by Amber Benson
“And what makes you so special?” Lyse asked.
“I’m a little . . . unusual. Where most empaths might just feel another person’s emotions and thoughts, I can change them.”
Lyse stared at her.
“You’re full of shit.”
“I’m not,” Daniela said. “I can touch you and you can see for yourself—”
“No, that’s okay,” Lyse said—not wanting to risk the slight chance that Daniela might actually be telling the truth.
“I don’t change things in people’s minds anymore,” Daniela said.
“Anymore?” Lyse said, looking concerned. “Not sure that makes me feel any better.”
“I promise that you’re safe with me—”
“If any of this is even real,” Lyse said, flipping the magazine over and staring at a random page. “Which I still doubt.”
“Believe in it or not,” Daniela said, cupping her coffee mug between her palms. “It almost doesn’t matter.”
“I think we should get out of here,” Lyse said. “See if we can find Eleanora.”
“Sure,” Daniela agreed, getting up and setting her mug in the sink. “But pit stop at my house first.”
* * *
“I just need to stop, grab some gloves, and feed the girls,” Daniela said, crossing the street to her house. “Then we can go.”
“The girls?” Lyse asked, slipping the shawl’s hood over her head to keep the chilly morning air at bay.
“Verity and Veracity,” Daniela said, opening the gate. “My cats.”
As if on cue, two large black felines appeared out of nowhere, skulking onto the porch.
“They’re gorgeous,” Lyse said, unconsciously moving toward them. “Are they friendly?”
“They’re whores,” Daniela said, laughing. “And their fee is cat food and heavy petting.”
The two cats made a beeline for Lyse as she knelt by the porch steps, their sleek bodies sharklike as they circled her for attention. She was surprised by their strangely human faces: elongated noses, pursed mouths, and oddly round eyes that seemed to see right into Lyse’s soul. She found herself relaxing as she petted them, something about their mellow vibe rubbing off on her.
“They’re so alike. How would you tell them apart if their tails weren’t different?” Lyse asked, turning to Daniela.
“They’re like night and day to me. I could never mix them up—tails or no tails,” she said, shrugging. “Let me go in and get their food. I’m sure they’re starving as usual.”
She left Lyse with the cats and went into the house. As the door swung inward on its hinges, Lyse gasped.
“Oh my God,” she said, immediately climbing to her feet. “What the hell happened?”
“This is the craziness from last night,” Daniela said, hesitating just inside the doorway. “Someone took my place apart and was still here when I got home. If Eleanora hadn’t intervened—”
“You’re kidding,” Lyse said, shocked.
“I only wish I were,” Daniela replied as she picked her way through the mess, Lyse right behind her.
At least now Lyse knew why Daniela had slept at Eleanora’s the night before. No one could get any rest in this chaos.
When they got to the kitchen, Daniela righted a step stool that was lying on its side and climbed up so she could reach the top of the refrigerator.
“Do you mind keeping a lookout?” she said. “This is where the asshole attacked me last night and I feel kinda weird about turning my back to the door.”
“Of course,” Lyse said, hands on hips as she kept watch. “How much of this mess was caused by the guy trashing your place versus him trashing you?”
Daniela plucked her turquoise gloves off the top of the fridge and slipped them over her hands.
“Don’t think he got off scot-free. I gave as good as I got,” Daniela said, retrieving a large plastic tub of cat food from the cabinet and handing it down to Lyse. “And here’s the most important stuff.”
Daniela jumped down from the step stool.
“Hmm.” She looked at the tub of cat food. “What did Arrabelle and Eleanora feed them last night? This hasn’t been touched.”
“Maybe these?” Lyse said, and pointed to two empty cans of smoked oysters lying in the sink.
“They did not,” Daniela said, exasperated.
“Oh, yes, they did,” Lyse said, looking down at the uneaten bowl of oysters on the floor. She kicked it with the toe of her sneaker. “And I don’t think the cats liked them very much.”
“You guys must be starving,” Daniela said, uncapping the tub of cat food for the two felines twining around her ankles. She set their bowls—filled to the brim now—on the messy floor, and Lyse watched the cats attack, devouring the food.
“You’d think they hadn’t eaten in weeks,” Daniela said, shaking her head. “Let’s get out of here.”
Lyse followed Daniela through the house and out onto the front porch. Daniela took the steps at a jog, pushing through the gate and hitting the sidewalk in two seconds flat. Not knowing Devandra’s address, Lyse was forced to follow at Daniela’s pace.
“It’s not too far,” Daniela said.
“You’re in better shape than me,” Lyse said, breathing hard and trying to ignore the ache in her calf. “And you just got beaten up.”
“I made a decision a long time ago not to let anything slow me down. So, I just don’t.”
Lyse couldn’t argue with that.
They walked in companionable silence, Daniela slowing down once she noticed Lyse’s limp.
“You should’ve said your leg was hurting.”
Lyse shrugged.
“It’s your funeral,” Daniela said, but continued to maintain the slower pace. “I’m like a hummingbird. I never stop moving.”
“I’ll try to remember that for the future,” Lyse said, but secretly she was pleased they were now taking a more leisurely stroll. This way she could once again marvel at how little the old neighborhood had changed since she’d lived there.
As they walked, the sun came out from behind the clouds and started to burn off the morning smog, lifting Lyse’s spirits. Bright sheets of light, cut into impressionistic shapes by the canopy of trees above their heads, melted down around them, and Lyse felt like she was walking in a glorious daydream. The change in mood seemed to wake the neighborhood from its Saturday morning slumber, and people began to appear on the street: joggers, bicyclists, new parents pushing strollers, families trundling along with small children in hand.
The sense of community experienced by so many people from so many different ethnic, religious, and socioeconomic backgrounds was one of the things Lyse loved best about the neighborhood. Echo Park’s disparate inhabitants lived together in a multicultural microcosm—dressing, eating, and communicating in their own styles—with only minor discord.
Lyse was happy to note that the Eastside of Los Angeles was still keeping it real.
“So, I’ve been thinking about something,” Lyse said, giving Daniela a sideways glance. “And I don’t know if it has any bearing on anything, but apparently somebody broke into my place in Athens yesterday after I left.”
“You’re kidding,” Daniela said.
“I talked to my friend Carole. Nothing big was taken, just my computer.”
Daniela stopped in her tracks.
“Shit. That’s not good. I bet more stuff’s missing, stuff your friend doesn’t know to look for.”
“Like what?” Lyse asked, not sure what kind of stuff Daniela was talking about.
“Birth certificate, social security card . . . info like that.”
“But why?”
“To verify who you really are,” Daniela said—and then she realized she might’ve overstepped her bounds, and she backed off the topic. “Look, just . . . talk to Elea
nora about this. I’m making educated guesses and I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“No, tell me what you mean,” Lyse said, reaching for Daniela’s arm—but the other woman quickly moved away from her grasp.
“Unh-unh,” Daniela said. “Now is not the time to touch me. Shit’s been weird lately and I don’t want anyone touching me, period.”
“Fine,” Lyse said, and headed off down the street, annoyed by the whole situation. It only took her a second to realize she had no idea where she was going, and, chagrined, she was forced to retrace her steps back to Daniela.
“Okay,” Lyse said, throwing up her hands in surrender. “You win. Suppose, for the sake of argument, someone wanted info about me and that’s why they broke into my place—what’s the deal with you? Does someone want to verify who you are, too? What’s the connection?”
Daniela scratched the tip of her nose with a gloved finger, thinking.
“The obvious answer is someone is looking for something—and maybe it’s more than one thing. Like they want personal info on you. And they think I’m hiding something important, and they want it.”
“Are you?”
“Hiding something important?” Daniela asked. “Maybe.”
She grinned at Lyse.
“But if I were, I wouldn’t tell you . . . or anyone else.”
“And who is this mysterious ‘they’ you keep mentioning?” Lyse asked.
“That,” Daniela said, holding up her hand to block the sunlight streaming in through the trees, “I don’t know yet.”
“And do you have any ideas that don’t sound like conspiracy theories?” Lyse asked.
She was surprised by Daniela’s ready answer.
“Oh, that’s an easy one,” she said, continuing down the sidewalk. “Someone’s just trying to scare the shit out of both of us.”
* * *
There was only one word for Dev’s house, and that word was gorgeous.
A lovingly maintained Victorian with intricate, cream-colored woodwork that resembled the delicate lace of a wedding gown, it boasted a wraparound porch studded by white wicker patio furniture and a glorious front garden full of Queen Anne’s lace, daisies, red and orange poppies, and blue cornflowers.
“I keep expecting Snow White to come out and greet us,” Lyse said, shaking her head in wonder.
“It’s just as unbelievable on the inside,” Daniela said as they walked up the driveway, passing through a wide-open gate leading into a large, grassy backyard whose centerpiece was a rusted iron table encircled by wrought-iron chairs.
Weeds grew thick and luxuriant around the table, giving the yard a wild, overgrown quality that made Lyse feel like she’d been transported into a magical fairyland. Adding to the overall effect was a Medusa-headed brass chandelier—almost the circumference of the table—hanging from the bough of a large silk floss tree that shaded the yard, each of its snakelike arms holding a tiny tea light underneath a delicate glass globe.
Lyse could imagine the backyard at night, the lit chandelier giving off an eerie, ghostly glow.
“The place has been in Dev’s family for over a hundred years,” Daniela added, leading Lyse around the table and chandelier and toward a small garage/studio in the back that already had people milling around its door. A mix of both men and women, mostly in their twenties and thirties; they were loud and fraternal, red plastic cups filled with alcohol driving the chaotic, partylike atmosphere.
“What’s going on?” Lyse asked. “I thought you said we were going to brunch.”
“It is brunch—but for the whole neighborhood. Dev and Freddy call it the Echo Park Weekend Bar,” Daniela said, “and we made it just in time for mimosas.”
As if Daniela’s words had summoned them into being, Dev and a short guy with a hipster mustache and wavy black hair came out the back door of the main house, carrying aluminum trays loaded down with homemade French toast. The already assembled group of neighbors fell into an impromptu second line, following the duo across the yard to where a long, rectangular folding table was already set up against the garage, its top loaded down with plates, napkins, and cutlery.
“This is amazing,” Lyse said, as she and Daniela were caught up in the food procession.
When they finally reached the table, they found Dev putting a pair of metal tongs into each of the aluminum trays. She saw them and her eyes lit up.
“Hey, you guys!” she said, sounding tickled to see them. “Wanna come in and help with the syrup and fruit?”
“Sure,” Daniela said, and Lyse nodded.
The two of them followed Dev up the back stairs into the mudroom.
“This is incredible,” Lyse said.
“We’ve been doing this for a while and it just seems to grow and grow!”
They hit the kitchen, and Lyse realized Daniela was right. The place was just as incredible on the inside as it was on the outside. With its delicate wood floors, vintage O’Keefe and Merritt stove, and ceiling rack loaded down with copper pots, pans, and other cookware, the house was an architectural magazine spread come to life.
“Here, take this,” Dev said, handing Lyse a large metal container with the words Real Maple Syrup stenciled across its front.
“I love your house,” Lyse said, watching as Dev placed handfuls of plump strawberries into a large ceramic bowl.
“I grew up here,” Dev replied, and added raspberries to the already-overflowing bowl before foisting it into Daniela’s hands. “It’s been in my family for ages.”
“That’s what Daniela was telling me,” Lyse said, keeping the container of syrup at arm’s length, so Eleanora’s shawl wouldn’t get sticky.
“Want me to take anything else?” Daniela asked, her arms now full of berries.
“No, I think this’ll do it,” Dev said, surveying her handiwork. “Time to finish feeding the masses.”
She picked up a shaker full of powdered sugar and indicated that they should accompany her back outside. Lyse followed Daniela, keeping her friend’s back in view as they weaved through the crowd. Everyone seemed to sense that more food was arriving and parted so the women could place their offerings on the table.
She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find the short guy with the hipster mustache—she had about an inch or two on him—standing behind her, holding out his hand. Up close, she saw how wickedly handsome he was. Smooth tan skin, soulful dark brown eyes, and expressive eyebrows that moved up and down when he talked.
“You must be Lyse,” he said, watching her wipe the syrup from her hands onto the front of her jeans. “I’m Freddy Cardoza, Dev’s partner.”
Lyse grinned and shook his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m covered in syrup!”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, smiling back at her and holding her hand for a beat too long. “I like my ladies sticky-sweet.”
Okay, the man has more than just looks, Lyse thought. He has charisma, too.
He pulled her to him and gave her a kiss on both cheeks.
“Oh,” Lyse said, surprised by the kisses but deciding to go with it.
“You smell delicious,” he whispered in her ear before releasing her.
“Thank you . . . ?” she said, not sure how to reply to the flirtatious compliment. “I love your place. I’m really jealous of you guys.”
“Oh, please, you and Auntie E have the house my daughters adore,” he laughed, shaking his head.
“It’s the koi pond,” Lyse said. “Sucks the kids in every time.”
“Well, it’s really nice having you in the neighborhood,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Can I get you a mimosa?”
“Sure, I’d love one.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said, and winked at her, tipping his porkpie hat.
She watched him go, wondering how Dev handled being with a man who was such a flirt.
If Freddy had belonged to her, his behavior would’ve driven her mad with jealousy.
While she waited for him to return with the drink, she looked around the crush of bodies, amazed so many people could fit into one backyard. Everywhere she saw men and women talking over one another, passing food around, laughing. She didn’t feel like joining in, and besides, she didn’t really know anyone to talk to, so she just smiled and listened to the conversations swirling around her.
“I was thinking of reviving an old tradition, throw a little salon like the ones the illustrious Zeke Title used to have in the 1920s,” Daniela was saying to some man Lyse didn’t know. “Seems like it would be lots of fun—Dev has to cater it, of course, and we can set up a little photo studio in the back. And I was thinking Aleister Crowley’s birthday would be the perfect kickoff for the first one. He’d have adored something like that in his honor.”
Daniela caught Lyse listening and gave her a wink before returning to her conversation.
“Lyse?”
She turned at the sound of her name.
“Hey! Is Eleanora with you—” she started to ask.
But the question died on her lips when she saw Arrabelle’s face.
Eleanora
Eleanora had always spent more time in the clearing than any of the others. She felt connected to it in a way that transcended its ties to the coven, as if there were something here in this sacred grove that called out to her secret soul. It was why she’d come this morning, to ground herself after a long and exhausting night.
The wind whipped at her hair, making her shiver, and Eleanora pulled the thick black jacket even tighter around her middle. She’d grabbed one of her heavier coats from the hall closet when she’d gone out, and she was glad of it as she stood in the open air with the cold biting into her skin, yanking at her coat as if it could tear the thing from her body.
She had no fight left in her to push back against Mother Nature. Her exhaustion made her feel old and used up, and it was in these raw moments that she longed to flee responsibility. To crawl under her house, make a little nest in the dirt, and curl up and die like one of Dev’s old, toothless tomcats.