A Vision in Velvet: A Witchcraft Mystery (24 page)

“If Aidan has cast a protection spell over the wings, or some other alarm device, there could be trouble,” said Sailor.

“Like I care.” I was already up and gathering my magical tools.

“Lily, listen to me. I admire your zeal, and far be it from me to try to keep anyone from trashing Aidan. I think you know I’m happy to jump on that bandwagon. But this is serious stuff. You’ve benefitted from your relationship with Aidan so far. You sure you want to take him on as an enemy?”

“I’m a woman on a mission, Sailor. I’m going to get my pig, and if that means making an enemy of Aidan, well . . .” As the significance of my words began to sink in, I lost my breath for a moment. I drew myself up to my full five foot five inches. “Then so be it. Maybe it’s time this witch grew up and accepted the challenge.”

Now Sailor was grinning. “There’s a new sheriff in town?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay, tiger. May I suggest you work a little more on
things like, say, divination and not losing your magic when you get angry before trying to unseat the most powerful sorcerer on the West Coast? But I do like the way you think.”

“Does that mean you’ll go with me to get Oscar’s wings?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.” I turned to Boye. “You, sit and stay. But answer the phone if it rings—I’ll call if I need you.”

* * *

At least the crime tape was no longer sealing the door of Sebastian’s Antiques. But the fog was thick tonight, the alley dark and mysterious. The streetlamp was on, but the light was murky, as though it had lost most of its wattage. A rat scurried by, squeaking slightly.

“Land sakes, it’s like a creepy movie,” I whispered, squinting as I tried to look through the grimy windows into the shop.

“Yeah, and we both know how these movies go. The perky heroine always survives—it’s the handsome helper who gets it in the first reel.”

“I would hardly refer to myself as ‘perky.’ You are quite handsome, though, it’s true. Hey—there they are! Oscar’s wings.”

“You sure? They couldn’t, for example, be some random, worthless antique like everything else in this shop?”

“Or maybe everything that seems worthless is really a valuable ‘marker’ of some kind.”

The doubt was clear in Sailor’s eyes.

“Come on,” I urged. “I don’t know anything for sure, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

Sailor managed to jimmy the lock and we brought the dolly with us into the store. Unfortunately, the wings were clear on the far wall of the shop, and there was no path to them. In fact, they seemed to be trapped in a jumble of furniture, rolled-up rugs, lamps, and decorative items.

We set about clearing a path, but no matter how much stuff we moved, there was more in the way. I had no more shoved an umbrella stand aside than I was tripped by it when I turned back to grab a cherry end table. It was incredibly frustrating, like a dream where no matter how much you run, you never get any farther.

“Clever,” I said, breathing hard. “Aidan set a spell to keep people from getting to it.”

“How do we beat it?”

“Move fast.”

We developed a method of removing one piece at a time, inching ahead with the dolly, and then moving the next. It took us a long while, but we finally arrived at the wings.

I circled them, trying to feel for vibrations. I’ve never been gifted in reading stone, but if these were not true stone, I thought I might stand a chance. Finally, feeling nothing, I laid my hands on them.

Sailor’s eyes were on me. I shook my head. I couldn’t feel anything.

“Let me take a shot,” he said. Slowly, he placed one hand on the top side, which came up to his thighs. After a moment, he placed the other hand on the other wing, then ducked his head and half closed his eyes. He remained absolutely still for several minutes. Finally he stepped back and shook his head. “They’re cloaked. By Aidan. It doesn’t prove they’re Oscar’s, but they sure aren’t ordinary old stone wings.”

“And look at this,” I said, showing him the price tag hanging from one wing. “This is clever: The price keeps rising.”

“Were you planning on paying for them?”

“No—it’s an enchanted price tag. No one would want to buy them at this price, and if they did, the number keeps rising. How does he
do
that? You’ve got to say one thing for Aidan: He’s good at what he does.”

“Oh sure, I give him all sorts of credit. So much so that I’m happy to give him a wide berth for the rest of my life.” Sailor leaned over and picked up a small bookshelf, along with all of its contents of dusty porcelain keepsakes, which now blocked our path. “Do me a favor: Don’t go asking him to teach you how he cast such spells over Oscar’s wings, will you?”

“I won’t. I’m just saying, he’s impressive. Professional respect, is all.”

“Okay. Let’s get this thing out of here.”

Easier said than done. The wings were heavy. Abnormally so. After all, Oscar often leaped into my arms and I had carried him without a problem; surely his weight couldn’t support this kind of burden. I checked to make sure they weren’t somehow attached to the floor, but the wings were freestanding. Just wildly heavy.

It took everything we had to tilt the pair of wings ever so slightly so we could shove the edge of the dolly’s platform under their base. We finally managed it, both of us grunting and swearing. By now all of the items we had moved to get to the wings were sitting in our way, of course, blocking our exit. We modified the method we used to get to the wings: I would drag one piece of furniture out of the way, and Sailor would move forward incrementally with the wings. It was a torturously slow process.

I didn’t even want to think about how we were going to manage to get the wings up to my apartment; I could only hope that the spell would dissipate when we got the enchanted piece out of Sebastian’s shop.

We were panting and sweating by the time we’d progressed the twenty feet across the store and neared the front door. We paused again as a hat stand fell over in front of us, blocking our progress.

“Other women might want a nice Tiffany lampshade, maybe a pretty little antique vanity,” grumbled Sailor.
“But my girlfriend? Oh no. Nothing but two-ton enchanted wings will do for her.”

I laughed softly as I leaned over to pick up the hat stand, blowing at a strand of dark hair that had escaped from its ponytail. “Well, think of it this way: I’m pretty sure we got the right wings. After all—”

Two things registered at the same time: the frozen look on Sailor’s face and the sound of snarling behind me.

A huge black dog stood in the now-open doorway, its head low, snarling, showing yellowed teeth in the dim light. His eyes seemed to gleam unnaturally, putting me in mind of the famous Black Dog Ghost people thought was a demon.

But this was no demon. This was Boye. Sweet, obedient, hungry Boye.

“Boye, sit!” I commanded.
“Sit.”

He ignored me. His eyes were fixed on Sailor, who was standing stock-still behind the dolly with Oscar’s wings.

“He’s working for Aidan now,” said Sailor quietly. “Not you.”

“What do I do?” I asked.

Sailor lifted a shoulder, just barely, in a semblance of a shrug, as one hand moved slowly toward a carved walking stick. “You have any way to call for backup?”

“Boye
was
our backup.”

“Then grab a weapon.”

Moving only my eyes, I searched the area around me but found nothing more sinister than a thick volume of
Encyclopedia Britannica. My hand had no sooner reached for it than Boye lunged for Sailor.

Sailor swung his cane to keep the snarling, snapping dog at bay, but the powerful canine advanced relentlessly, forcing Sailor to retreat farther into the store.

“
Run
!” Sailor shouted to me. “Lily,
run!
”

“Boye!”
I called again, refusing to believe he wouldn’t listen to me if I could just get through to him. “Boye, I command you!
Stop!
”

He lunged again. This time his powerful canine jaws clamped down around Sailor’s leg. Sailor fell to the floor with a thud, swinging the cane down on the dog’s head with no apparent effect. The ferocious growling was all I could hear as Boye flung his head to and fro, yanking Sailor’s now bloody leg, saliva flying.

“Lily, get
out
of here!” Sailor shouted again.

I smashed the heavy encyclopedia over Boye’s head. He hardly flinched. Desperate, I tried to grab the old cash register, but it was bolted to the counter. Finally, I picked up a small side table and, swinging as hard as I could, cracked it over Boye’s skull: once, twice, three times.

With a whimper, the great muscled dog finally collapsed, jaws still locked around Sailor’s bleeding leg. Sailor gripped the upper and lower jaw in each hand and tried to pry them open, but they were still locked on. Finally, he jammed the walking stick between the teeth next to his leg. He and I both pushed on it, using leverage to force the canine’s jaws open.

He scuttled back, out of Boye’s reach.

The leg wound was deep and bleeding.

“Take off your shirt,” I told Sailor.

“I do like the way you think,” said Sailor, his voice hoarse with pain. “But this is no time for such things.”

I gave a little laugh and helped him with the white shirt he was wearing over a black T. I used it to wrap his leg as best I could to stanch the flow of blood.

“Can you walk?”

“I’m sure I can manage to limp my way out of here, but I don’t know about those wings.”

I blew at the hair in my eyes again and looked at Boye’s still body. He had transformed and was now lying facedown, naked, on the floor. He was breathing, which I was thankful for, but I sure didn’t want to be here when he awoke.

Still, he didn’t deserve this. He was loyal to Aidan, probably bound to him through some sort of marker, just as Oscar was.

If I left the wings here, I would never find them again. Once Aidan realized how close I was to recovering them, he would no longer hide them out in plain sight.

“Go,” said Sailor with a grimace. “Get those wings out of here. Use magic if you have to. I can’t help you carry them.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” I said.

“Seriously, Lily, listen to me. Get those out of here; then call nine-one-one. I’ll say it was a crazy dog, or a street brawl, if Boye remains in human form, and we’ll both be taken care of at the hospital.”

“I’ll do that for Boye, but not for you. Let me think for just a minute.”

Quickly, I ran down my mental list. Often I called Aidan for help, but clearly that wasn’t an option this time. Oscar was missing, Sailor was with me, Bronwyn and the coven sisters . . . well, I supposed I could include them again, but brute strength wasn’t their strong suit.

Still . . . maybe if I cast, I could get the wings out the door, and it was likely they wouldn’t be nearly so heavy after that. I found some twine behind the register and tied Boye’s hands behind his back, ignoring Sailor’s wisecracks about bondage. He was pale, and I worried about the effect of his injury. A dog bite was bad enough; the injury from a familiar animal was worse. I still had
the throbbing cat scratch on the back of my hand to prove it.

I brought out my magical tools and started to cast over the wings. I could feel—almost
see
—Aidan’s magic resisting mine; it was swirling in a cone around the wings. I hadn’t wanted to cast before because I knew Aidan would feel my magic going up against his. But no doubt Boye already had checked in with Aidan, so the jig was up. If Aidan felt my magic going up against his now, what did I care?

Just make it intense, Lily,
I thought to myself. Give him a little taste of what he’s up against. I had grown stronger, more focused since I first met Aidan. I was getting better at using my anger and fear to focus my intent.

I brought out the mason jar of brew and cast a circle, then marked the five points of the pentagram. Earth, wind, fire, water, and spirit. As fast as I could, but careful not to hurry. There was no way to speed up the process. I fell into the casting with surprising ease, and finally realized: The wings were helping me. Oscar’s wings were still a part of him. They were casting with me, as he would be if he were here.

My power slipped through the portals. I called on my ancestors, and an image of the Ashen Witch came to me in a flash of light.

I came out of my mini trance to find all as it was a moment ago, but Boye was stirring.

I jumped up, shoved my things back in my bag, and tried the wings: They were heavy as stone, but no heavier. With effort I could push them on the dolly.

“Can you walk?” I asked Sailor, ignoring Boye’s grunts.

“I can hop at least,” he said. “Just help me up?”

I grabbed him under his arms and lifted. He was a big man, I realized as I felt his weight. All those beautiful muscles. Good thing I was no waif myself. And hauling
around the dead weight of clothing—especially when wet, on wash day—had built up my upper-body strength. Still, if I was going to keep up this sort of thing, I might want to consider a gym membership.

Once on his feet, Sailor was able to half hop, half limp out of the store.

“Back in Jarod, they’d say you had one heck of a hitch in your giddyap,” I said as I followed him, straining to push the dolly.

Sailor chuckled and held the door for me.

I turned back to Boye. He looked so helpless lying there, prone and naked. “I’ll send help. Try to relax. Are you okay?”

“My head hurts,” he managed to answer.

“I’ll send someone. Just . . . try to relax.” I repeated, praying I hadn’t caused him lasting damage.

As I closed the door, I noticed several dusty antique frames sitting on a shelf near the front window. What caught my attention was not the frames per se, but what was in them. They each showed the same stock photo: two dogs, one a goofy-looking golden retriever, the other a smaller dog of unknown heritage, grinning widely, tongues lolling. It was the photo Will had shown me in his office.

I didn’t have time to process this little tidbit at the moment. It took all my strength and concentration to guide the dolly with its burden to the van. When we arrived, I realized that spell or no spell, the stone wings were still too heavy for me to lift into the back of the vehicle by myself.

“I can help,” said Sailor.

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t walk well, but my arms are still functioning,” he said. “Get it as close as you can here, and we’ll lift together, on three.”

We dented the bumper, but finally succeeded in
shoving the wings into the back of the van and slamming the doors.

“Let me use your phone,” I said after I helped Sailor into the passenger’s seat.

“Why?”

“I have to call someone to help Boye.”

He snorted. “Excuse me if I’m not feeling all warm and fuzzy toward that particular canine.”

“He was only following orders,” I said. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“You’re using the Nuremberg defense?”

“I’m just saying. There are no bad dogs, just bad owners.”

He gave me a slight smile as he handed over his cell phone. “I didn’t realize you were such an animal lover.”

I shrugged.

“And you do realize, don’t you, that he’s not actually a dog?” continued Sailor. “I mean, you just saw the man. . . .”

I blushed. “I know. In his altogethers.”

Sailor smiled but leaned his head back against the bench seat, blanching. I had to get him back to my place and work some healing magic on him before infection set in. Luckily, I had the perfect honey-mustard plaster recipe in my Book of Shadows. I had used it before against dog bites—though, since this was a familiar’s wound, I might need to ratchet things up a bit.

Still, I sat for another moment, phone in hand, trying to think of whom to call. Finally, I dialed the number for a money-market-manager-turned-private-investigator I met a while back. His number was easy to remember as it spelled out his name, which itself was easy to remember because, after all, Sam Spade was the name of San Francisco’s most famous private eye. I met Sam a while ago, and while he wasn’t the best private eye in the world, he was eager to learn and keen to make money.

“I’ll pay you to pick up a man from Sebastian’s Antiques in Jackson Square and take him to the emergency room. He . . . hit his head.”

“Um . . .” I could hear shuffling in the background, and I imagined he was looking up pricing in his private eye handbook. “Is it . . . Would I be breaking any laws?”

“No,” I said, thinking that while there might be a little trespassing going on, it was minor and, after all, he was on a rescue mission. “You’re just helping out a stranger you happened to notice as you passed by the store. Sebastian’s Antiques, near the corner of Gold and Balance Streets.”

“Okay. Is it dangerous?”

“No. He’s unarmed. In fact, he’s naked.”

“Naked?” The sounds of pages flipping intensified, and I could only imagine he was searching his handbook for extenuating circumstances.

“Sam?” I asked after another long moment of silence.

“Okay. I’m gonna have to charge you time and a half because of the hour. And there’s a surcharge for nakedness.”

“Seriously?”

“Says so right here in my book.”

“Just out of curiosity, would that nakedness surcharge hold if the person in question were a woman, or only for a man?”

“You want me to do the job or not?” Sam asked, sounding cranky. “I’m perfectly happy staying home and watching old movies. Last time I helped you out, I was nearly thrown over a balcony.”

“I think that’s exaggerating, just a tad. But anyway, yes, please. I will pay you if you go help this fellow out. He really does need to see a doctor.”

And then I took my sullen psychic home, hauled him up the stairs, cleaned up his wound, applied a poultice, brewed from my Book of Shadows, cast a salt circle on
my living room floor, and stayed with him until he fell asleep.

And then I took stock. Oscar was missing. Sailor and Conrad were both out of commission. Even Sailor’s aunt was still down for the count. Aidan was, I supposed, an enemy, as was Boye.

I was running through magical allies like so many gorse blossoms.

All I could think to do, at this point, was brew.

Sailor slept on, drugged by the brew I had urged him to drink. This was good; the sleep would help his body to garner all its forces to mount an immune response to the injury. If I brewed well—and I almost always did—he should be up and around by later today, and within a week would have nothing but faint pink scars to show where he had been bitten. The poultice would heal from the outside, the brew from within.

It took me three trips to take all my supplies down to the van. It didn’t help that I was looking over my shoulder the whole time. Not only afraid that Aidan or one of his minions might be coming after me, but also aware that in the middle of the night on Haight Street, even under ordinary circumstances, it paid to be on guard.

I climbed into the back of the van and shut the doors, then began to light the candles. I could feel a heavy weariness settle over me like a mantle. I was physically exhausted from too little sleep and the night’s Herculean effort with the preternaturally heavy wings, then helping Sailor up to my apartment. Every muscle ached. Plus, my neck still hurt from the attack at the Academy of Sciences, my hand was still sore from the cat scratch, and I’d been casting so much lately, I feared my caster was all tuckered out.

As they said back in Jarod, I felt tore up from the floor up.

Unfortunately, feeling sorry for myself made it even
harder than normal to get to the semi-trancelike state that was necessary to concentrate and focus my intent to cast an effective spell. But I forced myself to think about Oscar, and sure enough, within a short period of time, I could feel the wings aiding me. Helping me cast in order to attain their demise.

Guilt washed over me. And self-doubt. Was I doing the right thing? Was there any other way? I was destroying a part of Oscar, a part that he likely cherished.

While I was wondering this, and chanting, the wings began to transform. Graciela was accurate in her description: They looked leathery like bat wings but were made of individual feathers like a bird’s wing. And if she was completely correct, then they would disintegrate like a butterfly’s delicate wings if I touched them, and touch them I must in order to cast the spell properly.

But I had to save Oscar. The tree was slated for removal tomorrow.

This was the only way. I took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and let several drops of my own blood fall as a sacrifice.

I braced myself. A great cloud of vapor burst forth, streaming up to the ceiling, where it coalesced and took on the amorphous form of a face, looking down at me.