Sailor and Oscar watched me closely while I brewed. I wasn’t used to an audience—it had taken me a while to get used to Oscar, even—but for some reason I didn’t feel self-conscious in front of Sailor. Not with my magic, at least.
Conrad drank the brew dutifully, then curled onto one side and drifted off, singing softly to himself.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. I went into my bedroom, washed up, then called Carlos and told him what had happened. Though he was homicide, not burglary, he said he would notify the proper authorities.
I emerged to find Sailor rooting around in the kitchen. Again, I felt surprisingly comfortable with his intrusion.
“Found it.” He filled two water glasses with a splash of rum, handed one to me and held his own up in salute.
“Here’s to surviving the witch hunt.”
We clinked glasses and drank.
I sat at the table while Sailor leaned up against the kitchen counter. The warmth of the liquid seared through me, and I realized I had felt chilly since wandering the East Bay hills of Sibley.
For the first time since he’d arrived, I took a moment to study him. He was only half dressed.
“Sailor, what are you doing here?”
Chapter 22
He looked at me a long moment without speaking.
“Where’s your motorcycle jacket and helmet?”
He shrugged. His hair was wet, and he smelled of soap. I read… embarrassment?
“Did you come straight out of the shower?”
“I pulled on pants, so let’s not get picky.”
“Did Aidan send you?”
He shook his head. “I… felt something.”
“Felt something? Like what?”
He shrugged. “Back when I spent some time in Aunt Cora’s Closet, I put a sort of psychic tracer on it. I can’t follow you from afar, but I can track things at the store.”
“You mean like a remote alarm system?”
“Sort of.”
I smiled.
“What?”
“You came to rescue me?”
He shrugged again.
“You-ou li-ike me,” I singsonged.
“Okay, okay. Enough. I admit it. You’re not that bad. In moments of weakness, I worry about what sort of damn-fool trouble you might get yourself into.”
“Stop with the flattery or I’ll swoon.”
He finally smiled in response and took another swig of the rum. He held up the bottle and studied the label. “Flor de Cana, from Nicaragua? Good stuff.”
His words barely registered. Sailor had been worried about me. He had rushed over here half dressed in his haste. The hair at his nape was curling softly as it dried, and I found myself jealous of the way it touched his neck.
Our eyes met. Held. For too long.
He pushed away from the counter. “Well, now that I see you’re okay and have witnessed your strange magical curing ceremony, I should go.”
“You have more strange magical ceremonies to witness, do you?”
He gave a reluctant chuckle as he headed for the door. With one hand on the knob, he turned back and fixed me with an intense gaze.
“You’ll be okay, then.”
I smiled and nodded. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
“It wasn’t that, exactly.”
“How would you describe it?”
“An uncharacteristic impulse.”
“You ran out of the shower, Sailor.”
He seemed suddenly serious. He released the knob and took a step toward me. The breath caught in my throat.
“Lily?” A voice came from downstairs.
Sailor and I both startled at the sound.
It was Carlos. His voice was accompanied by the crackle of police radios. I had been so caught up with Sailor that I hadn’t noticed they’d arrived.
“Be right down,” I called.
“Oh, goodie, it’s your friends from the SFPD,” Sailor said, the sardonic tone back in his voice. “Is there a back way out?”
Conrad started singing again, and rolled off the couch onto the floor with a loud thump.
“Listen, Conrad is in no shape to talk to the authorities. Maybe when he’s sober, but not yet…” I said in a low voice. I wasn’t sure what drugs Conrad was on, exactly, and I couldn’t bear to have him thrown in the slammer when he had tried to help save Aunt Cora’s Closet. “Do me a huge favor and stay with him up here, make sure he’s quiet until I finish with Carlos?”
Sailor gave me a pained look.
“You could watch the rest of Terminator 2 with Oscar.” As I said it, I realized it wasn’t the best enticement. “Please?”
I could see the muscle work in his jaw, but he blew out a breath and said, “C’mon, pig. Let’s go finish up Terminator.”
“Thank you.”
“You owe me. Yet again.”
I hurried down the stairs and out onto the main floor of Aunt Cora’s Closet, my heart lurching once again as I saw the chaos with fresh eyes.
Carlos was standing by the smashed display counter, braving the broken glass to pick up my carved talismans. He looked like he had just climbed out of bed—his hair was uncombed, there was a day’s growth of black beard, and he had circles under his eyes.
“Be careful,” I said. “You’ll cut yourself.”
He shook his head. “This is a damned shame. I’m sorry about this, Lily.”
“Me too. But it could have been worse. These are only things,” I lied. It was a violation of my safe place, an injury to my soul. But at least Conrad—and Oscar—hadn’t been seriously hurt.
A uniformed officer started taking the robbery report, while another looked around and took notes. It was soon apparent, however, that nothing obvious had been stolen: The jewelry was left scattered on the floor; even the highest-value vintage dresses were strewn about or torn, but not taken. The cash register, which I emptied every night anyway, hadn’t been opened.
“Looks more like vandalism than robbery,” said the young officer. I nodded.
“No shit, Sherlock,” said Carlos. “We need the DOM guys on this. It’s clearly one of their actions.”
I gave them my statement but omitted the part about Conrad, hoping I was doing the right thing. But I imagined I would get more information out of him once he sobered up than the authorities would ever hope to. I would share whatever I learned with Carlos.
After the officers had cordoned off the scene, taken photos, and departed, Carlos helped me to nail boards up over the broken windows.
“I hate like hell that this happened to you, Lily,” Carlos said. “You’re a vintage clothing store, for heaven’s sake. Other than Bronwyn’s herbal stand, you’ve got nothing witchy in here.”
“Except for the pentacles.”
“Right.”
“And the talismans and the spirit bottles.”
He smiled. “Okay, I guess you’re pretty out there. That’s why I was warning you about these whack jobs. Anyway, it’s a damned shame. At least no one got hurt, right?”
I nodded. As I surveyed the damage, I wondered what sort of progress Herve might have made with his vengeance against the perpetrators. Though I tried to rise above, I understood the impulse. It wasn’t the lost inventory that pained me. It was the sensation of being violated, the nasty energy that now pervaded the store in place of the beautiful vibrations of friends and joy and herbs.
“Is there someone upstairs?” Carlos asked as the muted sound of a series of explosions drifted down to us.
“I left the television on. Felt disconcerted being alone after coming home to this, so I turned on the TV.”
“Maybe you should sleep at a friend’s house.”
“I might. I’ll be fine. I’ve got a pig upstairs to snuggle with.” He opened his mouth as though he were going to say something but changed his mind. “Really, Carlos, I’ll be fine.”
“The DOM task force will be here first thing tomorrow to go over the scene and talk with you. You want me t
o call a twenty-four-hour glass service?”
“No, thanks. I’ll call someone in the morning. I think right now we could all use some sleep. This’ll look less bleak in the morning.”
Carlos’s dark eyes glanced around the store, and he raised his eyebrows. “You sure about that?”
I reached out and gave him a hug. This was unusual behavior for me—I’m not really a hugger. Carlos returned my squeeze.
“Hey, I wanted to tell you. I spoke to Calypso Cafaro,” said Carlos. “Get this: She was indeed a licensed foster home for several years. She lost it when she was accused of witchcraft by one of the girls in her care.”
“Witchcraft? You’re sure?”
He nodded. “That was the accusation. Whether or not it was real… who knows? I looked her up—it seems Cafaro was vilified in the local press and wound up pulling something of a hermit number. Bowed out of foster care altogether.”
“Do you know the name of her accuser?”
“It was anonymous, since all the girls were underage. I don’t know her name, and if I did I wouldn’t be able to give it to you.”
“Okay, thanks for telling me.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
I nodded. “I really am. Thanks for coming. Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” he said as he picked through the tossed inventory on the way to the front door. “By the way, the theater isn’t going to press trespassing charges. You just have to pay a court fine and you’re off the hook.”
“Thanks, Carlos.”
“You’re welcome. Turns out, I have a second cousin who’s married to the brother of one of the board bigwigs.”
“You really do know everyone.”
“Benefit of a big family that’s been in this area for generations—sooner or later, I’m related to just about everybody. Plus, I called it wrong when I suggested you speak with that vintage clothes store owner… .” He pulled a pad out of his back pocket and consulted his notes. “Greta Cafaro. She can’t stand you. She’s been spending a lot of time on the phone trying to convince folks to lock you up and throw away the key.”
“Greta Cafaro?”
“She’s a real piece of work. Suppose she’s a relation to your botanical specialist?”
“That’s a good question… . I don’t suppose you got hold of the record from the Victrola?”
He shook his head. “She got the police to release it to her, and she’s not interested in giving it up.”
“Thanks for trying, anyway. Good night.”
“’Night. And for what it’s worth, lock this door after I leave.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
As I locked up, as best I could, and picked my way through the mess toward the back room, my mind was buzzing. Calypso had mentioned a sister in passing, when she was telling me about being a foster mother. Could that sister be Greta? The two women looked nothing alike, but then I looked nothing like my mother. Or, for all I knew, they were foster sisters rather than blood relatives. And they certainly acted nothing alike.
And how would it be significant, anyway? I wondered.
I entered my apartment to find Sailor grumpy and pacing. Super. I had known the reasonable, almost kind version of Sailor had been temporary, too good to last.
“You and Carlos really are chummy lately, aren’t you?”
“He’s a friend of mine. You know that.”
“Uh-huh. I gotta get the hell out of here.” He strode toward the door.
“Sailor, wait.” I grabbed his arm as he went past. He yanked it away.
“What? What is it you want now?”
“You don’t have to rush off. I mean…” I was at a loss. What did I want from him? All I knew was that after he ran over here in the middle of the night, ready to rescue me, I couldn’t stand to have him storm off angry. Still, my hostess skills were limited. “Could I get you anything? Another drink, maybe? A beer? Or something to eat?”
He gave a mirthless chuckle. He was breathing hard and scowling, the picture of belligerence.
“Can you ‘get me anything’? Is that what you asked? I want one thing from you, and you know what it is. You promised.”
“I told you I’m working on it.”
He snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Why are you being so nasty all of a sudden? What have I ever done to you?”
“First, you made me confront a demon. I hate demons.” He held out his hand and extended one finger with each count. “Then you dragged me around town while you got into business you weren’t supposed to be in; then you made me introduce you to my crazy aunt; then you broke into my apartment and went through my things. Then I get thrown around in a haunted theater, tossed in jail, thank you very much, and before I know it I’m stuck up here babysitting a drunk and a pig while you’re making cozy with the cops.”
“Like you’re an innocent in all of this? You’ve spied on me. And my breaking into your apartment, well, that was only the one time, and it was a misunderstanding.”
“Uh-huh. Well, that misunderstanding has my aunt furious. And just in case you weren’t aware, it’s not generally a good idea to have a Rom witch angry at you. I had to talk her out of casting a hex on you.”
“Why bother? If you dislike me so much, why not let her at me?”
“I don’t hold with any of that kind of crap. You or my aunt. I just want you all to leave me the hell alone.”
“I don’t believe you. We’re friends, and I get the sense you could use all the friends you can get.”
“I sure as hell don’t need you, princess, and don’t go thinking I do.”
“We all need someone.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re psychic, Sailor, not inhuman.”
“I’m outta here, is what I am.”
I stood in front of the door, blocking his way. I didn’t know what had gotten into me… but I was determined not to let this already wretched night end this way.
“I’m warning you, Lily. This is one of those times it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“I think you like to think of yourself as some terrible sort, an awful kind of loner. But the truth is, I think you’re a kind man.”
He snorted.
“Noble, even. You’ve certainly come through for me when I needed you.”
“Are you serious? I’ve never been noble in my life.”
“Oh, I think you are. You gave your soul for your wife.”
“Ex-wife. And look where that landed me.”
“Why don’t you like anyone thinking well of you? I think you’re sort of… great.”
“Stop it.”
“I like you, Sailor. A lot.”
“That does it.”
Before I knew what was happening, he was holding me firmly by the shoulders, drawing me to him, and his mouth came down on mine. At first my mind went blank with shock, but the searing heat of his lips demanded a response. I opened to him, all thoughts fleeing as a whirl of sensations swept over me.
Warmth. Everywhere he touched—with his mouth, his hands—left a trail of sizzling heat. His tongue delved into my mouth, demanding, sparring with my own. His arms encircled me, holding me to him, tighter, practically lifting me off the ground. My own arms wound around his neck, accepting him, giving him my all.
He pushed me up against the wall. The kiss went from hot to on fire, almost out of control.
This wasn’t the electricity I felt with Aidan—there was no collateral damage, nothing crashing about or melting. But it was the kind of chemistry between people who fit together, a kind of awareness beyond the norm. Any sense of myself dissipated in the overwhelming, sweet insistence of our bodies, a connection beyond thought.
Sailor broke away, looking down at me with confusion in his eyes, as though he’d never seen me before. Then he stepped back so suddenly, I might have fallen over if not for the wall holding me up.
He ran one hand through his hair. “Ah,
heellll.”
I just stared at him, trying to catch my breath.
“I can’t believe I just did that… .” He reached out to touch my swollen lips, a vulnerable look on his face.
I put my hand up to his whiskery cheek, relishing the raspy feeling against my palm.
“Kiss me again.”
“I… This isn’t one of your damned spells, is it?” he said. “Promise me.”
I shook my head. “I would never do that.”
And he kissed me again.
The scent of roses surrounded me, inundated me. It mixed with Sailor’s subtle scent of exotic spices to form a heady combination.
At some point we wound up in my bed. Somehow in Sailor’s arms I felt able, capable, the vestiges of insecurity sliding away under the ardor of his kisses, the envelopment of his energy. For the first time in days, I felt thoroughly warm.
I slept the sleep of the dead, dreaming of Miriam asleep in a rose garden, saw her prick her finger, blood flowing onto the single white rosebush among the crimson, like the funny fellows in Alice in Wonderland painting the roses red.
Chapter 23
When I awoke, there were rose petals scattered on the bed.
I lifted Sailor’s heavy arm off of me and glanced around the room.
Like a fragrant pink-and-red blanket, rose petals were strewn on my bureau and vanity, atop my lace curtains, on the windowsill, and sprinkled inches deep upon the floor.
Could this be Oscar’s doing? Or was it some kind of accidental magic? I had been thinking about roses when I was with Sailor… . Had I unconsciously conjured? Focusing energy was one thing; even animating the inanimate was within my magical realm. But manifesting something concrete like this was beyond my powers.
Or at least it always had been.
My first impulse was to try to cover it up somehow, to hide what I had done. But on second thought… I’d be damned if I gave in to insecurity at this point.
Sailor was a big boy. He could handle it. And I was done with hiding myself from people I cared for.
“Sailor, wake up. We need to talk.”
He groaned but didn’t open his eyes.
“Sailor.”
“Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?”
In A Witch's Wardrobe Page 24