A Magical Match

by Juliet Blackwell

  “Because of my presence?”

  “I told you, children make you susceptible, vulnerable. I wanted to leave, but your father begged me to stay while you were there, to help protect you. One night, it was unseasonably hot, with thunderstorms moving through, one after another. At three a.m., the witching hour, while you and I were sleeping, your father called on the demons in an attempt to vanquish them once and for all. But the creatures had grown strong, and at least one escaped the circle.

  “You woke me, telling me there were terrible sounds coming from the locked study—the demons were laughing and taunting, demanding your father surrender you to them. I locked you in your room. When the screams began in the study, I managed to break down the door and went to your father’s aid, hoping our combined powers would be enough to overcome the demons, to save your father, to save you. By then the other demons had escaped your father’s spell. We fought the rest of the night. It was horrific.”

  “Then how did . . . how did it turn out?”

  “You joined us in our fight. We were exhausted. We had been fighting for hours by that time, and just as the rays of the sun appeared in the window, the door swung open on its broken hinges, and there you stood. The demons crowed—a hard, triumphant sound. I can still hear it. They were sure they had won. I thought so, too. I felt your father’s strength ebbing away, and mine as well. But none of us, it seems, had counted on you.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You honestly don’t remember this part? Even after we melded our magic yesterday?”

  I shook my head.

  “You rushed to your father’s side, took his hand and mine, and started chanting, melding our powers. The demons began screaming, shaking the house in their fury and starting fires in the four corners. If they could kill us before we vanquished them, all three of our souls would belong to them. The demons had grown weaker but continued to fight, and as the fire spread, we were running out of time. Your father ordered me to get you out, to save you. I tried to pull you out of the room, but you were still chanting and fighting them. You were crying, refusing to leave.”

  “I don’t cry.”

  “You did cry.”

  “Then what?”

  “Your father told you he despised you, and your weakness. He told you he had already made an agreement with the demons, for strength. For power. As fire engulfed the room, I was finally able to pull you to safety. We were both burned, but I was able to get you to a safe house in Bavaria, and some friends contacted your grandmother. She was able to heal you from afar, along with some help.”

  “But not you? Why do you have scars, when I don’t?”

  “I had to run, no time to heal properly. A struggle with a pack of demons like that—it marks you, whether or not you wind up pledging allegiance to their power. I’m not beholden to the demons, but I paid a steep price for my freedom.”

  “Where was this safe house? Who helped me?”

  “As I said, your grandmother and her coven were able to do much of the healing from afar.”

  “But where was the house?”

  “It was hardly luxury accommodations—more like a basement room. With a former student of your father’s who didn’t have enough natural talent to continue his training. After he left, he and I remained in touch. He wasn’t happy about it, but he did help. It was Tristan Dupree.”

  Chapter 21

  “Tristan helped me?”

  “Tristan’s mother had a number of magical abilities, and she was very good at glamours—in fact, I learned a lot from her. But as much as he tried, Tristan never lived up to her promise. But he did help you, at least at first.”

  “And my father?”

  “As you know, he survived the fire. During the battle, he pledged his allegiance to one of the demons, and the demon wanted him alive. You healed, and forgot the whole thing. I escaped here, to San Francisco.”

  “Why San Francisco?”

  “Why not?”

  “No, I just meant . . . was there some special reason you chose the City by the Bay?”

  He smiled. “Besides the weather? Of course. Because of the prophecy.”

  “The prophecy which says a witch like me is going to come to San Francisco?”

  “It’s slightly more complicated than that. The prophecy had to do with a witch able to provide a conduit for other powerful witches—in other words, not just your guiding spirit, the Ashen Witch, but others. This witch would form one half of the coincidentia oppositorum, and I, of course, hoped to provide the other half. And then she would go up against a primal force of evil. Unless . . .”

  “Unless?”

  “Unless she herself was seduced to the other side. In exchange for power, or self-interest. In your case I imagine your weakness would have more to do with trying to ‘save’ loved ones, that sort of thing.”

  “Caring for other people isn’t a weakness; it’s a strength.”

  “Sounds like somebody’s been reading some Bay Area–style New Age literature. Of course caring for others is a strength in normal humans, Lily. What you don’t seem to have grasped yet is that you’re not a normal human. You need to be worried about the state of people in general, not one person in particular.”

  “Uh-huh. And what if I’m not wild about becoming the queen of the witches, or whatever this position is officially called?”

  “It’s not like running for office, Lily. You don’t get to just decline.”

  “I don’t even believe in prophecies.”

  Aidan let out a long breath, and took another sip of wine. “Tell you what: when your grandmother’s coven arrives, why don’t you chat about it with them? See what they have to say?”

  I nodded. Good idea. Silence reigned for a few moments. The waiter came with the food: a paella valenciana served in a huge flat pan. Bright yellow saffron rice was studded with mussels, clams, and crab.

  “So, how do you go on, after battling a host of demons?” I asked him.

  “In your case, you block the memories entirely. But I wasn’t so lucky. I was in bad shape when I arrived, physically, mentally, and spiritually. An amazing woman helped me, brought me back to life. She was trying to hold the Bay Area magical community together, and passed that responsibility on to me. And then things ratcheted up, becoming increasingly dire. As I told you, I believe the surge in energy has to do with you, or at least with your arrival here in San Francisco.”

  “Hard to believe this all started with a parrot in a bar,” I muttered as I dug into my paella.

  “Excuse me?”

  I shrugged. “I was just thinking about the decisions we make in life, how they bring us to where we are today.”

  He smiled. “Waxing philosophical, are we?”

  “A little, I guess.

  “Are you a Dickens fan?”

  “Well . . . I’m not not a Dickens fan.”

  “‘Pause and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.’”

  “That’s Dickens?”

  He nodded and plucked a clam from the paella. “From Great Expectations. Wonderful novel. All about expectations, as the title would suggest.”

  I sighed. “I admire people who can memorize things. I usually think of myself as having a good memory, but the only actual scripts I remember are my spells.”

  “Seems to me that’s more than enough.”

  “I don’t know. . . . I’m feeling so off, lately.”

  “With your brewing as well?”

  I nodded. “Do you really think Jamie’s telling the truth, that Renee slipped me something, and that’s why I’m feeling like this?”

  “Possibly. But as I said, it could be a simple cold—or it could be connected to your upcoming wedding. I told you your relationship
to Sailor would make you vulnerable.”

  “I thought you meant in the sense of having my energies divided, not catching a cold. You know what we could use right now?” I asked. “A mandragora. Mandragoras are great at sniffing out spells and strange ingredients in food. Whatever happened to the one I made you?”

  “I gave it away as a gift.”

  “You told me you wanted it as a household imp, that you were lonely.”

  “Did I?”

  “Who did you give it to?”

  “A gentleman never tells. Anyway, back to the important point: I find it interesting that your brewing has been affected, and now your familiar’s out of commission.”

  “For how long, do you know?”

  “It’s hard to say. Oscar has a different metabolism than we do, obviously. But now that I’m putting this all together, I realize this might not be about Sailor at all. It’s more likely about you. Tristan tracked you down for a reason.”

  “But I don’t understand—why would Tristan show up like this, after all this time?”

  “According to what I heard, Tristan betrayed you—and his own mother, for that matter. Before you were completely healed, he tried to strike his own deal with one of the demons, and gave up your hiding place. I’m guessing you stole something from him before you ran, perhaps something he had promised to deliver to the demon.”

  “Why would it take him so long to follow me here to claim it?”

  “I believe it took him this long to become strong enough to go up against his old rival.”

  “You.”

  He nodded. “It’s also possible Renee’s been putting out feelers for a male counterpart, so he decided it was time to make a move if he could secure her backing.”

  “So, you say I cried when I was there, with my father? Tristan’s spirit said something about the ‘tears of the daughter’. Should I suppose that was my lachrymatory?”

  “It seems possible. Imagine what Renee could do with the salt of your tears.”

  “But why wouldn’t I be able to cry now? I always thought it was a witchy thing.”

  “I think it’s part of your coping mechanism, an inability to accept those memories, to delve that deeply into your own psyche. The same reason you’ve suppressed the memories.”

  “Who’s New Agey now?”

  He chuckled.

  “Okay, let’s recap,” I said, and took a deep drink of wine. “Tristan comes to San Francisco from Germany to work with Renee, demands his bēag from me, then winds up dead at the hands of a doppelgänger who looks like Sailor. But the doppelgänger must not work for Renee, because she wanted to ally herself with Tristan to go up against you and me, to form her own version of the coincidentia oppositorum. So who would want to ruin Renee’s plans? Besides you and me, obviously.”

  “We’re not the only ones in the magical community, Lily. I’ve got feelers out, but no useful information yet. Still, a man like Tristan might have other enemies.”

  “Let’s start there. What more can you tell me about him?”

  “As I said, he’s worked on the fringes for a long time. Known for betraying most of the people he’s worked with, eventually.”

  “So maybe it’s someone from his past, come to settle a score.”

  “Maybe.” Aidan sipped his wine.

  “Or . . . Tristan never seemed like prime material for the coincidentia oppositorum, did he? I mean, he seems more like an underling, a guy who gets used. Maybe Renee gave him false hope because she knew he’d get the lachrymatory for her.”

  “It’s possible. But does that tell us anything?”

  “I’m not sure. . . .” Something didn’t seem quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  I leaned back in my chair. The paella was scrumptious, but despite my earlier hunger I didn’t have much of an appetite. Aidan, in contrast, had finished his healthy portion and was now slathering butter on fresh sourdough bread, apparently relishing every bite.

  “Who was the woman?” I asked.

  “What woman?”

  “You said you took over your responsibilities with the San Francisco magical community from a woman. She wasn’t . . . That wasn’t Renee, was it?”

  He gave me a disgusted look. “Of course not.”

  “Then who?”

  “Calypso Cafaro.”

  “Are you serious?” That shocked me. “I thought you and Calypso were . . . or that you had been . . . together?”

  He gave me a slight smile. “‘Together’?”

  “As in boyfriend, girlfriend . . . I don’t know what gave me that impression.”

  “You’re right, of course. We were the coincidentia oppositorum, for a little while, anyway.”

  “Does coincidentia oppositorum imply a romantic attachment?”

  “Not necessarily, but it doesn’t hurt.”

  “Wait just a gol-durned second. How come you’re going on and on about my romance with Sailor weakening me, but you claim it strengthened you?”

  “Sailor isn’t the other half of the coincidentia—”

  “Oppositorum,” I finished with a nod. “Okay, I get it. I guess. Are you sure this isn’t some elaborate plot to get me to go out with you?”

  Aidan grinned. “You’re pretty special, Lily Ivory, but I wouldn’t court demons and the like just to get you in my arms. There are other, much more effective ways of accomplishing something like that.”

  I looked away, trying to ignore his sultry gaze.

  “Okay, so first you and Calypso were a thing, but then you took over completely. Was this with Calypso’s full endorsement, or was there a struggle?”

  “She agreed, of course.”

  “Freely?”

  He had lifted his wineglass to his mouth, and now looked at me over the rim. “Is anything truly free in this life, Lily?”

  * * *

  • • •

  A while ago, Calypso had made vague references to wanting nothing to do with Aidan, but she had never given me any details. I knew I wouldn’t get much more information from Aidan, though, so I decided to let the subject go for the moment. I would raise it again with Calypso when I had the chance.

  Aidan drove us back to the wax museum.

  “I should come in with you and get my pig,” I said when he pulled up to my van.

  “Why don’t you leave him where he is for the night? Let him sleep it off at my office. He’s more than capable of getting himself back home, as you well know.”

  “That’s true. How does Oscar get around?”

  “You’re quite the curious one today.”

  “I’ve always wondered. And he tells me as much about himself as you do.”

  “I find with this sort of thing it’s best to leave the details vague.”

  “By which you mean . . . ?”

  He chuckled. “I’m really not sure. He’s a miraculous little guy, on several levels.”

  “I’m so glad he’s all right. He gave me a fright. So, what are our next steps?”

  “I’ll continue to ask questions of the magical community, see if any useful rumors are flying. You should have Patience check in with the Rom community—I’m sure they’re aware of what’s going on with Sailor and will want to help.”

  “She’s already on it.”

  “Good. In the meantime, maybe you’ll encounter the doppelgänger again, and get some answers.”

  “Last time I ‘encountered’ the doppelgänger, he tried to kill me.”

  “Are you certain? He was chasing you, but perhaps he just wanted to chat.”

  I gave him a look. He grinned in return.

  “Obviously you need to be careful. But if this is a true doppelgänger, it’s here for a reason.”

  “You said it might be here for me. You don’t think it just wants to kill me?”

>   “No. After all, if that was what it wanted, why didn’t it kill you already? Why go after Tristan in the guise of your boyfriend?”

  “Fiancé,” I corrected him automatically. “Or . . . what if it isn’t a real doppelgänger? What are the other possibilities?”

  “Endless. You could be hallucinating after eating LSD-laden baked goods.”

  “Very funny. Patience was with me; she saw him, too.”

  “Not to mention a shop owner in Chinatown.”

  “And witnesses at the hotel the night Tristan was killed. Speaking of which, would you be willing to go back there with me, see what we can see?”

  “So, is it Oscar or Sailor who will come back to work for me?”

  I blew out a breath, but didn’t respond.

  “Anyway, you have a day to figure it out. I have another obligation tonight. When you figure out which one will come back to work for me, we can go to the hotel tomorrow. Ask Patience if she’ll go with us.”

  “Why Patience?”

  “We need a necromancer.”

  “Hervé’s a better necromancer. Though she did see something when she was in the lobby . . .”

  “Bring them both, then. The more the merrier.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Hervé’s voodoo supply shop closed at eight. I just barely made it to Valencia Street in time. Caterina gave me a cool smile when I entered, then ducked into the back and sent Hervé out to speak with me.

  “I think we need to go back to the hotel,” I said. “But this time with backup.”

  “Who is our ‘backup’?”

  “Aidan, Patience, you, and me.”

  “So two witches, a Gypsy psychic, and a voodoo priest walk into a hotel . . . ,” began Hervé with a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Sounds like the beginning of a joke.”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure if I’ll like the punch line.”

  “Lily, I’ll go with you if you need me, but I believe I did all I could last night. If Patience is half the psychic she’s cracked up to be, she’ll be able to make contact with any latent spirits.”