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Hexes and Hemlines

Page 15

by Juliet Blackwell


  “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.

  Chapter 15

  “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.”

  “Was he a friendly guy? Chatty?”

  “Nah, but it’s not like we had a lotta interaction. He basically stayed in his apartment; people brought him things.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Whatever he needed, I guess. Probably groceries and all, I never saw him go out for things and come back with bags, for instance. But the man had a lot of friends coming and going all times of the day and night.”

  “Did you recognize any of them?”

  He leaned forward as though to speak in confidence. “Some of ’em were pretty big names.”

  “Really? Like who?”

  “Garrett Jones, the mayor himself. And Mike Perkins, the antiaging guy? I think I saw Paris Hilton once, too, but that mighta been the light. Hard to say. A lot of’em wore sunglasses and hats, too, like they didn’t want to be recognized. Hey,” he said, his soft hazel eyes lighting up for a moment. “One time I seen that girl from the vampire movie, that Nichol Reiss gal?”

  “Do you know anything about the Serpentarian Society?”

  “The what’s-it?”

  “The Serpentarian Society? Zazi held a dinner every month?”

  “Oh, right. The dinners. Sure. I’m usually on during the day, though. The night guy would mostly see them, unless I was here late. That’s when he had those dinners, for some reason. I was here late on Saturday, though.”

  “You were? So on Saturday, all the dinner participants left on time? No one lagged behind?”

  “Some left earlier, some later. I already told the police. One of ’em came real late.”

  “Which one?”

  “Hard to say. A man. But they were all wearing hats and things, like they didn’t want to be recognized. Like it’s a secret society. Like Malachi always did.”

  “You didn’t talk to him or anything? So you wouldn’t be able to say who it was?”

  He shook his head.

  “Anything else odd or out of the ordinary?”

  “Only other strange thing is, I could have sworn I saw him today.”

  “Saw who?”

  “Mr. Zazi.”

  “Today?”

  The doorman nodded. “I mean, I know it couldn’t’ve been him. But it sure looked like him. Wearing sunglasses, all wrapped up the way he did, even though it’s a nice day outside.”

  “He came in here?”

  “Sort of hovered at the front door for a while. Like he wanted to come in but couldn’t make up his mind or something. I was on the phone with Ms. Franklin, up in 5C, and by the time I got to the door to talk to him, he was gone.”

  I tried and failed to ignore the chill that ran up my spine.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said. “My friend and I are going to go up and take a look at the apartment, if that’s all right?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. Police won’t allow it.”

  I fixed him with my gaze and concentrated.

  “But it will be all right just this once, won’t it?”

  “It’ll be all right, just this once.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thanks,” he repeated.

  The elevator was an old-fashioned one, open to the stairwell that wound around it. Sailor pulled the grate closed behind us and pushed the button for the penthouse.

  “Was he telling the truth?” I asked Sailor.

  “I would imagine so. I didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary. He responded to your ‘power-diluting’ charm.” He chuckled at his own joke.

  As the elevator clanked slowly upward, I closed my eyes halfway and forced myself to put Aidan and Sailor out of my mind, concentrating instead on the vibrations, the wisps of energy humans had left within these walls through the years. I may not be any good at meditating over a black mirror, but I could subsume myself to historical sensations like a pro.

  The sixth floor held a humming of strife and intimate violence. Domestic abuse, several years old.

  There had been a suicide, I would guess, on the seventh.

  Sailor met my eyes. He could feel these things as well as I could. Again, there was that sense of kinship. It was nice to have someone by my side, feeling what I felt. Made me feel like less of a freak.

  I sensed something as I passed the tenth floor as well; something had happened in the stairwell: a fight of some kind. And a natural death or two.

  But again, in historic buildings there were always ghosts in the walls. Spirits afloat. They didn’t frighten me; very rarely were they malevolent, or even active. Usually they were just energy traces, the echoes of human life and energy left behind in the structures we inhabit.

  Most of what I felt within these walls was positive: the vibrations of everyday life, of hopes and dreams and strivings. The rich, dense velvet of human life as it plays out, moment by moment, upon the earth. I had always found these feelings comforting; they allowed me to connect with humanity even when I was living in my self-imposed exile, without friends or family.

  The elevator finally stopped at the penthouse level: the thirteenth floor . . . which wasn’t called the thirteenth floor.

  The crime scene tape sealing the door was already torn.

  “Somehow I don’t think we were the first ones here.”

  “I think you’re right about that.”

  He tried the knob. “They locked it back up, though.”

  “Can’t you open it?”

  “I’m a psychic, not a wizard.”

  “Seriously? You can’t, you know, jimmy the lock or something?”

  “I’m no locksmith.”

  “I know, but you seem . . . I don’t know, rather criminally inclined. I thought you’d be able to break into a simple lock. There’s not even a bolt on it.”

  “‘Criminally inclined’?” He smiled and shook his head. “Want to go back down and ask your buddy the doorman for the key?”

  “I don’t think so. He wasn’t all that cooperative, when it came down to it.”

  “You’re the damned witch. Can’t you do something to open it?”

  “I could, but it would take a while. I’ve got some stuff in here.” I realized I should have brought the Ha
nd of Glory, a rather gruesome souvenir from an earlier supernatural case I had gotten involved in. The Hand allowed the carrier to enter locked doors, and even lit up the dark. It was disgusting, but awfully helpful. Kneeling, I pawed through my bag and laid out a piece of stiff wire, a thin flat piece of metal, a screwdriver, and a wrench.

  “That bag of yours reminds me of Mary Poppins’s bottomless carpetbag. Remember when she pulls out an entire lamp?”

  “I never saw that movie.”

  “You never saw Mary Poppins when you were a kid?”

  “No. Was it good?”

  “You never saw Mary Poppins.” This time it wasn’t a question, but a statement. A statement that said much more than five simple words.

  I shook my head. I could feel him staring at me but refused to meet his eyes. I’d had just about enough of his incredulous expression for the day.

  “Were your folks Holy Rollers or something?”

  “Something. Let’s get to work, shall we?” I said in my sweetest voice, the one that meant I was on the verge of losing my temper. A voice that wouldn’t melt butter, as my grandmother would say.

  Ten minutes later Sailor finally managed to get the door open. I acted as lookout, but since Malachi’s apartment was the only one on the floor, no one intruded.

  “I wouldn’t suggest breaking and entering as your next career move,” I said.

  “Cute.”

  “I take it your trouble with the police was over something else entirely?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. But if that charm has worn off your buddy the doorman, we might not have much time. I am not talking to the police about this, you get me?”

  “Got it. Let’s go.”

  We entered slowly, wary. As before, the ladder was set up in front of the door. I squeezed past it, in order not to walk under it. Sailor did the same.

  The space felt different now, without the frenetic energy of emergency personnel bouncing off the walls, quite literally making my teeth hurt. Now there were only muted sensations, primarily attached to the earlier workers.

  But the apartment was superheated. Had someone accidentally left the heater on? Within minutes I felt a bead of sweat roll down my back, and saw the sheen on Sailor’s forehead as well.

  “This is pretty bizarre,” said Sailor, taking in the broken mirror, open umbrella, and upside-down horseshoes.

 

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