Selena turned away and ducked out of the changing room.
“Selena, wait.” I followed after her, wrestling with the wedding dress, trying to get it to stay on its hanger. “No one said you were weird.”
The shop phone rang, and Bronwyn answered.
I watched as Selena disappeared into the back room, clearly unwilling to talk. For the third time, the wedding dress slipped off the hanger before I could manage to tie it on. I swore under my breath as I picked it up from the floor.
“Patience, Lily,” said Bronwyn.
“I’m trying, believe me. But I’m so frustrated by—”
“No, no,” Bronwyn said with a laugh. “I meant the phone is for you. It’s Patience.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
“I made an appointment with Juna at eleven,” said Patience when I answered the phone. “Pick me up in half an hour. And bring your credit card, ’cause Juna’s not cheap.”
• • •
When I first arrived in San Francisco, I assumed the neighborhood known as Russian Hill would be home to a lot of Russians. While that may have been true at one time, these days “Little Russia” referred to an area of the Inner Richmond, along Geary, where Russian restaurants and bakeries flourished. There was an occasional sign in Cyrillic, and a higher-than-average number of hunched, scarf-wearing elderly women making their way along the sidewalks. But the neighborhood’s most obvious cultural marker was the spectacular Russian Orthodox Holy Virgin Cathedral, also called Joy of All Who Sorrow. Its onion-shaped domes were covered in gold metallic tiles, and tall mosaics of saints adorned the cathedral’s facade.
Geary is a busy commercial boulevard, but the narrower side streets are lined with stucco row houses. We parked on Twenty-seventh Avenue and walked around the corner, where Patience paused in front of the cathedral’s open doors.
“Do you mind if I go in, just for a minute?” Patience asked.
“Of course not,” I said. We stepped into the hallowed space. The ambience was hushed inside, with a few solitary worshippers in the pews. Patience walked toward the front. I lingered near the entrance, taking in the colorful murals and the elaborately carved, gold-leafed woodwork.
In general, witches had a fraught history with traditional churches; my own personal experiences hadn’t been particularly positive, either. On the other hand, some of the best people I knew were believers. People of faith had accomplished some amazing—some might even say miraculous—things for the betterment of humanity. I supposed it was like what Patience had said with regard to the Russian psychics; it was best to take people as individuals, rather than as members of a group.
Patience came back to join me, and we walked out the tall doors together.
“My mother never passed a church without lighting a candle for her mother. It used to drive me nuts. Now I find myself doing the same.”
“Has your mother passed?”
“Car crash on my sixteenth birthday.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sailor didn’t tell you? My mother was with Sailor’s mother; they both died. That’s why Renna stepped in, tried her best to be our mom. But Sailor . . . he’s complicated. He distanced himself from the Rom for a while and has only recently come back into the fold. And even then . . .” She trailed off with a shrug, and pressed her lips together.
This was the first time I had heard about the death of Sailor’s mother. Once again, I realized how many things he and I should probably talk about before we actually tied the knot. Presuming I could figure out how to prove his innocence.
“Did Renna say anything about Sailor’s situation?” I asked. “Any ideas how to get him out?”
“She’s working it on her end. She keeps ‘seeing’ Sailor at the crime scene, just like I did, though she thinks he looks short.”
“What does she mean, he looks short?”
“She says the ‘Sailor’ she sees in her visions is too short. And he uses his left hand.”
“Carlos mentioned this guy appeared to be left-handed as well.”
“I thought maybe it was just symbolic,” Patience said. “For you guys, left-handed means evil, right? Although that hardly seems fair.”
“Sometimes we refer to the ‘left-handed’ way when we speak of negative magic, it’s true. I think that’s based on some outmoded beliefs that it was somehow unnatural to be left-handed.”
Patience nodded. “That’s what I figured. Anyway, I told Renna to lay off the lawyer. Also, she’s lining up family to stand behind Aidan for whatever showdown is coming, for what that’s worth.”
“Did she see anything with regard to Renee?”
“Black cupcakes? Something about a rain of blood . . . basically, not good things. Anyway.” She gestured to a nail salon, and I noticed she still wore my engagement ring on her finger. “Over there is where Juna’s grandmother, and then her mother, used to run their famous Russian bakery. Blintzes and pierogis to die for. Now it’s for pedicures—how depressing is that?”
“Could I . . . Do you still need my ring?”
“What?”
“My engagement ring?”
“Oh. Oh, right.” She took it off and handed it to me. “I couldn’t see any more than I had before. I mean, I saw cupcakes, but that’s not helpful. Sorry.”
“Worth a shot,” I said as I slipped the ring on my finger. I let out a sigh. It felt good to have it back. “Thanks for trying.”
She shrugged. “Juna’s place is right down here, in the back of the jeweler’s shop.”
I couldn’t help thinking of Selena as I walked through the store. Though most of their jewelry was gold, there was one whole section of silver necklaces, rings, and brooches arranged on a black velvet cloth, twinkling under the bright lights of the display.
Also on display were a number of watches, some antique, others new and shiny. One pocket watch made me think: Why
