Spellcasting in Silk: A Witchcraft Mystery (16 page)

Selena was strong enough to cause the havoc in Ursula’s store. Might she also have accidentally—or even on purpose— harmed the customers of
El Pajarito
?

“Any advice?” I asked.

“You remember the
Gutta Cavat Lapidem
charm? It requires a teardrop talisman. I think . . . I think it’s in your Book of Shadows, page 176, between the lavender sleeping charms and the one about growing pains. Carve a talisman, imbue it with the charm. That will help.”

“Okay, thanks. Oh, one more thing before I let you go: How’s my mom? She’s been on my mind lately. Have you seen her?” I sent my mother a check every month, but never heard from her. I was flat-out too chicken to call her since it was pretty obvious she didn’t want any contact with me.

“I see her at the Piggly Wiggly sometimes. But she hides behind the toilet paper display, doesn’t want to talk to me,” she laughed.

“Next time you see her, tell her, um . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say
Tell her I love her
. So I concluded lamely, “. . . tell her I’m thinking of her.”

Graciela sighed. “I will if you wish me to, but she may see that as a threat,
mi querida
.”

True. This was a sad state of affairs.

“In that case . . . just tell her I wish her the best.”

After hanging up, I dialed Carlos. He didn’t answer, so I left a message on his voice mail.

“Two things: first, I found Selena. I know you’re probably duty-bound to turn her over to the care of Family and Children Services, but I guarantee you, Carlos, she’s better off here with me. She’s . . . a handful. A magical handful, if you know what I mean. Second, I think she
might be responsible for the situation in Ursula’s store. It might well be poltergeist activity connected to Selena’s energy. So if you could give me a few days with her, maybe I can reverse, or at least stop, the damage.”

I tried to think of what else to say, but it was hard to know how to end a message like that.

“All righty, then . . . I guess that’s about it.”

I hung up but lingered behind the counter, looking around the peaceful shop floor, dimly lit by the streetlamps on Haight Street. Not all that long ago, I had been very much like Selena. But now . . . I had a group of steady, loyal friends, and my power had grown stronger—not just more controlled, but more robust. I could feel it. I was proud of Aunt Cora’s Closet, and had grown to adore my adopted city and state. For the first time in my life, I could truthfully say I was happy. Surely, I was meant to help Selena find her path, as Graciela helped me to find mine.

I jumped when the phone rang.

It was Carlos, calling to say he would be right over.

*   *   *

This time, he accepted my offer of a cup of tea. We sat with our steaming mugs at the linoleum table in the back room of the shop.

Carlos took notes as I recounted everything Selena had said. He told me he’d had no luck hunting down Lupita. He’d gotten in touch with a dozen Guadalupe Rodriguezes, but none was the woman we were looking for.

“So Selena can stay here with me for a while?” I asked.

Carlos nodded. “If I can trust your take on the situation—and I think I can—then I have to agree that putting the girl in foster care isn’t a good idea. So I’ll keep her current whereabouts to myself for the time
being. But Lily—I’m goin’ out on a limb here. If anything happens to that child and the brass learn I knew she was with you, I can kiss my career good-bye.”

“Understood. I appreciate your confidence in me,” I said.

“And I’ll need to talk to her, sooner rather than later.”

“I figured as much. But again, I’d like you to trust me when I say I think it’s best to give her a little time. She’s pretty freaked out, and I don’t think it would help her to open up if she felt like she was being questioned by the cops. No offense, but whoever picked up Ursula left a pretty vivid impression.”

He frowned. “Okay, I’ll leave it for a few days. But I’ll need to talk to her eventually.”

“I know. Just let me get her settled, and we’ll work up to it. So, what about Betty North’s will? Who did she leave her estate to?”

“That’s a complicated question. She had a will, but recently wrote a new one. Problem is, the new one’s being contested, as it appears not to have been properly executed.”

“And who were the heirs in the wills?”

He hesitated. “I’m sorry. I can’t discuss that with you at this juncture.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I couldn’t help figure out this possible homicide without all the pertinent information, but then I remembered that Carlos didn’t want me figuring it out. That was
his
job. I was in charge of quelling the chaos in Ursula’s store, and in taking care of Selena, at least for the meantime; nothing more.

Still and all, it was mighty frustrating.

“But . . . you’ve considered inheritance as a motive, I imagine?”

He nodded but said nothing.

“I know you knew Gary and Nicky from church,” I began. “But I’m wondering . . . You did check him out, didn’t you?”

“You already asked me that. Of course I checked him out. Why don’t you stop beating around the bush and tell me what’s on your mind?”

I felt scummy repeating what Knox had said—it felt as if I were betraying a trust. Still, Knox hadn’t asked me not to tell anyone, so I plunged ahead.

“Gary Utley had an affair.”

“I know. He told me. Cried like a baby.”

“Oh.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah, I guess it is. I just assumed you didn’t know. Doesn’t it make him seem suspicious?”

“It’s a red flag, of course it is. But I gotta tell you, Lily, a lot of people have affairs. Maybe even most people. But that doesn’t mean they kill their spouses. Anything else?”

“You mentioned there were witnesses to Nicky Utley’s jump off the Golden Gate Bridge?”

“Yeah, one guy reported it, and three others hung around to give statements.”

“And they didn’t see anything . . . out of the ordinary?”

“All they saw was Nicky jumping. Believe me, this was one of the first things we checked out.”

“Could you give me their names? Maybe I could talk to them?”

“They were all tourists, from out of the country. But like I just said, I questioned them all carefully. They didn’t see any magical hoo-haw, nothing like that.”

“Magical hoo-haw?”

“It’s a technical term. Homicide cop lingo.”

I smiled. “All right. Thanks for stopping by, Carlos. I hope I didn’t get you out of bed?”

He shook his head. “I was right down the street. Thank
you
for finding Selena. I’ll rest more easily knowing she’s not out on the streets somewhere. But Lily . . .” He hesitated, as though searching for the words. “Don’t make me sorry that I went against policy and let her stay here.”

“I won’t.”

“And . . . be careful. Don’t go snooping around.”

“Who, me?”

“I’m serious, Lily. This whole case feels hinky. The fact that we can’t locate Lupita Rodriguez might mean she’s involved, but it also might mean she’s been disposed of, just like Nicky Utley and maybe even Betty North. There are too many bodies that seem to be connected somehow. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I nodded. “Yes, Inspector. Hinky means not good. Got it.”

He gave a final nod, and left.

*   *   *

As I passed by the kitchen I noticed my Book of Shadows, still splayed on the counter. It was opened to a quote from Anaïs Nin:

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud

was more painful than the risk it took to bloom.

The first time I read those words I was torn between embracing my powers and wishing I could reject them. Was Selena my most recent challenge, as
Graciela had said? Was it time to reexperience my childhood trauma, but from the perspective of an adult?

As I flipped through the book to see what else it might reveal, I alighted upon a photograph of me with Graciela, when I was in middle school. It had been taken not long after the gym class debacle, if I remembered correctly. There weren’t many pictures of us—like Yasmin at the
botanica
, Graciela was superstitious about photos, and wary of those who took them. Although a photograph—mere paper and chemicals—wasn’t anywhere near as powerful as a lock of hair or fingernail clippings, it could be used by a talented spellcaster to focus intent. It simply wasn’t smart to have one’s countenance shared with anyone other than a trusted family member.

In the photo I was unsmiling, dour, skinny, standing on the stoop of the humble little house I shared with Graciela. My grandmother smiled slightly for the camera, chin jutting out in her stubborn way. The image captured well the gentle strength in her dark eyes.

At the time I was already several inches taller than she, though I hadn’t realized it. She loomed large in my life, as in my memory. My medicine bag was strapped to the waist of my younger self, and I held another charm bag in one hand. Looking closely, I spied a teardrop talisman like the one Graciela recommended I carve for Selena.

“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” I said under my breath, as I flipped the book open to page 178—my grandmother was off by only two pages; how did she
do
it?—and then stayed up carving and casting over a special talisman for Selena. The teardrop shape centered energies, and the
Gutta Cavat Lapidem
charm
calmed them, rather than allowing them to flail about in a crazed, ADD-sort of way.

I chanted as I placed the tear-shaped talisman around the sleeping girl’s neck.

“With this talisman I do glean, calm and serene the spirits who clean.
Les suplico,
ma tzitzimitl, ma timocuitlahui.
Grant this child rest, just as is best. So mote it be.”

I repeated these words, faster and faster, until they all ran together and I could feel them swirling and cohering, forming a cone of protection over Selena’s sleeping form.

She roused for a moment, stared at me with blank, uncomprehending eyes, and then rolled over and went back to sleep.

*   *   *

The next morning I rose early and brewed coffee. A sleepy Selena joined me in the kitchen, taking a seat at the table but remaining silent.

“Good morning, sugar pie. How are you? Did you sleep all right?”

She shrugged. I made her a mug of hot chocolate with cinnamon, then brought out a dozen eggs, corn tortillas, and fruit and started making breakfast.

At the smell of food cooking Oscar bounded down from his cubby over the refrigerator. His big, bottle glass green eyes were a little bleary, making me wonder what he’d been up to last night, and how late he’d gotten in.

It took me a moment to realize—Oscar hadn’t transformed into his piggy form. He remained in his natural state even as he pulled out a chair and joined Selena at the table.

He stared at her. She stared at him. His eyes narrowed, and so did hers.

Oscar turned to me. “First you bring home a
cat
, then a
toddler
, and now a . . . uh . . . ? What do you call
it
?”

“She’s a girl, Oscar. A . . . almost a young woman, aren’t you, Selena? Also, she’s right here with us so we can speak to her directly.”

Selena started mumbling, chanting a curse.

Oscar’s chair screeched as he reared back, snorted, and made some sort of sign with his long fingers, as though staving off a hex.

“Mistress!”
Oscar shouted. “Make it stop! It’s
hexing
me! I’ll hex you right back, you little—”

“Hey!
Knock it off
, both of you! Selena, Oscar, there’ll be none of that in my kitchen.
No hexing allowed.
Am I clear?”

Selena rolled her eyes and Oscar looked disgruntled, but both fell silent. I hurried to put plates of food in front of them, and in this, at least, they had something in common: They both dug in with abandon.

I sat and I sipped my coffee, watching while they finished their meals.

“Selena, would you like to take a shower?” I asked in my most diplomatic tone, as it was clear she hadn’t had access to clean clothes in a while.

“No.”

“Would you rather help me with the dishes?”

She didn’t reply, so I sweetened the deal. “I hung a
pretty bathrobe I think you’ll like in the bathroom. And after your shower, we’ll go downstairs and you can choose a new outfit from the store.”

That got her attention.

“Anything I want?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“From the whole store?”

I nodded.

She seemed to mull it over. “I want to wear my brooches.”

“That’s fine, you can pin your brooches on your new dress, or whatever outfit you choose.”

“All right.”

While Selena was showering, Oscar sat on the counter and glowered as I prepared a breakfast burrito for Conrad. Then I went through Selena’s discarded clothes, but the sensations were the same as last night: scattered, unfocused energy, and plenty of it. I hoped the talisman would help address that.

Oscar followed me around the whole time, scowling and muttering, and emitting an occasional
harrumph
.

“I don’t want to hear it, Oscar,” I said firmly. “Selena’s a young girl who needs our help. End of story.”

“I doubt it’s the end of the story, Mistress. She’s trouble, is what she is.”

“She is trou
bled
, that much is true. Which is why she needs friends, now more than ever. Her grandmother’s in jail.”

“Prob’ly runs in the family,” he snorted.

“Oscar, I would really appreciate your help with her.”

“Mistress! I know just the thing. Have you heard of the Lomax-Rhody hex?”

“That is not what I meant. She needs us, Oscar.”

“
I
don’t need
her
.”

“Oscar, seriously, I would really appreciate your help
on this one. I can’t be around to watch her all the time. Would you stick with her, make sure she doesn’t take off, or do something that could hurt someone?”

He grumbled.

“I’d consider it a favor.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll understand if you aren’t up to the challenge. After all, she’s pretty strong.”

He perked up immediately, inflating his green scaly chest. “She’s not stronger than the likes of yours truly.”

“No? You’re sure? She could be a real challenge.”

He blew out a dismissive breath.
“Please.”

“Then you’ll help me? I’d really appreciate it. I made her a
Gutta Cavat Lapidem
talisman, which should help focus her energies.”

Oscar leaped off the counter and stomped into the living room, grumbling something about not needing “. . . no stinkin’ teardrop talisman to keep the likes of her in line.”

Selena emerged from the steam-filled bathroom freshly scrubbed and clad in an embroidered cotton bathrobe, her long dark hair hanging wet down her back. We headed downstairs to Aunt Cora’s Closet, which didn’t open for another half hour. Oscar followed us down, transformed into his pig guise halfway down the stairs, and curled up on his purple silk pillow for his after-breakfast nap.

“What suits your fancy?” I asked Selena.

“I want to wear something of Betty’s.”

“Hmm. That might not work out. Not only do the clothes need to be laundered first, but I don’t think they’ll fit you. Betty was a grown woman.”

“I don’t care.”

“Tell you what: Why don’t you pick out something else for the time being, and I’ll see what I can do about finding something of Betty’s that might suit you? I’ll get
it laundered, and if need be Lucille, the seamstress, can take it in. Deal?”

She nodded begrudgingly.

Selena wandered around the store aisles at first halfheartedly, then with growing interest. Twenty minutes later she chose an early-sixties sundress that reminded me of the style I liked for myself. It had deep pockets on a wide skirt, handy for carrying pouches and bits of herbs and plants. Even though it was tailored for the petite dimensions of a former generation, it was still too big for her, so I put a pink thin belt around her waist to cinch it in.

“That’s just lovely on you,” I said. “Come over here and take a look.”

Selena stood back and admired herself in the three-way mirror. The reflection caught the pair of us: both wearing vintage sundresses, with long dark hair and a slightly haunted look in our eyes.

“Now don’t you look pretty,” I said, and felt a wave of something new from Selena—something like hope. “Hey, check us out—we could be sisters.”

She stared at our reflection, her face blank.

“Would you like me to braid your hair for you? Or would you rather leave it down?”

Our eyes met in the mirror. Her gaze shifted to my hair.

“Ponytail, like yours.”

“Sure. Then we’ll
really
look like sisters,” I said with a smile. I retrieved a brush and an elastic hair band from behind the counter and pulled her still-damp hair into a high ponytail.

Selena took a seat on the stool behind the counter and, without saying a word, watched closely as I performed my morning ritual of cleansing and smudging and lighting a protective candle.

I was bringing Conrad his breakfast and trying to introduce him to the sullen, silent Selena, when Bronwyn showed up for work. I was so relieved to see her I gave her an enthusiastic hug.

“
My goddess
, what’s got into you this morning?” she said with some concern, patting my back. Bronwyn knew I wasn’t much of a hugger. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, very much so.” I gave her a significant look. “Look who’s here!”

“Well, hello there!” said Bronwyn. Purple gauzy coat fluttering behind her, I caught whiffs of cinnamon and cloves as she hurried over to Selena. “Selena, I’m Bronwyn. Do you remember me from
El Pajarito
? I used to buy herbs from your grandmother.”

Selena nodded solemnly. “
Epazote
and juniper berries. Turmeric root. Sometimes rose hips when you didn’t have enough from your garden.”

“Just so,” said Bronwyn with a warm smile. “What a memory!”

“Selena’s going to be staying with me and Oscar for a little while.”

“Isn’t that wonderful! Selena, my granddaughter’s out of town, but when she gets back, perhaps you’d like to meet her. She’s younger than you, but quite mature for her age.”

Selena, now studying the jewelry inside the glass display case, didn’t answer.

“Speaking of which,” Bronwyn continued, “Lily, Beowulf’s staying with me for a few days while they’re on vacation, but I hate to leave her home alone. Would it be all right if I brought her in? I know you worry about fur on the merchandise . . .”

“By all means, bring her in,” I said.
Bronwyn—you’re a genius,
I thought.

When Bronwyn returned a few minutes later with
Beowulf—Oscar had named her this, despite the fact that she was female—the usually standoffish feline made a beeline for Selena.

A smile broke out across the girl’s thin face. She scooped the cat up and cradled her, crooning off-key.

Bronwyn and I exchanged glances, then both got back to work: I started tagging new inventory, while she filled unbleached cheesecloth teabags with her special mixtures of dried herbs and roots.

The bell over the door chimed as shoppers began to stop by, many of whom were looking to put together outfits for the Summer of Love Festival. The phone rang, and I could hear Bronwyn answering with her typical singsong: “Aunt Cora’s closet, it’s not old, it’s vintage! How may I help you?”

Selena watched silently, still cuddling Beowulf, while I found a peasant blouse and Indian-print skirt for a customer, pairing the skirt with a wide leather belt that had a big brass O for a buckle. A few love beads, a pair of brown suede boots, and a headband to hold back her curly hair, and she was good to go.

One of the great things about costume-based festivals was that they brought a whole new clientele into Aunt Cora’s Closet. Once we nailed down her costume, the customer wondered whether there might be any vintage dresses that would fit her. I found two sundresses in her size, sixteen, which was quite a coup because most vintage clothing was not sized for today’s women. This was why Maya’s mother, Lucille, our talented shop seamstress, had started creating reproductions of vintage clothing sized to fit our clientele and made of fabrics that were machine-washable.

As I rang up the woman’s purchase, I realized Bronwyn was still on the phone.

“Well, it has been
such
a joy to hear from you, Max. Don’t be a stranger!” she said. “Here she is now, I’ll hand you to her.”

Bronwyn covered the speaker and whispered loudly:
“
It’s
Max.
”

“Thanks,” I said, reaching for the phone.

“Max
Carmichael,”
Bronwyn added. As though I might be confused.

“Thank you, Bronwyn,” I repeated. I could feel my face burning.

“Um, hi,” was the best I could come up with.

“Lily.” At the sound of Max’s voice I was instantly brought back to the time we were together. Max Carmichael was an attractive man, but it was his voice that slayed me. I swear, the man should be a radio announcer. I’d happily listen to him narrate my entire Book of Shadows.

There was a long pause. I wondered if Max felt as awkward as I did.

“Nigel said you stopped by the
Chronicle
, and wanted to talk to me,” he said.

“Yes, thank you for returning my call.”
This was good,
I thought. It was all business.

“Is this something we can discuss over the phone, or would you prefer to meet?”

“Actually, if you have the time I would love to talk face-to-face.”

He chuckled. “I suspected as much. I remember your aversion to the telephone.”

As a witch, I rely on vibrations and body language to provide insight into others. The telephone masks these extrasensory sensations, at least for me. Or maybe it was the humming of the electronic wires that threw me off. Either way, I avoided telephones whenever possible.

“How about I take you to lunch?” I asked.

“I’d love that. I have to be in North Beach for an interview this afternoon. We could meet at Mona Lisa’s, how about noon?”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

I hung up but rested my hand on the receiver for a few seconds, pondering. After a moment I could feel Bronwyn’s interested gaze.

“What?” I demanded.

“How’s Max?”

“You would know better than I. You spoke to him much longer.”

Bronwyn started humming, and returned to her tea blends.

“I asked him to meet me for lunch,” I explained. “I need to talk to him about an article he wrote for the paper.”

Bronwyn’s eyebrows rose. “Well, now, doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” I said quietly, glancing at Selena, who had finally released Beowulf but remained focused on the jewelry in the cabinet.

“Nonsense,” said Bronwyn. “You scoot. Selena and I will be fine. She can help me put together my tea bags, right, Selena?”

Selena started
tsking
and shaking her head. “These silver pieces are very tarnished. Can I go upstairs for some ketchup?”

“Sure,” I said.

She ducked through the brocade curtain. Oscar let out a long-suffering porcine sigh as he hoisted himself up off his pillow and followed her.

“Ketchup?” Bronwyn asked.

“She says it takes the tarnish off.”

“Does it work?”

“I have no idea. But as long as it keeps her busy, I say
let her at it. What could it hurt? Bronwyn, are you
sure
you can handle things until I get back? I need to pick up a few supplies in Chinatown while I’m in the neighborhood.”

“We’ll be just fine. Duke will be coming by later, Conrad is right outside, and after all, Selena is just one girl.”

One very special girl,
I thought.

*   *   *

North Beach is surrounded by Chinatown, the financial district, Jackson Square, and Cannery Row. Originally settled by Italian immigrants, the neighborhood’s ethnic flavor is reflected in its many restaurants, shops, and cafés, as well as the beautiful Saints Peter and Paul Catholic church that crowns Washington Square. Tourists swarm to North Beach, but it’s also a favorite of locals in search of a good meal, an espresso, or Italian pastries. At night the vicinity is full of music and nightlife, and is the destination for folks seeking strip shows and the like.

It’s a hopping place, even on a Tuesday in the middle of the day. I found a parking space within walking distance of Chinatown, and after stopping at my favorite Chinese apothecary for herbs and roots to replenish my supplies, I walked the several city blocks to Mona Lisa Ristorante.

Max was seated at an outdoor table, his long legs stretched out in front of him, studying the menu. With his dark hair and complexion, he could have been a local lounging at a café in Florence.

As I approached, he looked up. Max had startling, light gray eyes, like pinpoints of light. They were sad eyes, and once upon a time I had hoped to bring them joy.

I reached for my medicine bag to steel myself against old yearnings. What I was feeling towards Max wasn’t romantic; Sailor was so much better for me than Max
ever was, or could be. But even though I
knew
that, a part of me longed for a different life, the sort I had once thought was possible with someone like Max. A normal life, the kind that had always been denied me.