“Day before yesterday, I think? I brought you one, remember? Flaky pastry, ground meat, onion, carrots, mushrooms, cheese . . . I’m getting hungry just thinking about it,” Maya said.
I did remember, and it was delicious. Maya often brought me things from home, or from the café down the street. It hadn’t occurred to me to question its origins.
“Are you worried about it?” continued Maya. “I don’t think any of us are suffering any ill effects.”
“I suppose you’re right. But in the future, we should all be a little wary of Renee and her baked goods. One more thing.” I dropped my voice. “Would you look up a man named Henry Petulengro? He has a law office in San Francisco. I need his phone number. He’s Sailor’s lawyer.”
“Have you seen him?” Maya whispered as she located the lawyer’s Web site. “Is he okay?”
I nodded, jotted down the lawyer’s number, then ducked into the back workroom to call his office. As the phone rang, I noticed several of Selena’s drawings scattered on the table. Each featured a cupcake with black icing. Selena drew a lot; this probably didn’t mean anything special.
Petulengro’s voice mail picked up, and I left a message saying I was Sailor’s fiancée, and asking him to get back to me.
I turned around to see Selena standing just this side of the curtains, staring at me.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“Nothing, I . . .” I was about to brush her off but noticed the matching polka-dot dresses Selena and I had picked out for the Magical Match Tea. She was so much like I was at her age: old enough to pick up on things, but not experienced enough to know how to interpret them. Fifteen was a confusing, disorienting age in general, but even more so for someone like Selena, who didn’t have friends her own age to bounce worries off, much less to share carefree activities with.
She deserved the truth.
“Sailor has been arrested,” I said.
“For what?”
“For . . .” Okay, the truth was one thing, but the whole truth was something else. I didn’t want to scare her. “For a crime he didn’t commit. He’s in jail, but I’m fixin’ to figure this out and get him released.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Emotions filled her near-black eyes, but the rest of her affect remained flat. Not long ago her grandmother had been held in jail, and Selena had been homeless for a brief time. Just the memory of this vulnerable young woman—barely more than a girl—wandering the streets of San Francisco on her own made my heart skip a beat.
“I like Sailor,” she said.
“I do, too.”
“You got my abuelita out of jail.”
“I was able to help her, yes.” And now, I thought, I had to help Sailor. I had to. There was no other choice. If only I had a clue how to go about it.
“You said I could be a bridesmaid. Me and Maya.”
“And you will be,” I said, hoping I wasn’t lying. “You’ll be a great bridesmaid. Selena, what made you draw these cupcakes like this?”
She shrugged. “I like cupcakes.”
“Are they . . . burned? Why are they all black?”
“I dunno—that’s how they were in my head. So . . . can I help? I mean, with Sailor?”
My heart surged. For Selena to worry about someone else—and to offer to help—showed a lot of growth.
“Thank you, sugar,” I said as I crossed over and gave her a little squeeze. “At the moment I can’t think of a way for you to help, but I surely do appreciate the offer. As will Sailor, I know. What you can do right now is to pick out your bridesmaid dress so Lucille will have time to alter it, if need be. Have you found one you like?”
She shook her head. “Nothing fits.”
Selena used to be painfully thin and pinched, but had been filling out recently; like Oscar, Selena loved to eat. Today she wore a sweater studded with sparkly brooches that had once belonged to an elderly woman named Betty, who had been kind to Selena. The style was much too old for her, and despite her worn Levi’s, Selena could not have looked less like her teenage contemporaries if she’d been wearing one of the shop’s spangled, shoulder-padded tops from the eighties.
“Well, we’ll just have to find you something, then, won’t we?” I looped my arm around her shoulders and urged her out onto the shop floor. It was quiet this morning, with only a single customer flipping through some old leather jackets.
“Let’s look through this section, here.” Leading Selena to the rack marked DRESSY DRESSES, I said, “I think you may need a larger size than before, that’s all.”
Her eyes went huge. “I’m getting fat?”
“No, Selena, not at all. You’re healthy and you’re growing up, that’s all. Women have a different shape than girls. We’re meant to have curves.”
I patted myself on my “curvy” hip.
She didn’t look convinced. Given everything Selena had to deal with already—possessing out-of-control magical talent, being abandoned by her parents, growing up without a lot of economic advantages—I had hoped Selena would be immune to the more common concerns of girls her age. I supposed this could be an indication that she was becoming more conscious of the world and social expectations, which in some ways—given how clueless she had been about the impression she made not so long ago—could be a good thing. As long as she didn’t start doubting herself and her own worth.
Raising children was not for sissies.
We flipped through the many formal dresses on the rack, and I pulled out several that would fit or could be altered. Selena was attracted to the more garish, poufy-skirted prom dresses, though a more streamlined style would have suited her better. Still, I let her grab whatever she wanted and helped her cart the dresses over to one of the private changing alcoves. She shied away from the communal dressing room.
I tried to keep my mind engaged in the dress search with Selena, but it was hard to focus on the here and now. What was my next step in the search for Tristan’s murderer? Should I go speak to Renee? If so, I needed Aidan’s help. I thought with a pang about how I’d left his office last night. When would I learn not to lose my temper around Aidan?
The bell tinkled wildly as a gorgeous woman with flowing black hair and flashing eyes flung open the door and stormed into Aunt Cora’s Closet.
Patience Blix.
This was all I needed.
Chapter 11
“What in the holy hell is going on?” Patience demanded loudly before commencing to swear a blue streak.
The bell over the door rang again as the customer who had been perusing the leather jackets scurried outside. Selena emerged from the dressing room clad in an atrocious lime green prom dress that hung awkwardly from her still-bony shoulders.
“Little pitchers,” I said to Patience, giving her a look while clapping my hands over Selena’s ears.
“I’m not little,” Selena said, ducking out from my grasp and glaring at me. “And I’m not a pitcher. That’s a stupid saying.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “It was a reflex. But my grandmother used to say that to me, so it’s not stupid.”
Selena rolled her eyes.
“Hello?” Patience said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Focus on me, shall we?”
Patience had a lucrative fortune-telling business and was a bit of a local celebrity. Not only was she a powerful psychic, but she had a flair for the dramatic, and played the role of an exotic fortune-teller with gusto, embracing every Hollywood stereotype: long, flowing skirts, colorful scarves, tinkling ankle bracelets adorning her sandal-shod feet. Her big, dark eyes were lined in kohl, and gold coins glinted from the necklace that graced her low-cut peasant blouse. With their dark good looks and striking features, Patience and Sailor could easily have modeled together for the cover of a romance novel.
Patience was, in short, everything I was not. I blew out a breath and stroked my medicine bag for strength. This was all I needed, today of all days.
“What can I do for you, Patience?” I asked.
“What can you do for me? What can you do for me?”
“That’s what the lady said,” Maya said with a wry laugh, earning a glare from Patience. Maya shrugged it off with a smile, in typical Maya fashion.