Bewitched and Betrothed Read online

  “I do not have cold feet,” I insisted. “I’m just . . . I have a lot to do to pull this whole thing off, and it’s hard finding the time to get it done. That’s all. And for right now, tonight, I’d like you to finish the negotiations with the fairy folk so I can concentrate on using Graciela’s coven to help focus my intent and figure out what the heck’s going on with my guiding spirit.”

  “Ssss.”

  “Why are you hissing at me?”

  “I wasn’t hissing.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “It was a sibilant s.”

  “A what, now?”

  “Guiding spiritsss. With an s. English Grammar 101, mistress.”

  I stroked my medicine bag and reminded myself to breathe. “Well, thank you for the refresher.”

  Oscar continued, “Two spirits, that’s your problem, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Lotsa people would think it was cool. You know, the pairing of opposites. Light and dark, sun and shadow, yin and yang, up and down, east and west, north and south . . .”

  “A witch and a gobgoyle?”

  “Heh,” Oscar cackled. “Good one.”

  “Thing is, though, I don’t need two guiding spirits. I was fine with just the one, thank you very much.”

  “I’m not sure that’s up to you, mistress. All due respect.”

  By now we were driving along the winding redwood-flanked roads to Bolinas. Calypso Cafaro lived in a big old farmhouse tucked into a clearing in the forest. She lived alone but did not seem lonely; in fact, everything about Calypso seemed balanced and serene. Her home was full of books and herbs and comfy, overstuffed furniture. Wind chimes, glass orbs, and napping cats graced the broad front porch. She kept chickens and doves, and had a relationship to plants that went beyond the pale.

  Hers was a life that a part of me envied: living independently in such an enchanted realm, free to practice magic and beliefs without censure or limits. But I had chosen a different path: I was going to be united with a wonderful and complicated man and—whether I wanted it or not—would remain enmeshed in San Francisco’s supernatural power struggle.

  Oh, also, I had a few crimes to solve.

  Elena’s image appeared in my mind again: her easy smile, her hat hair, her spiffy National Park Service uniform. Where was she? What could have happened to her?

  I edged my Mustang through the overgrown hedges that crowded the long driveway to Calypso’s house, wincing as their branches scratched the car’s cherry red finish. The hedges, like many of Calypso’s plants, were enchanted and closed behind us, screening Calypso’s magical domain from the outside world. Leading up to the big yellow farmhouse was a path lined with rose trees, and a bounty of bushes that were flowering out of season. Behind the house was a glass-paned greenhouse and an extensive vegetable garden.

  A calico cat lazed on the wraparound porch.

  “This place always reminds me of a picture out of a calendar,” said Oscar, with a rare note of awe.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “Complete with the redwood fairy circle, the perfect place for a handfasting. So, are you coming in or do you want to take a couple of slices of pizza and go chat with the woods folk directly?”

  “Sheesh. Anybody ever tell you that you have a one-track mind, mistress?”

  “These negotiations seem to take a lot of time, so I thought you might want to make the most of this opportunity.”

  “I told you, time works different in the fairy world.”

  “All the more reason to get started. Here are the gorse blossoms and fresh-baked bread to sweeten the deal.” I handed him the burlap bag. Woods folk were tricky, and easily insulted. I had to trust in my gobgoyle emissary.

  Said emissary was at the moment picking at his talons and debating which pizzas to try, which wasn’t exactly filling me with confidence.

  Finally Oscar settled on one slice each of the cheesy cheese, the veggie, and the potato pesto pies. We both avoided the pepperoni; pork products were off the menu now that Oscar took the form of a pig a good portion of the time. I promised he could have the leftovers—and dessert—when he was done, and after polishing off the pizza slices he scampered off to the woods with the burlap bag full of gifts.

  As I gathered the pizza boxes and bags of food from the car, Calypso joined me, a thick gray braid resting on one shoulder, a blousy chartreuse linen shirt over flowered leggings, her bare feet covered in henna designs and her toenails painted a bright red. An ankle bracelet tinkled as she came over to help me.

  “Lily. How lovely.” We embraced.

  “How’s it been going with the grandmas?” I asked. “Everything all right?”

  “I’m having the time of my life! They are absolute fonts of knowledge—though they do bicker a bit, don’t they?”

  “Only when they disagree. Which is often.”

  Calypso laughed. “Still, I’m learning scads, so much so that my hand’s beginning to cramp from writing everything down.”

  “One of them could probably whip up a salve for that with the ingredients in your greenhouse and garden.”

  “Kay’s already on it,” Calypso said, her eyes falling to my forearm as I handed her the pizza boxes. Noctemus’s scratches were inflamed and angry-looking. “Looks like you need a salve, yourself.”

  “I love cats, but they don’t always love me,” I explained.

  I followed her up the steps to the front porch and into the cool front hall. The house had the detailed craftsmanship and woodwork characteristic of homes built in the 1920s. The wainscoting was painted a creamy white, and built-in bookcases and cabinets abounded. Calypso ushered me into the large kitchen, chock-full of herbs hanging in bundles from the wooden beams, mason jars filled with a wide variety of fungi and seeds, pods and moss.

  Rosa, Viv, and MariaGracia sat around the old wooden farmhouse table, sorting through pieces of paper and index cards and writing things down in a massive leather-bound book that looked a lot like my own Book of Shadows.

  “Lily! We’re exchanging recipes,” said Viv.

  These “recipes” were not for casseroles but for spells, as well as healing salves and plasters, tonics and teas. Years ago, the coven had made the same kind of contributions to my own Book of Shadows, and I hoped to gather more while they were here.

  I kissed them all as they exclaimed over how fabulous Calypso was and what a great time they were having.

  I found my mother, Maggie, in the dining room, putting the finishing touches on my wedding trousseau.

  It was still hard to believe that my mother had come for my handfasting, much less that she had arrived bearing such marvelous presents. In addition to the trousseau, she had given me her wedding gown so I had the perfect dress to wear for the handfasting. My mother and I had a fraught history: Maggie was a small-town Texas beauty queen who, when I began exhibiting my special witchy talents, had become frightened of her own child and sent me to live with Graciela. For a long time we had little contact. But in the past few years my mother had come to regret what she had done. For my part, I had matured and though I still felt hurt by her choices, I had begun to feel empathy for the scared woman who had made them, and we’d begun a rapprochement.

  Most astoundingly, after a lifetime of wanting nothing to do with the supernatural, or with me, my mother had asked Graciela to coach her in knot magic so that she could make me a trousseau. Maggie was talented with a needle, but knot magic was something else entirely. A pile of tangled strings on the table gave silent testimony to her lack of skill.

  “Lily!” My mother stood and held out her arms, and we hugged. Then she sank back down in her chair and sighed. “I fear I’m terrible at this knot magic, and yet I can’t seem to stop trying.”

  “You know what they say,” I said. “Once you go magic, you never go back.”

  She smil
ed. “Is that what they say?”

  “Something like that,” I said with a laugh. “How’s everything been going?”

  “Very well, considering. Calypso gave me my own room, so I have a little privacy. Graciela’s friends are wonderful, but . . .”

  “It’s nice to have a little time to yourself.”

  “Exactly.”

  We chatted for a few minutes, then I asked, “Where’s Graciela, do you know?”

  My mother directed me to the greenhouse, where I found my grandmother consulting with Darlene, Pepper, and Iris. They were skilled garden witches, with a deep connection to plants, roots, seeds, and botanicals of all kinds.

  “Good thing you’re here, m’ija,” said Graciela. “Look at this.”

  She gestured to some lady’s mantle, whose cuplike leaves held a portion of silvery morning dew, as though offering a tiny fairy a drink.

  “A ‘wine cup,’ right?” I was no slouch at botanicals, myself. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s not morning,” explained Darlene. “And we’re inside a greenhouse. So where did the dew come from?”

  “Plants seem to operate by different rules in Calypso’s garden,” I said. “You’ve probably noticed that her bushes and trees bloom out of season.”

  Iris shook her head and held up another plant with delicate fernlike leaves and diminutive pink-petaled flowers.

  “Herb Robert, right?” I ventured.

  “Also known as red robin,” said Rosa. I looked up to find that nearly the entire coven had joined us, crowding into the jammed greenhouse.

  “Or crow’s foot,” said Viv.

  “I always called it squinter-pip,” said Caroline.

  “Storksbill,” said Agatha.

  “Stinking Bob,” said Betty.

  “Or . . . death come quickly,” said Iris in a hushed tone.

  Chapter 9

  “I can’t say I like the sound of that last one,” I said. “What is it supposed to indicate?”

  “Could be a lot of things,” said Pepper, gesturing toward a large container of a plant with glossy green leaves and little white flowers hanging along a slender stalk. “But in conjunction with the wine cups and the Solomon’s tears . . .”

  I hadn’t noticed the Solomon’s tears when I walked in. There had been an awful lot of Solomon in my life, lately, I thought as Graciela finished Pepper’s sentence:

  “... it could be an indication of the prophecy.”

  “This is the prophecy that claims I was drawn to San Francisco to undertake a supernatural showdown of some sort,” I clarified.

  She stuck out her chin and nodded.

  “A wine cup is for the fairy folk, isn’t it?” I asked. “What do they have to do with the prophecy?”

  “Good question,” murmured Winona. “There’s something amiss in the fairy world. The woods folk are all atwitter.”

  “And look,” said Graciela, “Those alcatraces are blooming out of season as well.”

  “Alcatraces?” I asked as my eyes fell on conical white flowers with orange stamens.

  “Calla lilies,” Nan translated.

  “They’re called alcatraces? As in Alcatraz?” I asked. “Like the island?”

  “I always thought Alcatraz meant ‘pelican,’” said Viv.

  “Me, too,” said MariaGracia.

  “It can also mean a kind of seabird,” said Caroline. “Many words have multiple meanings.”

  “Okay . . .” I said, pondering my nightmare, and Sailor’s vision, and Selena’s drawings. “So what’s wrong with herb Robert and Solomon’s tears? They’re both medicinal plants.”

  “As you well know, medicine can be poison if applied inappropriately,” said Graciela. “Y lo que me preocupa—what’s bothering me—is the way they’re intertwined. Also, Calypso says that was a flat of pansies. She never planted the Solomon’s tears here.”

  “You’re right, that’s weird,” I conceded.

  The wisewomen all nodded.

  “Are we sure this is even directed toward me?”

  “You, or, you know, el otro,” said Graciela.

  “El otro, the ‘other one’ refers to my supposed brother, right?”

  Not long ago I had learned that my father (might have) had another child, a boy. Which meant I had a half brother out in the world. Somewhere. Whether he would be an ally or a foe was the real question.

  “We think so,” said Graciela. “Can’t be sure, of course. Rosa will read for you later, see what she can.”

  Again with the reading. I didn’t enjoy being read for. I was accustomed to holding my metaphysical cards to my chest, even within a trusted coven. It occurred to me that the last person who had read for me was Sailor’s aunt Renna.

  Speaking of whom . . .

  “The prophecy and shape-shifting pansies aside,” I said. “I need to ask you all something serious. Two things, actually. A friend of mine was kidnapped. And I think . . . it’s possible I might have to go up against a demon soon.”

  There were several sharp intakes of breaths.

  “Are they connected? The kidnapping and the demon activity?” asked Graciela.

  “I don’t think so . . . I have no indication that they are. And the demon stuff might be something else entirely,” I said. “I haven’t met with the person afflicted yet. But apparently the last time I was involved in something like this I didn’t protect myself adequately, so I’m trying to be smart. Not rush in, and all that.” I explained to them what Patience feared, and how powerful a practitioner Renna was.

  There was a lot of head-shaking, glasses-cleaning, tsking and mumbling, which continued for so long that I started to get worried. If none of these thirteen wisewomen knew how to approach a demon, who did?

  Finally, Kay ventured: “A MoonWish spell.”

  “Yes, a MoonWish spell would be best,” murmured Nan.

  “It will take several days,” continued Kay. “Use a jar of clover honey with the comb still in it for the first day’s sacrifice.”

  “It will take five days.” Viv was very into number magic. “Use charms for the five senses, and draw the five points on a pentagram.”

  “Oh! That’s perfect, five days from now will be the full moon,” said Iris.

  “The dark moon would be better for demon binding,” said Betty, “but full is second best.”

  “You’ll need genuine sulfur to charge the sigil,” said MariaGracia. “Charcoal incense dipped in oils will not do.”

  “But I don’t want to charge anyone’s sigil,” I protested. “I want to get rid of it altogether.”

  More murmuring and shaking of heads.

  Graciela explained, “Demons are elemental and eternal, m’ija, tu sabes. You should know that. There’s no getting rid of them. A demon is never truly banished; he can be called anywhere, anytime.”

  “First you’ll have to summon him in order to control him,” said Pepper.

  “Don’t forget the hexing incense,” said Rosa.

  “Or frankincense,” suggested Agatha.

  Suddenly all thirteen women were full of advice, which they started calling out indiscriminately.

  “Bring a scrying mirror.”

  “And a Solomon’s Triangle, of course. Anointed with olive oil and myrrh.”

  “Use a black candle separation spell in addition to the banishing spell.”

  “A full MoonWish spell should be cast, and I’d say separation and binding rather than banishing.”

  “Viv’s right, take the full five days and pay close attention to how quickly the candles burn, and the dripping of the wax.”

  “Blood energy is best,” Graciela said. “In fact, a blood sacrifice for the final night of the spell.”

  That stopped the discussion, as the women exchanged glances. The cat scratches on my arm th
robbed.

  “You know, Solomon’s tears are also called Solomon’s seal,” said Darlene in a muted tone. “They should be used to create the Solomon’s Triangle, to bind the fellow. Lily should harvest them by the light of the moon . . .”

  “... and dress them with her blood,” Graciela emphasized.

  “And that will keep her soul tethered while she goes up against a demon?” asked my mother, Maggie, in a shaky voice.

  She was standing in the doorway, as though reluctant to enter. I hadn’t realized she had joined us, and I wondered how much she had heard.

  Graciela nodded, and the others followed suit, though their affirmation seemed rather anemic.

  “Probably,” said Graciela.

  “It should,” said Darlene.

  “We think so,” said MariaGracia.

  We all fell silent for a long moment.

  “But first, tengo hambre,” Graciela said. “How about that pizza?”

  * * *

  • • •

  One of the things I loved about my grandmother—which also drove me crazy, in equal measure—was how she could talk about blood magic and going up against a demon (and “probably” triumphing) one moment, and pizza the next. Graciela had a thing or two to teach me about putting things in perspective and, like most witches I knew, rarely missed a meal.

  Food was not only sustenance, it was a magical transformation of ingredients through mixing and stirring, heat and love, a way to ingest life from the earth, and to enjoy in fellowship.

  We gathered around Calypso’s huge dining room table. Mullein leaves, also known as hag’s taper, had been dipped in fat and lit like candles; they cast a warm, embracing glow. In the center of the table were items representing the four elements: berries, leaves, and stones for earth; feathers and flower petals for air; ash and candles for fire; and seashells and driftwood for water. Bright ceramic plates had been laid out, flanked by brass goblets and colorful woven napkins.

  “I never use this room for anything but crafts anymore,” Calypso said, holding up her cell phone to take a picture. “This is wonderful. Everybody say ‘cheese’!”

  “No!” cried Caroline, Viv, and Rosa, hiding their faces.