Bewitched and Betrothed Read online

  “And I’m not invited.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Not this time. It’s a coven thing.” In view of what had happened to Elena, I had considered canceling tonight’s trip to Calypso’s, but what could I do in this moment that the SFPD couldn’t? Besides, the coven might be able to help in some way. “Tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow I’ve got a family gathering at Renna’s house.”

  Sailor—and his cousin Patience—were members of a large, extended Rom family with some extraordinary psychic abilities. Aidan had made it clear that we needed Sailor’s Rom on our side in the upcoming supernatural battle that loomed over San Francisco. Unfortunately, most of the family members I’d met so far weren’t exactly wild about me. Still, they were essential, if somewhat prickly, allies.

  “I can’t skip it,” continued Sailor. “Not with things ratcheting up the way they have been. Aidan tells me the cupcake lady has been garnering allies.”

  “I wasn’t certain Renee was still a factor. Last time I saw her she was a little worse for wear.” Not long ago, Renee-the-cupcake-lady had cast a befuddling spell over me through a tasty meat pie, but wound up with a concussion at the hand of her own minion. I tried not to take pleasure in anyone’s misfortune, but couldn’t help relishing the memory of Renee’s humiliation. Especially since she had threatened my protégée, Selena.

  “According to Aidan she’s back, with a vengeance,” Sailor said. “And more careful about the people working for her, I would imagine.”

  “So, when do you think we could talk about . . . things?” I felt a fluttery sensation of not-quite-panic at the base of my throat. Aidan’s warning that Sailor and I hardly knew each other clawed at me. Even though the handfasting might not be legal—Bronwyn was still waiting for her certification to be able to officially marry us—in many ways being bound together in front of my family and friends would feel more permanent and serious than any piece of paper from city hall.

  A muscle worked in Sailor’s jaw as anger settled over his features. “Why don’t you just come out and ask me what you’re worried about?”

  “Children,” I blurted out.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “How do you feel about children?”

  “I . . . like them. Some of them, anyway. Others, not so much. I’m not wild about sticky hands.”

  “No, I mean—do you want to have children? With me, I mean.”

  “As opposed to having children with someone else?”

  “Sailor, I’m serious.”

  One corner of his mouth hitched up, then the smile spread. “That’s what’s bothering you? Lily, you’re going to drive me to an early grave. Here I thought you were going to tell me that you had gotten cold feet and wanted to call the whole thing off.” He shook his head and let out a relieved sigh. “That’s it, I’m reconsidering my promise not to read your mind. Otherwise, my heart might not make it.”

  “You better not,” I said, returning his smile and tapping my temple. “Right here’s a no-go zone.”

  He glanced at his watch. “So sorry, princess, but I really do have to run. Look. We’ll talk about this later, I promise.”

  “No—I need an answer now, Sailor. It’s important to me.”

  Sailor paused, and his voice was gruff. “Why on earth would you think I wouldn’t want to have children with you? Just the idea of a baby Lily knocks my socks off.”

  “Or a baby Sailor.”

  “Lord help us both.”

  I smiled.

  He kissed me. “We’ll find time to discuss this more, Lily, I promise.”

  “Soon?”

  “Soon.”

  We shared a smile, and I watched as he walked away.

  Chapter 7

  I cast a friendly greeting over my shoulder as I sailed past the wax museum ticket booth. The young, heavily made-up woman within, Clarinda, looked up from her dog-eared paperback only long enough to scowl at me and shout that I needed to buy a ticket. I ignored her. I was there to see Aidan, not view the exhibits.

  Clarinda didn’t care about such niceties. Besides, she didn’t like me.

  Neither did Noctemus, Aidan’s familiar. The beautiful long-haired white cat was perched on a ledge over his office door, and hissed the moment she saw me.

  “Always good to see you, too, Noctemus,” I said. “Is your master in?”

  “Now you’re talking to cats?” The sardonic voice of Patience Blix, Sailor’s cousin, came from behind me.

  “She started it,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound defensive.

  Though we had become sort-of friends and colleagues recently while working together to prove Sailor had not committed a murder, I still felt awkward when faced with Patience’s overt beauty and brash confidence. She made a living as a psychic and dressed like a sexy Halloween version of a Rom seer, with a long gauzy skirt that fell to her slim ankles, ringed with little gold bells that tinkled as she walked; a peasant blouse pulled down to reveal her broad, smooth shoulders; plenty of gold-coin necklaces; and bangles on her slim arms. Abundant black hair cascading down her back like Snow White’s didn’t help my confidence, either.

  I glanced down at my outfit: a wide-skirted sundress from the early ’60s topped by a turquoise cardigan, and tangerine-colored Keds. The Keds had become my footwear of choice to match with any vintage outfit. One never knew when running from a demon or murderer might be required.

  I was content with my own style, but still. Patience was . . . well, she was Patience.

  “Aidan had to leave,” Patience said. At my lack of response, she added: “I presume you’re here to see him? Not a fan of the Chamber of Horrors, I’m guessing.”

  “Not exactly, no.” The wax museum made me nervous, all those life-sized poppets standing around, as if waiting to spring to life at the hand of a powerful practitioner. But as uncomfortable as the sports and historical figures made me, the Chamber of Horrors crew was something else entirely. I shivered, then imagined what it would be like to be a simple tourist who didn’t associate such things with reality. “You?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve got enough horror in my life. What did you want to talk to Aidan about?”

  I almost snapped “none of your business” before realizing Patience could help.

  “A friend—Carlos Romero’s cousin—was kidnapped today. Snatched off the street in front of my store, by a couple of guys in a white van. The van was found abandoned down by the Alcatraz landing pier, but no sign of Elena.”

  A slight frown marred Patience’s otherwise smooth brow. “That sounds traumatic.”

  “It was, actually. Thanks.”

  “I meant for your friend, princess, not you.”

  “Why does everyone call me ‘princess’ lately?” I asked.

  She gave me an ironic half smile. “You might want to ponder that.”

  “Anyway, I was hoping to ask if you could read for me. Maybe you could see something that would help.”

  She leaned against the doorframe and Noctemus, purring loudly, jumped into her arms. Apparently the feline didn’t hold Patience in the same disdain as she did little old me.

  “Last time you asked me to read for you, it didn’t go well,” Patience said dryly. “You still owe me a mirror, by the way.”

  “Things have changed,” I said, hoping I was telling the truth. The last time Patience tried I hadn’t been very cooperative, and my uncontrolled energy had made a bit of a mess of things. Since that encounter I had been training with Aidan, and studying on my own, and had a much tighter rein on my magical abilities. Or so I hoped.

  Patience arched one brow. “Is that right? Well, in that case I’m game if you are. Is this woman a good friend of yours? If not, I’ll need something of hers to try to get a reading. I can’t just conjure a connection out of thin air.”

  “Sailor has a binding
braid that she touched. Would that work?”

  “I doubt it. Something personal would be better—a sweater or a piece of jewelry, something she’s worn recently.”

  “I’ll ask Carlos to find something of hers for you to read from.”

  She nodded. “Do that, and I’ll try. But I need a favor in return.”

  “What is it?”

  Patience glanced around. The museum was quiet today, with a middle-aged couple admiring the sculpture of Barbra Streisand, and a picture-perfect young family—parents and two kids, a boy and a girl—lingering by the entrance to the Chamber of Horrors, daring one another to go in. The door to Aidan’s office was under a glamour spell, so most visitors didn’t realize it was there, and since Patience and I were in front of it we were rendered invisible, or at least unnoticeable, as though within a cocooning spell.

  Still, Patience dropped her voice and whispered: “I’m afraid . . . I’m not sure, but I think my aunt Renna needs help.”

  “What’s going on?”

  She hesitated. “What do you know about demons?”

  “To stay away from them. Why?”

  “I . . . listen, I don’t want to say too much. Renna read for a client, and ever since then . . . well, I’d rather you just came to see her, to tell me what you think.”

  “Are you saying Renna is involved with a demon?”

  She stared at me but didn’t reply.

  “I’m not Renna’s favorite person,” I warned.

  “So what? You’re not my favorite person, either, but we make do.”

  I laughed. Coming from Patience, that was a compliment.

  She continued. “Here’s the deal, my little witch: I read for you and in return you meet with Renna and tell me what you think.”

  “Deal, my little psychic,” I said. “And just so you know: I would have been happy to help regardless. But I just saw Sailor—why didn’t he say anything about it?”

  Her expression hardened. “You tell me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I suspect Sailor doesn’t want you involved. He’s very protective of you.”

  “Sailor doesn’t need to protect me from anything,” I said, irked. “Quite the opposite.”

  Her only answer was to shrug and languidly stroke Noctemus, who rubbed her head against Patience’s arm. Still, the agitation in Patience’s big, kohl-lined eyes belied her true frame of mind.

  “I’ll talk to him about it,” I said, adding this to the long list of things my intended and I needed to clarify before our wedding. “Oh, I wanted to ask you one more thing.”

  “But of course,” Patience said, in a mocking tone. “Please, tell me what else I can possibly do for you. I live but to serve.”

  “I’ve always admired that quality in you.”

  “I’ll just bet you do.”

  “I was wondering . . . I know it’s sort of last minute, and it’s probably a lot to ask, but it occurred to me . . .”

  “Spit it out, princess.”

  “Would you stand up with me at my handfasting?”

  She straightened, and Noctemus jumped to the floor.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Would you be one of my bridesmaids? Maya and Selena already agreed, but Bronwyn’s busy officiating, and I thought . . . well, three is better than two, what with the threefold rule and the three points of a triangle and all that. I’ve got triangles on the brain lately. And . . . after what we went through together for Sailor I would like you at my side. Standing. With me.”

  It would have been worth posing the question if only for the frozen look on her face. I had never seen Patience at a loss for words. She stood with her mouth slightly agape.

  But then the haughty demeanor overtook her again, and she hiked one eyebrow as her eyes tracked a couple strolling by us, arm in arm, oblivious to our presence.

  “Would I have to wear one of those noxious taffeta prom dresses you’re always pawning off on unsuspecting souls?”

  I smiled. “Well, we’re all wearing vintage—Susan Rogers from the Chronicle is going to do a photo shoot. But you are welcome to choose any outfit you like from the store. Want to come by tomorrow afternoon and look through our inventory? Maya’s still searching for the right ensemble, and Selena’s coming over at two so we thought we’d make an event of it. A little vintage-dress therapy.”

  Again, an unsure look came over her face, and I fought the impulse to give Patience a quick hug. What do you suppose she’d make of that?

  I smiled at the thought.

  “What are you laughing at?” Patience demanded. “Is this some sort of twisted practical joke?”

  “Of course not,” I said, realizing with a start that Patience might be just as insecure as the next person, when it came right down to it. Growing up with psychic abilities was probably no picnic, just as growing up a witch in a small town had been traumatic. “I’m sorry; I’m smiling because you look so shocked. To tell you the truth, I sort of surprised myself, but now I’m in love with the idea. Be my bridesmaid? Please say yes.”

  She blew out a breath. “Does this mean I have to arrange a bachelorette party, or something? If you think I’m going to chaperone you and Maya and Bronwyn to some cheesy male strip show, you’re out of your mind.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said with a smile. “Reading for me would be more than enough.”

  “I don’t give toasts, either.”

  “No toasting required.”

  “All right, then. Your bridesmaid, huh? What the hell. This should prove interesting.” Patience glanced at the watch hanging from a gold chain around her neck. “Gotta go—I’m already late for an appointment and am jammed up all afternoon. Want to come over tonight?”

  “I have a thing with my grandmother’s coven tonight.” As much as I was worried about Elena and hated to put the reading off, it couldn’t be rushed. For Patience to “see,” she needed her crystal ball and other accoutrements, and we both needed sufficient peace and concentration to divine together. “And I’ll need to get in touch with Carlos about getting something personal of Elena’s. Can we meet tomorrow?”

  Patience glanced at the calendar on her iPhone. “I could come over to your shop in the afternoon. I could look for a dress, and then you could draw a circle, make divining easier. And after we’ll go see Renna. Agreed?”

  I nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I watched Patience saunter toward the top of the stairs and wondered at this latest turn of events. Who would have thought I would ever consider Patience Blix a friend? This was why Bronwyn was forever coaching me not to make assumptions about people, I supposed.

  Speaking of whom, Bronwyn was going to be thrilled at this development. She had a bit of hero worship for Patience, as did Selena. Maya was the only one who seemed immune to the psychic’s Gypsy charms—at least so far.

  I was about to slip a note under Aidan’s door when Noctemus started rubbing against my legs in a friendly gesture—or perhaps she was simply being passive-aggressive, since I’m pretty sure she knew I was allergic to cats.

  I sneezed.

  Noctemus stared at the doorknob, as though willing me to open it. Was this an invitation?

  Half expecting the cat to change her mind and take a swipe at me, I slowly reached out one hand to the knob. Surprised to find it unlocked, I turned it and pushed the door ajar. Noctemus slipped into the dimly lit room.

  “Aidan? Hello? Anybody home?”

  Aidan’s office was decorated in what I privately thought of as Barbary Coast Bordello: lots of deep red velvet upholstery and drapes with gold tassels, dark wood furniture, a thick Oriental rug, amber wall sconces, a beautiful stained-glass Tiffany lamp brightening up one corner. One entire wall was covered from floor to ceiling in wood bookcases, chock-ful
l of arcane occult reference books.

  Noctemus purred softly and stalked over to deposit a few long white hairs on the ruby velvet drapes.

  Just in case, I peeked into Aidan’s special octagon room, a small closet-sized space built to open otherworldly portals and maximize magical power. The only other time Noctemus had invited me into Aidan’s private lair was when she decided that I needed to know a piece of Aidan’s secret: Terrible burn scars marred half of his face and body.

  But no Aidan this time.

  Ensconced in one niche of the octagon room was my lachrymatory—a tiny bottle that held the salt residue of tears I had shed many years ago. Those salts were the magical equivalent of a nuclear bomb; Renee-the-cupcake-lady would quite literally kill to get her hands on them. Aidan had protected it with an Etruscan funerary curse that no one—not even I—knew how to safely release without his help. The lachrymatory appeared to be untouched.

  I felt bad about intruding into Aidan’s sanctuary, but Noctemus was acting so out of character that I wondered if she was trying to tell me something. Maybe I should wait a few minutes, see if he turned up.

  I needed to use the telephone, in any case. That would be a reasonable excuse for my being here, should Aidan stride in and demand to know what I was doing in his inner sanctum. You didn’t lock the door and the cat invited me in seemed like a feeble excuse for trespassing.

  I called Carlos, who told me there was nothing new to report.

  “Has anyone thought to search Alcatraz?” I suggested.

  “Why would the kidnappers have taken her out there? Do you know something?”

  “No, but they abandoned the van not far from where the Alcatraz ferry launches, and Elena’s a ranger on the island, and the shirt was from Alcatraz. . . .”

  “Hard to imagine they would have taken a kidnapped woman on a crowded public ferry.”

  “They could have had their own boat tied up somewhere in the vicinity, right?”

  “And piloted out to the island in broad daylight without being seen? Seems like a long shot.” Carlos sighed, and I pictured him running his hand through his hair. “Hell, it’s as good a place to look as any, I suppose. At this point I’m willing to try anything. I’ll put a call into the feds, and alert the park police on the island, ask them to take a look around. They’ll be happy to do something to help find one of their own. Have you had any luck with those strings you found?”