“That’s not a bad idea, but that’s not what she cultivated.”
“What was she growing?”
“Mushrooms.”
• • •
My car was alone on Highway 1 as we headed down the twisty route back to San Francisco, so Oscar sat in his natural form in the passenger seat, gazing out at the view. It was bucolic and spectacular: redwood and fern-filled glens, deer and wild turkeys.
Not that I noticed. I was a mite distracted.
“Maybe Renee was telling the truth,” I said. “Maybe she’s not responsible for any of this. What if Wind Spirit wants to work with Renee? I thought thecoincidentia oppositorumhad to be a male and female, but according to Calypso, that’s not true. Gender’s fluid, after all—I remember Wind Spirit saying that once herself! So maybe Wind Spirit is making a play for power. Maybe she knew Tristan had come to town to work with Renee, and wanted to stop him.”
“So she could take his place and rule with Renee?” Oscar asked.
“Exactly.”
“But she’s a girl. Tristan was a big guy. How’d she beat him up?”
“According to Carlos, Tristan was already sick by then, so it’s likely he was in a weakened state. And Wind Spirit is stronger than she looks. She has a black belt in some form of martial art; Bronwyn mentioned Wind Spirit was all muscle under those baby-doll dresses she always wears,” I said, starting to weave the threads together. “The fake Sailor kept checking a watch—maybe the clock was ticking on how long Wind Spirit could sustain the glamour. Also, Patience said Renna thought the fake Sailor looked short. Maybe Wind Spirit couldn’t get the glamour quite right. I wonder if she’s left-handed....”
“All these people trading places with other people.” Oscar shook his head. “It’s a downright shame, is what it is.”
“Hey!” I said so loudly that Oscar jumped. “Sorry. But it just occurred to me: You’re a shape-shifter.”
“Yeaaaah...?”
“Is that anything like a glamour?”
“What are you talking about?”
“When you’re in your piggy guise, is it a glamour of some sort?”
“Like you just said, I’m a shape-shifter.”
“So it’s not the same thing?”
He started snickering, then cackled loudly as tears of mirth ran down his scaly cheeks.
“You absolutelyslayme when you say things like that!”
I blew out a frustrated breath and sat back in my seat. One of these days I was going to lock myself in Aidan’s office and read every tome in his library, andthen I would go to Calypso’s house and read every book inherlibrary, and then I would know things. All the things. What was real and what was not, what was merely magical, and what was impossible.
Even so, not everything I wanted to know would be found within books. Probably I needed another decade or two of instruction with Graciela’s coven. Imagine what I could learn, how powerful I could become....
I wrenched myself out of that daydream as we reached the Golden Gate Bridge. That sort of thinking was dangerous. Just as the wild, savage ocean met the serene bay under this bridge, the wide-open world of magic could entice a person to explore too far. Where currents became irresistible, and the force of the tides might drag a person out to parts unknown, drowning her in the process.
Then again, I was a witch. Last time someone attempted to drown me, I popped up like a cork.
Witches don’t sink.
• • •
Aunt Cora’s Closet was closed up tight by the time we got back to the city, though Haight Street was hopping as usual on a Friday night. A thick layer of fog had rolled in off the ocean, blanketing the streets and sidewalks and lending a spooky atmosphere to the neighborhood. I kept thinking of that parrot, so long ago, telling me to go to San Francisco, but to “mark the fog.”
An inebriated couple sang “Over the Rainbow,” loudly and off-key, as they reeled down the sidewalk; I brushed past them and quickly let myself—and Oscar—into the shop. I could hear them crying out,“Oh my God, a pig!”as I quickly shut and locked the door, waved without turning around, and scurried into the back room.
I was in no mood for fun this evening.
