“What is it?”
“She wouldn’t say. All she said was she already knew she was getting an inheritance, and then she said to tell you to meet her at the Sutro Baths.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Okay.” I snatched a hand-knitted wool sweater off my bed.
“Bonne chance. Try not to get yourself killed.”
I hesitated. Probably meeting Lupita alone wasn’t the smartest move. On the other hand, I was a witch. A powerful one. And the Sutro Baths were a public place. Nearby Ocean Beach, Seal Rock, and the famous Cliff House restaurant drew plenty of visitors. And on the other side of the Sutro Baths was a popular hiking spot named Land’s End, so there were always people milling about in the parking lot.
Still . . .
“Is Sailor with you?” I asked.
“He was, but he had a family event to go to with his aunt Renna.”
“Oh, that’s right. Okay then, want me to pick you up, or should I meet you there?”
“Whoa, Nellie. I never said I’d go with you.”
“We need Lupita to tell us what’s going on. You said yourself, this is important.”
“So is my beauty sleep.”
“It’s only half past six. I need backup. And besides, Sailor would never forgive you if you sent me off to get killed all by myself.”
“Better we should get killed together?”
“Much better.”
* * *
The remnants of a massive turn-of-the-century bathhouse and entertainment structure, the Sutro Baths were now a warren of crumbling cement foundation and walls, standing pools of water, blocked stairways and passages, and tunnels perpetually damp from the nearby Pacific Ocean. The ruins hugged a gentle slope that led down to the sea, with a view of massive Seal Rock which, as its name implied, was a favorite resting spot for dozens of barking seals and sea lions.
It was a dramatic locale. Former mayor and entrepreneur Adolph Sutro opened the huge complex in 1896. It had accommodated hundreds of people in its pools, some of which were fed by the ocean at high tide. The ferries and Cliff House Railroad were constructed to carry visitors here from the then-faraway heart of the city of San Francisco.
I had clambered around these ruins once with Max Carmichael, following a champagne brunch at the Cliff House restaurant. It seemed a lifetime ago.
I parked in the lot on the uphill side of the ruins. There was only one other couple nearby, arranging things in the trunk of the car. I scanned the horizon: the street on one side, the forest on the other, the ruins below. No Lupita, no Patience. While I waited I gathered my things: a backpack full of brews and salts, just in case, an extra scarf, and a pair of gloves. It got cold here by the ocean.
Five minutes later, a silver Toyota Prius pulled into the lot.
“I’m impressed,” I said as Patience climbed out of her car. “Looking out for the environment?”
She gave me a scathing look. It dawned on me that Hervé also drove a Prius. Apparently it was the automobile of choice among local practitioners of magic. I glanced at my comparatively gas-guzzling Mustang. Not that I drove a lot, but still. Once again, I was out of step not only with cowans, but with the magical community.
“So, what’s the plan?” Patience raised one eyebrow, looking out over the ruins, the Pacific Ocean stretching out beyond in gray nothingness.
“Lupita didn’t say where to meet her? Nothing more specific than the Sutro Baths?”
“Nope. Told you this was a bad idea.”
“Well, we’re here now. Either we wait here, or we go looking for her.”
Patience had pulled out her smartphone and was scrolling through messages.
“Shall we?” I asked. “Or do you need time to check social media?”
“How about I wait for her here while you scope out the ruins?”
“Buddy system,” I said, handing her a flashlight. “Besides, she specified the ruins, right? Not the parking lot.”
“Why do I need a flashlight? It’s still light out.”
“Just in case. C’mon, let’s go. She’s probably waiting for us down below.”
“Just out of curiosity, do you have a plan of some sort?”
“Sure.”
“And what might that be?”
“Find Lupita and see what she says.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” Her sardonic tone reminded me of her “cousin,” Sailor.
“I didn’t say it was a complicated plan. Let’s go while there’s still daylight.”
Patience pressed her lips together, but took the flashlight and marched off toward the ruins. I trotted along behind, trying to keep up with her long strides.
The stones and half-toppled walls were gray and slick with moisture from the fog and ocean spray. We had barely begun climbing over the concrete half-walls when I heard an electronic tune: Patience’s phone.
I waited while she chatted, laughing and charming the person on the other end of the line. When she hung up I gave her a look.
“What?” she asked.
“Do you suppose you could refrain from using your phone for, oh, say, ten minutes?”
She rolled her eyes. Just then her foot slipped on a slick chunk of foundation and, as she fell forward, the phone flew from her hands, crashing on the rocks below.
She cried out, then glared at me. “Look what you made me do!”
“Oh, what a shame,” I said.
“Did you do that? Make me fall?”
“No, of course not. Even if I’d wanted to, I don’t have that kind of power.”
“That’s not the way I hear it,” she mumbled as she retrieved her broken phone, swore a mean streak, and slipped the device into her pocket.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Aidan says you’re going to be running things around here, eventually.”
“Aidan says that? Aidan Rhodes?”
She shrugged.
“What else did he say?”
“Ask him yourself, why don’t you?”
We continued slowly down the hillside. The ruins were dank, and composed of tiny roofless rooms. Here and there were signs of human visitors: candle stubs, a few dead flowers, a potato chip bag. Lots of cigarette butts, a discarded lighter. I imagined kids came here to smoke and drink and get away from their parents. But I had heard rumors of a ghost or two inhabiting these chilly ruins. Which wouldn’t be surprising; I had crawled over ancient ruins in Europe and Asia and Africa, and every single one was haunted. The Sutro Baths were young by comparison, but a century was plenty of time to have attracted resident spirits.
Ahead of me Patience climbed onto the top of a low cement wall and cast the beam of her flashlight into the hollows below.
“Lupita?” I yelled. The wind blew off the ocean, muting my words.
“Any sign of her?” Patience asked.
“No. This is ridiculous . . . she’s got to be here somewhere. She asked us to meet her.”
“She asked you to meet her. And since she probably wants to kill you, why would she show herself? She’ll just pop up and knife you, or something.”
“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”
“Well, this has certainly been a bust. Face it, she’s not here. I’m going home.”
“You can’t just ‘go home.’ This is important.”
“So is being home.”
“Afraid you’ll miss reruns of Desperate Housewives? Or is there a show called Desperate Psychics?”
“Oh, that is so very clever. Ha ha, I am laughing at the clever little wi—”
I put a hand on her arm to cut her off as a woman appeared at the top of a nearby precipice.
“Lupita?” I called out.
The woman was backlit by the setting sun, and I couldn’t make out her face.
“Are you the one who took in Selena?” she asked, yelling to be heard over the nearby surf.
“Yes, I’m Lily. Lily Ivory. I—”
“I have to warn you,” she cut me off, her tone urgent. “He’ll—”
Her words ended in a gurgle, and she tumbled off the wall, falling away from us.
“Lupita!” I cried out.
Patience and I gawked at each other for a moment, then scrambled over to her, slipping on the slick rocks as the daylight began to fade.
Lupita Rodriguez lay on the rough, rocky ground, writhing, her hands at her throat. Her eyes were wide-open, terrified.
I knelt by her side.
“What is it?” I demanded. “Lupita, can you speak?”
Lupita’s voice was a croaking whisper. “The painting. He has . . . painting—he’s using it to—”
Her words cut off in another gurgle. Above the roar of the ocean, I heard air whistling in her throat as she struggled to breathe. She looked at us, panic in her eyes.
“What is it? What’s wrong with her?” Patience asked.
“Someone’s casting against her . . .” I shone my flashlight into the nearby crevices, trying to spot a poppet. “Call 911!”
“My phone’s broken, remember? You call.”
Dangitall. “I don’t have a cell phone.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have a cell phone? How can you not have a cell phone?”
“Why is that hard to understand?” I spat the words, fear making me frantic. “We have to help her. Do you see anything? A doll, or . . . a painting? Someone is using something to cast against her from afar. Or else—go find a phone. Try the restaurant.”
Patience stood atop a wall and started shouting: “Help! Call 911, we need help!” She had an impressive set of pipes, but I feared the wind and the waves would drown out her words.
“You’ll have to go to the restaurant,” I said.
She yelled some more.
“Breathe, Lupita,” I said gently to the woman in my arms.
Adrenaline coursed through me, my heart was pounding, but it was essential that Lupita remain calm. The more she panicked the worse it would be. This was a classic witch’s trick, to make a victim complicit in her own demise.
“Try to relax,” I urged. “Just concentrate on breathing.”
But Lupita continued to struggle, not heeding my words.
And then a gunshot rang out.
Patience fell.
Chapter 25
She disappeared on the far side of the wall.
“Patience!” I scrambled over to her. She was on the ground, flat on her back. “Are you okay? Were you hit?”
She sat up, unhurt but spitting mad. “No, I’m not ‘okay’! Someone just took a shot at me!”
“You’re fine,” I said, sagging in relief against the damp concrete wall, softened by moss. Frantically, I tried to think what to do.
Another shot rang out, striking the crumbling wall above our heads and raining dirt and pebbles down on us.
“We have to get out of here,” I said, ducking. “Someone will hear those gunshots, surely they’ll call the cops. But . . . I don’t think we should wait here.”
As if to underscore my words, another volley missed Patience by only a few inches. We both screamed. My ears rang with the blasts as car alarms wailed from the direction of the parking lot.
I wondered how Lupita was doing—was she shot?—but couldn’t risk checking on her on the other side of the wall.
“Why don’t you carry a cell phone?” Patience said. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Drop the phone thing already, will you? I’m sure someone’s called 911 by now, but for all we know the shooter’s on his way over here to finish us off. We have to get out of here.”
“Can we squeeze through that tunnel?”
Tunnel was a nice word for what was really a gap between slabs of fallen concrete. I shone the light into it; it seemed to be only a few feet long, and at the other end appeared to be a large open space.
“I think so . . . follow me,” I said. I was smaller than Patience and crawled in first, happy now for my less voluptuous figure. I took my medicine bag off and held it in front of me so it didn’t become dislodged as I was squeezing through—this also made it handy to concentrate on keeping myself calm. The rocks scraped and bruised me as I forced myself along the tunnel. It opened onto a chamber littered with beer cans.
“You can make it!” I called back to Patience. “Give me your hand, and I’ll pull you through.”
“I can’t!”
Another gunshot, another squeal of fear.
Panic flooded my veins.
“Patience?” I yelled. “Were you hit?”
“No. But I . . . I don’t think I can make it.”
“Yes, you can. You have to.” I reached back through the tunnel. “Take my hand. You can do it.”
With my other hand I stroked my medicine bag, and then I started chanting, rallying my concentration, focusing the energy of my emotions, letting my fear fuel my anger.
I pulled so hard my shoulders strained. Patience grunted and complained. I gave one final, mighty tug and she popped through, sending us tumbling on the sandy ground.
She looked around, then turned appalled eyes to me.
“This is worse! Now we’re trapped!”
“No we’re not,” I said, gesturing to a yawning square of black on the rear wall. “This way.”
I hunched over and started through the gap.
“Wait! I lost my flashlight.”
“Keep a hand on my shoulder, and follow me.”
We stumbled along, hoping against hope for a way out, but saw no sign of an exit. We appeared to be in a room used as a shrine of some sort. There were candle stubs and the remains of food set on a piece of driftwood arranged to form a makeshift table.
“What is this place?” Patience whispered.
“Probably just somewhere kids like to hang out.”
“I don’t like it,” said Patience.
“Neither do I. I was hoping for a way out. We have to get back to Lupita.”
“Screw Lupita,” Patience said.
“Patience, really.”
“Sorry if that sounds harsh,” Patience said. “I promise to mourn for her, but in the meantime I’m planning on getting the hell out of here. Priorities.”
I pointed the flashlight at her. The kohl that had outlined her beautiful eyes was running down her cheeks, and I hadn’t realized until that moment how frightened she was—how frightened we both were.
It dawned on me with sudden dread that I had left my backpack next to Lupita. If the person choking her went to see if she was dead and discovered it . . . I could be in trouble. Serious trouble. Someone with the power to cast from afar would find more than enough material in the backpack to make me vulnerable. Yet another reason to go back.
Once again, I willed myself to transform my fear into power. Closing my eyes, I started to chant.
“This is no time for your meditation crap,” said Patience.
“I’m not meditating,” I said. “I’m chanting. Or I was until you interrupted. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you have skills that would be useful in this situation? Something beyond profit-making scams?”
“Oh, sure, I’ll just pull up one of these boulders and use it as a crystal ball, shall I?”
“I’d appreciate that, yes. Thanks.”
“No need: I can already see the future. Three women found dead in the Sutro Baths ruins.”
“Way to look on the bright side, Patience. That’s exactly what we need right now.”
“Like you’re doing anything useful.”
“Let’s focus, shall we? We have to get out of here.”
“And just how do you suggest we do that?”
I scanned the stone and cement walls, casting the light here and there, hoping against hope for a crevice or small opening that I had somehow missed. But the only way out was the way we had come in.
Patience seemed to be reading my thoughts. “What if he’s waiting on the other end, with his gun?”
“We can’t stay here forev
er.”
A rat darted across the damp floor.
Patience screamed and lifted up one foot, then the other, as though dancing the tarantella. “Ew, ew, ew! I hate rats!”
I wasn’t particularly fond of them, myself. But as I watched the rat disappear behind a chunk of broken concrete, it gave me an idea.
“Help me move this,” I said. “I think there might be an opening behind it.
We pushed and grunted, finally budging the concrete boulder. Sure enough, there was an opening. It was hard to see beyond it, even with the flashlight, but I could smell the salt of the ocean.
Unfortunately, the crevice was even smaller than the one we went through to get here. There was no way Patience would make it through.
I met her eyes.
“Don’t you dare leave me here,” she said.
“I’ll come back for you, I promise.”
“I was just kidding about the witch’s mark.” She started to cry. “I have a weird sense of humor, I know. I’m sorry.”
I reached out and hugged her, then leaned back, holding her hand, and looked into her beautiful eyes, now smudged with kohl.
“I promise: I will come back for you. Do you believe me?”
She nodded and sniffed.
“I’ll leave the flashlight with you. But you might want to save the battery. Just sit and stay calm, maybe meditate or something.”
“Meditate, just me and the rats?” She gave a humorless chuckle, and I joined her.
Pretty soon we were both laughing so hard we snorted. Our laughter had a hysterical edge to it.
“Okay, my grandmother used to say I was double-backboned. So I guess that’s good.”
“Sounds like it would make it even harder to fit through that hole.”
I laughed again. “No, it’s an expression. It means having a lot of guts. Or being so stupid that you’ll do anything.”
“Your own grandmother called you stupid?”
“Not in so many words. Maybe . . . she insinuated a certain lack of caution.”
“Lily, I . . .” She shook her head. “Be careful.”
“You worried about me now?”
She smiled. “Of course, I am. I don’t know if I can make it out of here without you.”
“I’ll be back. I think I need you to help me push through.”
Before heading into the hole, I took a moment to chant, and stroked my medicine bag. My magic could not move these mountains, but all I needed was an inch or two.
Spellcasting in Silk: A Witchcraft Mystery Page 25