Secondhand Spirits (13 page)

“What must you think of me?” A tiny frown of puzzlement developed on his otherwise perfect brow. “You're suspicious of me because I'm a man, am I right?”

“It has occurred to me.”

“Come now, Lily. I would think you, of all people, would rise above simple prejudice.”

“I have nothing against men being witches, per se.” Too nervous to sit, I stood and started inspecting the items on the shelves. I lifted something that looked like a monkey's paw, then caressed the crystal ball, all the while feeling for vibrations. They felt surprisingly warm and positive. On the other hand, a powerful witch can hide his surface vibrations easily enough with a sweetness charm. We, none of us, like to expose ourselves to strangers. Unsettled by the thought, I looked up to see Aidan's blue eyes, patient and searching, watching me.

It was clear to me that Aidan was no average witch; his power was palpable. And the fact that he discovered I was in town, and sought me out, made me think that he had an agenda.

“Am I right in presuming that you fancy yourself in charge of things around here?”

Aidan smiled and inclined his head just a tad.

“Don't you find it odd that with ninety-nine percent of witches being female, a man gets involved and appoints himself head of the whole shebang?” I asked.

“You know what they say: Nature abhors a vacuum.”

“In my ideal things are a little less hierarchical.”

“What about the pantheon of demons?”

“We're not talking demons, are we?” I put down the bejeweled pounded-copper chalice I was studying and returned to my seat. “I thought you were a witch. A
human
witch.”

He grinned and nodded. “That's me. A mere mortal, just like you.”

That wasn't very comforting.

“Have you ever heard of a woman named Frances Potts?”

“Doesn't ring a bell.”

“Do you know any conjurers who might have intended her harm? She was killed last night in her house in Hunters Point. The police said something about finding a pentagram at the scene.”

“Was the victim within the symbol at the time?”

“I assume so.”

“What were the other signs? Herbs? Salts? Animal remains?”

“I don't actually know.”

“I'm afraid I can't be much help without details.”

I should have thought this through before coming. How could I get the information I needed without disclosing that I had cast a protective spell that did not succeed in saving poor Frances? If Aidan Rhodes, male witch, knew my magic had failed . . . Well, let's just say I shared one characteristic with the rest of the world: I was on my guard around witches.

Time to change the subject. “Speaking of demons, what do you know about
La Llorona
being nearby?”

His face shifted just the tiniest amount. I doubt most people would have noticed. His blue eyes widened a tad, the more innocent to appear.

“
La
who?”

“I thought you sort of ran things around here, or wish you did. You mean to tell me
La Llorona
is running around unsanctioned?”

“I don't know where you got the impression that I'm in charge of every two-bit demon in town.” He allowed a tinge of annoyance into his voice. “How's Oscar working out for you?”

“He's fine. So you know nothing about
La Llorona
's being in town?”

He gave a noncommittal shrug.

“She may be the one responsible for Frances's death.”

“I doubt that.”

“Why?”

“You said the victim was found within a pentagram?
La Llorona
wouldn't cross the circle, much less leave the victim there. Besides, she doesn't enter houses. . . . As far as I know, she
can't
enter buildings.”

Well, duh. La Llorona
left her adult victims on the shore of the water as warnings, and took the children down into the depths with her.

Aidan pulled a fat green gilt-edged book from a high shelf and placed in on the desk in front of me, tapping it.

“You need to bone up on your demonology.”

“True,” I said as I looked at the title:
Demons from A to Zed.
“Could I borrow this? I don't have much of a library, since I've been moving around so much.”

“Be my guest.”

“A child went missing right after Frances and I heard
La Llorona
's cry. It seems a strange coincidence, Frances dying right on the heels of a child disappearing.” I thought for a moment. “Presuming
La Llorona
grabbed the child, is there any way to get her back?”

He blew out a breath and shook his head. “That's a tough one. Even if you got her back she might be . . . different. Altered.”

I nodded. “I was afraid of that. I guess time is of the essence.”

“The only way I know of is to trade souls.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. A soul for a soul.”

“That's the only way?”

“So far as I know. Would you like me to make some inquiries?”

“What will it cost me?”

“For you, not a penny.”

“Uh-huh.” I looked into the depths of his blue eyes. “I'd rather not be in your debt.”

He smiled. It was a slow, sexy smile, making me tingle down somewhere deep. I knew the pull was probably due to his magic, that he looked at everyone—make that every
woman
—this way. But it reminded me, with sudden clarity, of how long it had been since I had had a man in my life. Unless you counted Oscar. Speaking of whom . . .

“How did you know I call him Oscar?”

“Mmm?” Aidan murmured as he stood and moved over to the sideboard, where he poured two glasses of wine. “
I
know what you could do for me. Are you familiar with the properties of mandrake?”

“Yes, I am. But to stay on subject for just a moment: I didn't tell you I named my new familiar Oscar,” I said. “How did you know?”

“Witch's intuition.”

“Is he reporting to you?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” He handed me a glass of wine and hitched one hip on the desk, very close to where I was sitting. His energy was palpable as he looked down at me. “Is it true the mandrake root screams when you take it out of the ground?”

I nodded. “You have to approach it properly, obtain its permission. Then it's usually pretty docile.”

“I have need of a mandragora. I don't suppose you could help me out?”

“A mandragora . . . as in a household imp?” A mandragora is a kind of familiar elf, made from the root of a mandrake plant. Though poisonous, the plant is associated with love, sex, and fertility. The mandragora is often kept in a closet or cupboard at home and helps in wish fulfillment and future-telling.

He nodded.

“Why would you need a mandragora?”

Aidan shrugged and smiled. “Just lonely, I guess.”

“Can't you make your own?”

“I'm not particularly gifted with brews and herbs. My skills lie . . . elsewhere.” He fixed me with a provocative gaze. “That's one reason I'm so sure our magical talents would cleave. We complement each other.”

I had to smile. “Sounds like a pickup line at a coven meeting.”

When he laughed he threw his head back slightly, and his blue eyes sparkled. “You're a powerful woman, Lily. We haven't had anyone of your abilities around here for years.”

“What do you know of me and my abilities?”

“I told you, I knew your father. It's clear you take after his side of the family. You and I, we understand each other.”

I took a sip of the wine—a full-bodied red, of course. Its robust flavors curled around my tongue, warming me from the inside. I could feel myself melting toward Aidan just a tad. There was something enticing about the idea of not having to hide my abilities, of being around someone who knew exactly who—and what—I was. Most of the men I've known in my life have been afraid of me. Most of the women, too, for that matter.

“Have dinner with me. We have a lot to talk about,” he said, taking my hand in his. Sparks flew as we touched.

My eyes met his, and I could feel the seductive tug of his magic. I pulled away, managing to spill a little wine down the front of my dress. Aidan yanked out a monogrammed handkerchief and started to dab at the stain. My hormones shifted into overdrive.

“Thanks,” I said, pushing the chair away and grabbing the hankie from his hand to dab at the wine myself. “But I'd really like to stay out of politics. I'm a solo act.”

He watched me for a long moment, eyes assessing me, up and down, before nodding and inclining his head.

“I'll make some inquiries on your behalf. And please don't forget about my mandragora.”

“Thank you,” I said as I stood, wondering if I should shake his hand. The traitorous appendage tingled just thinking about it. Best to keep the physical contact to a minimum. I placed his stained hankie on the desk, turned toward the door, and let myself out.

Out in the corridor, I hurried by the figures of European explorers and passed the Chamber of Horrors, slowing my pace as I noticed a pair of tourists standing near the entrance to the exhibit. They were frozen in midstep, unmoving, just as still as the wax figures surrounding us.

A frisson ran up my back. Looking behind me, I thought it seemed like Elvira had moved toward me ever so slightly, lifting her slender arms. I took another step and looked back. . . . The arms were reaching out toward me. . . .

My heart pounded. The power was tangible, running up and down my spine like an army of ants. I
hated
poppets. I looked back to see Aidan standing in his doorway, his bright blue eyes holding mine, a grin splitting his handsome face.

“Very funny,” I said.

He laughed. “Come back anytime, Lily. For you, my door is always open.”

 

Trade a soul. A soul for a soul.

Aidan's parting antics aside, I couldn't stop thinking about what he had told me about getting Jessica back from the demon.

The thought made me shiver. Even before he said it, I had known that would be the answer, could hear Graciela's voice in my head as clear as though she were sitting next to me in the passenger seat of my classic Mustang, big floral scarf covering the braided bun of her long gray hair and tied in a tight knot under her stubborn chin.
“Es la única manera, m'hija.” The only way.

But making that kind of decision—holding the balance of souls in one's hands—was beyond anything I could imagine.

As I stopped and started in the thick traffic that strangled the Fisherman's Wharf tourist area, I studied the people around me. Were any of them worthy of such a fate? I watched a drunken man staggering down the sidewalk with a huge tear in the seat of his pants; surely he was already mostly gone, his essence in the hands of oblivion. Or perhaps I could find an evil stock trader who was happy to drive elderly women into poverty for the sake of his own luxurious comfort. Or some despicable criminal—like the person responsible for killing Frances, for instance, or a child abuser—wouldn't that be justice? Could I rationalize forfeiting the soul of such a person to save that of a child?

No
. Not even for the sake of a beautiful young girl with a huge, winning smile.

One of the fundamental principles my grandmother had hammered into me, from the very beginning, was to be wary of the “God syndrome.” As the receptacle of truly astonishing abilities, a natural witch could start imagining herself to be in charge of things. But that path, sometimes called the left-hand or dark way, led to the corruption of one's powers and to evil deeds. Down that path lay spiritual and ethical ruin.

And on top of everything else, I wasn't even one hundred percent positive that
La Llorona
had snatched Jessica. There was still a possibility that it was mere coincidence. How could I find out? Would I hear back from Aidan? How would
he
find out? I really needed a sit-down with the old gal, but now that
La Llorona
knew I was here, she wouldn't come near me. It had been stupid to try to reach out to her when I was too psychically spent to hold her. A serious tactical error.

I had always been impulsive and overly confident in my own abilities, and now I feared Jessica was the one paying the price.

The fading evening light took on a pinky violet cast as I looked out beyond the Bay Bridge that led to Oakland and Berkeley. Rush-hour traffic was heavy as thousands of workers spilled out of San Francisco's financial district and flocked to their far-flung homes in places called Hercules, Pleasanton, and Livermore. I still didn't know the Bay Area well and looked forward to discovering the surrounding towns and wild spaces, especially the famed redwood groves and rugged northern California coast. I had hoped to make the Bay Area my home and stay here for years, not mere months, giving myself time to really settle in and explore.

But now I felt that familiar restlessness in the pit of my stomach, urging me to just cut and run. That was what I had always done before when things looked dangerous.

But if I ran away this time, would I ever stop?

You're staying, Lily; that's final
, I told myself. San Francisco was my home now, and selling vintage clothes my calling. It might seem silly, but I felt as if I were making a contribution by working with my antique inventory, tending the store, adding to the crazy, one-of-a-kind Haight-Ashbury community. And I loved it. For the first time, I felt as if I were becoming accepted for who I was, rather than reviled for my special abilities.