I had been worried about the backpack. Now I was worried Patience was reading my mind. I made sure my guard was up.
“And now you’re worried I’m reading your mind,” Patience said.
I didn’t say anything. The waitress arrived with my Coke and told Patience her martini was on the way. I took a sip and let the familiar sensation of sweet bubbles play on my tongue and bring me back to reality. After our adrenaline-filled escape, I was feeling the crash.
“I’m not reading your mind, princess,” Patience said, her tone almost kind. “Under the circumstances, it doesn’t take a psychic to figure out what you’re thinking. Want to use my phone to call the store and warn them, just in case? I’ll show you how to dial it.”
“Good idea,” I said. Patience’s smartphone wasn’t as complicated as I thought it would be, so I took it and went outside, walking past the Flatiron Building to the corner of Columbus and Pacific. It was a busy intersection, with cars whizzing past and pedestrians hurrying along. The traffic noise made it harder to hear, but I wanted the comfort of people around me. Almost compulsively, I searched the crowd for the Sailor look-alike . . . just in case. When I stopped to think about it, we probably should have left this part of town altogether.
“Aunt Cora’s Closet, it’s not old. It’s vintage!” Maya singsonged as she answered the phone.
“Maya, it’s Lily. I need to tell you something important, but you have to promise me not to freak out.”
“Okaaaaay,” Maya said. “What’s up?”
“If someone who looks like Sailor comes to the store, it’s not Sailor. Sailor’s still in jail. This person is just someone who looks like him.”
“Would this be the same guy I saw in the herbal store?”
“Yes, it is. And he’s up to no good. Maybe you should close the store and go home; I don’t like the idea of you being there by yourself.”
“I’m not—Selena and Bronwyn are here, too. I’ll close the store if you want me to, but I have a better idea: I’ll ask Bronwyn to give Duke a call, and I’ll get a couple of my cousins to come by and keep us company for the afternoon. Also, Conrad’s outside, so I’ll ask him to keep an eye peeled.”
“Any hint of danger, lock the door and call the police, okay? Don’t take any chances, please.”
“No worries, Lily. We’ll be careful.”
“Good—oh, and one more thing. What’s Carlos’s cell number?”
I jotted it down and hung up, relieved to think they could hold the fort, the whole gang of them together. I was reasonably sure my protection spell over Aunt Cora’s Closet would be enough to at least give Not Sailor pause, but still.
Then I called Carlos and gave him the rundown.
“Well, that explains a couple of weird 911 calls we were getting from Chinatown,” Carlos said. “So let me get this straight: You’re talking doppelg?nger now?”
“No, of course not. There’s no such thing as doppelg?ngers. I don’t think. But a Sailor look-alike, for sure.”
“Isn’t that what a doppelg?nger is?”
“I’m not certain, actually. I think the situation may be . . . complicated. All I’m saying is there’s someone out there who looks like Sailor, and dresses like Sailor, but isn’t Sailor. And he may have my keys.”
“All right. I’ll send a patrol car by the store. You’re sure this Sailor-who-isn’t-Sailor will be going after the store?”
“I’m not sure of anything at the moment,” I said. “In fact, probably not; at least, I can’t think of a reason why he would. I just . . . think it pays to be cautious.”
“You’re right about that. In fact, there are some new developments in the case.”
“There are?” My heart pounded. “Are these new developments positive or negative?”
“Can’t say yet. Anyway, I’ll go over to Sailor’s apartment with a couple of uniforms, see if this look-alike clown is still there, or if we can recover anything.”
“Thanks. Could you do me a favor as well? I left a couple of things there. A woven backpack full of stuff including my wallet and keys, and an . . . unusual candleholder.”
“How unusual?” he asked, and I heard trepidation in his voice.
“Pretty unusual. And valuable. Please, if you find my things, I really need them back.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I returned to Brandy Ho’s, where Patience had already downed her martini, ordered another, and was tucking into a tall golden mound of salt-and-pepper fried calamari.
“Adrenaline crash,” she mumbled. “I need fuel. I ordered noodles, too.”
I sipped my Coke. She pushed the plate of calamari toward me. “Have some.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care. You need to eat. And drink up—it’ll help.”
Listlessly I picked up a piece of calamari. I was not a happy camper. I was no closer to getting Sailor out of jail, there were mysterious “new developments” that Carlos couldn’t tell me about, and now my other friends were in danger. And the memory of “Sailor” who wasn’t Sailor coming up those stairs, no recognition in his eyes, blank stare . . . it gave me the willies.
“On the positive side,” said Patience, “at least we know we’re not dealing with a case of possession.”
“Excuse me?”
She shrugged. “It occurred to me as a possibility, since I ‘saw’ Sailor at the hotel. It really did appear to be him. But presuming he’s still in jail, we can cross possession off the list.”
“Oh, well . . . that’s good, then.”
“As I was saying to you, I couldn’t read your mind if I wanted to,” said Patience. “Most people think in pictures, some in words, but a witch like you . . .”
“What?”
“Not only do you have your guard up all the time—and it’s a very effective guard, too, kudos—but a witch like you thinks in scents and symbols. I wouldn’t be able to figure them out even if I could access your thoughts.”
“If I’m so guarded, then how do you know what my thoughts look like?”
“Hey, don’t get upset with me. I wasn’t trying to snoop around in your mind. Most of the time you’re guarded, but when you’re really upset or emotional, you throw out images and scents.”
“I do? That’s . . . weird.”
“Not really. You wouldn’t believe the way most people’s thoughts appear. I could tell you stories that would curl your hair.”
“Must be why yours is so curly,” I said, and she actually gave me a little smile. Sipping her second martini, Patience seemed to have recuperated from our adventure. I wished I could say the same. Although I hoped I projected an outward calm, inside I was going crazy.
“So, when we were running,” said Patience, “you threw out a picture. Something that looked something like . . .” She sketched a symbol on a paper napkin. It was similar to the drawings I had seen on the notepad in Sailor’s bedroom.
Seeing it now, I realized what it reminded me of: the strange thread web covering the map in the store where we had traced the route of the busload of witches from Texas.
Chapter 17
“Is it a demon’s sigil?” asked Patience.
I shook my head. “If someone with magical power sketches the sigil, it could be enough to summon the demon. Sailor wouldn’t have been stupid enough to do something like that.”
“But Sailor’s not magical, Lily. Not technically. Neither am I. We’re psychics. There’s a difference. We don’t conjure. Magical folks have the power to change reality; we only have the power to read it.”
“But when you and I combined forces, I could feel your energy.”
“I have remarkable powers of concentration due to my training. I’m able to combine it with others. That’s what you were feeling.”
“What about astral projection? That seems capable of changing reality.”
“No, it doesn’t—that’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you. Astral projection, like psychic ability, reads reality. It doesn’t change it. A person might take the information gathered and make decisions that change reality, but the psychic’s act of projection doesn’t, by itself, affect anything in the real world. . . . See the difference?”