Tarnished and Torn (17 page)

The impact sent Zeke cartwheeling into the air, his limbs as limp as a ragdoll’s. It felt as though I were watching everything unfold in slow motion; then reality came rushing back when Zeke landed on the pavement with a sickening thud.

“
Zeke
!” cried Clem.

The Escalade slowed momentarily, then sped up and disappeared around the corner with a squeal of tires.

Clem and I ran to kneel beside Zeke. Blood was flowing from a wound to his head, and one leg was twisted beneath him at an unnatural angle. He was breathing, still alive and conscious, but just barely.

A crowd surrounded us, offering help. One woman had scooped up the contents of my purse and handed it to me; another stood in the middle of the street, directing traffic around us. One man offered his grimy shirt to stanch the flow of blood, but I already had applied my handkerchief, very gently, to the wound on Zeke’s brow.

One of the men from Glide Memorial Church had raced to summon a pair of beat cops, who hurried toward us. Panic in his eyes, Clem looked at the police, then back down at his brother, and finally at me.

“Don’t run, Clem,” I said. “We have to talk. I can help you, if—”

“
Please
, don’t let him die. I’m sorry we took your medicine bag, but you shouldn’a kilt him! Keep him alive, and I can pay you. I got lots to pay you.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

After casting one last desperate look at his brother, Clem jumped up and disappeared down a narrow alley, his footsteps ringing out in the empty space. As I watched him go, I saw a man in a dark gray suit pass by the end of the alley, holding a newspaper up as though to shield his face from the strong sun—or could he be hiding his face from witnesses?

I cradled Zeke’s head in my lap. He was a scumbag and a lowlife, but there is something so . . . pathetic and simple about us humans when we are hurt. I wished I could lay my hands on him and understand what was wrong, how serious his injuries were, and perhaps help him . . . but my curative powers weren’t that strong. Blood trickled from the corner of Zeke’s mouth, and I knew enough to know that was not good.

“Zeke, can you speak to me?” I lowered my head to his and whispered, watching as one of the approaching cops spoke into his radio. “Who sent you? Tell me, and I promise to help your brother, Clem.”

“I . . .” He shook his head, then gave what was either a cough or a weak laugh.

I noticed my medicine bag lying on the pavement next to Zeke and tucked it into my pocket just as the cops arrived.

“What happened?” asked the first officer.

“Hit and run,” I said. “Late-model Escalade, black. I didn’t catch the plates.”

I did notice, however, that there didn’t appear to be anyone driving the vehicle.

I had seen such a thing once before, and it turned out a witch had been controlling the runaway car. But not a regular witch. More like a demonic witch.

Either someone very powerful was trying to shut up Clem and Zeke, or my medicine bag had gotten its revenge.

•   •   •

As the ambulance rushed Zeke to San Francisco Medical Center, I gave a witness statement to one of the officers. Finally free to go, I dragged my sorry and tired self back to my apartment over Aunt Cora’s Closet, stripped off my blood-soaked dress, and took a very long, very hot shower. I washed three times with lemon verbena–olive oil soap, then slipped into a snuggly pink cotton jumper from the 1960s. The outfit made me look and feel about twelve years old, but at the moment it suited my mood.

I felt as if I had been chewed up and spat out.

I made myself a cup of peppermint tea and stood in the corner of my kitchen, studying the dress I had laid out on the counter. It was stained with Zeke’s blood. Oscar watched me from his cubby over the fridge, uncharacteristically silent. He knew what I was thinking.

Blood is life. Blood is powerful. I could use Zeke’s blood to brew and discover at least some of what was going on. At the very least I would learn to whom Zeke—and Clem, by association—were beholden.

But if my suspicions were correct and we really were dealing with a demon of some sort, brewing could be dangerous. Tapping into my powers opened a portal to the supernatural. I would have to be very, very careful not to accidentally invite an entity into my home.

“
Lily
?” Bronwyn called up the stairs.

Darn it all
. I needed to concentrate.

I went to the door and found her nearly at the top of the steps. “Your friend Carlos is here.”

I let out a frustrated sound akin to “
Unnrrggghhh.
”

“He’s such a lovely man. He mentioned his niece has a
quinceañera
coming up . . .” Bronwyn liked Carlos. But, then, Bronwyn liked almost everybody.

“He’s here looking for dresses? Would you mind help—”

Carlos appeared in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry, Lily. We need to talk. It’s important.”

Reluctantly I closed the apartment door and went downstairs to join Carlos in the workroom. Zeke’s bloody clothing would keep, and, to be honest, it wasn’t such a bad idea for me to take a little time to regroup before casting. What with Griselda’s murder, my father’s unexpected arrival in town, and the gruesome sight of a human being bouncing off the shiny chrome grille of an Escalade, I was feeling off balance.

Carlos took a seat at the green linoleum early-’60s table in the back room of my store. We had sat here together before, many times. Usually we were discussing murder, which, considering I hadn’t been in town all that long, was starting to feel more than a little strange. How had Carlos handled supernatural deaths before I came to town? Or . . . was my presence somehow stirring up such paranormal crime?

“Your name keeps popping up in the oddest of places,” said Carlos.

“Is that so?” I said noncommittally.

“What is your connection to Zeke Jones?”

“How did you hear about— Wait. Did he . . . die?” Carlos was a homicide inspector, after all. Still, I hadn’t been in the shower
that
long. Surely he would still be working the scene. Wouldn’t he?

“As far as I know he’s still alive. It’s not my case; I just happened to hear. And I noticed your name came up. Again. Got me curious. So, what was your connection to him?”

“He tried to mug me. I guess you could call that a connection.”

“In broad daylight?”

“You ever been to that part of town?”

“And then he was hit by a car.”

“Yes.”

Long silence.

“There were plenty of witnesses,” I continued. “Including two cops who arrived almost immediately.”

“You didn’t see who was driving?”

I shook my head. Then I decided to come clean. “I don’t think anyone was driving, actually.”

“You think it was a runaway?” With the steep hills in this town, runaway cars were about as frequent as their owner’s failure to curb their wheels. “It turned the corner.”

“I just think maybe it was being manipulated by someone. I . . . saw someone in a suit.”

“Again with the suits?”

“It seemed rather unusual in that part of town.”

“Was it the guy you saw at the Gem Faire?”

“Could be. Hard to tell. He was a ways away and shielding his face from view.”

“Your father was wearing a nice suit when he was picked up.”

I shrugged. “I guess the entire financial district could be suspect, if that’s the only clue I’ve got. Right?”

Carlos nodded thoughtfully. “And you had no connection to the hit-and-run victim prior to the mugging?”

“He and his brother, Clem, had been following me.”

“Following you? How long has this been going on?”

“Not long.”

“Ever since you were at the Gem Faire?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think I would be interested to hear about this?”

“They started following me Monday, but I had no way of knowing why or who or what they might be connected to. Do you think it might have something to do with Griselda’s death? How is the investigation going?”

“It’s not going well, as a matter of fact. Funny thing, though. Your name came up there as well. The owner of the bed-and-breakfast where Griselda was staying mentioned you dropped by to get something from her room.”

I started pulling on my lip then stopped, worried I was developing a new tic. “I thought I might see something the police wouldn’t recognize. Given the way she was killed . . . I was looking for anything that might help with the whole witch angle.”

“And did you see anything?”

“No. Someone had ransacked the room, or so it seemed. I didn’t see anything that seemed significant.”

“Did you touch anything?”

“I touched the sheets on the bed, just to see if I could feel anything out of the ordinary.” I let out a sigh.

“You okay?” Carlos asked.

“Sure. Why?”

“You look a little . . . off-kilter.”

“It’s been a tough couple of days.”

He studied me. “I guess it has, at that. Did you feel anything significant from her sheets?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I didn’t take anything, didn’t even touch anything else. I know I shouldn’t have gone there . . . I really did think I might be able to help. I thought there might be some sort of connection between us and I was trying to figure out what, exactly.”

Carlos nodded. “Well, I told Inspector Leibowitz I would take your statement about your visit to the bed-and-breakfast, so at least you don’t have to worry about yet another SFPD inspector breathing down your neck. For the moment.”

I managed an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Carlos. You’re the best.”

“Better not forget it.”

“Oh, in the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that when Zeke mugged me, I was right outside the hostel where Johannes, Griselda’s assistant, was staying. They said the cops had already been there; I just wanted to mention it.”

“Anything else you want to mention?”

“That’s all I can think of.”

“Okay.” He paused as though choosing his words carefully. “I wanted to tell you your father was released.”

I felt an unexpected wave of relief wash over me. Good to know my father wasn’t a murderer. At the very least, not Griselda’s murderer. I opened my mouth to ask for more details, but quelled my curiosity. When it came right down to it, I didn’t really want to know.

“Watch your back, Lily,” Carlos said.

“You mean with regards to my father?”

“Yes. You say you barely know him?”

I nodded.

“My cop’s intuition tells me he’s bad news. So, back to this character hit by a car . . . his name also came up in the Gem Faire murder investigation. You have any idea why these guys were following you? Did he say anything? You two talk at all?”

I thought for a moment. I didn’t want to go into all the demon stuff, but I could tell Carlos an edited version.

“I think they were after something Griselda might have had.”

“Like what?”

“A ring. A . . . special ring.”

“Special. As in witchcraft?”

“Yes.”

“You have this ring?” He fixed me with his patented Inspector Carlos Truth-Laser Gaze.

I shook my head. “I sure don’t think so. Griselda sold me a box of junk jewelry, but I’ve been through everything several times, and I can’t find a durned thing. There were only five rings, and none of them fit the bill.”

“Thought you told me she didn’t give you anything.”

“I was afraid you’d confiscate things before I could study them. I wasn’t trying to hide anything, exactly . . .”

Carlos snorted.

“If I had figured anything out, I would have told you.”

“Do you know what you’re looking for?”

“Not really. But from what I’ve learned the ring is a fire opal, like this one but of better quality.” I showed him my medallion, and he reached out to cradle it in his hand, studying it.

“You’re positive this isn’t what they’re after? Maybe the ring was made into a necklace.”

“I thought of that, too, but when I offered them the necklace they didn’t react. Then again, they’re both a cob or two short of a bushel, so maybe they just got it wrong. Still, I’ve been wearing the medallion since Sunday and haven’t felt anything at all unusual.”

“Doesn’t feel magical or special in any way?”

“Afraid not. Carlos, I imagine y’all looked carefully through Griselda’s things at the fair, but would it be possible for me to look? I might recognize something y’all wouldn’t.”

“You’re asking me to allow a witch—a
civilian
witch—to look through the evidence in a murder investigation?”

“You could stay there with me. I won’t hurt anything.”

He studied me for a moment, then blew out a long breath and got to his feet. “I’ll see what I can do. And don’t forget what I told you: be careful of dear old Dad if he comes a-calling.”

I nodded and stood to see him out. Just as we reached the velvet curtains that cordoned off the work room from the shop floor, something occurred to me.

“Carlos, have you heard about the fire dancing in Golden Gate Park?”

“What’s fire dancing?”

“I take it that’s a no?”

He shook his head.

“Could you ask around, maybe let me know if you hear anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know . . . injuries, kids going missing . . .” I shrugged. “Probably nothing. Witch’s intuition.”

“Anything else I can do for you?” Carlos asked.

“Nope, that’ll do. For now. Thank you so much, Inspector.”

“You’re very welcome, Ms. Ivory.”

•   •   •

I meant to go back upstairs to brew, but the store got busy and my presence was needed. Usually Maya could handle the store by herself, but today things weren’t going well. Customers were acting stupid: misplacing items, popping buttons, ripping out hems, breaking down in tears in the dressing room when a dress designed for a 1950s teenager didn’t fit a twenty-first-century matron.

It’s this darned protection spell,
I thought as I went about putting out emotional fires. It suppresses creativity and, after all, smarts and rolling with the punches use up a lot of creativity.

With Zeke and, I presumed, Clem out of commission, maybe I could dial back the protection. But I hesitated. There were too many variables in play, not the least of which was when—and if—my father decided to make an appearance.