re family. It’s you and me, for better or worse.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I couldn’t help but notice that, once reassured, Oscar abandoned the dishes in the sink and went back to staring at the cookies cooling on the rack.
“Feeling better now?” I asked.
“Much, mistress. Why were you asking about Aidan?”
“Aidan told me he wouldn’t help me get Sailor out of jail unless either you or Sailor went back to work for him.”
“Oh.”
“It wouldn’t be like before, though. You would be a regular employee. He would pay . . .” I trailed off. What was money to someone like Oscar? “Never mind. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t need Aidan. I can pull this off myself.”
&nbs
p; “Without Aidan, and without your guiding spirit?”
“It looks like it.”
“If . . . if it means saving Sailor, I’ll do it.”
“Oh, Oscar. Now that I think about it, I realize I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You said I could be the ring bearer at the wedding. How’m I gonna do that if there is no wedding?”
“I tell you what, Oscar. I appreciate the offer so much, you have no idea. But let’s get through the Magical Match Tea tomorrow. Also, Graciela’s coven is set to arrive tomorrow as well. Maybe things will shake out differently, and we won’t need Aidan’s help at all.”
“Maybe. You still think it’s Wind Spirit?”
“Maybe. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, see if I can get her to admit what’s going on. But for right now, I have to brew, guiding spirit or no. Will you help?”
“Of course, mistress. It was real classy how you said to Conrad, ‘It will be an honor, and a pleasure.’”
“Thank you, Oscar.”
“It will be my honor, and my pleasure.”
Chapter 27
After the brewing—which went well enough, though the Ashen Witch once again failed to appear—Oscar curled up in his cubby over the refrigerator, and I took a long shower, then dressed in a fresh white cotton nightgown I had bought from a lovely elderly woman in North Beach. Its vibrations were sweet and calm. I could use all the help I could get at this point.
I wanted to look through the shoe box alone. I sat cross-legged on my bed, centered myself, set out my stones, chanted for a minute, then slipped off the top of the box.
Despite Selena’s perusal, everything looked just as it had. Ignoring the squirming silverfish, I gazed again at the photo of my mother and father on their wedding day. Instead of putting it back, I propped it up against the frame holding Sailor’s photograph on my bedside table. No matter how fraught our personal history, these were my parents. And, according to the expressions on their faces, they had once loved each other. Perhaps they had once loved me, too.
A Magical Match Page 26
