I mentally rolled my eyes. Fat lot of good that would do me. I slammed the door behind them and pounded back up the stairs, so furious I was mumbling to myself. I grabbed the phone and dialed Ann’s number. She answered on the first ring. “Julia, why don’t you come over and have some coffee. I can’t get back to sleep now anyway.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.” I hung up, pulled off my sweater and nightie, put on a bra, put my sweater back on over my jeans, and brushed my teeth. Satisfied I wouldn’t frighten my neighbor, I grabbed my keys, made sure Wizard was locked in, and headed for Ann’s house. I double-checked that my front door was locked behind me. I wasn’t in a very trusting mood. For all I knew, I could return to find strange people in my living room. When I reached the sidewalk, I circled around the painted words. In red dripping letters, it read, “Burn Witch Burn.”
TWELVE
ANN’S HOUSE IS A tiny cottage, the kind that was constructed as quick housing after the 1906 quake and is now dwarfed by taller buildings. I knocked and peeked through the glass in the front door. Ann was in the doorway of her kitchen. She waved and headed toward the front door.
“Come on in, Julia. Grab a chair.” Still in her bathrobe, she almost looked like a high school student. But she was a lot more put together that I was at the moment. She poured me a generous mug of coffee and placed a container of half-and-half on the table. I added some to my coffee. I needed caffeine very badly.
Ann sat across the table from me. “Did you notice their armbands?”
“I didn’t get a close look, but I saw there was something bright blue.”
“It’s a cross outlined against a rising sun. They call themselves the Army of the Prophet.”
“I know. Last night they tried to firebomb the Mystic Eye.”
“Oh, no!” Ann exclaimed. “When the hell are the police going to do something about them?”
“I’ve just been told they have orders to lay off the Prophet.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish I were.” I took a large sip of coffee. “What happened after I left yesterday?”
“The cops took their time getting here. I called them first and then went out and yelled at those nuts. One of the guys from that big house at the end of the block tried to chase them away, but they just ignored us. Then a little while after you left, they dispersed. They were gone by the time the patrol car arrived. The police didn’t want to make a report. I guess we know why now. I insisted, though. More importantly, why are they bothering you?”
I hesitated. “I … uh … you know the AskZodia column in the paper?”
“Yeah. I love that column!” Ann gasped. “Don’t tell me you’re Zodia?”
I nodded. “In one of my responses I had a few choice things to say about false prophets and people who martyr themselves. I’m sure that’s what did it. Apparently Reverend Roy believes that psychics and astrologers, among others—we’re all lumped together—are doing the work of the devil and should be driven out.”
“Others being feminists, gays, planned parenthood clinics, liberals and the like, right?” Ann asked sarcastically. “These are the kind of people who murder abortion doctors. What are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “My grandmother’s away. I think I might just stay at her house. If I’m not around and they know it, the neighborhood could get some peace. Not to mention my clients.”
“Oh, speaking of clients … can we set something up soon?” Anne smiled conspiratorially.
“Sure. I’d love to. Something going on?”
“I hope so. I met a new guy and I’d like you to check him out.”
I laughed. “Okay. I love romance! You’ve got my cell number. When you get his information, just give me a call and we’ll figure out a time.”
“And you have my cell. If you need any help, call me, okay? Promise?”
“I will. Thanks.”
I trotted down Ann’s stairs and then climbed my own, locking the front door behind me. I passed the door to my office and noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. I hit the button. Three more hangups. I heaved a sigh and pulled out the pad of paper to add them to my log. I jumped when the phone rang. I grabbed it immediately, sure it was another harassing call.
“Julia?”
“Yes.” It was Ermie, my apartment manager. I cringed when I remembered that I’d failed to return her call the day before.
“Please tell me what’s going on at the building? I’ve been getting calls from your downstairs neighbors.”
My neighbors are a childless forty-something couple. They’re very quiet, never bother me, and are generally out almost every day. They’re perfectly pleasant people, if a bit uptight, and we’ve probably never spoken more than six words to each other.
“I wish I knew,” I said. I wasn’t about to tell Ermie I was the author of AskZodia—I was afraid she’d think I’d brought the trouble on myself. “I’m sorry, I really am. And I have no idea what’s going on. The neighbor next door called the police on them yesterday and today. We believe they’re members of that cult, the Prophet’s Tabernacle.”
“You mean that bible thumper with the pompadour? The Prophet TV guy?”
“That’s him. Look, Ermie, I don’t know what to do. I’ve filed a police report.”
“I don’t understand why they’re bothering you.”
“Apparently the Reverend Roy, or at least some of his followers, have decided I’m a sinner because I’m practicing astrology. By the way, don’t worry about the sidewalk. I’ll clean the paint off today.”
“Paint? Did they get paint on the house?”
“No. Just the sidewalk. Really sick stuff.”
“Well, dear, I hate to be hard on you, you’re a good tenant, but I can’t have this kind of thing going on around the building. I personally don’t care if you’re running a business out of your apartment. I’ve looked the other way, but if these people have some beef with you because you’re an astrologer, you might want to think about looking for an office somewhere.”
My heart sank. “These crazies are attacking me. I haven’t done anything, Ermie.”
“I’m not saying you have, Julia, but I can’t have this going on. You have to realize, I’m not the owner. I haven’t said anything to her about your seeing clients in your apartment, but it’s not covered by your lease and she’d be within her rights to evict you. Technically you’re in violation. I’m going to have to tell her about this, and if anything more serious happens, well … maybe you should look for another place.”
“I see.” I almost burst into tears. I loved my apartment and my neighborhood. My rent was probably one-third what I’d have to pay if I were forced to move, plus I didn’t have to pay for office space. I love being close to the sea. I love watching the fog roll in over the tops of the pine trees in Lincoln Park. It was my neighborhood now. I even had a little backyard with grass for Wizard. I couldn’t move, not to mention the expense.
As if she could read my mind, Ermie spoke. “If you don’t get a handle on this nonsense, you’ll be paying an awful lot more for a rental in the area, you know that.”
“Ermie, look—I’ll stay somewhere else until this is sorted out. You have my cell number. Please call me right away if you have any further problem. If I’m not at home and the Prophet’s followers know that, maybe they’ll find someone else to harass. I’ll handle this. I promise. I’ll find out who’s behind it and put a stop to it.” I had no idea how I was going to keep my word, but it was all I could think to say.
“I certainly hope so.” With that, Ermie rang off.
I stifled a sob. I couldn’t really blame her. It was her job to take care of the building and in her eyes, I was the cause of all the upset. Now I might be homeless. Well, not exactly homeless. I could always live at Gloria’s and see clients at the Eye, but it wasn’t an ideal situation for anyone. It wasn’t what I wanted.
THIRTEEN
I FOUND A SMALL roll of bubbl
e wrap in the closet, cut two large pieces, and taped them carefully over the hole in the window. It would keep the apartment insulated until I could get the pane replaced. Then I swept up the glass, dumped it in the trash, and hauled out my vacuum to pick up the smaller shards. When I finished, I pulled on a pair of my grubbiest jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed my keys, and headed down to the garage. I found a hardware store on Geary and bought a pair of heavy duty rubber gloves, a wire brush, and a large can of paint remover. I was still fuming. I parked across the street to keep my car safe from chemical splatter.
After tying my hair back, I pulled on the rubber gloves and lugged the heavy-duty hose from the backyard to the door of the side entrance, attaching it to the spigot closer to the front of the house. Then I carefully poured paint remover over the hateful words on the sidewalk. I let it sit for a few minutes and when the paint started to bubble, I scrubbed the concrete with the wire brush, careful not to kneel in the chemical and scald my knees. It took some doing since the concrete was porous, but eventually the words started to disappear. I hosed off what I could and repeated the process two more times until there was only a faint hint of pink on the gray concrete. Anger fueled me. Who did these people think they were that they could threaten me and interfere with my business and my life?
By the time I finished, my jeans were soaked and I was chilled to the bone. I rinsed off the wire brush, rewrapped the hose in the backyard, and dumped the empty paint remover can and the rubber gloves in the trash. On my way up the front stairs, I checked the mailbox. Two bills, several flyers, and a free newsletter. I left them on the desk to open later and checked the answering machine in the office again. No more calls. I breathed a sigh of relief. The only bright spot was that my cell number was safe—so far. Don knew my cell and Samantha had the number too, but I’d never listed it on the contact form for the newspaper.
I stripped off my clothes and dumped them in the washer with soap and fabric softener. Then I climbed in the shower and let the hot water warm me. I dressed in fresh jeans and a heavy sweater and searched through the coats in the hallway closet. I found a double-
breasted tweed jacket with a hood to replace my coat destroyed in the fire. Next I packed an overnight bag. I collected Wizard’s food, dishes, and litter container and loaded all that in an empty box. I recorded a new outgoing message on my machine, saying that I would be unavailable until after the holidays and would return calls then.
The washer had finished its cycle. I dumped my wet clothes in the dryer and then wrote a note to my downstairs neighbors, apologizing for the upset and leaving my cell number in case they needed to reach me. I didn’t know what else I could do to calm the situation down.
When Wizard saw his dishes and things being packed up he knew he was about to be transported—probably his least favorite thing in the whole world. I searched the entire apartment and finally found him hiding behind a garment bag in the bedroom closet. I managed to coax him out and wrestle him into the cat carrier. He hates being in the carrier and howls a lot, but I wasn’t about to leave him unattended in the apartment.
I looked around, sad that I was leaving my fresh wreath above the mantel. Was my apartment safe? Would anyone try to break in? I double-checked that all the windows and doors were locked, especially the window over the kitchen sink. That was the only vulnerable window in the whole apartment. It would take an extremely limber person, but it might be possible to balance on the railing of the tiny landing and push that window up. I had to trust that the lock would be good enough to prevent that. I packed up my Christmas finds in a giant department store bag, with wrapping paper and ribbons and, making two trips, lugged everything, including Wizard, across the street to my car. I sat in the driver’s seat for a moment and looked up at my windows, imagining a protective bubble over my apartment until I could return again. I started the car.
Wizard immediately began to howl. I shushed him, clicked on the radio, and drove toward town.
FOURTEEN
I PULLED UP IN front of the street level garage of my grandmother’s house in Castle Alley. Parking in North Beach is next to impossible and any other option would involve circling the entire area for an hour. I lugged Wizard’s stuff—which far outweighed my laptop and overnight bag—up the stairs and unlocked the front door. No cats travel light.
If Kuan is free, he peeks out to say hello when he hears my car. A Do Not Disturb sign in English and Cantonese hung on his door. He was with a client.
I made two trips up the interior stairway to Gloria’s kitchen, depositing my overnight bag in the room that was once my bedroom and now is a sitting room and workroom. I wasn’t worried about needing clothes. I had underwear, jeans, a couple of sweaters, and a skirt; enough for a few days. My grandmother is a retired seamstress and once had her own shop. Now she keeps closets full of samples in my size. There’s no event that wouldn’t be covered from the wardrobe she keeps on hand for herself and for me.
I organized Wizard’s stuff, filling his cat box with litter and his bowls with dry food and water. The apartment felt chilly, so I checked the thermostat in the hallway and turned it up to warm the place. Then I set up my laptop on Gloria’s worktable and resolved to get some work done.
In spite of the harassment the column had engendered, or rather my opinionated big mouth had caused, I was still happy to be working for the newspaper. I decided not to check my AskZodia email at all—I had no further need of Biblical quotations, thank you very much. Samantha had sent another twenty letters to my new email address and, breach of security or not, I was still obligated to prepare Zodia’s responses.
I opened each email and quickly read through all of them. I dragged the ones that offered a range of different generational issues into an archive. The rest, as usual, I returned to Sam, asking her to send a form response.
I thought back to the reply I’d written a week or so prior, and which the newspaper had printed a few days ago. I clicked into my folder where each week’s letters were saved and scrolled down the list until I found it.
Dear Zodia:
I’ve never written to an astrologer before or asked for help of this sort, but I’m at my wit’s end and don’t know what to do. My mother has become involved with some sort of religious group that seems to have taken over her life. She’s at meetings day and night and now wants to live with them. It’s called Prophet’s Paradise. I’m so worried about her, especially since she must transfer the title to her home to the church in order to move into the community. My birthday is August 15, 1955. My mother’s birthday is January 10, 1930.
— Desperate in San Leandro
Dear Desperate:
I don’t blame you for being worried. I’d be extremely suspicious as well. Your mother’s chart shows that Neptune is transiting her Ascendant and Mercury, and her progressed Moon has entered her 9th house. Renewed interest in spiritual matters makes perfect sense, but with Neptune close to her Ascendant and Mercury, she may be attracted to movements that require sacrifice and subservience. Perhaps you should investigate this so-called Prophet’s Paradise yourself. Frankly, it sounds an awful lot like a criminal scam designed to defraud the unwary. Beware of false prophets! Another alternative would be to seek legal help to have yourself appointed as her guardian, so she would not lose her home.
— Zodia
Well, there it was. Undoubtedly the statement that had painted a bull’s-eye on my rear end, although it might have happened anyway simply because of my column. There was nothing I could do about it now. And, more to the point, why was this supposed do-gooder requiring his followers to sign over their real estate? I opened a browser and found the Prophet’s website.
Very slick. Pictures of soup kitchens, summer camps for kids, religious retreats for adults, artful photos of adoring congregations. Testimonials from devoted members and upstanding citizens. Lots of talk about God’s love and not much of real substance.
A new idea popped into my head. A sweet revenge. They’d tried to in
timidate me, I was sure, because of this response. On an impulse I forwarded the email to Sam with a note asking her to reprint it again as soon as possible in the Zodia column. As far as I was concerned, the paper could run the damn response in every column. Let’s see what the Army of the Prophet made of that. Keep my mouth shut? I don’t think so!
It was time to have a belated look at my own chart. Sure enough, Uranus had moved into exact opposition to my fourth house Moon. Both the fourth house and the Moon are intimately connected with the concept of home. Mars had moved into position squaring the opposition yesterday, the first day the zealots had arrived on my doorstep. I groaned. I knew this was coming, but never in my wildest dreams had I thought it would manifest in this form. Mars would be stationary on that degree for a few more days. Uranus wouldn’t move on for another week. I quickly checked to make sure that neither the Sun, Moon, nor any eclipses would be hitting sensitive points in my chart during this intense time. Whatever happened, the worst would be over soon, and with luck I’d survive the coming week without an eviction notice.
Wizard meowed and climbed onto my lap, burrowing his face into my sweater. I scratched his ears. They were cold. Come to think of it, I was cold. I picked Wiz up and checked the thermostat again. It read seventy-two but felt twenty degrees colder. I turned it up to eighty-five to jump-start it. Wizard hopped out of my arms and ran back to the daybed, snuggling under my jacket.
“I don’t blame you, big guy,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll get the place warmed up.”
I went down the stairs to the kitchen and put a kettle on to make some tea. I needed to find food too. My grandmother is a fabulous cook. Now that she lived alone, she couldn’t stop cooking larger portions. I was sure the freezer was stocked with many small meals, enough to last for weeks in case of a dire earthquake emergency. I also suspected she would trot downstairs to Kuan’s apartment regularly to bring food to him. I was too hungry to wait for something to defrost, so I found a can of soup in the pantry, dumped it in a bowl, and heated it in the microwave. It helped to warm me, but by the time I finished and rinsed the bowl, I realized the heater still hadn’t kicked on. Something was definitely wrong.
The Madness of Mercury Page 9
