frowned, as though the word escaped him. “Cupcakes! That’s what it was.”

“The cupcake dude? Do you mean Jamie?”

“Right, Jamie. That’s the one.”

“He came by? Was he with Wind Spirit?”

“Not ‘with her’ with her. Least, I don’t think so. Not that the Con is always up in everybody’s business or anything like that.”

“Did he say anything? Do anything? Did Wind Spirit?”

“Don’t really remember. I think they just happened to be passing by. Everybody loves the Haight—am I right?”

“Right. Okay, thanks. So, please, everyone,” I said, getting back to the subject, “err on the side of caution for the next few days, until I can figure this out.”

Part of me hoped if I kept saying I would be able to figure it out, I would manifest a resolution. If only it worked that way.

“And does ‘erring on the side of caution’ apply to you as well, Lily?” Bronwyn asked, forehead wrinkled in concern.

I smiled. “It does. Besides, I have Oscar to protect me.”

“Quite the ferocious guard pig,” Maya’s cousin Kareem said.

We all glanced at said guard pig, who was now lying on his back on the purple pillow, short little legs kicking in the air, a huge porcine grin on his face.

“Maybe not so ferocious,” Duke said dryly. “Lily, I hate to be a wet blanket, but you should take additional steps to protect yourself while you’re home alone.”

“Yes, please, Lily,” Bronwyn continued. “We worry about you.”

Maya and Selena nodded in agreement, and I felt a wave of warmth wash over me. With friendship, I was learning, came the obligation to take reasonable precautions with one’s well-being. “You’re right. I’ll be extra careful. And to that end: Maya, would you call a locksmith? I want to change the locks. I left my keys somewhere.”

“I’m on it,” Maya said, and went to the computer to look up the number.

Oscar huffed even louder.

“When did Oscar start acting like this?” I asked.

“A little while ago,” Bronwyn replied. “He just keeps snickering. He’s also been eating everything in sight.”

“Well, at least that part is nothing new. Maya, while you’re on the computer, any chance you could find a symbol that looks like this?”

I took my handkerchief out of my pocket, unwrapped it, and laid it on the counter. Maya looked at me curiously, but reached out to smooth the napkin.

“It looks like the symbol on the map,” Selena said immediately. “When they finish it, anyway.”

I glanced at the map with its red thread figure. Selena’s drawings of cupcakes with black icing were now encircling it, held up by bits of Scotch tape.

“We don’t have a scanner,” said Maya, her hands moving swiftly over the keyboard, “so I’m not sure how to search for it, exactly. I can pull up some symbol dictionaries, but it will take time to go through them.”

“Maybe . . . check out demon sigils?”

I still couldn’t understand why the grandmas would be making a sigil, but at this point I was willing to try anything.

Maya was scrolling through a bunch of them, shaking her head and glancing back and forth from the drawing on the napkin to the images popping up on the computer screen.

“You know what it reminds me of?” asked Conrad. “Remember a while back, the Da Pinchi Code?”

“You mean Da Vinci Code?” asked Maya’s cousin Richard.

“Nah, dude. Da Pinchi. It was, like, this burglar code. Burglars would put these signs on buildings they cased.”

“That sounds a little far-fetched, Conrad,” said Duke.

“Dude, it was totally, like, on the BBC. You know how those Brits are—they’re real serious.”

“He’s right,” said Maya, pulling up an article online. “I remember hearing about it, too. And here it is. It was on the BBC a couple years back. . . .”

Bronwyn, Duke, and I crowded around to look at the screen over Maya’s shoulders.

“But . . . no, Snopes doesn’t think it makes sense.”

“Who’s Snopes?” I asked.

“It’s a Web site that investigates rumors, tells you whether or not they check out.”

“There’s a Web site that does that?”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, my friend.”

“And this one doesn’t check out?”

“They don’t say it’s a fabrication, exactly, just that it doesn’t make sense, since there wouldn’t be much ‘added value’ in doing it. It says that criminals have other ways of sharing addresses beyond physical marks.”

Not to mention . . . why in the world would a bus full of witches be making the sign of theft? It made no sense.

“Still,” I said, “this symbol does look a bit like that one, doesn’t it? Maya, would you mind poking around a little more, see if you can find any others like it? The image might not be complete, after all.”

“Sure, I’ll do what I can,” said Maya. “And Kareem is great at this sort of thing.”

“I was just going to suggest taking a photo of the symbol,” Kareem said. “That way we can import it and Google it directly.”

“Good idea,” said Maya. The cousins bent their heads together and worked up a plan.

Oscar huffed loudly, then snorted, then “coughed”—which sounded a lot like a snicker.

“I’m going to take Oscar upstairs,” I said. “See if I can figure out what’s going on with him. Come on, Oscar. Let’s go.”

He didn’t respond, just continued to loll on his bed, so I finally leaned over and scooped him up, then carried him to the stairs. “Lugged him” is more apt. Oscar might be a miniature pig, but he was still a pig, and he was heavy. I nearly dropped him halfway up. Finally, we reached the top of the steps and he transformed—while still in my arms, which was a decidedly odd sensation—into his natural form.

There was no doubt about it now: Oscar was laughing. Cackling, more like.

“Oscar, what in the world has gotten into you?”

“Woooo,” he said. “The stairs are spinning. It’s like a carnival ride! Awesome!”

“Are you drunk?” I gasped as I set him down on the landing, trying to catch my breath.

“Of course I drink! Everybody drinks!”

“Everybody . . . ?”

“Water! Gobgoyles are ninety-eight percent water! Get it?” Oscar roared, as if this were the funniest joke in the world.

“Oscar, be serious. You

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