Spellcasting in Silk: A Witchcraft Mystery (7 page)

Hervé emerged from the back, a huge smile lighting up his face. He was a powerfully built man, with a rugby player’s physique.

“Lily! Always such a pleasure. I was so happy to hear you found your pig.”

“Thank you. Me, too. Things were a little rocky there for a bit.”

“And you? You are well?”

“Fit as a fiddle.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. What can I do for you today?”

I pulled the red flannel bundle from my bag and set in on the counter. Hervé slowly folded back the material.

He stared at the ugly little doll for a long moment, then looked at me, eyebrows raised.

“What can you tell me about it?” I asked.

“It’s a poppet.”

“Yes, thanks. I knew that much. But . . . have you ever seen it before? Would there be, I don’t know, some sort of signature of the person who made it? Anything like that?”

“I’m a voodoo priest, Lily, not a DNA expert.”

I stared at it, feeling let down. I knew it was a long shot, but I’d been hoping Hervé might be able to tell me something about it.

Finally he splayed his big hands about twelve inches above the doll and held them there. Breathing deeply through his nostrils, he rolled his eyes back in his head, his eyelids fluttering and lips moving in a silent incantation. After almost a full minute he slowly lowered his hands and placed them on the poppet.

After another moment he shook his head and opened his eyes.

“Anything?” I asked.

“It doesn’t feel charged.” He picked up the doll without using the cloth and turned it over in his hands, studying the worked wax.

“Can you tell if it ever was charged? Would there be a leftover hum, or anything . . . ?” I trailed off lamely.

“It might have been at one time, can’t really tell. Now it’s just a lump of wax. It means nothing.”

“Wax with
pins
in it.”

“People always seem to think the pins are menacing. Originally, pins were simply used to fasten a picture or personal items of the target to the doll, to link them. They aren’t necessarily sinister.”

“You sure?” I asked, skeptical.

“Lily, one of these days you’re going to have to get over your inordinate fear of poppets. You can use them in your system just as well as I can in mine.”

I shook my head. “They’re creepy.”

He gestured with the doll in one large hand. “The poppet itself is a vessel, it’s not inherently good or bad. It’s all about the intent. So-called ‘voodoo dolls’ are mostly used for curing. The photo is placed on the object to guide the spell; the pins are there to hold the photo in place, not necessarily to inflict harm. They may be no more threatening than a piece of scotch tape.”

“You’re saying the doll could be a positive object? Not an attempt to harm the target?”

“I really can’t say for sure because I don’t know what the person who fashioned the poppet intended. But neither do you. Without more information we don’t even know if the doll has any significance. It could simply be someone’s toy, a souvenir.”

“I wondered about that.”

“In my system, when the spirits are angry or disgruntled, they appear red-eyed. When the red-eyed spirit
accompanies you, things are bad. But I don’t feel that with this doll. I don’t feel anything at all.”

“Okay, thanks for looking at it.” I wrapped the doll up and returned it to my bag. “I really appreciate your expertise.”

“And here I thought you were going to ask me about what’s going on at
El Pajarito
.”

“You’ve added mind-reading to your services?” I joked. “That was my next question. Do you know Ursula?”

“Of course. The Mission is like a small town; we’re all up in each other’s business. The news of her arrest spread pretty quickly.”

“Do you know anything about what’s happening at her shop?”

“What
is
happening at the shop? Was it vandalized? I looked in the windows and saw a huge mess.”

“Things are going haywire. It’s as if . . . almost like everything’s charged and acting of its own accord. It’s really odd. I tried to read the vibrations, but they were chaotic, too difficult to get a handle on. Any ideas?”

He shook his head slowly, as though deep in thought.

“Do you know anyone who might want to make Ursula look bad? Did she have any enemies?”

“Plenty,” he said with a broad smile. “Does this surprise you? This business can be rather cutthroat, after all.”

“I’ve always stayed away from
curanderas
, except for my own grandmother, of course. I’m not familiar with the politics.”

“Well, let’s just say Ursula has more than a few rivals who would have been pleased to hear of her arrest.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“I’d better write you a list.”

“That many?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know how this sort of thing is, Lily. But you might check with Aidan to see if he’s sensed a rogue witch.”

I played with a small bottle of
van-van
oil from a display on the counter. “Um . . . Aidan and I . . . well, we aren’t talking much these days.”

“No?”

“We had something of a falling-out over my familiar. Not to mention the whole thing with Sailor.”

I read sympathy in his dark eyes. “Relationships are hard.”

“Aidan and I don’t have a relationship. I mean, not like that.”

“I was referring to you and Sailor,” he said, looking amused. “Anyway, if you’re avoiding Aidan you should run along. He’s—”

“Right here,” said Aidan as he ducked through the beaded curtain.

I reared back and grabbed my medicine bag. My heart pounded as my mind cast about; there were a couple of jars of all-purpose protective brew in my satchel, but such magical devices wouldn’t go far with someone as powerful as Aidan Rhodes.

Besides, I was more of a brew-alone-in-my-kitchen-type witch, not so great in an unexpected, throw-down situation.

Caterina’s words finally registered: “They’ve been expecting you.”
They
. I should have known. Where was my witchy intuition when I needed it? Still, when it came to Aidan my already dubious intuition wasn’t worth a plugged nickel anyway. He threw my senses off, put me in a tizzy.

I didn’t want even to imagine the consequences of a serious confrontation between the two of us. Indeed, I had been avoiding that line of thought ever since I had defied him and stolen a valuable object from him in order to free Oscar.

“You look pale, Lily. Are you quite all right?” Aidan asked.

Only then did I realize I was cowering beside Hervé. My voodoo buddy was looking down at me with an amused, bewildered look on his face.

“Sure, I’m just peachy,” I said as I lifted my chin and stepped away from Hervé. Might as well face the music. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m peachy, as well,” Aidan said with a smile. “It’s always so lovely to see you. And I do adore that frock.”

Today’s getup was a shell-top dress from the fifties, with an azure-and-violet-painted floral design. The flowing skirt was meant to be worn over a crinoline, but that seemed a bit much for my personal style, so I simply let it fall and enjoyed the feeling of it wrapping around my legs as I walked. Happily for me—especially given the way my day was going so far—whoever had owned the garment before me had imbued it with positive vibrations.

“I take it you’re here in an official capacity?” Aidan asked.

“Sort of.” Two could play at this game. If Aidan was going to act as though nothing had happened,
I
certainly wasn’t going to complain. And now that I had a moment to think about it, I realized Aidan would never attack me in front of Hervé. In fact, his revenge would no doubt be much subtler and more destructive than a simple magical match. It would be the kind of thing that would sneak up and bite me when I least expected. “Have you heard anything about what’s going on at Ursula Moreno’s shop,
El Pajarito
?”

“I know something’s amiss.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“What concerns me is twofold: First, the mayor’s on
the warpath about fortune-telling scams and the like. It’s caused quite the kerfuffle in the community.”

“Kerfuffle?” I asked.

“There’s a lot of finger-pointing. One might even say there’s a bit of a witch-hunt vibe.”

“You can’t get the mayor to back off?”

“How would you suggest I do that?”

“I thought he was in your back pocket.”

“Why, Lily, I am flattered that you imagine me to have so much influence. I assure you, it is not the case.”

I didn’t believe him. I once had spotted the mayor in Aidan’s office. At the time Aidan had insisted it meant nothing, but I suspected there was much more to it than that. Controlling a politician behind the scenes, puppetmasterlike, seemed right up Aidan’s alley.

But for now I let it go. “And what’s the other thing that’s worrying you?”

“This isn’t something many people feel entirely comfortable discussing,” said Aidan, flashing a look at Hervé. “But it’s possible that there are some . . . mental health issues in the magical community.”

“Mental health issues? Like what?”

“The same as afflicts the greater society: depression, anxiety, OCD, ADHD.”

“There’s no shame in that. After all, this isn’t the 1950s; there’s help available.”

“
I
realize that, and
you
realize that, and even our friend
Hervé
here realizes that.”

Hervé cupped his hands over his heart. “Gee, I appreciate your confidence,” he said with a sarcastic tone.

“But as a group . . .” Aidan trailed off with a shrug. “We’re twenty years behind the larger society in this one area.”

“By ‘we’ you mean . . .”

“The magical community, for want of a better word.
As you can imagine, if someone with magical abilities starts losing touch with reality things can get ugly, fast.”

I remembered an elderly friend of my grandmother’s back in Jarod, a gentle soul whose descent into senility caused her to magically light fires. Mostly little things—a single match, a small notepad, a leaf—but still. If she hadn’t been watched over, she could have taken down the town.

“So you’re suggesting what’s happening in
El Pajarito
could be the result of a practitioner with mental illness?”

“Hard to say. It’s also possible this thing with Ursula is something else entirely, an infection of some sort that is moving through magical businesses.”

“That sounds even worse.”

“Indeed.”

“Couldn’t it be the work of another witch? Someone gone rogue who’s got it out for Ursula?”

His beautiful features shifted. Aidan fancied himself the godfather of the magical folks in the Bay Area—with the notable exceptions of Hervé and yours truly, neither of whom recognized Aidan’s authority—and he didn’t like to think one of “his” people might have gone off the reservation.

I tried a different approach. “Do you know a woman named Lupita, who might have been working with Ursula?”

He shook his head. “Not really. But Ursula had relatives helping in the store occasionally; it wasn’t unusual.”

“Speaking of relatives, what about the girl, Selena? Do you think she could be with Lupita?”

Aidan and Hervé shared a significant look.

“What?” I asked. “Am I missing something?”

“I saw her the other day,” Hervé said in a low voice. “Selena came running in and hid under the altar cloth, right over there. Clearly terrified, but she wouldn’t tell me why. I
tried to find Ursula, of course, but apparently she’d already been arrested; the shop was closed. I felt. . . . Caterina and I decided to keep her here with us instead of turning her over to Family and Children Services.”

“Selena’s
here
? Could I speak with her?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but she spent only one night, then ran away the next day without ever saying a word. Caterina feels terrible about it. She’s angry with me for not calling the authorities, making sure Selena was safe.”

“And why didn’t you call them?”

“I was afraid they wouldn’t be able to handle her. Selena is . . . different.”

“Different in what way?”

“She reminds us a little of you,” Aidan said. The gentleness in his voice was disconcerting. I met his eyes, and the apparently sincere concern in those blue depths was even more so. I remembered Oscar saying:
“The girl’s the secret weapon
.”

Forcing my attention back to the issue at hand, I said, “In that case, the average social worker couldn’t have stopped her anyway. I think you were right to assume she wouldn’t do well in the system.”

Hervé shrugged. “Still, I should have made sure she was secured. I’ve checked in with everyone I can think of she might have known, or trusted. But as I said, Ursula isn’t exactly popular around here. I think I was probably the closest thing she had to a friend in the neighborhood. I assume that’s why Selena came here . . . though I wish I knew why she didn’t stay.”

“If she’s powerful, she can probably take care of herself better than the average young teen on the street.” At least I hoped so. Unless one was properly trained, having magical powers could cause more problems than they solved. “So, no idea where she might have gone?”

He shook his head. “Caterina and I have been racking our brains.”

“Do you remember the last thing you said to her?”

He took a moment, then shook his head slowly. “Nothing, really. I remember telling her Caterina and I were going to be babysitting my niece’s daughter. I thought Selena might enjoy meeting the baby.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “And that was it. Next thing I knew, she was gone.”

“So maybe she doesn’t like babies?” I let out a frustrated breath. It wasn’t much to go on. It wasn’t anything, really. How did a person find one girl in a vast city like this? I turned to Aidan. “You can’t get a feel for her, somewhere, somehow?”

“I’ve tried. I believe she’s cloaked. I don’t know whether it was her doing or Ursula’s, but she’s not as easy to track as another might be.”

“
Dangitall
,” I said, shaking my head as I glanced at the list of names Hervé had given me. “I guess there’s nothing to do now but to speak to some of these folks. They might know something, I suppose. I swear, it’s like puttin’ socks on a rooster.”

Hervé and Aidan shared an amused glance.

“
What
?”

“Your Texan comes out when you’re peeved.”

“Well, then, best shine up the Lone Star ’cause I’m feelin’ mighty peeved. Thanks, Hervé, for the help. Please tell Caterina good-bye for me. Aidan . . .” I let that last trail off, and just nodded. “I’ll let you all know if I learn anything from these folks.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Aidan.

“No need,” I said.

“Happy to do it.”

“I’d rather go alone.”

Our gaze held. He smiled a slow, knowing smile.

“I don’t
need
you,” I insisted.

“Sure about that?”

Hervé’s gaze shifted from me to Aidan and back again, as though watching a tennis match.

“Fine,”
I said, giving in to the inevitable. “Tag along if you must. But
I’m
doing the questioning.”

“You’re the boss.”

When pigs fly,
I thought.

*   *   *

We headed to the first
botanica
on Hervé’s list.

Aidan moved along the crowded sidewalks with an elegant glide, gracefully dodging other pedestrians and bestowing a pleasant smile upon all he passed. His golden hair glinted in the bright afternoon sunshine; his eyes were a piercing periwinkle blue. A strong jaw and a hint of manly stubble kept Aidan from looking
too
pretty. He was stunning, was what he was. Most women—and a handful of men—gawked and a few even came to a standstill to watch as he walked by.

But I knew it was a facade, the result of a glamour Aidan cast to hide his true appearance. Years ago he had been disfigured by fire during a battle with a demon, and now rarely went out in public. I didn’t know if he had been this good-looking before his injuries, or if he had embellished a bit, but in any case his appearance was only part of his appeal. Aidan’s aura was so glittery that even those who weren’t sensitive could feel it.

Love him or hate him, there was no denying that Aidan was extraordinary.

But maintaining the glamour cost him a lot of energy, especially during the day. It was easier at night, when the portals are open wider, allowing magical folk to more easily call on our ancestors for assistance. It was rare to see Aidan walking around in the afternoon sunshine.

Finding Selena must be important.

About half a block down, we entered
Botanica Suerte
. The shop’s interior was similar to
El Pajarito
: The jammed shelves held rows of candles, cans of various sprays, bags of herbs, packets of tiny charms.

Aidan and I hung back and watched as a tiny gray-haired customer selected two candles, one labeled “health,” the other “fortune,” and carried them to the front counter. The woman sitting behind the register, her black hair in a thick braid on top of her head, picked up a sharp pencil and drilled deep holes into the soft candle wax. She grabbed a bottle of essential oil and poured a thin stream onto the candle, rotating it in circles while chanting under her breath.

While we waited, we checked out the store’s merchandise, feeling for sensations, errant or otherwise. If this thing with Ursula really was some kind of infection moving through magical businesses, we should be able to sense it. In any case, it was important to remain on guard.

In each corner of
Botanica Suerte
was an altar. Offerings of roses, fruit, and candy surrounded statues of saints. Candles flickered. As we watched, another customer laid two oranges and a full bottle of rum at the feet of St. Sebastian, knelt, and said a prayer.

“People give offerings of fruits, flowers, and honey to sweeten the paths of those who believe in the saints,” explained the proprietor when she spotted me. “The flowers are for having a good life path, protection, health, money, love; it represents peace and tranquility among the family. What can I do for you?”

Her eyes widened as Aidan stepped out from behind a display.

“Señor Rhodes, perdóneme,”
she begged forgiveness in Spanish. “I didn’t see you there—I am so nearsighted in my old age. How are you? What honor brings you to my store?”

“This is my friend, Lily Ivory,” said Aidan.

She nodded at me, but we did not shake hands. This wasn’t unusual. Sometimes physical contact is a bit more than we magical folks can take.

“Lily and I are looking into the situation at
El Pajarito
,” Aidan continued. “What can you tell us?”

She shrugged and eyed a pair of young women absorbed in reading the contents on the packets of herbs. Their heads were bent low, and they were paying so little attention to us I assumed Aidan had cast a cocooning spell to keep our conversation private.

“You know Ursula Moreno, of course,” Aidan said.

She nodded.

“Come now, Maria. No need to be coy.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Aidan fixed her with an intense gaze and cast her a soul-melting grin. Maria seemed to relax.

“Of course I know Ursula. She undercuts me on
limpias
, cleansings, offering to do them ten dollars cheaper, no matter how much I reduce my price.” Resentment rang in her words. “Also, she says her readings are better than mine.”

“Ursula Moreno did readings?” I asked. This was news.

“Not her, that girl.”

“Selena?” I asked.

Maria nodded. “She’s a very . . .
special
girl.”