“Sorry. You’re right, of course. If only I knew what was going on.”
I gave her the story in brief: about Sailor being in jail and Tristan’s death and the contents of the shoe box. About the grandmas making a sign with their wandering travels, and Sailor’s doppelg?nger.
“Aidan says doppelg?ngers can be a harbinger of imminent death,” I said, a catch in my voice. I hadn’t realized how upset I was, how close to breaking down. Calypso wasn’t motherly, exactly, but I had been yearning for the opportunity to speak to a wise woman.
“I’ve always heard that as well,” Calypso said in a steady voice. I noticed that a couple of tendrils from the plants behind her seemed to edge closer to her, as though reaching out. This was how plants responded to Calypso. “But you really don’t know that this look-alike is a doppelg?nger, after all. That’s not the only possibility.”
“True.” I knew she was right. But I had been feeling negative lately. I sneezed.
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I think I’m coming down with a cold.” For some reason I didn’t want her to know I might have fallen victim to Renee’s spell. It made me feel foolish. I also held back from asking her if she thought I’d offended my guiding spirit, the Ashen Witch. I trusted her . . . but perhaps not entirely. When it came right down to it, I didn’t know Calypso that well.
“I’m sure that’s unusual for you.”
“It is. How could you tell?”
She simply smiled. Her smile was knowing, reassuring . . . and yet a teensy bit annoying. I wished I knew what she was thinking, how she knew the things she knew. Was she psychic, or simply wise and intuitive?
Calypso got up, turned to a bookshelf stuffed with books, old and new, and files with clippings. She searched for a moment, then brought down a thick tome whose leather binding was so old it was slightly crumbly. She set it on the table and I read the title: Royal Entomological Society: A Treatise on Taxonomic Specifications.
“I used this long ago to develop my natural pest-control system in the garden. I’m sure you know I shy away from pesticides. Let’s see. . . . ‘The silverfish is small and wingless; largely harmless, it does not sting or bite. The common name is derived from the insect’s blue-gray color and sinewy ways of moving. The scientific name, L. saccharina, indicates the silverfish’s exclusive diet of sugars and starches.’”
“Ah, that explains something,” I said. “I thought saccharina referred to the sugar substitute. But . . . could it be used as an ingredient in something?”
“That kind of information won’t be in here. Let’s see what else I’ve got. . . .” She trailed off as she searched the bookshelves. She pulled out one volume, then another, shook her head, and put them back. “I don’t see any symbology associated with it or any recipes. I take it you’ve already checked your Book of Shadows?”
I nodded, joining her at the bookcase and studying the spines. Her collection was almost as fascinating and arcane as Aidan’s. “It didn’t say anything at all.”
“Perhaps we’re thinking too specifically. Maybe it’s simply indicative of an insect.”
“But there are silverfish in the shoe box.”
“Only in the box?”
“I’ve never seen them elsewhere. They appear to be contained.”
She met my eyes and our gaze held for so long I became hyperaware of the sound of the ticking clock. I heard a soft cat’s meow, a bird’s faraway call. I noticed the African violets turning their faces toward her. Finally, she nodded.
“I’m not psychic, Lily. I have my magical moments, but they have to do with plants, nothing more.”
“But it was more before, wasn’t it? Aidan told me that you used to be in charge around here.”
She shrugged it off. “‘In charge’ makes it sound much more official than it actually was. You’ve been in San Francisco long enough to know there are a lot of disparate personalities, and yet sometimes the community needs to band together. Especially when going up against outside threats.”
“What kind of threat were you facing when Aidan arrived?”
A profound sadness came into her eyes. She crossed the room to stand near the plants, checking their soil for moisture, snipping off a few dead leaves. “It was . . . it was difficult. A challenger came under the influence of the wrong elements. She called on a demon to act as her coincidentia oppositorum.”
“That sounds like a really bad idea.”
“It was. It made her witchcraft incredibly potent, but she was willing to do just about anything to gain power.”
“What happened to her?”
“She departed, to the spirit world.”
“How?”
“Aidan killed her.”
Chapter 25
“Aidan did what?”
“He did it to save my life. I begged him not to, to let her live. I never wanted to be saddled with the guilt of anyone’s death, to trade my life for another. But Aidan said he did it for everyone’s good, that more than just my life was at stake.”
I sat silent, stunned by what she had said.
“I never wanted that legacy,” she continued, angry now. “Aidan wouldn’t listen; as usual he did what he thought best. He’s ruthless. Not uncaring, but ruthless.”
“But if he loved you, of course he did what was necessary to save your life.”
“Who said he loved me?”
I remembered seeing a photo of the two of them on her mantel. It had been taken many years ago; Calypso looked much younger in the photo than she did now, while Aidan looked exactly the same. But what had struck me was the expression on his face: open and guileless, an easy smile. In all the time I’d known him, I had never seen him smile like that, or seem so relaxed and natural.
“I know you two were once together, so I assumed . . .”
“People can be together without being in love,” she said, her tone bitter and dismissive. The tabby seemed to sense her discomfort and leapt into her lap. She caressed him, and calmed. “Anyway, I’d rather not talk about this anymore.”
“Could I just ask you—how does the coincidentia oppositorum work, exactly? I thought it involved a man and a woman, but you say a demon could be the other half . . . ?”
“It’s all about balance. Traditionally it was a man and a woman, but as you know, gender is fluid. As are so many other things. People interpret the world differently these days.”
“Interesting. I . . . Well, Aidan says my relationship to Sailor makes me vulnerable.”
Calypso didn’t answer immediately. Her hands slowly stroked the cat in her lap. He purred so loudly I could hear him from where I sat.
Finally, she let out a sigh. “In a sense, any relationship makes us vulnerable, don’t you think? I’ve always thought that was at the core of our strength as magical women, to allow ourselves vulnerability. It certainly does make things more complicated, however. If Aidan feels he must stand alone, that is his choice. It doesn’t have to be yours.”
Something skittered past again. Low to the floor, but not a cat.
“What was that?” I asked. “Did you see something run by?”
“That’s Finnall,” said Calypso.
“What’s a Finnall?”
She gave a soft, low laugh. “That’s his name. He’s my mandragora. Aidan made him for me.”
I opened my mouth to inform her that I had made it, but decided against it.
“Do you know mandragoras?” Calypso continued. “They’re a kind of household imp. They can be very useful in sussing out poisons, rotten fruit, that sort of thing. Finnall is priceless in my produce business. And he keeps me company.”
“Where did he go?”
“He’s sitting on the shelf,” she whispered, gesturing with her head. “He’s shy.”
I glanced at the bookshelf and there he sat, legs entwined primly. He looked like a little carved doll. No one would assume he was anything more.