“State capital,” said Selena.
“Yes, thanks, Selena. I actually do know it’s the California state capital. I’m just wondering why the grandmas are headed there.”
“They mentioned something about joining a protest march,” Maya responded. “They said they’d be another day or two.”
“A protest march. Seriously?”
“That’s what the text said,” said Maya with a smile. “Can you imagine the busload of grandmas with signs in hand? Those state legislators don’t stand a chance. And they aren’t even constituents!”
I returned her smile at the image of the coven descending upon hapless lawmakers. Still . . . “What are they up to, do you suppose?”
Maya shrugged and handed me her phone to show me the text. “It says they’re joining the march, and afterward they plan to visit the California State Railroad Museum in Old Sacramento. That’s all.”
“Huh. Who knew they were such train enthusiasts?”
On the one hand, given what I was dealing with at the moment, it was nice not to have to worry about what would no doubt be the boisterous arrival of thirteen elderly witches. Not to mention my mother. On the other hand, the waiting and the anticipation were starting to get on my nerves. Also, I could use some advice. And I couldn’t help but wonder if they were just being dotty, or if there was something else behind their erratic route.
“Done,” said Selena, the now-sparkling jewelry and silverware fanned out around her. Hers was a rare metal magic. As Selena polished the metal, she imbued it with subtle whispers of energy. Customers could feel it, though they didn’t understand the source of their reactions. The items Selena polished flew off the store’s shelves—occasionally, quite literally.
I had quickly run out of silver objects for her to work on—Aunt Cora’s Closet was a clothes store primarily, not a jewelry store—so I had taken to buying old cutlery and other small silver items at garage sales, just to give her something to do.
“Isn’t that pretty? Thank you, Selena,” I said. “Now, please put the jewelry back in the display case, and the cutlery can go on the shelves with the kitchen items. If we have enough, maybe we’ll use it for the Magical Match Tea.”
Instead, Selena craned her neck to look up at the wall behind the counter. She gazed at the map.
“It’s a picture,” she said.
“A what?”
“Their path is making a picture, see?”
I stood back and looked at the map. She was right; the red thread strung around the pins was starting to look like a figure of some sort.
“What is it?” asked Maya.
The three of us stood in front of the map, tilting our heads this way, then that way, but the shape didn’t make sense. There was no obvious figure emerging.
“Huh,” I said. “It doesn’t look like anything yet, does it?”
“Prob’ly they’re still working on it,” said Selena.
“I think it’s more likely just chance,” said Maya. “The thread was bound to start looking like something to an active imagination. You know, like when you look up at the clouds and suddenly see the spitting image of your great-uncle Ollie?”
Maya was a natural skeptic. And normally I would have ceded her point. But these were the grandmas. And Graciela. She rarely did anything by chance. It was a witchy characteristic.
“Okay, well . . . ,” I said as I hung my sweater on the antique brass coat-tree behind the counter. “I suppose we’ll just have to trust they know what they’re doing. And frankly, at the moment, I’m just as glad not to have to deal with them. I’ve got a few other things on my plate.”
Maya raised her eyebrows, but we held our tongues in front of Selena.
“Maya, could you look up Tristan Dupree on the Internet?”
“Sure. With a name like that, I don’t imagine he’ll be hard to . . . Bingo. He’s got a Facebook page.”
“Tristan Dupree has a Facebook page?”
“I told you, Lily. Everyone and their brother has a Facebook page.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s my point.” Maya had been building a Facebook page for Aunt Cora’s Closet, insisting it would benefit the business. I believed her, but computers scared me. Too much scattered energy zinging around in cyberspace. Just like cell phones.
Not for the first time, I wondered whether I was a witch meant for an earlier time. Then again, I thanked the stars not to be living back during the burning days.
“Unless this is a different Tristan Dupree,” Maya said. “Hard to imagine there’s more than one person walking around with that moniker.”
“You never know,” I said. “It’s a big world.”
I peered over her shoulder as she scrolled through Tristan Dupree’s Facebook page. His privacy settings wouldn’t allow us to view much, but the profile picture was Tristan, all right. I would recognize those pale emotionless eyes anywhere. His location was listed as Füssen, Bavaria.
“Isn’t Bavaria in Germany?” she asked. “Why not just say Germany?”
“I think it’s a regionalist thing,” I said. “You know, like people saying they’re Northern Californians to distinguish themselves from LA. Does it tell us anything else?” I asked.
Maya shook her head. “Unless he ‘friends’ us, the rest of the information is private.”
“He’s not likely to ‘friend’ anybody at this point.”
“I’ll search the Web further, see if I can find anything else.”
“Thanks. While you’re online,” I said, “could you look up Renee’s cupcake shop?”
“Sure. Didn’t Wind Spirit mention ordering some cupcakes for the Magical Match Tea? That’s a great idea.”
“I don’t agree. In fact, Renee’s sort of . . . bad news.”
“The cupcake lady?” Maya asked, still typing. “She stopped by my mom’s shop just the other day.”
“Did you see her?”
Maya nodded. “Yeah, I was there.”
“Did Renee do anything odd?”
She shook her head. “Dropped off a dozen cupcakes, as a matter of fact. The chocolate one was pretty astonishing. You should have seen it. I think I may have dreamed about it last night. Also, there were a few savory treats, too, little meat pasties. She said she was developing a new product line. Why?”
“I can’t give you many details. . . .”
Maya gave me a look. “It’s like that, is it?”
“I think we all need to be cautious around her, that’s all.”
“She doesn’t look like much of a threat, I have to say,” said Maya as Renee’s smiling countenance popped up on the computer screen, her round face friendly and welcoming. Renee posed in front of shelves of colorful intricately decorated cakes and pastries. She was chubby, like someone who enjoyed her own food a little too much, and about Bronwyn’s age. I knew only too well what Renee was really up to, but even so, it was hard to look at her and convince myself she was trouble.
Excellent disguise, cupcakes. They hid a multitude of sins.
Selena had wandered off and was now teasing Oscar with a muffin, holding it over his head. Oscar snorted and looked about ready to head-butt her. I decided to let them sort it out themselves.
I turned back to the computer screen. What was I hoping to get from looking at Renee? Some glimmer of what was going on?
“What did Renee do while she was at Lucille’s Loft?” I asked Maya. “Did she say anything, ask questions about me, maybe?”
“Um, let me think,” Maya said. If my questions struck her as odd, she didn’t mention it. Maya had grown used to my bizarrely inquisitive ways. “She admired the fabrics, the dresses, the rainbow of thread choices. She asked for a few samples, and had some questions about prices. Nothing out of the ordinary that I can think of.”
“You ate one of the cupcakes? You didn’t feel strange in any way?”
She shook her head. “Other than dreaming about it? No. I ate a meat pasty, too. So did you, as a matter of fact.”
“I did? When was this?”