Spellcasting in Silk: A Witchcraft Mystery (21 page)

“You’re
hexing
Patience?” Selena gasped as she joined us in the kitchen. “No way! I’m gonna tell.”

“No, of
course
I’m not hexing anyone. I would never do such a thing. I never . . . um,
almost
never, hex.”

Selena and Oscar stood on either side of the table, watching me, wide-eyed. I let out an exasperated breath.

“If you
must
know,” I said as I gathered three garlic cloves, a hunk of burdock root, and basil leaves that I had soaked in water and left in the light of the last full moon, “I’m making a vexation box.”

“What’s that?”

“It helps a person cope with something—or someone—that’s annoying her no end.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Oscar whispered, “You’re going to
kill
Patience?”

Selena gasped.

“Really, Oscar? After all this time you think I’d use my powers to kill someone?”

He shrugged one scaly shoulder. “If she was going after Sailor.”

Selena snorted.

“I would not
kill
someone for going after Sailor,” I said as I brought the ingredients over to the box, where the smudge bundle had stopped smoking. “Tear her hair out, maybe,” I added, muttering. “Wipe that smug smile off her face . . .”

Oscar snickered.

I removed the sage bundle, and placed the garlic cloves, burdock root, and five basil leaves in the box.

“Cedar is a protective wood,” I explained to my rapt audience. “Sage purifies, and basil is also protective—especially when it has been infused with the light from a full moon. Burdock root helps to expel negative ideas. And garlic is protective and repels bad thoughts.”

“So you’re trying to protect Patience?”

“Not hardly. It’s a vexation box. This woman”—I held up her smiling picture and concentrated on it—“is vexing me greatly.”

I placed the photo in the box, under the garlic, and shut the lid. I picked up the box and gave it a couple of hard shakes, noting with satisfaction the burdock root and garlic knocking against the sides.

Then I started to yell.

Oscar ran away to hide in his cubby over the fridge, and Selena scooted over to the living room couch and pretended to read one of Oscar’s Agatha Christie novels.

I yelled a little more, shook the box a few more times, and started feeling better. Finally I placed it back on the high shelf.

“Who wants hot chocolate?” I asked.

Oscar stuck his snout out from under his blankets. I could see one glass-green eye peeking out.

“Is it safe?” Selena called from the living room.

“Much safer now, I’ll tell you that much. A vexation
box captures anger and annoyance. That way I don’t lose my temper.”

“I’ll bet that would be bad,” said Selena as she came into the kitchen.

“You should
see
it!” said Oscar with a loud cackle. “Things flying every which way—or every
witch
way, get it? Like a poltergeist! It’s
awesome
! Mistress, could I have double marshmallows in my hot chocolate?”

*   *   *

Later that evening I brushed Selena’s long hair while she played with a ball of red wax. With every stroke, I remembered the comforting feelings from childhood, when Graciela would sit behind me and do the same, working through tangles with patience and tenderness. A simple, intimate act repeated endlessly through the generations.

Though her hands worked ceaselessly with the wax, her energy felt calm, tranquil. Maybe time for another attempt at getting information from my closemouthed ward.

“Selena? What did you do at Betty’s?”

She shrugged.

“I mean magic. What sort of
magic
did you do at Betty’s?”

“Not much. Lupita said I shouldn’t dissipate my powers.”

There was a lot of that advice going around.

“So what
did
you do?”

“Mostly polished the silver. I like to make things shiny.”

The first time I had seen Selena at Betty’s house, cleaning the silver, she was wearing white gloves. The gloves kept fingerprints from the metal, but could Lupita have suggested the gloves for another reason entirely? I
thought about what Sailor had said at the farmers’ market, that Selena might be unaware of her strange relationship to metal. When Selena cleaned the tarnish from the silver, did she imbue the metal with some of her power?

Could the silver have been trapping her magic?

“Can you tell me anything about Lupita’s fiancé?” I asked as I started to plait her hair into two long braids.

She shrugged. “He was nice. He had a hard childhood like me ’cause he was different too. A lot of people are. I’m not a freak.”

“No, you’re not. You’re special, in a good way. So, what’s the name of this fiancé?”

She shrugged. “I . . . forget. I’m bored.”

“Selena, are you afraid to tell me who Lupita’s fiancé is? Is it someone I know?”

“I forget, that’s all. I can’t remember
everything
. I’m hungry.”

“You’re safe with me, you know. Selena, you can tell me things, even scary or hard things.”

“I know,” she said with another shrug, throwing the lump of red wax onto the kitchen table where it landed with a dull thud. “Whatever. Can I go?”

“Tell you what,” I said, giving up and looking pointedly at my familiar. “As a special treat why don’t you and Oscar choose a movie while I make us up dinner trays?”

With obvious reluctance, Oscar ambled over to the DVDs and starting thumbing through the stack. After considerable negotiating the two settled on a selection:
Speed
. Oscar was a rabid Sandra Bullock fan, and Selena announced that Keanu Reeves was “way cute.”

I made sandwiches and fruit salad, and the three of us settled down for an early dinner on the couch. A little witch family.

A half hour later a bunch of desperate people on a
bus were trying not to get blown up, and I was wishing we were watching
Charlotte’s Web
. The phone rang. I knew it was trouble before I picked up.

“Hello?”

“It’s Patience.”

Yep, I thought. Trouble. I glanced at Selena and Oscar, who were engrossed in the movie, and moved into the bedroom to speak in private. “What a lovely surprise.”

She chuckled. “Oh, yes, I’m sure.”

“How did you get this number?”

“I told you, I have my ways. Listen, Lupita Rodriguez just called me.”

“Seriously? Where is she? What did she say?”

“She said she had a message for you.”

“What is it?”

“She wouldn’t say. All she said was she already knew she was getting an inheritance, and then she said to tell you to meet her at the Sutro Baths.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Okay.” I snatched a hand-knitted wool sweater off my bed.

“
Bonne chance
. Try not to get yourself killed.”

I hesitated. Probably meeting Lupita alone wasn’t the smartest move. On the other hand, I was a witch. A powerful one. And the Sutro Baths were a public place. Nearby Ocean Beach, Seal Rock, and the famous Cliff House restaurant drew plenty of visitors. And on the other side of the Sutro Baths was a popular hiking spot named Land’s End, so there were always people milling about in the parking lot.

Still . . .

“Is Sailor with you?” I asked.

“He was, but he had a family event to go to with his aunt Renna.”

“Oh, that’s right. Okay then, want me to pick you up, or should I meet you there?”

“
Whoa
, Nellie. I never said I’d go with you.”

“We need Lupita to tell us what’s going on. You said yourself, this is important.”

“So is my beauty sleep.”

“It’s only half past six. I need backup. And besides, Sailor would never forgive you if you sent me off to get killed all by myself.”

“Better we should get killed together?”

“Much better.”

*   *   *

The remnants of a massive turn-of-the-century bathhouse and entertainment structure, the Sutro Baths were now a warren of crumbling cement foundation and walls, standing pools of water, blocked stairways and passages, and tunnels perpetually damp from the nearby Pacific Ocean. The ruins hugged a gentle slope that led down to the sea, with a view of massive Seal Rock which, as its name implied, was a favorite resting spot for dozens of barking seals and sea lions.

It was a dramatic locale. Former mayor and entrepreneur Adolph Sutro opened the huge complex in 1896. It had accommodated hundreds of people in its pools, some of which were fed by the ocean at high tide. The ferries and Cliff House Railroad were constructed to carry visitors here from the then-faraway heart of the city of San Francisco.

I had clambered around these ruins once with Max Carmichael, following a champagne brunch at the Cliff House restaurant. It seemed a lifetime ago.

I parked in the lot on the uphill side of the ruins. There was only one other couple nearby, arranging things in the trunk of the car. I scanned the horizon: the street on one side, the forest on the other, the ruins
below. No Lupita, no Patience. While I waited I gathered my things: a backpack full of brews and salts, just in case, an extra scarf, and a pair of gloves. It got cold here by the ocean.

Five minutes later, a silver Toyota Prius pulled into the lot.

“I’m impressed,” I said as Patience climbed out of her car. “Looking out for the environment?”

She gave me a scathing look. It dawned on me that Hervé also drove a Prius. Apparently it was the automobile of choice among local practitioners of magic. I glanced at my comparatively gas-guzzling Mustang. Not that I drove a lot, but still. Once again, I was out of step not only with cowans, but with the magical community.

“So, what’s the plan?” Patience raised one eyebrow, looking out over the ruins, the Pacific Ocean stretching out beyond in gray nothingness.

“Lupita didn’t say where to meet her? Nothing more specific than the Sutro Baths?”

“Nope. Told you this was a bad idea.”

“Well, we’re here now. Either we wait here, or we go looking for her.”

Patience had pulled out her smartphone and was scrolling through messages.

“Shall we?” I asked. “Or do you need time to check social media?”

“How about I wait for her here while you scope out the ruins?”

“Buddy system,” I said, handing her a flashlight. “Besides, she specified the ruins, right? Not the parking lot.”

“Why do I need a flashlight? It’s still light out.”

“Just in case. C’mon, let’s go. She’s probably waiting for us down below.”

“Just out of curiosity, do you have a plan of some sort?”

“Sure.”

“And what might that be?”

“Find Lupita and see what she says.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” Her sardonic tone reminded me of her “cousin,” Sailor.

“I didn’t say it was a
complicated
plan. Let’s go while there’s still daylight.”

Patience pressed her lips together, but took the flashlight and marched off toward the ruins. I trotted along behind, trying to keep up with her long strides.

The stones and half-toppled walls were gray and slick with moisture from the fog and ocean spray. We had barely begun climbing over the concrete half-walls when I heard an electronic tune: Patience’s phone.

I waited while she chatted, laughing and charming the person on the other end of the line. When she hung up I gave her a look.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you suppose you could refrain from using your phone for, oh, say, ten minutes?”

She rolled her eyes. Just then her foot slipped on a slick chunk of foundation and, as she fell forward, the phone flew from her hands, crashing on the rocks below.

She cried out, then glared at me. “Look what you made me do!”

“Oh, what a shame,” I said.

“Did you do that? Make me fall?”

“No, of course not. Even if I’d wanted to, I don’t have that kind of power.”

“That’s not the way I hear it,” she mumbled as she retrieved her broken phone, swore a mean streak, and slipped the device into her pocket.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Aidan says you’re going to be running things around here, eventually.”

“
Aidan
says that? Aidan Rhodes?”

She shrugged.

“What else did he say?”

“Ask him yourself, why don’t you?”

We continued slowly down the hillside. The ruins were dank, and composed of tiny roofless rooms. Here and there were signs of human visitors: candle stubs, a few dead flowers, a potato chip bag. Lots of cigarette butts, a discarded lighter. I imagined kids came here to smoke and drink and get away from their parents. But I had heard rumors of a ghost or two inhabiting these chilly ruins. Which wouldn’t be surprising; I had crawled over ancient ruins in Europe and Asia and Africa, and every single one was haunted. The Sutro Baths were young by comparison, but a century was plenty of time to have attracted resident spirits.

Ahead of me Patience climbed onto the top of a low cement wall and cast the beam of her flashlight into the hollows below.

“Lupita?” I yelled. The wind blew off the ocean, muting my words.

“Any sign of her?” Patience asked.

“No. This is ridiculous . . . she’s got to be here somewhere. She asked us to meet her.”

“She asked
you
to meet her. And since she probably wants to kill you, why would she show herself? She’ll just pop up and knife you, or something.”

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

“Well, this has certainly been a bust. Face it, she’s not here. I’m going home.”

“You can’t just ‘go home.’ This is important.”

“So is being home.”

“Afraid you’ll miss reruns of
Desperate Housewives
? Or is there a show called
Desperate Psychics
?”

“Oh, that is so very clever. Ha ha, I am laughing at the clever little wi—”

I put a hand on her arm to cut her off as a woman appeared at the top of a nearby precipice.

“Lupita?” I called out.

The woman was backlit by the setting sun, and I couldn’t make out her face.

“Are you the one who took in Selena?” she asked, yelling to be heard over the nearby surf.