“Lily, what a lovely surprise. And Oscar, too!” she said as Oscar and I got out of the car. Even though Calypso knew Oscar was a magical creature, he didn’t show her his true form but adopted his porcine guise. “Welcome. Have you heard anything from your grandmother’s coven?”
“Not recently. But I don’t think they’ll be here for another day or two. In fact, that’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Of course. Please come in and we’ll have tea and talk.”
Oscar trotted out toward the woods.
“He loves the redwoods,” I said.
“Don’t we all.”
Calypso’s huge kitchen was warm and welcoming. Bundles of drying herbs hung from the rafters, filling the air with the heady aroma of sage, rosemary, and oregano. Rustic shelves held old crockery and widemouthed mason jars full of spices and powders. A variety of kitchen utensils hung from pegs on the beadboard wainscoting; there were a number of mortars and pestles, electric grinders, and drying racks on shelves. Some of these might have been used for cooking, but most were for the processing of herbs. Calypso ran a profitable business selling herbs, fruit, and vegetables to Bay Area restaurants that were able to boast they used only “organic, locally sourced” ingredients.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something scamper by. It was too big for a mouse, and didn’t have the shape of a cat. But it moved too fast for me to get a good look at it.
Calypso put a huge copper kettle on to boil, and I took a seat at the big pine farmhouse table. Leafy green plants hung in baskets in the sunny bay window, and African violets crowded the windowsill.
“Calypso, what are silverfish used for?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are they an ingredient in anything?”
“Silverfish? The insects?” She made a face. “They weren’t in that suspected Tiberius Caesar spell you were asking me about, were they?”
“No. At least, I certainly hope not. They’re a little creepy.”
“A lot creepy. The only insects I really like are the roly-polies. Remember them?”
“I do. We had fireflies back home. I loved those.”
“Butterflies are amazing, of course, and moths, too. And bees, and ladybugs. But I don’t enjoy a lot of the crawlers.”
“I agree. So you don’t know of any use for silverfish? Could they be symbolic of something, maybe?”
She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything. But . . . Selena has silver magic, doesn’t she?”
“She does. That had never occurred to me. Do you think it’s connected?”
“I have no idea, Lily,” she replied. “You haven’t given me any context, or told me what’s going on.”
“Sorry. You’re right, of course. If only I knew what was going on.”
I gave her the story in brief: about Sailor being in jail and Tristan’s death and the contents of the shoe box. About the grandmas making a sign with their wandering travels, and Sailor’s doppelgänger.
“Aidan says doppelgängers can be a harbinger of imminent death,” I said, a catch in my voice. I hadn’t realized how upset I was, how close to breaking down. Calypso wasn’t motherly, exactly, but I had been yearning for the opportunity to speak to a wise woman.
“I’ve always heard that as well,” Calypso said in a steady voice. I noticed that a couple of tendrils from the plants behind her seemed to edge closer to her, as though reaching out. This was how plants responded to Calypso. “But you really don’t know that this look-alike is a doppelgänger, after all. That’s not the only possibility.”
“True.” I knew she was right. But I had been feeling negative lately. I sneezed.
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I think I’m coming down with a cold.” For some reason I didn’t want her to know I might have fallen victim to Renee’s spell. It made me feel foolish. I also held back from asking her if she thought I’d offended my guiding spirit, the Ashen Witch. I trusted her . . . but perhaps not entirely. When it came right down to it, I didn’t know Calypso that well.
“I’m sure that’s unusual for you.”
“It is. How could you tell?”
She simply smiled. Her smile was knowing, reassuring . . . and yet a teensy bit annoying. I wished I knew what she was thinking, how she knew the things she knew. Was she psychic, or simply wise and intuitive?
Calypso got up, turned to a bookshelf stuffed with books, old and new, and files with clippings. She searched for a moment, then brought down a thick tome whose leather binding was so old it was slightly crumbly. She set it on the table and I read the title: Royal Entomological Society: A Treatise on Taxonomic Specifications.
“I used this long ago to develop my natural pest-control system in the garden. I’m sure you know I shy away from pesticides. Let’s see. . . . ‘The silverfish is small and wingless; largely harmless, it does not sting or bite. The common name is derived from the insect’s blue-gray color and sinewy ways of moving. The scientific name, L. saccharina, indicates the silverfish’s exclusive diet of sugars and starches.’”
“Ah, that explains something,” I said. “I thought saccharina referred to the sugar substitute. But . . . could it be used as an ingredient in something?”
“That kind of information won’t be in here. Let’s see what else I’ve got. . . .” She trailed off as she searched the bookshelves. She pulled out one volume, then another, shook her head, and put them back. “I don’t see any symbology associated with it or any recipes. I take it you’ve already checked your Book of Shadows?”
I nodded, joining her at the bookcase and studying the spines. Her collection was almost as fascinating and arcane as Aidan’s. “It didn’t say anything at all.”
“Perhaps we’re thinking too specifically. Maybe it’s simply indicative of an insect.”
“But there are silverfish
