Harper was well versed in the history of witchcraft and shamanism, but New Age witches were a different breed. Still. “What kind of witch are you?”
“I am a kitchen witch. Of the Gaderian coven.”
“I see.”
“You disapprove?”
“Not at all.”
“We do not worship evil, you know. Neither do we worship good. We seek balance. The only reason we can see light is because there is dark, and dark has its purpose. Life relies on death. If you banish darkness, you also banish light.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Harper said.
Sigrid appeared to suspect Harper was making fun of her, but she continued.
“Nothing grows under this great cypress tree, so Delilah could not grow her own herbs. But I have a large garden near Salinas, so she bought herbs from me to make her special concoctions. She was very talented in whispering to the leaves and seedpods, you know. A natural-born healer, though she was too often distracted by other muses, especially of painting. I envied her skills. And now she’s transitioned, and the authorities won’t let me enter to gather my things.” She kicked the gate so hard her boot left a print on the dark wood.
“Fascists,” she hissed.
From within the Perles Mansion came the sound of a clock chiming six times. Harper glanced up to the second story and, as before, saw a silhouette pass by the dimly lit window.
“Did you see that?” Harper asked.
“See what?” Sigrid asked, following Harper’s gaze.
“Someone passed by that second-story window.”
“That’s the Reflection room.”
At Harper’s puzzled look, Sigrid clarified: “It’s a very special room; octagonal, and entirely ringed with mirrors. Delilah loved to stand at that window and look out over the garden, into the branches of her tree.” She gazed at the window for a moment. “But I don’t see anything. Are you seeing it now?”
“It’s not there anymore.” Harper shook her head.
“You must be sensitive,” Sigrid said.
“According to my ex-husband, Iampretty touchy, yeah.”
“I mean sensitive to spirits.”
“I don’t believe so.”I don’t believe at all.
Sigrid gave her another assessing look. “Didyouknow Delilah?”
Harper shook her head. “No.”
“If you aren’t sensitive, and you didn’t know Delilah, then why are you here?”
“I’m…I was here last night. I was one of the people who found her.”
Sigrid’s eyebrows shot up. “You were on that absurd ghost tour?”
“I lost a bet. Long story.”
“Huh.” The thought seemed to stymie Sigrid. “And you were with Delilah? As she transitioned beyond the veil?”
Harper swallowed, hard. “We…I don’t know if you’ve heard, but she was still alive when we found her, at the base of the tree. She passed at the hospital.”
“Found her at the base of the tree,” Sigrid repeated with a long sigh. She stared up at the massive cypress, dappled light from the streetlamps filtering through its branches. “Strangely fitting, isn’t it?”
