A Vision in Velvet: A Witchcraft Mystery (19 page)

Now there was no doubt: I definitely heard someone behind me.

I backed blindly down the pitch-black, windowless hallway, hands in back of me trying to feel. Disoriented, I tried to remember whether the stairs were in front of me or behind.

I banged my hip and knee against the metal cart, which clattered to the floor. Grabbing it, I threw it farther down the hall as an obstacle to my pursuer, then ran.

I heard a crash and a grunt as my ploy worked. But then I ran into a doorframe. Pain lanced through my shoulder. Swearing a blue streak, I dashed around the corner and finally spotted greenish light coming out from under a door.

I ran to it and found the door unlocked. I dashed in. Lights were glowing on enough of the computers and equipment to bathe the room in a very subtle green light. There was no way to lock the door without a key, so I pushed a desk in front of it, risking alerting my pursuer to my location by the scraping noise. Then I searched the room madly for a phone. Nothing.
Dammit
. Everyone had cell phones these days. Modern technology would kill me yet.

Hearing someone at the door, I kept my eyes on it while backing up until I hit a metal enclosure, like a cage, that ran the full length of the room.

Was the cage for valuables? I wondered. Or something alive? The spaces between bars were too big for lab rats. I tried to peek in but couldn’t see any monkeys, anything like that. What could they possibly keep in here? Aliens, probably.

Stop it, Lily.
I was weirding myself out.

I had to pull myself together. I stroked my medicine bag, forced myself to breathe, and gathered my wits.

The thing about this cage, I thought, was it seemed to serve not only this room, but also the one on the other side.

Realization dawned on me just as someone grabbed my hair from behind and pulled so hard the back of my head banged against the bars of the cage.

The attacker’s arm snaked through the space in the bars and wrapped around my throat, squeezing.

Gripping the letter opener in my right hand, I reached up and jabbed at the arm that was trying to suffocate me.

I heard a grunt, but my assailant still didn’t call out or withdraw the arm. But the grip around my throat loosened a little. I yanked back again with the sharp tip. Suddenly my hair was released.

I careened through the lab, dislodging a beaker, which shattered on the floor. I hauled the desk away from in front of the door, raced into the corridor, and bowled smack-dab into Nina.

We both sprawled on the floor of the hallway.

“What’s going on? What are you doing?” Nina demanded, retrieving the flashlight she had been carrying. “Why are all the lights off?”

“I’m . . . I was . . .” Until that moment I wasn’t entirely sure Nina hadn’t been the one chasing me. Why she would, I had no idea.

The bloody letter opener lay on the floor between us.
The beam of her flashlight landed on it. Nina picked it up, questions flooding her eyes.

“What in the world’s going on, Lily? Are you all right? Isn’t this . . . mine?”

I nodded. “I took it off your desk. The lights went out, and I took it with me when I went to investigate, just to be safe. And then . . . someone started chasing me.”

“Chasing you?” Nina stood, sending her beam both ways down the hallway. “Why would someone chase you? I don’t even think anyone’s here. Everyone’s up at the party. Are you sure? Maybe you imagined it.”

I shook my head, which hurt my throat. I put my hand up to it and pressed gingerly; it felt bruised. My scalp stung where my hair had been pulled so viciously.

“It was real,” I said. “He was real.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see anything.”

The overhead lights blazed back on. We both looked down the corridor. There was nothing to see but a boring hallway.

“If you didn’t see whoever it was, could it have been a woman?”

“Maybe. A strong woman.”

“Strong. Like me?”

I nodded. “I stabbed him—or her. In the forearm.”

“Okay, this is crazy. Let’s go check with security.”

Up at the security desk, Buzz no longer looked bored. He had a phone to his ear as he fiddled with his screens and checked his computer.

Nina told him what happened.

“No kidding? There must have been some sort of serious power interruption, ’cause not only did the lights go out, but the cameras went out on that whole level at the same time. You okay?”

I nodded.

“We haven’t had a breach in the building that we know
of. The party’s just now winding down, so there have been folks all over the upper floors. And then you know how it is; scientists come in and out of here all night long. There are even some folks working on the new diorama upstairs. You sure you’re okay?”

I nodded again. “Would you be willing to walk me to my car?”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to call the police?” asked Nina.

What purpose would it serve? I hadn’t seen who it was. I suppose they could search for someone with an arm injury, but how could they prove anything? And if I was right, that this was all caught up in something supernatural, their intervention would only make everything that much more complicated.

“I’m sure. Thanks. Hey, just one question: How long have you known Lance Thornton?”

“Lance? You don’t think he’s the one who chased you, do you? Lance wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s been here forever, I think. He’s odd, I know, but he’s really great with amphibians.”

* * *

I dragged myself home, feeling defeated. More than that. The attacker had knocked me off-balance, made me doubt my ability to take care of myself, thereby stealing my peace of mind. I needed to salve myself, to rejuvenate.

I mounted the stairs to my dark, quiet apartment. No Oscar. The feeling of tears stung the back of my eyes. How I wished I could cry and release some of this pent-up emotion.

“Where the hell have you been?” came a voice in the dark.

“Sailor! Hell’s
bells
, you scared the living daylights out of me!”

He flicked on the overhead light. “Where were you? What happened?”

Sailor’s eyes lowered to my neck. He reached out, and his hand hovered over the scratches and bruises that were starting to form. He frowned.

“I could feel you were in trouble, but I couldn’t find you. I tracked you to the hospital, but lost your trail. Maya and Bronwyn told me you left the hospital when they did.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

“I was so desperate I even went to Aidan to ask for help. And you know how crazy that makes me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Where were you? Who hurt you?”

I took a shaky breath. “I don’t know who, but it’s been a heck of a night. I went back to the Cal Academy to ask someone who worked there about Lance. Nina and I were in the basement, but she went to talk to the director and the lights went out and I was alone and . . . and this happened. I stabbed him, though.”

“You killed him?”

“You really are bloodthirsty; you know that?” I tried to smile. He didn’t respond.

“If you didn’t, I’ll take care of it. Who was it?”

“It’s not as though I don’t appreciate the macho posturing, Sailor, but I don’t actually know who it was. If I did, my first call would have been to the SFPD, not to you. I’m crazy and law-abiding like that.”

“I wouldn’t exaggerate your law-abidingness if I were you.”

“In any case, I don’t know who it was. I was able to escape. . . . They had me from behind and I cut his arm—or her arm. . . .”

“You don’t even know if the attacker was male or female?”

I shook my head, then swayed on my feet.

“How could you do something so dangerous without me?”

“I didn’t really think about it that much. I guess I’m used to doing things on my own.”

“And where did it get you?”

“I’m not about to start asking your permission, Sailor.”

“It’s not about asking permission. It’s about being smart, keeping yourself safe, and most importantly, letting the man in your life know what’s going on.”

“I guess you’re right. I didn’t really stop to think. I considered calling you, but then since I was going back to the museum where they were having a party and just speaking with Nina—I never thought it would go wrong. I was just trying to . . . to figure this all out. And to find Oscar.”

There was a pause, and I felt something I hadn’t for quite some time: Sailor was trying to read my thoughts. He’d never been able to, but maybe he thought our relationship would change that. I sincerely hoped not. I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone that much in my head. Even Sailor.
Especially
Sailor.

“What’s the real reason you didn’t call me?” he asked.

I swallowed hard and confessed. “Sometimes . . . when I’m around you, it’s hard for me to be sensitive to other people’s vibrations. To sense anything much, as a matter of fact. You fill up my senses.”

“I think there’s an old song about that,” he said in a very quiet voice.

Sailor moved into the kitchen, took the bottle of tequila off the shelf, and poured us both shots. I cut open a lime; the tangy aroma wafted and hung in the already spice-laden air of the kitchen. Oscar’s continued absence combined with the comfort of my things, this space, to bring the horror of what had happened—or
almost
happened—home to me.

So I let myself collapse against Sailor’s broad chest. After a brief hesitation, he wrapped his arms around me,
cocooning me in his warmth. He stroked my hair with his rough hand, kissing the top of my head as his other arm squeezed me tight.

“Do you have any idea how it feels to know the woman I love is in danger,” he rasped, his voice rough with emotion, “but not be able to get to her?”

“I’m sorry. This whole relationship thing, learning to rely on someone else and ask for help . . . it’s new to me.”

“You think this is new for
you
? I’ve got news for you: You’re in this with the champ. We’ve both got a lot to learn.”

I nodded, my nose still pressed up against his shirt. I couldn’t get enough of his scent, his warmth, his aura.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Could we just . . .” I didn’t want to relive any of it right at the moment, or think about Oscar, or worry about Conrad. I felt overwhelmed and depleted of inner resources. Right now, there was only one thing I wanted. “I know this is boring of me . . . but could we just go to sleep?”

* * *

“My aunt Renna told me there are legends about that tree. It’s hosted death at its roots before, but she doesn’t know why,” said Sailor the next day after breakfast. “She also didn’t say much about Crowley’s murder, other than that he had a lot of enemies. She agreed to ask around, but I think my time would be better spent checking out this Lance character.”

I had told Sailor what happened while lying in the cocoon of his arms in my comfy brass bed. It seemed unreal to talk about it there, in such a safe and comforting context. We agreed I wouldn’t meet folks without backup anymore, though truth to tell, I was glad I hadn’t exposed any of my friends to danger. But I took his point.

“Lance? Good idea.” I said. “Just . . . don’t do anything violent.”

“You think I’m the type to be violent?”

I chose my words carefully. “I think that if you think Lance is the one who hurt me, who may have been trying to do worse, yes, you might be moved to violence. Just as I might be moved to some crazy witchcraft when my friends are threatened.”

Our eyes held for a long moment and he let out a long breath. “Okay, I’ll try to keep a lid on things.”

“Thank you. I’ve got a whole lot going on, and having to get you out of jail would short-circuit my already overloaded senses.”

He gave me a crooked grin. “Nah, you’d just call your buddy Carlos and have me released.”

“I think I’ve used up that marker already, getting myself out of custody.”

We shared a smile, and I saw him out of the store, then opened the shop as usual. Unfortunately, since Oscar’s disappearance, it wasn’t business as usual anymore. Instead, within an hour of opening, it had once again become Lost Piggy Central. I tried to keep a lid on my impatience; I was so grateful for everyone’s support, but it nearly drove me clear ’round the bend, knowing that none of it would do any good.

I pined desperately for Oscar, but I also longed to have normality restored, especially after the events of last night. I still wasn’t able to wrap my mind around that nightmarish chase through the basement of the Academy of Sciences.

A few hapless folks wandered into Aunt Cora’s Closet looking for clothes, but between Maya’s extended family, Bronwyn’s coven sisters, and Conrad’s gutterpunk friends—all looking for Oscar—it was a chaotic scene. There were people staffing the tables and handing out flyers, food piled on the side table, and Maya answering the incessant ringing of the phone with people calling to report mostly erroneous pig sightings.

I took advantage of a brief lull in phone calls to try the hospital and was able to speak with Conrad; he was feeling better, but had to stay another day to be sure all the poison had passed from his system and wouldn’t cause secondary effects.

“Dudette, I have to tell you . . . I had the craziest dreams while I was under the influence. They reminded me of a book. You ever read that play about what happened in Salem, Massachusetts?”

The back of my neck tingled. I just happened to have a copy of it next to my bed. “
The Crucible
, by Arthur Miller?”

“Yes! About the witch hunts, right? And it was like an allegory for McCarthyism? And then Miller was cast with suspicion himself, which was pretty ironic. But, you know, at least he got to marry Marilyn Monroe.”

Conrad never ceased to amaze me. “When did you read
The
Crucible
?”

“Back in eighth grade, I think. But now I find books all kinds of places. Usually paperback romances, but whatever. The Con reads what the Con reads. I’ve got a good mystery right now; one of my friends brought it to me so I could read in bed.”

I made a mental note to bring some books down to the shop to share with Conrad and his friends.

“So, anyway, when I was high or poisoned or whatever,” continued Conrad, “I felt like I was there, in that play. In Salem, during the witch hunts.
Dude
. Not a nice place to hang out.”

Indeed. Not a coincidence, either, I was sure.

Before signing off, a nurse came on the line and said Conrad’s many sisters and brothers and cousins had been crowding his room and urged me to ask folks to drop by only a few at a time. I promised to see what I could do, but privately I was willing to bet that all those “relatives” were kin of the fictive variety.

“Good morning, Lily,” said Bart Woolsey as he walked into the shop.

“Good morning. Are you . . . ?” I trailed off. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t made much progress in what we talked about.”

That was a bit of an understatement. I hadn’t made
any
progress. Frankly, finding the remedy for Bart’s love curse hadn’t been at the top of my to-do list. But then again, perhaps it should be. If it was truly cast by Deliverance Corydon, perhaps breaking the curse could help me figure out the rest of the puzzle.

“Oh, I understand. I know these things take time. Good morning Duke, Maya . . . Sierra.”

I followed his gaze. It didn’t take a genius to see why Bart had returned this morning: Curse or no curse, he had his eye on one of Bronwyn’s coven sisters, who called herself Sierra Sempervirens. Sierra was a plump, strong-looking woman in her midsixties, with a ready smile, warm brown eyes, and a can-do attitude. I decided Bart showed good taste.

I asked Maya to help me print the e-mail from Inspector Romero. True to his word, he had sent photos of the wood scraps that had once been a box, some of which still showed carved symbols. Plus, he had scanned in the page of Sebastian’s ledger that referred to the trunk.

I stared at the printouts for several moments, but the sad truth was that they couldn’t tell me anything more than I already knew.