I had been looking forward to going for the past week, but at the moment it was hard to think about anything except how to help Sailor. I didn’t even know where to start.
Also, Selena was scheduled to come by the shop to try on dresses. I had considered postponing when Hervé reminded me of our date last night, but I couldn’t bring myself to disappoint her, no matter the circumstances. Not only did I feel obligated to fulfill my promise to a young girl, but also because Selena didn’t react well to disappointment. Controlling her emotions—rather than allowing them to spill out into the world around her, causing all manner of mischief—was one of the things we were working on.
For that matter, it was one of the things I was still working on.
I parked the Mustang in the driveway I rented and walked around the corner to Haight Street. Sweeping the sidewalk in front of Aunt Cora’s Closet was a tall, lanky young man dressed in dirty clothes. Conrad’s eyes were rimmed in red, his dishwater blond hair was shaggy, and a straggly goatee studded his chin. He had recently confided in me that he feared he would never be able to grow a decent beard.
He lived on the street, slept in nearby Golden Gate Park, but fretted over facial hair. I would never understand it.
“Good morning, Conrad,” I said as I approached.
He paused in his sweeping, leaned on the broom, lifted his chin, and replied, “Duuude.”
Conrad is one of the army of “gutter punks” who pepper the streets of the Haight. He was addicted to something—possibly several somethings—but wasn’t ready to accept my offers of help. I was sometimes tempted to force temporary sobriety upon him, but I knew it wouldn’t last. My magic is strong, but human nature is stronger. Real change had to come from within. As hard as it was to see Conrad like this, and as much as I wanted to take matters into my own hands, I had to wait for him to make the decision.
Despite all that, Conrad—or “the Con,” as he referred to himself—was a good friend, and had become an unofficial part-time guardian of Aunt Cora’s Closet. When he wasn’t doing odd jobs for me, his usual post was on the curb outside the shop. He might not be particularly effectual, but he was brave and loyal. And that counted for a lot.
I sneezed.
“Dude. Getting a cold?”
I shook my head. “No. Probably just allergies.”
“I tell you what: the way I hear it is that a cold means you’re resisting dealing with something important. See, it’s all in your mind, dude. You can overcome anything with positive thinking. Choose happiness—that’s my motto.”
I smiled. “Maybe I’ll try that. Thanks. Have you had breakfast?”
“Maya already brought me a muffin and a Flower Power. Thank you. Oh, and Selena just got here.”
Darn. I had been hoping to have a little time before Selena arrived. Among other things, I wanted to make a few phone calls without her interested ears overhearing. My semi-adopted little sister was a handful.
Selena wasn’t a typical teenager. Selena wasn’t a typical . . . anything. At fifteen years old, she was a powerful but troubled young witch who hadn’t been trained to control her abilities. She reminded me a lot of myself at the same age, but in my case, Graciela had taken me firmly in hand. Selena lived with her own grandmother, a botanica owner who understood and respected magic but was not a sufficiently strong practitioner to be able to train Selena appropriately. So I had been doing my best to help, as had Aidan. Privately, I thought the biggest influence upon Selena’s changing attitude toward the world was her volunteer work at the San Francisco animal shelter. She connected with the animals on a deep level, no words needed. The young witch and the homeless pets had a calming effect on one another.
There was one animal, though, that Selena didn’t much care for: Oscar. The young witch and the gobgoyle had a sibling-type relationship, primarily teasing and arguing, and only occasionally on the same page.
I paused, my hand on the door latch. Before leaving to visit Sailor this morning, I had cast my usual spell of protection over the store, cleansing and smudging and lighting a candle. Now, as I stood looking through the window at the vulnerable necks of Selena and Maya, and Oscar’s chubby little form snoring on his pillow, Carlos’s words of caution came back to me. I decided to add a little more protective magic to the store. Just in case. I couldn’t do a total protection spell, or it would keep everyone at bay, including customers. But a wreath of stinging nettles and a second sage-bundle smudging couldn’t hurt.
“Good morning, Selena,” I said as I walked in. Selena was sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the register, polishing silver jewelry and cutlery with ketchup. She loved handling silver and liked it to sparkle.
“Hi, Maya,” I continued.
“Good morning, Lily,” said Maya. Her eyes were full of questions—I’m sure she was dying to ask about Sailor—but for Selena’s sake said nothing.
Oscar snorted. “And hello to you, too, little guy.”
He closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, and was snoring again before his head hit the pillow.
Selena didn’t even look up, but that was par for the course. She was what people in the Bay Area called “socially awkward.” Back home we called it “touched.”
“Selena?”
After a pause, she glanced up at me. “What?”
“I said good morning. What do you say in return?”
“Buenos días,” she said in a slightly mocking tone, wagging her head.
“Y buenos días a tí,” I answered.
I was glad to see Selena still wore the Gutta Cavat Lapidem talisman I had given her months ago. The teardrop-shaped pendant helped focus her scattered adolescent energies.
“Has the bus checked in this morning?” I asked Maya, noting a new pin
