I was happy to think Finnall kept Calypso company, but was suspicious enough of Aidan to wonder if he had an ulterior motive in giving Calypso the mandragora, especially since he had claimed to have made it himself. Could Finnall be acting as a spy of some kind, as I had long suspected Oscar of doing?
“Now that I think about it,” said Calypso, “Finnall might be of help with this. I don’t suppose you brought one of the silverfish from the box?”
“I happen to have one right here,” I said as I extracted the small jam jar from my backpack. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“Safe? That’s a tough one. I’m not overly worried, though. Also, we’ll need an image of Sailor, or some item of his,” Calypso continued as she gathered, then began grinding dried leaves and seeds in a massive marble mortar and pestle.
“Why do we need something of Sailor’s?”
“Isn’t he what all this fuss is about, at the end of the day?”
I took the small photo of Sailor out of my wallet and set it on the counter.
Calypso continued mashing herbs and pods together, then added club moss from the redwood forest.
“I didn’t know you brewed,” I said as I watched, fascinated. Most practitioners weren’t so transparent about their methods.
“I don’t brew, per se,” said Calypso. “But I do mix.”
I didn’t see the mandragora move, but suddenly he was sitting near the mortar and pestle, the photo of Sailor in his lap.
In one smooth motion she opened the jar, scooped up the silverfish, and tossed it into the mortar and started to smash it with the stone pestle.
Sparks flew, as though the creature were actually made of silver. Apparently, this particular silverfish wasn’t easy to kill. Then Calypso showed a side of herself I hadn’t seen before: She attacked the silverfish with a fierce expression on her face, her hair escaping her braid and flying wild around her, all the plants and flowers in the room turning their faces toward the action. She reminded me of the medieval woodcuts that showed wild-eyed women, hair unbound, brewing or dancing or calling to the devil.
“Do you smell that?” Calypso asked, grimacing.
I tried to inhale. “I can’t really smell much lately.”
“Smells like something burning.”
Again, I saw something scamper just out of my field of vision. I turned just in time to see a man run out of the room.
It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over me. I stood in shock, paralyzed over what I had just seen.
Sailor’s doppelg?nger?
Finally I regained the use of my limbs and ran after the man.
By the time I turned the corner into the next room, it was empty. All I saw was the mandragora sitting on the floor.
Oscar came barreling in the room from outside in his fierce, natural guise. “Mistress! Are you okay? I got the strangest feeling.”
“Thanks, Oscar. I’m fine.”
He looked at the mandragora and grimaced. “Oh, hey, I remember that guy. I don’t like him.”
“His name’s Finnall. He belongs to Calypso now.”
Oscar poked at Finnall with his muzzle. “Why’s he just sitting there? What, is he playing dead?”
“I think he’s shy.”
I picked him up and brought him back into the other room, where Calypso waited. Oscar transformed into his pig form, and followed me.
“What’s going on here?” I demanded.
“Did you see Sailor?” Calypso asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s the silverfish. I heard of this charm, long ago. It didn’t occur to me before because it doesn’t require silverfish per se, but will work with any insect or sea creature with an exoskeleton. Something about their outer shells . . . They can be enchanted, and then used to throw powerful glamours.”
“Like the one Aidan maintains?”
She nodded.
“So I have a shoe box full of magical silverfish,” I said. “Will wonders never cease?”
“Unassuming creatures—like household pests—are perfect hosts for this sort of glamour charm.”
I remembered Aidan mentioning that Tristan Dupree’s mother was gifted at glamour charms. And Silber was German for silver; maybe when Tristan’s spirit spoke through Hervé in the hotel room, he was mentioning his silverfish. So I had “stolen” not only my lachrymatory from him but also a box full of his mother’s silverfish glamour charms. I may have suppressed the memories of that time, but I felt a little thrill of pride. Apparently I’d been quite the resourceful teenager.
“I’ve never thrown glamours,” I told Calypso. “I mean, I’ve done minor masking brews, things like that, to make others less likely to notice something like a pimple. But not full-on glamours like your mandragora just did: making myself look like someone else entirely. How does that work?”
“If one has the skills, the possibilities are endless.”
“It would be difficult to maintain a glamour for long, wouldn’t it? How does Aidan do it?”
“It takes an enormous amount of strength to maintain a glamour as Aidan does, day in, day out. But in the case of this fake Sailor, one would only need to maintain the guise for a few minutes at a time. Walking through the hotel lobby, or at the bottom of the stairwell. Wouldn’t take that much, especially when the onlookers are scared. When people are afraid, they tend not to notice details.”
“And it’s helpful to have an object belonging to the person you are trying to look like?” I asked. “That makes sense.”
“As you know, our possessions sometimes carry traces of our energy. Especially something that means a lot to us.”
I thought of how it felt to see my engagement ring on Patience’s finger. I hoped I could trust her. As with Calypso, I thought I could. But I wasn’t entirely sure. The story of my life.
“You know who has a surprising expertise in glamours?” asked Calypso as she cleaned her mortar and pestle, rubbing it with salts and olive oil.
“Who?”
“Your friend Wind Spirit.”
“You mean, the witch who used to be called Amy? From the Welcome coven?”
“Yes. She came to talk to me a couple of weeks ago, and she noticed the moss and mentioned using it in glamour spells.”
“How did you meet her?”
“Bronwyn gave her my name and suggested she speak to me directly. Wind Spirit’s been interested in developing a small agricultural business, but doesn’t have any garden space. She said her landlord agreed to let her use the basement, which is mostly dirt.”
“What can she grow in a basement?”
“Not much,” Calypso said with a laugh. “But the girl’s quite determined.”
“I’ve heard white asparagus is grown in the dark.”
“That’s not a bad idea, but that’s not what she cultivated.”
“What was she growing?”
“Mushrooms.”
* * *
? ? ?
My car was alone on Highway 1 as we headed down the twisty route back to San Francisco, so Oscar sat in his natural form in the passenger seat, gazing out at the view. It was bucolic and spectacular: redwood and fern-filled glens, deer and wild turkeys.
Not that I noticed. I was a mite distracted.
“Maybe Renee was telling the truth,” I said. “Maybe she’s not responsible for any of this. What if Wind Spirit wants to work with Renee? I thought the coincidentia oppositorum had to be a male and female, but according to Calypso, that’s not true. Gender’s fluid, after all—I remember Wind Spirit saying that once herself! So maybe Wind Spirit is making a play for power. Maybe she knew Tristan had come to town to work with Renee, and wanted to stop him.”
“So she could take his place and rule with Renee?” Oscar asked.
“Exactly.”
“But she’s a girl. Tristan was a big guy. How’d she beat him up?”
“According to Carlos, Tristan was already sick by then, so it’s likely he was in a weakened state. And Wind Spirit is stronger than she looks. She has a black belt in some form of martial art; Bronwyn mentioned Wind Spirit was all muscle under those baby-doll dresses she always wears,” I said, starting to weave the threads together. “The fake Sailor kept checking a watch—maybe the clock was ticking on how long Wind Spirit could sustain the glamour. Also, Patience said Renna thought the fake Sailor looked short. Maybe Wind Spirit couldn’t get the glamour quite right. I wonder if she’s left-handed. . . .”