She gave a soft, low laugh. “That’s his name. He’s my mandragora. Aidan made him for me.”
I opened my mouth to inform her that I had made it, but decided against it.
“Do you know mandragoras?” Calypso continued. “They’re a kind of household imp. They can be very useful in sussing out poisons, rotten fruit, that sort of thing. Finnall is priceless in my produce business. And he keeps me company.”
“Where did he go?”
“He’s sitting on the shelf,” she whispered, gesturing with her head. “He’s shy.”
I glanced at the bookshelf and there he sat, legs entwined primly. He looked like a little carved doll. No one would assume he was anything more.
I was happy to think Finnall kept Calypso company, but was suspicious enough of Aidan to wonder if he had an ulterior motive in giving Calypso the mandragora, especially since he had claimed to have made it himself. Could Finnall be acting as a spy of some kind, as I had long suspected Oscar of doing?
“Now that I think about it,” said Calypso, “Finnall might be of help with this. I don’t suppose you brought one of the silverfish from the box?”
“I happen to have one right here,” I said as I extracted the small jam jar from my backpack. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“Safe? That’s a tough one. I’m not overly worried, though. Also, we’ll need an image of Sailor, or some item of his,” Calypso continued as she gathered, then began grinding dried leaves and seeds in a massive marble mortar and pestle.
“Why do we need something of Sailor’s?”
“Isn’t he what all this fuss is about, at the end of the day?”
I took the small photo of Sailor out of my wallet and set it on the counter.
Calypso continued mashing herbs and pods together, then added club moss from the redwood forest.
“I didn’t know you brewed,” I said as I watched, fascinated. Most practitioners weren’t so transparent about their methods.
“I don’t brew, per se,” said Calypso. “But I do mix.”
I didn’t see the mandragora move, but suddenly he was sitting near the mortar and pestle, the photo of Sailor in his lap.
In one smooth motion she opened the jar, scooped up the silverfish, and tossed it into the mortar and started to smash it with the stone pestle.
Sparks flew, as though the creature were actually made of silver. Apparently, this particular silverfish wasn’t easy to kill. Then Calypso showed a side of herself I hadn’t seen before: She attacked the silverfish with a fierce expression on her face, her hair escaping her braid and flying wild around her, all the plants and flowers in the room turning their faces toward the action. She reminded me of the medieval woodcuts that showed wild-eyed women, hair unbound, brewing or dancing or calling to the devil.
“Do you smell that?” Calypso asked, grimacing.
I tried to inhale. “I can’t really smell much lately.”
“Smells like something burning.”
Again, I saw something scamper just out of my field of vision. I turned just in time to see a man run out of the room.
It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over me. I stood in shock, paralyzed over what I had just seen.
Sailor’s doppelgänger?
Finally I regained the use of my limbs and ran after the man.
By the time I turned the corner into the next room, it was empty. All I saw was the mandragora sitting on the floor.
Oscar came barreling in the room from outside in his fierce, natural guise. “Mistress! Are you okay? I got the strangest feeling.”
“Thanks, Oscar. I’m fine.”
He looked at the mandragora and grimaced. “Oh, hey, I remember that guy. I don’t like him.”
