Hollyweird (14 page)

ALY

Five of the six occult shops revealed very little. We knew Dakota bought a rare and obscenely expensive, solid gold, pentacle-inscribed chalice and some double-sided black and white candles. Traditionally, these candles are burned so that the black (negative) burns away to the white (positive), although they can be reversed. Yet as far as evil plans went, his purchases were pretty innocuous.

Jameson's growing frustration simmered around us like static before an impending storm. He tried to hide it with weak jokes about the things we saw on our shopping/snooping expedition, but I saw past the fa
c
ade. Still, what kind of customer would buy a Yoni candle shaped like a va-jay-jay in order to curse someone with an STD, or a black skull candle meant to hex someone and put chaos in their mind? Did they look like your beer-bellied, tube-socks-with-shorts football coach, or perhaps the apple-cheeked old maid who baked strawberry-rhubarb pies every Saturday for her bridge group? Sure, it would be easy to guess the Marilyn Manson fan down the street with his kohl-lined eyes, spiked dog-collar necklace, and jet black hair covering one eye, but according to Shade, proprietor of Witchful Thinking, one of the oldest occult shops in the nation, the most evil people she'd ever met appeared squeaky clean and holier-than-thou.

I'm not sure what kind of vibe we gave off, or if Shade, being a real witch, just wondered why a feather was accompanying three humans, but she'd taken an immediate interest in us from the moment we walked in. She'd been standing behind the counter ringing up a customer. As in the previous shops, we started off by browsing. As I oohed and aahed over a seriously cool bat pentagram mirror, I got that prickly feeling of someone watching me. Peering over my shoulder, I noticed a slender woman with short and spiky black hair staring at us. She wore a black tank with a crystal-encrusted black widow on it, and a gorgeous, sunset-hued dragon tattoo curled around her left shoulder. When she caught my eye she smiled, whispered something to her co-worker, and walked over to introduce herself.

We complimented her on her establishment and she told us Witchful Thinking was a family business that had been open for nearly fifty years. After a little more small talk she did the strangest thing … she signaled a co-worker over and asked her to show Missy their designer jewelry. My sister happily went along to ogle the one-of-a-kind bling.

“Now then,” Shade said, her caramel eyes sparkling. “We can talk frankly.”

I shot Des and Jameson a “Say what?” look. They seemed equally confused.

“Your sister's obviously not in the know, and I want to respect that.”

In the know? What did Shade mean? She couldn't possibly know … “Uh, I'm not sure,” I stammered.

“Word travels fast,” she explained. “I know you've been asking about Dakota Danvers.” Not waiting for a response, she turned on the heel of her boots and said, “Follow me.”

Des, Jameson, and I shared nervous glances but followed her to a back storage room/office where she sat behind a heavy, battered gothic revival library table that served as her desk and motioned us to some chairs from the same era. I couldn't resist the urge to run my fingers over the finials and arches before I sat down and faced our enigmatic hostess.

“Dakota's up to no good.” Shade gave Jameson a knowing look. “But you know that.”

“We do,” Jameson agreed. “But we don't know exactly what. That's what we're trying to figure out, so we can stop him.”

“So far,” Des said as she traced her finger along the carvings on the front of the desk, “all we know is he bought a helluva expensive chalice and a bunch of candles.”

Shade waved her fingers dismissively. “Window dressing.”

“Sorry?” I had no clue what she was talking about. Obviously this lady knew waaay more than we did. I found myself intrigued and intimidated. She exuded wisdom and strength the way Missy projected sexuality and confidence.

“It's just for show,” Shade explained. “Most rituals have props, but that's all they are. Real magic requires little to nothing.”

“Then how do we figure out what he's up to?” Jameson asked.

“You don't look,” she said with an encouraging smile. “You listen. The underground is talking.”

“What's it saying?” I asked.

Her lips flattened, her eyes hardened. “That he's approaching preternaturals.”

“For?” Jameson prodded.

“I don't know, exactly.” Shade leaned toward us and the concern holding her taut rippled over me. “All the whispering suggests he's doing some kind of ceremony, and that he wants one preternatural apiece to stand in for their race.”

I thought about this for a minute. “You mean, like, he's getting a werewolf, a witch, a vampire—”

“Oh, my!” Des said, and then swallowed a nervous giggle. “Sorry.”

Shade tossed her a wink before answering me. “Yes, that's exactly what I mean.”

“Why would he do that?” Jameson asked. “Many of the races can't stand each other. What could bring them together?”

“A common goal,” Shade answered.

“Something that would benefit them all,” I said.

“That can't be good,” Jameson said. “But we still don't know enough. We don't know when, where, or why things are going down.”

“The when is probably in a few hours,” Shade said with a grimace. “There's a full moon at 1:39 a.m. The next one isn't until the end of August.”

Holy crapola
. We were supposed to stop this runaway train now?!? I wasn't ready. None of us were ready.

“Are you serious?” Jameson gasped, voicing my freak-out. One look at his watch and he raked his fingers through his hair in an “I've got to be losing my mind” motion. “Shade, it's 8:30. You're talking five hours and we don't know the where.”

“Okay, okay, don't panic,” Des said in a shrill voice that screamed panic. Hearing her tell-tale squeal, she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. After she blew it out she calmly asked, “Where can a bunch of PNs meet that's inconspicuous?”

“Not just a place they can sneak off to without suspicion,” Shade said, “but a place of power.”

We all sat in silence. I certainly had no clue. L.A. wasn't my scene, and the only places I knew of were touristy. Disneyland, while sinful in many ways, probably wouldn't be the host spot.

“What kind of place do you think of when you think power?” Jameson asked.

“Somewhere outdoors,” I said. I'm a Coloradoan; my state's majestic mountains always give me a high. But in this context I should think bigger, be more specific. “What about monuments?”

“That's good,” Des said with a nod. “Are there any kind of historic sites around here that hold power or energy?” she asked Shade.

“Tons. This entire area has a long, rich history. From the Hollywood sign to Grauman's Theater to the Bradbury Building and La Placita Olvera. They all hold old energy and power.”

“Are you talking ghosts?” Des asked.

“Yes,” Shade said, “but also vibrations from years past.”

“I'm not sure that's the kind of power Dakota would be interested in,” I said thoughtfully. “It doesn't seem … spiritual enough.”

Des snorted. “Spiritual? You're talking about a demon.”

“I know, but his power is spiritual.”

“She's right,” Shade said. “His spirituality just comes from a darker place.”

“Thinking spiritually, where do you go?” Jameson asked.

“Church,” I answered automatically, and then realized how stupid I sounded. Squirming with embarrassment, I laughed at myself. “Like he'd go there.”

“Oh no,” Shade gasped, her complexion chalky white. Yanking a stack of newspapers across her desk, she flipped through the pages in alarm. “I know I saw it. Where was that?”

Des gave me a “has she flipped?” look and I shrugged.

“Shade? What's wrong?” I asked.

“I think you're right,” she cried. “Dakota's going to church.”

“What?” Jameson asked. “Wouldn't that be the last place he'd go?”

Shade spun the paper around and tapped her finger on an article that read, “
Saint Peter's Demolition.”

“They're tearing down a church?” I asked.

“Sadly,” Shade said. “It's a hundred and twenty-five years old. It's been locked up the last ten years and vandals have wrecked it. The community and some local businesses came up with a fundraising plan to restore it, but the city put up roadblocks. They want the property, so Saint Peter's is coming down.”

“When?” Jameson asked.

“According to this, tomorrow.” Shade frowned. “It's the perfect place at the perfect time.”

Jameson stood up and paced around the chairs. “How can you be so certain he'll go there?”

“Because it's a place of great spiritual strength, it's abandoned, all evidence will be destroyed tomorrow, and holding his ritual there would be like thumbing his nose at God.”

“Like a black mass,” Des said.

“What do you know of those?” Shade asked, her eyes narrow with disapproval.

“Not a thing from personal experience,” Des rushed to assure her. “I just read about them in a book. I read a lot.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It's twisted, that's what it is,” Des said as she tugged at her lip ring. “Call it the antithesis of Catholic mass. Urine instead of wine. Rotted turnip instead of bread. Black candles instead of white. Things done in reverse. Devil worship. Orgies. Human sacrifices.”

“Sweet Jesus,” I said, shaking off a shiver.

“Right,” Des said. “And get this—it was
tr
è
s populaire
among seventeenth-century French nobility. Louis XIV's mistress was even used as a naked altar.”

I covered my mouth in horror. “So wrong.”

“Yet so right for Dakota,” Jameson said. “Question is, why?”

“What's something all preternaturals want?” I asked Shade, figuring she had the most insight.

“To be free,” she answered with a sad smile. “To live out in the open, as ourselves, without fear.”

Something she should be able to do. That every PN should have the right to do.

“I get that,” Des said. “Everyone wants to come out of the closet. But what does that do for Dakota?”

“Nothing that I can see,” Shade said.

“What would it take to make you unafraid?” I asked Shade.

“I'm not sure. I just want to live in harmony next to my neighbors, be they human or preternatural.”

“You're afraid that if people know you're a real witch, you might be in danger?” Des asked.

Shade gave a scoffing laugh. “It only takes one zealot. I wouldn't want to see history repeat itself—the only thing I want burning over a fire is marshmallows. Most humans fear what they can't understand. PNs are vulnerable. My best friend is a were. If she came out, it would just take one silver bullet.”

“What if you were invincible?” Jameson stopped his pacing. “What if some dark power stripped away PN weaknesses? What would happen then?”

Shade's eyes widened and her mouth slipped into an O of realization. “That wouldn't be good, either. If there were enough impervious preternaturals, the balance would change.”

Jameson nodded. “They'd become the ruling race. And if Dakota were the one to free them—”

“He'd have an unstoppable army of evil,” Shade finished. “First, he'd have the PNs he handpicked for his ceremony. Then he'd seduce preternaturals who felt wrongly suppressed into joining his ranks. Of course there's no way he could get every PN on his side—most are like me, just wanting to live in harmony with humans. Still, he could assemble a formidable legion.”

“Shitfire,” Des murmured in awe. “That's gotta be it. But how is Dakota going to pull that off?”

Jameson and Shade looked at each other and then, like a mismatched mirror reflection, both shrugged their cluelessness.

“We know the when, the where, and most likely even the why,” I said, slapping my hand on the desk. “But what's the how?”

“Doesn't matter,” Jameson said with a shake of his head. “I'll just go to the church tonight and stop whatever it is.”

Des snorted. “You and what cavalry? You're one teeny tiny widdle fallen angel with super hearing up against a totally BAMF pack of magical preternaturals. They'll make you their bitch if they don't sacrifice you.”

“Des!” I snapped. Sure, that was totally true, but would it hurt her to show a little sensitivity? Placing my hand on Jameson's shoulder, I turned him to face me. “She's rude but right. You can't go in there blindly. We have to figure out the last piece of the puzzle first.”

“And if we don't?” Jameson asked, his face stony. “You have to know I'll do something before doing nothing.”

“No need. We'll figure it out,” I said firmly.

“What can I do to help?” Shade asked.

“Pray,” I said, and then realized I'd been thoughtless. “It's not that I don't want you to be free. I—”

“You don't need to explain,” Shade said with an understanding smile. “I don't want my freedom at the expense of the human race. I'm human, too.”

“With a little added oomph,” Des added with a grin.

“That's right. And I will pray for you and try to use my ‘oomph' to protect you as best I can.” Then she excused herself and went to check on Missy for me.

“When, where, why,” Jameson muttered. “But how?
How
?”

“Maybe he's got a powerful witch brewing up a spell,” Des suggested.