Sailor shook his head again. “I don’t know what to say, Maya. I wasn’t there.”
“Do you have a twin brother, by any chance?”
He let out a quick bark of laughter. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Can you imagine?” I breathed, nearly fanning myself at the thought of two Sailors walking around.
“It must have been someone who looks like me,” said Sailor.
I stared at him, and my stomach fell. He wasn’t being entirely truthful.
Don’t overreact, I told myself. Sailor and I were both new to this romantic-relationship deal; it was only natural to experience a few hiccups along the way. I would ask him about it tonight, when we were alone.
“Nice dress,” Sailor said, checking out the wedding dress Wind Spirit had brought in. One eyebrow rose. “Or am I not supposed to see that before the big event?”
“You don’t find it a little . . . meringue-y?”
He inclined his head. “It does make me think of pie.”
“Sailor, did you feel anything when you met Tristan?” I asked, changing the subject.
“No, he was strongly guarded,” Sailor said. “All I felt was a simmering threat.”
“I would imagine that had more to do with your regular old human radar than anything psychic,” Maya said. “That Tristan is one creepy dude. I could feel it through the glass, and I’m about as psychic as my dog, Loretta.”
“Actually,” said Sailor, “most animals are highly intuitive.”
Maya smiled. “Bad example. You know what I mean.”
“I do.” He returned her smile. “Anyway, I have to rush off; I’m due in Oakland in half an hour. Sorry about yesterday, Maya; I can’t tell you who that was.”
“No worries,” she said.
“What’s up in Oakland?” I asked.
“I’m working with my aunt Renna today.” Once upon a time Sailor had been a powerful psychic, under the wing—and the thumb—of Aidan Rhodes. He had recently gained his freedom but at the cost of some of his psychic abilities. Ever since, Sailor had been training intensively to relearn how to interpret and control his natural talents.
“Oh, um . . . say hi to her for me. If it feels appropriate,” I said. Sailor’s aunt Renna was a talented Rom fortune-teller. She was another person who was angry with me. Since I’d arrived in San Francisco, I had, for the first time in my life, made several good friends, but had also made some powerful enemies. I might want to watch that.
Sailor smiled and brushed a lock of dark hair off my forehead. “She’ll come to the wedding, and peace shall be made.”
“Is that some sort of ancient Rom saying?”
“As a matter of fact, it is. Though I may have mangled the translation. But Renna wouldn’t miss out on what I promised her would be some amazing hors d’oeuvres, and in our family, at least, once someone attends a wedding and eats something, they’re obligated to support the marriage.”
“Well, then,” I said, a little fluttery sensation in my stomach. “We’ll have to make sure those are some darned yummy appetizers.”
“Fried okra, maybe? For the moment, though, Lily, please do me a favor and put some extra protection on the store?”
I nodded. The protection spell I cast each morning was probably the reason Tristan had hesitated to enter Aunt Cora’s Closet. A determined foe would be able to find a way through, including by force, but the spell would slow a person down and, at the very least, give a witch like me a few extra seconds to act.
“And stay away from that hotel and this Dupree character,” Sailor said, his tone sterner.
“Right back at you, big guy,” I responded.
Sailor raised an eyebrow. “So that’s how it’s going to be, eh?”
“‘What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.’”
He smiled. “I’m good with gander sauce. Besides, I’m heading over the bridge, in the opposite direction.”
“Good. See you tonight?”
“Actually, probably not. I’ll be working late.”
“Oh . . . okay.”
He looked into my eyes, cupped the back of my head in his hand, and kissed me. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll call you.”
I nodded and saw him out the front door.
When I turned back, Maya was fanning herself. “I tell you what,” she said in a blatant imitation of my Texas twang. “If that man does have a twin brother, I call dibs.”
Chapter 3
The problem with Tristan Dupree showing up and issuing vague threats was that I was a very busy witch these days, and didn’t have a lot of time to look for whatever it was he wanted. In addition to my planning fund-raising teas and my own wedding, not to mention finding the perfect vintage wedding gown, San Francisco was facing a frustratingly nonspecific existential menace that involved the cupcake lady named Renee Baker.
Hard to believe someone who peddled ornately frosted little “fairy cakes,” as Renee called them, could pose a danger of any kind, much less supernatural. But that was how my life had unfolded ever since that day years ago in Hong Kong, when I met a parrot named Barnabas in a bar. I had been at a crossroads in my life, and Barnabas advised me to head to the City by the Bay—but warned me to “mark the fog.”
And he was right—the moment I arrived in San Francisco, it felt like home, though the fog did seem to inspire a good deal of supernatural mayhem. And now, despite my determination to avoid getting involved in such things, I was smack-dab in the center of local witchy politics.
Which meant it was high time for a visit to the wax museum.
First, though, I wanted to see if I could find whatever it was Tristan was certain I possessed. That entire episode involving my reunion with my father in Germany remained just barely beyond my mind’s reach, like the cloudy aftermath of a bad dream. I had occasional flashes of memory, disconnected images in my mind, but that was all. I had never been able to make any sense of them, and a big part of me didn’t want to. I was afraid.
Still, maybe I had accidentally
