“What’s that?”
“I really don’t know. Some sort of sweetener? I sent him to the little grocery on the corner; they have a lot of Russian specialties. Anyway, he wanted that, and the recipe for my grandmother’s famous meat-and-mushroom pasties.”
“Did you give it to him?”
She nodded. “A man who has an in with the Rusalka gets what he wants.” A cat-and-the-canary smile lit her face. “But you know, my grandmother always left something out of her recipes. The secret ingredient was just that, secret. That way no one could ever copy her. Not even I know it.”
I felt a quick shiver of premonition and glanced at the little window over the desk just as a bird hit the glass with a loud thump.
Juna jumped out of her chair, eyes wide, and crossed herself.
“Death,” she said in a fierce whisper, then pointed at me. “That is a harbinger of death! You have brought death to this place. Unclean forces! You must leave, now.”
* * *
? ? ?
“Gotta hand it to you, Lily Ivory,” Patience said as we were unceremoniously escorted through the jewelry store and out onto the sidewalk. Juna slammed the door behind us, and threw the lock with a clank. “You do have a way with strangers.”
I ignored her. “I think we can access the alley over here.”
“Why on earth . . . ?”
“Poor little bird. I want to see if it’s okay.”
She snorted, crossed her arms, and told me she’d wait for me. I edged along the side of the building to the back. But there was no sign of the bird on the ground, and no blood or other obvious signs of trauma on the window. As I was looking around, Juna spotted me through the glass, made some sort of hand gesture, and then spit three times over her left shoulder.
I didn’t have to be up on Russian culture to know what that meant. Juna was spitting on the devil.
“It’s not there,” I said as I rejoined Patience, who lingered in front of the store. “It must have flown away.”
“Oh, what a relief,” she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm as we started down the block. “And here I was, about to call in the animal rescue squad.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t tell Juna I’m a witch.”
“I may have neglected to mention it. She doesn’t care for witches.”
“Because we’re ‘unclean’?”
Patience shrugged. “It’s a cultural thing. Not like you haven’t been called worse, I’m guessing.”
“True. Let’s stop in at the grocery and ask about the leprous saccharine, or whatever it was.”
“Lepisma saccharina. Best be quick about it, before Juna makes a phone call.”
The cramped grocery offered the usual corner store staples: a lot of cheap American beer, small liquor bottles, potato chips, candy bars, and Slim Jims. But one aisle boasted several items labeled with Cyrillic script. Up by the register homemade pickles floated in a five-gallon container, and a refrigerated display case held an impressive selection of sausages and headcheese.
A very old man stood behind the counter, silent and watching.
“Hello,” I said. “Juna sent us. Might you have any Lepisma saccharina?”
I tripped over the pronunciation, and the man frowned and shook his head.
I tried again. “I might not be pronouncing it right. Lepisma saccharina. I think it’s a sweetener of some kind?”
“I have no bugs here!” He spoke with a heavy Russian accent. “My place is clean. I keep my store very clean! What are you saying? Nasty woman! You get out!”
Patience and I scooted outside, and I heard her low chuckle as we hurried toward the car. “O for two, Lily. In less than twenty minutes. Is that a personal best, you nasty woman?”
“I don’t understand what just happened. What did I do?”
“Maybe you need a course or two in cultural sensitivity before you think about coming back to Little Russia. Otherwise somebody might put something funny in your pierogis.”
“It wasn’t my fault a bird hit the window,” I said, feeling defensive.
“What about the poor little man in the corner grocery?”
“I have no idea what that was about. Either I horribly mispronounced something, or Juna called him and told him I was ‘unclean,’ maybe?”
“So, you have no idea what that saccharine was? Or why it matters?”
“Not really. I thought it might tell us something pertinent. But it’s a bust, like everything else.”
“Well, as much as I’ve enjoyed watching you make an ass of yourself, I have things to do. Drop me off at my place?”
“Sure. The Nasty Woman Express is at your service.”
Chapter 24
I found Conrad sitting on the curb outside Aunt Cora’s Closet, as was his wont.
“Dudette!” he said when I approached. “You still need my help tomorrow? Want me to bring a coupla friends? Will work for food, as they say.”
“Yes, please, we’ll need help. I’m more than happy to provide breakfast and lunch for anyone who puts in a couple of hours.”
“You’re on, dude,” Conrad said.
Tomorrow we intended to virtually empty Aunt Cora’s Closet to make room for the Magical Match Tea. Hard to believe we were going through with the event with Sailor still behind bars and an unsolved murder on my plate, but canceling it wouldn’t achieve anything more than frustrating our friends and disappointing the Haight Street shelter, which needed the funds to help women facing much more difficult lives than mine.
Besides, Renee had promised—or threatened—to show up to the tea. I had no idea what to expect from that, but I certainly wanted to be here when she did.
I couldn’t put an impenetrable protection spell over the store, or it would keep out all our visitors. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t take precautions. I would have to brew. And . . . possibly approach Aidan, one more time. Surely there was something—or someone—else I could appease him with? What about Jamie? He wanted to work for Aidan.
Conrad followed me inside Aunt Cora’s Closet. Bronwyn was consulting with a customer, her wildflower-crowned head bent low as she concocted a custom tea blend at her herb stand. Duke sat on a velvet bench near the dressing rooms, reading a thick novel. Maya was straightening several brightly colored prom dresses, circa 1980, while half a dozen customers roamed the crowded aisles.
After trading greetings and making sure everyone was still on for our big move tomorrow, I asked Maya: “Did you get any hits on that drawing?”
“Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything that matched one hundred percent.” She called a file up on the computer. “But you said to keep in mind that it might not be complete, so these are some of the signs that looked similar.”
I studied the computer screen, which showed thumbnails of several signs that did seem similar, though none was exact.
“What do they mean?” I asked.
“Depends on which one you’re referring to. They’re all over the map. This one’s an ancient Hebrew sign for water; this one’s a petroglyph. This one here”—she clicked on the thumbnail to make the picture larger—“is from the Da Pinchi Code that Conrad mentioned, and it actually looks pretty close. But the interesting thing is that it seems to be based on a much older sign. I’m still trying to track down its origins, though.”
“Thanks so much for looking.”
“You’re welcome. It’s sort of fun, like a treasure hunt.”
I smiled. “I never think of anything computer-related as ‘fun,’ but I’m glad you do. Hey, could you look up something else for me while you’re on the Internet? I think it’s Latin, and it’s probably an ingredient for baked goods, or a sweetener of some kind. Lepisma saccharina.”
“Spell it for me?”
“I’m not completely sure, but L-e—”
“Dude, what kind of baked goods are you eating?” interrupted Conrad, who had been playing with a heap of colorful Mardi Gras beads.
“What do you mean?”
“That means silverfish.”
“Silverfish?” I asked. “As in, the bug?”
He nodded. “Lepisma saccharina is the Latin name for silverfish.”
“I didn’t know you knew Latin,” Maya said.