In A Witch's Wardrobe Page 22

  But I knew only too well that seeing didn’t work that way. It was far more subtle than that.

  I glanced at the clock again. Another two minutes had passed. This was ridiculous.

  I wiped at the table. It was a little bit sticky, no doubt from some concoction of Oscar’s. Besides, there was a piece of popcorn under the couch.

  I couldn’t possibly concentrate with the place all grotty like this. I got up, grabbed the vacuum. Then dusted. I remembered my mama saying to always dust after vacuuming, since the machine kicks up more dirt.

  Then I noticed the overhead lamp hadn’t been dusted in who knows how long. Probably since I moved in. I dragged a kitchen chair over and stood on tiptoe to reach the top of the fixture.

  “Watcha doin’?” Oscar asked.

  I jumped at the sound. Teetered for a moment, but regained my balance.

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Catnap. Heh! Like I’m a cat. Get it?”

  I wasn’t sure that I did, but I smiled.

  “Anyhoo, couldn’t sleep with all this racket.”

  That was a lie. Oscar could sleep through a nuclear explosion. I finished cleaning the lamp and stepped down onto solid ground.

  “I thought you were scrying. You said that’s why you couldn’t watch The Terminator with me.”

  “I am scrying. I was scrying. I was trying to scry,” I clarified. “But then I couldn’t stand how icky it was in here. You have to start cleaning up after yourself, Oscar. I’m not your maid.”

  “Yes, mistress.” He went into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. Munching, he came back into the front room, trailing crumbs, and spoke with his mouth full. “Can we watch The Terminator now?”

  “I have work to do. But you can go in my room and watch if you want. And get yourself a plate; you’re dropping crumbs.”

  Sandwich still clutched in one hand, he made a big production about wheeling the TV into my bedroom. The cart squeaked, only partially masking his grumbled comments. It was an old TV, good for nothing but watching DVDs. I refused to pay for cable.

  I sat back down and resumed gazing into my crystal ball. And failed, once again. And now the sounds of explosions and screaming from the other room were making concentration impossible.

  This was ridiculous. Who was I fooling? Since when did Lily Ivory do the sensible thing? Besides, I’m a powerful witch. What could possibly harm me in Sibley Park, really? Though I couldn’t exactly zap anyone, if I took an extra amulet for protection and kept my senses on high alert, I should be all right. Still… I considered asking Bronwyn to come with me. Though I wasn’t afraid of the dark—my gifts included increased ability to see at night, and I had no fear of the woodscreatures—it still wasn’t smart to go snooping around alone. I was mortal, after all, as Sailor would happily tell me.

  Sailor… My mind wandered to the recalcitrant psychic. He was such an enigma. He seemed to despise me on the one hand, but then he would come through for me at the oddest moments. I thought of how he shielded me down in the bowels of the Paramount. He seemed to do it without thought, no doubt as a holdover from the lessons of childhood, when his mama taught him to be a gentleman. Long before he had turned into the cynical fellow he had become. I bet he was a darling child, with dark mischievous eyes and—

  Good Lord in heaven, Lily, you start thinking about the man with tenderness in your heart and you’re doomed. After all, I hadn’t heard from him since I got him tossed in the hoosegow.

  Was there anyone to take with me to Sibley? Bronwyn would be game, but I worried about her ability to take care of herself. There were many Wiccans with true magical abilities, but she wasn’t among them. What I’d really like was to have someone powerful with me. After our little outing to the Paramount and my own recent traitorous tender thoughts toward him, Sailor wasn’t the best bet. Aidan would be ideal, of course, but given his limited abilities outside of his sanctuary, I doubted he’d come if I asked him. Too bad I had already dropped Herve off at his place. He had mentioned he was going to turn in early.

  I was wasting time.

  “Oscar, want to come on a little trip?”

  He jumped up, doglike, bat ears standing up and quivering. “Where we going, mistress?”

  “Sibley Park.”

  His green eyes widened. “To the labyrinths? Are you going to do a ritual?”

  “You know about the labyrinths?”

  He rolled his eyes. “That’s a good place for rituals. Your kind like it.”

  “My kind… as in witches?”

  He nodded as he packed cookies into a bandanna and wrapped it up like a little package. “Snacks,” he explained. “In case we miss dinner.”

  Oscar had just polished off a sandwich, but if there was one thing the little guy didn’t care for, it was hunger.

  The trip across the Bay Bridge toward Oakland was uneventful; the bay was placid and blue-green, dotted with ships and sailboats headed toward harbor; the late-afternoon casting the Oakland hills in an orangey light, sun glinting off the windows of the houses studding the slopes. Following the directions I had downloaded off the Internet, I made my way to the impossibly twisty Skyline Boulevard, and finally to the entrance to Sibley Regional Park.

  There were half a dozen cars in the small parking lot; several hikers were packing up to leave. Officially the park closed at dusk, but though there was a small house for a forest ranger, no one appeared to be guarding the entrances or the parking lot. Oscar and I got out—he in his potbellied pig guise, and me carrying his cookies in my woven Pilipino backpack along with jars of herbs and a paket kongo, a special kind of Congolese medicine bag. I stroked the medicine bundle that hung from my waist, the braided belt made of silk in the colors of red, yellow, orange, and blue.

  Sibley was an off-leash park for dogs; I hoped the same might apply to pigs. Oscar was downright insulted by the notion that he should wear a leash.

  As we started to walk, I found myself thinking of the faery circle I had seen at Calypso’s place. The creatures of the wood—faeries, brownies, goblins, and imps among others—were traditionally aligned with witches. In fact, we were among the few humans that they were willing to deal with at all. Given their histories of exploitation and violence, it was no wonder that they kept to themselves, content to have their stories fade into the collective memory as fables rather than reality. That way they were left alone, by and large.

  But I had left Texas, and my witchcraft training, before Graciela helped me to establish a relationship with the woodspeople. We had no explicit pact, so they were wary of me. And since I wasn’t entirely trusted, I couldn’t speak to them directly. It was a faery thing. The custom reminded me of the Jane Austen novel I was reading about aristocratic society in the old days, when one wasn’t supposed to speak with new people until making their acquaintance formally, through a third party.

  “Hey, Oscar, would you be willing to introduce me to the woodscreatures?”

  “What?”

  “The woodspeople. I need a formal introduction.”

  He let loose with a loud cackle, as though I’d made a joke. He shook his head, muttering “woodspeople” under his breath and chuckling as he hiked on ahead. I made a mental note to address this issue another time.

  In some spots the ground was rocky and steep. Sibley looked unlike the other nearby forests, certainly distinct from the woods I’d seen in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park and Presidio. Here there was a lot of low brush and rugged rock formations and grass that reminded me more of the Scottish Highlands than the lush redwood forests I was coming to associate with this area of California.

  I consulted the map I had picked up in the parking lot. Apparently, we were trodding upon an ancient volcano.

  No wonder the vibrations were so strong here; no wonder someone felt compelled to build labyrinths. Forced up through the crust of the earth by the stunning forces of nature, stones were full of history and magic. They were primordial, primeval. Here the stones lay not
far below the dirt, preventing tall trees from taking root and thriving.

  “How much longer?” Oscar whined. “I thought this would be fun.”

  “Enjoy the beautiful nature surrounding you.”

  “I’m bo-o-ored. Hey! I know! Let’s go to the mall.”

  “We are not going to the mall. Lord, what an idea.” I thought it moot to point out that a pet pig, much less Oscar in his current form, would not be welcome in the average American mall.

  We walked a bit farther, Oscar kicking at the small rocks. No one was around so he felt safe in his half-goblin, half-gargoyle guise. He picked up some pea-sized pebbles and pitched them toward a stunted, twisted pine, which stubbornly insisted on eking out a living in the scant soil above hard volcanic rock.

  “You like malls?” I asked. I had never thought of Oscar as a shopper, but then I’d never really thought about what Oscar might do for fun, if he weren’t hanging around me.

  “I hear tell they got food courts.”

  Oscar often mimicked my Texas accent and phrasing, on purpose or not I wasn’t sure.

  “Why, yes, I do believe they have food courts,” I said, taking the cue and pulling the package of cookies out of my backpack. “Have you ever even been in a mall?”

  He shook his head, jamming half a cookie in his wide mouth.

  “They’re full of cowans,” I teased, dropping my voice dramatically. The sun was nearly gone, filling the strangely stunted landscape with an ethereal red-tinged light. I pulled the flashlight out of my pack, just in case.

  “Whole place is full of cowans.” He shook his head. “I ’member back when the hills were full of brownies and dwarves, halflings and unicorns.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Not polite to ask.”

  “You’re my familiar, Oscar. We don’t keep such secrets.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-one, almost thirty-two.”

  “How come you’re scared of Aidan?”

  “I’m not ‘scared’ of Aidan.” Okay, maybe a little discretion between mistress and familiar wasn’t the worst thing in the world. “I’m—”

  “Sssh,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “Hear that?”

  I paused beside him. Once our feet weren’t kicking up stones, the night sounds surrounded us. Crickets chirped. Something skittered in the underbrush. There was a faint vroom of an aircraft overhead. But nothing out of the ordinary.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He gaped at me. “You don’t hear that? That… thumping sound?”

  I shook my head. He rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t know how you got along without me all those years.”

  “It was no easy feat,” I said with a smile. “So tell me about this alleged thumping sound.”

  “That way.” He gestured to a small path off the main footpath.

  I consulted the map. It was the direction we were headed anyway, the old quarry that held the labyrinths.

  At long last we approached a ledge that overlooked a great teardrop-shaped bowl of a canyon. In the fading light I could make out two huge labyrinths, the lines marked with large stones. In between the labyrinths was a group of men forming a circle around a huge fire. They sat on the ground with their legs crossed, most of them shirtless, all of them drumming.

  It was hard to tell from this distance, but I could make out bongos, men hitting pots with sticks, and various other drums.

  “Hear it now?” Oscar whispered.

  I nodded. “What’s it all about?”

  Oscar looked at me as though I’d either lost my mind or didn’t know where it was in the first place. It was disconcerting to be looked at thusly by such an odd little critter.

  “You don’t know about drumming?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far… . I mean, I know it can be powerful and useful… .” Drumming was the most elemental form of music, the mimicry of our own heartbeats. How long had we been human before the first person picked up a stick and started hitting a rock in a rhythmic beat, signifying life?

  “They use it to gather power.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The male supporters of the Feri group. The Unspoken coven.”

  “You know about the Unspoken coven?”

  “Sure I do.”

  I’ve been running around town asking questions, and here my own familiar knew about this group. That’ll teach me to ignore the guy.

  “Could you tell me about them?”

  “Not here, I can’t. Sound travels in places like this. I think we should go back to the car.”

  “I want to get closer. I want to see what it’s all about.” More precisely, I wanted to feel what kind of magic they were working up down there.

  “Mistress…” Oscar whined, wringing his large hands.

  “You stay here, behind that shrub. You’ve got your talisman? You’ll be fine.” He rubbed the new talisman I had carved for him during the last full moon.

  I stroked my own medicine bag for good measure.

  A road led down to the bottom of the canyon, but there was little shelter. The steep, rocky sides of the quarry, however, weren’t an option. Anyway, in the dim light of the moon, with the men absorbed in what they were doing, I doubted they’d notice one lone figure coming down the path. And even if they did… ? They were men like Jonathan getting together and drumming, for solidarity and perhaps for the strength of their sister coven. Nothing to be scared of.

  Nonetheless, I scrounged around until I found a large, tumbleweedlike bush. I took a hunting knife out of my knapsack and cut its sinewy stem, then held it at my side, between me and the men. If one of them looked my way, I imagined they’d see what looked like a large tumbleweed rolling down the path, rather than a lone witch. Or so I hoped.

  As I descended the path and came closer to them, I noticed how the flickering light from the fire fell upon their bare chests, ranging in hue from pale white to dark brown, all painted golden by the firelight. Many had tattoos, and most were young and fit enough that I could imagine coming across the scene generations ago, during summer solstice in Scotland, or on Easter Island, or any other place where people have gathered together to worship over the course of human history. It was strikingly male, and beautiful in its own way. I had been prepared for a coven of women, was at least somewhat familiar with that kind of feminine energy. But such a masculine assembly was still an enigma to me.

  I drew to a halt when I reached the canyon floor and continued to crouch behind my shrub, listening and feeling. The men’s drumming energy swelled, wrapping around me. I opened myself up to its sensations. There was no evil here. Power, yes, but it was the communal, caring power of a group coming together for good.

  Rex arose and said something unintelligible. Then he placed a little white sailor hat upon the fire. I remembered seeing the hat in the picture of Tarra. Rex lifted his face to the skies and cried out, the sound sending a chill through me. It was full of raw anguish.

  “Lily.”

  I jumped. The voice sounded right behind me.

  Wolfgang.

  Chapter 21

  “What are you doing here?”

  Large and imposing, he stood above me. It was full night now, and Wolfgang loomed dark against the moonlit sky. Now I could feel his power. Strong vibrations emanated off of him.

  I stroked my medicine bag and glanced around to assess my chances of escape. He was taller than me by several inches and no doubt stronger physically. But for all the power I felt coming from him, I sensed I was more in control of my abilities. And if all else failed, I had a surprisingly strong and brave familiar somewhere nearby, who had intervened on my behalf more than once before.

  “Hello,” I said. It was all I could think of in the moment.

  “What are you doing here? This is a men’s event.”

  “I wasn’t trying to join you. I… I was just checking out the labyrinths and heard the drums.”

  As though looking for accomp
lices, his eyes searched the perimeter, clearly not believing me. “Okay… so, what’s with the tumbleweed camouflage?”

  I felt my cheeks burn and hoped it was too dark for him to notice. “I… um… I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t mean to disturb you. You’re saying farewell to Tarra?”

  Even in the soft moonlight I could see the shine of tears gather in his eyes.

  He nodded and cleared his throat, then squeezed his eyes shut. Hands on his hips, he was a man trying to get himself together.

  Suddenly he opened his eyes and met my gaze.

  “I loved her.”

  “I know.”

  He watched me for a long moment, then nodded and held his hand up as though in a signal to his group, which was still drumming.

  “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

  “There’s no need…”

  “We went through this before, remember? I’ll walk you back.”

  Oscar joined us as we reached the rim of the gulch.

  “You brought your pig?”

  “He sort of goes everywhere with me. Thinks he’s a dog.”

  Oscar glared at me. He hated being compared to canines, despite my repeated assurances it was a compliment.

  Wolfgang and I walked in silence, but when I glanced over at him I could see tears streaming down his face.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, wishing there were more to say.

  “Tarra wasn’t afraid of death. Used to speak to me about passing on to the next dimension; she was excited to see what was next for us. I just… I never imagined it would come upon her so soon. Come upon us.”

  “Is Rex a friend of yours?”

  “He’s a brother,” he said, then stopped himself before adding: “I think… well, I’d say he’s a circle brother more than a friend.”

  “And he… never threatened you, anything like that?”

  “No, he understands that monogamy doesn’t work in today’s society, that it’s an unnatural patriarchal tradition forced upon us.”