Hexes and Hemlines (19 page)

Like the cat, I thought. I looked over to see Imogen still cradling the animal to her thin chest. I sneezed. Oscar snorted, in what I presumed was a piggy version of “Gesundheit.”

It was wonderful—
magical
—to see Aunt Cora’s Closet full of friends. Customers started to arrive. I worked my way through three more bags and boxes of clothes, marking items for repair and special hand washing, and Bronwyn sorted her herbs. Sailor inadvertently sold a dress by giving the woman a blatantly interested once-over when she came out of the dressing room to look at herself in the mirror. A teenager with multiple piercings came in looking for a truly unique prom dress—she decided on a lemon yellow chiffon, circa 1963—and a transvestite came by looking for size thirteen women’s shoes. In a wonderful feat for a secondhand store, he unearthed a pair of brilliant fire engine red pumps. Perfect.

As the hours passed, I decided that if I tried hard enough, when surrounded by friends and vintage clothes, I could almost ignore the memories of the black abode, and Doura, and the visual of Malachi Zazi dead upon the table, and the feel of Max’s mouth on mine. If I tried very hard.

The bell over the door tinkled as a tall blond man entered.

“Atticus,” I said. “How nice to see you. I thought you were Oliver at first.”

“I get that a lot,” he said with a smile. Then he glanced around the shop. “Would it be possible for me to speak to you in private?”

“Of course. Maya, I’m going in the back for a minute. Would you watch the register?”

I led the way to our small back room and we sat at a jade-colored vintage linoleum table.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” he said, glancing around the room. He cleared his throat. “Look, I don’t know how to say this. . . .”

After a moment’s hesitation, he reached into his pocket and brought out the silver-link bracelet I had seen on Nichol yesterday. He laid it on the table.

“She . . . Nichol’s had a problem with this, as I’m sure you’ve heard. Shoplifting. But she confessed it to me herself, and she feels terrible. Look, I know it’s not fair to ask, but could you let it go, just this once? I promise I’ll get her back into counseling, and keep her out of your store. I’m happy to pay any damages, any—”

“Don’t worry about it, Atticus,” I said. “I appreciate you bringing it back.”

“You won’t be pursuing charges?”

I shook my head. I was more than willing to go above and beyond when it came to prevention, but punishment was something else altogether. I’d rather leave that to karma. “I’ve got the item back, that’s what matters.”

“She’s truly sorry.”

I nodded, though I thought that if Nichol were truly repentant, she might have come herself rather than having her brother do her dirty work.

So much for my attempts to forget the mystery surrounding Malachi Zazi. Had Nichol really come to Aunt Cora’s Closet to find a dress for the Art Deco Ball, and was this just one more coincidence?

After seeing Atticus out, I couldn’t stop thinking about going back to Malachi Zazi’s apartment once more—but this time, with Sailor at my side. Since he was sticking with me anyway, I might as well put him to work. Just one more look in that bad luck apartment, and then I would drop this case. It really wasn’t my problem, anyway, so long as Gregory wasn’t charged with any crime. I would tell Carlos Romero—who still hadn’t deigned to call me back—the little I had managed to unearth and let him piece it all together. But first, I had to be sure I wasn’t missing some massive magical quandary, something orchestrated by someone with power, like Doura. I couldn’t let Carlos walk into that sort of thing by himself.

And unlike my enthusiastic but limited familiar, Sailor was a powerful psychic capable of contacting the beyond. I had seen him in action.

Unfortunately, Sailor wasn’t likely to do this sort of thing as a simple favor . . . and it was probably best not to spring such a plan on him on an empty stomach. Maybe a nice home-cooked meal and a beer would loosen him up a bit.

“Do y’all want some lunch?” I asked the assorted crowd a little after noon. “I have some leftover gumbo; I could make a salad to go with it.”

“Oh, thanks, Lily, but I brought lunch for me and the kids.”

“And I’m running out to meet my sister for Kashmiri food,” said Maya.

“How about you?” I asked Sailor. “Do you like gumbo and corn bread?”

“My people are from Louisiana.”

“They are not!”

“Atchafalaya.”

“Seriously?” asked Maya. “Maybe you two are cousins.”

Sailor graced her with a rare smile. “Maybe we are at that.”

“Anyway, you’ve never tasted my mama’s recipe. And it’s been sitting for a couple of days, so you know it’s good.”

He nodded. “Takes a day or two for that sassafras filé to settle in. You make it with okra?”

“Of course,” I said, returning his smile. Oscar snorted from under a rack of frilly bridesmaid dresses. The little critter could put away a whole lot of food in that little belly of his. He had been angry that I’d insisted on putting away the gumbo leftovers the other night.

“You two go on and take a lunch break,” said Bronwyn, one arm around each of her grandchildren. “My two helpers and I have got the store, no problem.”

I led the way across the sales floor and through the rear storage room to the narrow stairs that led up to my apartment. But as I started to climb the steps, I started to feel nervous about bringing Sailor into my inner sanctum. I knew he was reporting to Aidan . . . I tried to think . . . did I have anything lying out in the open that Aidan couldn’t—or shouldn’t—know about?

I wondered whether Sailor had felt this kind of apprehension the first time he allowed me into his apartment. Our type is nosy beyond measure, and we have insights that other regular folk don’t share.

“You know how I told you I couldn’t read your mind?” Sailor asked from behind me.

“Yes,” I said, slowing my pace.

“That might not be entirely true.”

Trepidation surged through me. “What do you mean?”

“Well now, let’s see . . . At the moment you’re thinking: Should I really bring this guy into my apartment? What if he sees something incriminating and tells Aidan? Has this all been some elaborate plan to get into my inner sanctum? What if he’s after my virtue, just like my mama said all men were? What if—”

“Very funny,” I said, resuming my climb up the stairs.

He gave me a derisive chuckle. “Had you going there for a minute.”

“Until you brought up my mama. That was a dead giveaway. She didn’t give me advice concerning men . . . unless you count: ‘Get married young and start having babies as soon as possible.’”

“Sounds like good advice. Might have kept you out of trouble.”

“Oh, somehow I doubt that. Anyway, it’s not easy to find a husband when everyone hates you.”

“Seems to me you have too many admirers, rather than too few. Frankly, I don’t know what they see in you. You’re crazy as a loon and you’re not all that good-looking.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. It didn’t seem like it. “Maybe I’m just not your type.”

“I guess that’s it.”

I opened the door to the apartment and stepped inside, seeing anew the mirror that reflected evil back outside, the sachets of rosemary and eucalyptus leaves, the protective amulets hanging over the doorways and windows. The tiny foyer opened onto a short hallway, which opened, in turn, to the large kitchen and cozy sitting room. French doors led out to a tiled terrace, planters now lush with the bushes and herbs I had planted upon moving in. My garden was essential to my brews and potions.

I might be a dead loss at scrying, and I can’t talk to ghosts worth a damn, but I’m an expert at botanicals. Not coincidentally, I also happened to be a darned good cook.

I set down plates of tuna fish for Oscar and the cat, and while I brought out covered dishes of gumbo and dirty rice and heated up the corn bread, the animals ran to their respective places—since Oscar didn’t transform in front of company, he hopped onto the sofa in porcine form and took up his napping pose, chin on the armrest. The cat stalked the perimeter of the apartment before meandering out onto the terrace.

Sailor and I ate at the kitchen table. He added generous splashes of Tabasco sauce along with a pinch of habanero flakes. I put out cold beers for the both of us. Sailor grunted in appreciation, but mostly we ate in companionable silence. Given that he was spying on me, it felt remarkably comfortable.

I couldn’t help it. What with the food and the animals and not having to pretend to be something I’m not, it felt just a little bit like family.

Sailor caught me watching him over the lip of my beer bottle.

“What?” he asked before taking another large bite.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“No freaking way.”

“You haven’t even heard what I’m asking yet.”

“No need,” he said with a sigh as he leaned back and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I know it’s something I don’t want to do. I
wondered
why you were being so nice.”

“I’m being nice because, for some unknown reason, I like you.”

He grunted again.

“I want you to go to Malachi Zazi’s apartment with me.”

“This is the place Aidan told you to stay away from?”

“Maybe.”

“I repeat: No freaking way.”

“Why not?”

“You’re insane—you know that? Certifiable.” He took another swig of his beer. “You don’t just go up against someone like Aidan, Lily. If he’s told you to stay away he had a good reason.”

“He had a reason, but whether it’s good or not . . .” I shrugged. “Anyway, you’re always going on about how I don’t know my own talents. Maybe I’m just as powerful as Aidan.”

“Terrific. Just what this town needs, a battle of powers. No, thank you.”

I watched him for a moment.

“I could force you, you know. It wouldn’t take much. A sleeping potion, a confusion spell . . . a threat. Maybe I’ve already put something in your gumbo.”

He stopped chewing midbite.

“I’m kidding. Eat hearty. But if you don’t come along and help me, I’ll be sure to lose you and you’ll have to explain it to Aidan.”

His mouth tightened at the corners. I won this round.

I might be crazy, but like my mama always said, I was crazy like a fox.

“We have to get past the doorman.”

Sailor and I watched the front door of Malachi’s apartment building from the car. As a concession to my grumpy companion, I left the van, and the animals, home. Instead, we had taken my vintage Mustang convertible. I even let Sailor drive.

“A diversion, maybe?” I suggested.

“I take it we’re not supposed to be here? Aidan’s not the only one who wants you to keep your nose out of it?”

“Maybe not exactly, no.”

“ ‘Not exactly’? Are we ‘sort of’ supposed to be here?”

“Okay, no. No, we’re not supposed to be here. Don’t give me that look—am I supposed to believe you’re Mr. Law and Order all of the sudden?”

He snorted. “That’s the problem, my witchy friend. I haven’t exactly been on the straight and narrow. I can’t afford to be caught breaking and entering by the SFPD.”

“You’ve got a record? Really?” Now I was intrigued. “For what?”

“None of your business. Why don’t you do that thing you did to the manager at the Fairmont that one time. That mind control thing.”

“It wasn’t
mind control
,” I protested.

“Sure looked like it.”

“It’s a persuasion charm. Most people want to please you, especially people in the hospitality industry. The charm just enhances their helpfulness. Enhances it a lot, in some cases.”

“So use one of those.”

“Aidan says I’m not supposed to use charms for minor things. He says it dilutes my power.”

“You didn’t seem to be holding back when you were threatening me earlier.”

“Yes, well. That was then. This is now.” This was one of my mother’s expressions that never made any sense but shut me up as a child.

“So honestly, Aidan told you not to use your powers for small things?”

I nodded.

Sailor grinned.

“What?” I asked.

“And you
believed
him?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s Aidan Rhodes we’re talking about. Look, Lily, magic doesn’t work that way. Even I know that, and I’m sure as hell no witch.”

I just looked at him.

“It’s not a finite power supply that gets used up. In fact, quite the opposite. The more you use it, the stronger you grow. If Aidan’s telling you not to flex your magical muscles, it’s for his own reasons, not on your account.”

“Seriously?”

He just raised his eyebrows and smiled. I needed to talk this thing out with Aidan, and soon.

“Oh, all right. I’ll use the dang charm.”

I always carried supplies in the trunk of my car. Basic herbs, oils, roots, and resins: lavender, Deer’s tongue, Devil’s Shoestring, rose hips and petals, cinnamon, angelica, Queen Elizabeth root. I mixed these together with some Van Van oil, put them in a small black silk bag, charged it with a mumbled chant, and was ready to go.

The doorman on duty was the same one I had seen two days ago. Thinning gray hair cut short, a broad face, chubby, the veins on his rather bulbous nose indicating a close relationship with the bottle.

I reached out to shake his hand with my right hand, cupping it with my left. I could feel the charm humming in my pocket.

“What can you tell me about Malachi Zazi?”

“Poor guy,” he said, shaking his head. “He was an odd duck, that one. Never went out during the day.”

“Any idea why not?”

“Said he had a sun allergy. If there was any daylight, he’d wear sunglasses, a hat, a scarf, and long coat and gloves, no matter how warm it was.”