Jonquil shrank in the corner, petrified.
I called Oscar off as he moved toward her, growling. But the second we relented, Jonquil threw another chair at the mirror containing Miriam. It crashed into the reflective surface, shattering it in an ear-piercing explosion of glass.
Thousands of glittering shards rained down upon the carpeted floor.
* * *
Theater security took both Jonquil and Wolfgang—whom Sailor had managed to subdue—into custody. I called Carlos and told him Jonquil was the culprit behind the poisonings, that they should question her carefully and check out her place for toxins. Obviously, there was witchcraft involved, as well, but I imagine that would be hard to sell in a court of law.
Sailor brought us a broom, a dustpan, and a vacuum, and somehow managed to convince the theater staff to permit Calypso and me to clean up the lounge, at least until the police arrived. Before taking Oscar—back in his piggy guise—out to the car, Sailor lingered in the doorway, met my eyes, and gave me a warm smile and a reassuring wink.
He was confident I knew what I was doing. But I didn’t.
I sat on the carpeted floor, hand over my aching eye, looking at the damage, feeling stunned. It was one thing to figure out Jonquil was the culprit, quite another to fail Miriam.
Breaking a mirror is said to bring bad luck, because the soul’s reflection is fragmented and takes seven years to recover on its own. Miriam didn’t have seven years to wait.
I felt a warm hand on my head and looked up into Calypso’s kind eyes.
“You can do this,” she said, her voice quiet and calm.
“I…” I trailed off, shaking my head. I had witnessed my grandmother conduct such a spell once, but she had the backing of a coven, not to mention her seventy-something years of experience. I still recalled the shiny, confettilike look of the mirror shards swirling up around her before reconstituting themselves.
I might be strong enough to do it. Or I might do it wrong, failing Miriam forever.
Calypso crouched down before me. “You are stronger than you know. I’ll help you.”
“I thought you said you weren’t a witch,” I said.
She gave a sad smile and shook her head. Her soft brown eyes took in the scene; then she closed them and let out a sigh. “I’m not. I once was, but I’m not now.”
“Then…”
“You’ll do the magic. I’ll help focus your power.”
“I don’t have my Book of Shadows. I don’t know—”
“You have no choice, Lily. You’re the only one here who can do this, and Miriam needs you. Now, let’s get to work.”
Her matter-of-fact attitude finally roused me out of my self-doubting stupor. She was right. I had no choice.
“Do you carry a cell phone?” I asked her. “Could I borrow it?”
Calypso nodded and handed me a sleek smartphone. I dialed a number I knew by heart.
To my surprise, my grandmother Graciela was awake and, apparently, drinking with friends. I heard loud voices and raucous laughter in the background. How was it that I was starting to feel ancient, but Graciela seemed to be growing younger with each passing year?
She grew serious when I told her what I needed. She looked up the words to the spell in her own Book of Shadows, ran through the procedures available to me, given that brewing was not an option, and reminded me—once again—how essential it was for me to finish my training.
Before hanging up, she also warned me that a bad wind was blowing in from the east.
Oh, goodie.
No time to think about that now. It was essential to pick up every shard of mirror. Calypso and I worked as quickly as we could, gathering the largest pieces first, placing them all in a pile in the center of the room.
“You said you were once a witch but no longer?” I asked Calypso as we used wet paper towels to wipe down the hard surfaces like the glass shelf and the chairs. “I didn’t realize that was a choice a person could make.”
“Not for someone like you, certainly. But for me… ? I came to my abilities through sheer practice and grit. They weren’t innate talents. I could walk away. And I did.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Magic cost me. I lost my license to provide foster care. And my relationship to Aidan… It nearly killed me. I’m not exaggerating.”
“What… what happened?” I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
She shook her head. “I made a pledge long ago. I won’t talk about it. You’d better ask him.”
Great. That wouldn’t be awkward at all.
“So what’s with the botanicals?”
“My love of plants—and theirs for me—was something I could not walk away from. And, as I told you when I first met you, I was trying to help, to train people to deal with poisonous plants without hurting themselves.” The sadness washed over her again. The scent was piercing and strong, not the bright green of spring growth, but the knifelike pain of grief. “I can’t believe Jonquil would do this… . She lived with me for six months, many years ago. She was the one who turned me in with the foster service. She was angry at me for refusing to train her in hexes. When she joined the Unspoken coven and asked to join my botanicals class, I thought she had grown, changed. But she was never… right.”
“And Greta? She’s your sister?”
She smiled and shook her head, looking chagrined. “Can you believe that? We were so close as kids, but she really hated it when I started studying nature, especially when I told her I was going to become a witch. I’m just so sorry to hear that she really took off with it, decided to go after others. I don’t know what to say about that. She’s still my sister, for better or worse.”
Finally, Calypso vacuumed the carpet, adding the entire contents of the vacuum bag to our growing pile. When we’d gathered all the pieces we could, I performed a quick extraction spell to force the rest. I feared the police would be interrupting us anytime now.
I started circling the pile, stroking my medicine bag and chanting to center myself. Calypso circled opposite me, reflecting my energy. Her calm, confident presence helped me to focus. I reminded myself that I had support and focused on my magic. Then I intoned the words Graciela had given me, repeating them, dancing around the pile, Calypso mimicking my movements.
Slowly, the shards began to quiver, then to lift, then to swirl. Like a mini-cyclone, they gathered and whirled up over our heads. A bright light shone briefly, and though it let off no sound, the impact felt like an explosion. I looked up to see the face of my helping spirit take shape in the swirling dust, almost there but not, gone in an instant. And then Miriam’s face, calling out. Also disappearing in a flash.
The shards fell to the floor, fused into a misshapen hunk of dark glass.
I guessed this was the best I could do. When Graciela had performed this spell, the mirror shards reconstituted themselves into their original shape as a mirror. But at least I had seen glimpses of my helping spirit as well as of Miriam; I was very nearly sure the spell had been successful, that I had freed Miriam’s soul.
If she survived, I would be more than happy to buy the Paramount Theater a new mirror.
* * *
Luckily, the police didn’t need much from us, since Jonquil was the one responsible for shattering the mirror. And once Carlos got involved, she would be up on charges far more serious than vandalism.
Calypso and I stood in the lobby. I cradled the ugly hunk of glass in my arms, just in case I hadn’t succeeded and Miriam’s spirit still wasn’t reunited with her body. The faint voices of Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart drifted through the double doors of the auditorium, along with occasional laughter from the audience.
I used Calypso’s phone to call Duke. He was at Miriam’s bedside, with Jonathan.
“It’s a miracle,” Duke choked out. “About ten minutes ago she just opened her eyes and started talking! I—I can’t…” His voice cracked, and he started to sob. Jonathan came on the line and told me the doctors were c
hecking Miriam out, but that she appeared to be whole and healthy.
When I told Calypso the news, she hugged me for a long time and stroked my hair.
“You poor thing,” Calypso said, finally pulling away. “Your eye’s swelling. I wish I had my herbs here. I’d fix you right up.”
“I’ve got mugwort at home,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
She nodded, studying me for a moment. “Well, the movie’s still playing. I think I’ll go find my friends. I’ll take care of Anise, now that I understand how Jonquil dosed her.”
“She poisoned Miriam’s lip balm. Have Anise put aside anything at all suspect, certainly anything she made with Jonquil. The police might want it all as evidence. Inspector Romero will probably be following up on all that.”
She nodded, then turned toward the auditorium doors. “Would you like to join us?”
“Thanks, but I don’t think I’m up for it at the moment.” I had the depleted, hangover feeling I got after performing very strong spells. All I wanted was to have Sailor wrap his strong arms around me, all night long.
“Miriam is lucky to have you on her side. As for Jonquil…” Calypso trailed off with a shrug, tears in her eyes.
“Maybe… maybe when things settle down we could get together and talk? Lunch, maybe?”
Her face lit up with a warm, sad smile. “I would love that. And I’d like to visit your shop.”
“Yes, please do.” I had a feeling Calypso might become a good friend. One thing was certain: She would fit in just fine at Aunt Cora’s Closet.
I watched Calypso duck into the darkened theater, then looked around for Sailor. The bartender told me a man fitting his description, and accompanied by a pig, no less, had headed out some time ago. The bartender didn’t remember seeing the man return.
Where could he be? Was he all right? And had I been ditched, yet again, at the Paramount?
I sent out as loud a psychic shout as I could, to no avail. I thought of borrowing someone’s phone to call him, but realized—with a trace of bitterness—that Sailor still hadn’t given me his supersecret phone number.
As I headed toward the front doors I heard a commotion outside and saw my Vietnamese potbellied pig trying to evade capture on the sidewalk.
I hurried out.
“I’m so sorry! He must have gotten out of my car.”
The harried security guard seemed to recognize me from the ladies’ lounge, as well as from the other night with Sailor. Before he could speak, I jumped in.
“How about I take him and go home and promise not to come back?” I offered.
“I’d really appreciate that,” he said, shaking his head and muttering, “Geesh, this job’s a lot harder than it used to be.”
I gestured to Oscar and we trotted down the street and around the corner to the Mustang. We climbed in. The street was quiet, so I waited for Oscar to transform. He didn’t.
“Oscar? I need to talk to you.”
He blinked up at me with his pink piggy eyes.
“What’s wrong? Where’s Sailor? Is he all right?”
He curled up on the seat as if to go to sleep.
“Oscar, this is ridiculous. Talk to me.”
He wiggled his corkscrew tail and pretended to snore. I banged the steering wheel and blew out a frustrated breath, feeling my injured eye throb. At moments like these, I thought, what I wouldn’t give to have a real witch’s familiar. On the other hand, most familiars can’t talk. And they don’t intervene when a person is rolling around the floor with a murderer.
Count your blessings, Lily.
Miriam was well on her way to recovery; Duke had his daughter, Luna had her mommy, and Jonathan had his beloved back. Jonquil hadn’t hurt anyone else, and now that we knew what had happened Calypso would take care of Anise. Carlos should have plenty of evidence to put a case together against Jonquil.
So really, being ditched by Sailor was a small thing. And he probably had a good reason. Or… could he be in trouble? Surely I would have felt something, wouldn’t I? Or Oscar would tell me if I needed to intervene, wouldn’t he?
I drove straight to San Francisco’s Chinatown and drove down Hang Ah alley, where cars weren’t allowed.
There was something wrong. I felt it as soon as I opened my car door. The alley now carried the typical stench of urban grime, rather than the fragrant, ghostly scent I had come to associate with it.
The door to Sailor’s apartment building was locked, as usual. After plenty of banging and yelling, the landlord finally emerged, angry and clad only in sweatpants and a dirty undershirt.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” I said. “I need to see my friend Sailor.”
“No cars here; move car,” he said in broken English.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll move it. But I have to talk to Sailor.”
“Sailor gone.”
“Gone? As in… gone? Are you sure?” I tried to peer past him, up the stairs.
“He give me no notice. You go see if you want. Then move car.” He stepped back to let me enter and waved toward the stairs. “Sailor gone.”
I climbed the stairs and found the door to his apartment unlocked. The sparse furniture remained: the bed, a nightstand, a small couch and a chair; but his clothes and other few possessions had been emptied out, including his many books.
I remained for a moment, hoping to sense something, anything, to explain what had happened. I placed my hand on the bare mattress, on the mirror in the bathroom. Was he all right? Did he just run away because… well, because I was too much for him? How many times had he told me that he didn’t like witches, after all? But… that couldn’t be it, could it? Sailor, of all people, understood my sometimes difficult relationship to my own magic.
Much more likely was that Aidan had found out about us. And Sailor was under Aidan’s influence… . Could Aidan have threatened Sailor somehow? Driven him away?
My heart pounded. I felt my blood rise in anger. A lamp fell over as I ran out of the apartment.
I hurried down the stairs and jumped into my car. Oscar, still in piggy mode, hid in the footwell behind the front seats.
No doubt about it. The perfume had lifted.
Chapter 25
A week later, a newly tidy Aunt Cora’s Closet was full of more customers than ever. People had turned out in droves to support the store.
Conrad had brought in a few friends who worked all day in exchange for nothing more than breakfast and lunch—they refused to take my proffered payment. With their help, and Maya and Bronwyn and several coven members and women from the shelter, the shop was put to rights in a matter of days. A few members of the Unspoken coven showed up as well, offering to help, and more important, offering friendship. They had played no part in Jonquil’s attacks, and were still reeling from the knowledge that someone they thought they knew had been capable of inflicting harm on another.
Clothing damaged beyond repair had been salvaged for their materials and for use in patternmaking for the new dress venture.
Meanwhile, Lucille’s designs were selling out faster than she could produce them. Maya’s Web site was pulling in even more custom orders, and there was talk of hiring seamstresses to help keep up with demand. Bronwyn suggested training some of the women from the shelter who were seeking jobs, and Lucille was taking names.
Today Maya and Lucille conferred at the counter, while Bronwyn played with Luna, who was cooing and sweet and no longer preferred my arms to any others. Duke had stopped by to take Bronwyn to lunch, and Oscar was running about with Imogen, who had arrived with Beowulf the cat.
True to his word, Max had used his connections to recover my Hand of Glory from the ladies’ room of the Paramount Theater, so I gave him an exclusive interview about the spirit in the mirror—without naming names, of course. I didn’t hold back, though, making my peace with whatever he thought of me. He took it surprisingly well. Still, his final article included lots of scientific information about ocular flashes and mass hallucinations,
in an attempt to offer a “rational” explanation for the visions of a woman in the mirror.
That woman, Miriam, now sat on the velvet bench by the dressing rooms, holding hands with Jonathan. The doctors still had no explanation for her ordeal, but she seemed to suffer no ill aftereffects, other than tiring easily. Happily, she had no memory of her time in the backward world.
As for me… well, Bronwyn was worried about me, I knew. I tried my best to get involved in the new clothing venture with Maya and Lucille, but the truth was… my heart ached. I felt as though something precious had been within my grasp, but had slipped away.
After finding Sailor’s apartment abandoned, I headed straight for Aidan’s office. This time the entire museum was closed to me, not just his door. I called to him psychically as hard as I could and even cast a spell to try to force Aidan to contact me, but I was met with nothing but silence. Oscar had maintained his pig guise for several days, and even after resuming his natural shape adamantly refused to talk about anything other than food and zombie movies.
I kept replaying Sailor’s last looks, last words, in my mind. His smile as he stood in the doorway, the wink he gave me, letting me know he was confident in my abilities to help Miriam, that I would succeed. And before that, the way he followed me into that haunted theater and backed me up, every step of the way, even fighting with Wolfgang outside the ladies’ room.
I was almost certain Aidan was responsible for Sailor’s disappearing act. What could have happened? Where had Sailor gone, and why? Was he all right? Should I chase after him?
I was so mad I could spit. And most of all, I missed Sailor’s presence in my life. But as my mother used to say, it looked like I was going to have to get happy in the same pants I got mad in. In other words, it was up to me to deal with the situation. No one was going to fix it for me.
Filling Aunt Cora’s Closet, I reminded myself, were good friends. Closer than family. I was very lucky. And perhaps I should surround myself with nonmagical folks from now on. Perhaps it was best I return to my solo-witch ways. I used to vow not to involve myself in local witchy politics, and now I remembered why. It was too confusing, too fraught, too painful.
In A Witch's Wardrobe Page 27
