“It was purely by accident.”
“What happened?”
“Renee went by Lucille’s Loft with some goodies, and Maya brought me one of the meat pasties.”
“Was it good?”
“Very.”
The truth was, I wasn’t that careful about the food I consumed. I sort of assumed I’d feel anything that had been tampered with, and of course I avoided Renee’s cupcakes, but hadn’t I been thinking recently about all the enemies I’d made in town? Maybe I needed a taster. Like the European royals of old. I always wondered what that must have been like: to eat for a living, with the expectation that one might die at any meal.
“You know, you could simply have a regular cold. You’re not immortal, after all.”
“True. Could I borrow your phone?”
I called Calypso to ask her about the odd ingredients Jamie had mentioned Renee had used in the pastry batter.
“I don’t recognize the ingredients right offhand, Lily. I’m sorry.” I could hear her flipping through pages. “Of course, fingernails are never good.”
That was for dang sure.
“But, let’s see. . . . You say it’s associated with coldlike symptoms?”
“Yes. Sneezing, congestion, loss of smell and lack of energy mostly.”
“Okay, yes, here it is. It sounds like it might be a Tiberius Caesar befuddling spell. It says here, ‘Sneezing was considered losing part of one’s soul through the breath, or having to do with evil spirits. That’s why we say bless you.’ A Tiberius Caesar spell is cast by having the mark ingest the brew, but the mark has to do so willingly.”
“Is there an antidote?”
“According to this, it should pass within a week or so. It’s not deadly, just a nuisance, really. Rather like having an actual cold.”
I thanked her and disconnected just as Aidan pulled into a valet parking spot in front of a fancy restaurant near the Ferry Building.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“You need dinner,” Aidan responded, “and so do I. Please, my treat.”
Coqueta was a Spanish restaurant, decorated in the relaxed yet upscale way of many of San Francisco’s bayside eateries. The valet and the hostess seemed to know Aidan, the latter fluttering her eyelashes and fawning all over him when he requested a patio table. Outside, overhead heaters kept us warm and snug despite the cool breeze off the water. The bay itself was dark and still at this hour, but the lights along the Bay Bridge twinkled, and the homes and businesses of Oakland and Emeryville and Berkeley on the other side of the bay led the eye up into the hills.
The usually incessant seagulls were quiet, and I imagined I could hear the water lapping gently at the piers.
I felt weary. If I really was suffering under a befuddling spell, I wondered whether I could will it away with the proper attitude, as Conrad had suggested. On top of everything else, I had missed the preview of the estate sale this afternoon. Then again, maybe I wasn’t going to need a wedding dress after all. Just the thought of Sailor sitting in jail, waiting for me to figure this thing out . . . Depression settled over me like a shroud.
“So, what did that little chat with Renee tell us?” I asked Aidan after the waiter took our orders and opened a bottle of wine.
“Not as much as I’d hoped.” Aidan waved off the waiter and poured the wine himself into two stemmed glasses. “She’s still trying to win you over, I’d say.”
“Renee said something about you once . . . ,” I began.
“Only once?” Aidan said with a crooked smile.
“She said: ‘Who died and made Aidan boss?’”
“Ah. And what did you tell her?”
“I said I had no idea. So, Aidan, how did you become boss of the San Francisco magical community?”
I didn’t expect him to answer me. Politician-like—or similar to Oscar and so many other magical folk—Aidan almost never answered a direct question with a direct answer. Especially when that question was about his past.
But he didn’t immediately dissemble, and seemed to be lost in thought, staring into his wineglass. His golden hair sparkled in the light of the overhead lamp, darker lashes framing his blue eyes. I could see his glamour shimmer, ever so slightly, as he shifted in his seat.
“When I first arrived here from Germany, I was in bad shape,” he began. “That was fifteen years ago.”
“You were in Germany when I was?”
He nodded. “You really don’t remember, do you? I was there. Anyway, after I came to San Francisco, I needed to lie low for a while, concentrate on healing. I arrived with nothing but the injuries of which you’ve seen proof.”
I thought of how Aidan walked around with the glamour that recalled his old self, before the burns. Renee had told me he was looking for the fountain of youth. Was that true, or was he simply trying to heal himself? It took a lot of energy for him to maintain the glamour, energy that he needed now if there was a supernatural battle brewing.
“Maybe you should drop the glamour,” I suggested. “Let people see the real you. Your friends won’t care.”
“Do you really believe that?” he asked, flashing me a mocking smile. “But in any event, it matters to me. And speaking of bad old times, we really should try to help you remember everything that happened. I think we could manage it if you were willing to stay in the trance for a longer period of time.”
I nodded, but was still nervous. Maybe it was my imagination, but I’d felt like my energy was drained the last time we melded our energies. Something similar had happened with Patience, though not to the same degree. I just didn’t feel up to much of anything, now that I thought about it.
“For the moment, maybe you could give me the broad outline?”
Aidan took a sip of wine and sat back in his chair. “As you know, your father was going down the wrong path.”
I nodded. I couldn’t remember the particulars, but I knew my father was bad news. He had succumbed
