Despite everything, I relaxed as I spent a pleasant day with friends, a welcome change from business as usual. We turned up the music—Maya had put together a great mix of upbeat hits from the eighties and nineties—and busied ourselves packing and hauling, fueled by bagels and chips and soda. Luckily Lucille’s Loft was right next door to Aunt Cora’s Closet, so we were able to roll some of the racks over just as they were, full of hanging clothes. Smaller items such as hats, scarves, and gloves were packed in boxes, which we then stacked on the worktables in the rear of Lucille’s shop. We carted over armfuls of dresses, skirts, blouses, and coats that weren’t on racks, stashing them atop workbenches or on clean blankets laid out on the floor.
We covered my main display counter with a heavy brocade cloth; it would serve as a refreshments stand. The shop was nearly emptied of merchandise, but I kept the too-fragile-to-wear dresses hanging on the wall as art pieces, their gossamer skirts fanning out. We outfitted the mannequins in the store’s window displays in sets of matching dresses that hadn’t been purchased for the tea. When, at Maya’s suggestion, we fitted them with hats and gloves, they looked very smart.
By early afternoon, we were done. Duke ordered pizza and the whole crew sprawled on the floor of the shop admiring our handiwork, and taking a well-deserved food break before starting on phase two of the preparations: giving the place a good scrubbing. I wanted to take this rare opportunity to clean thoroughly—using both standard and magical means. Sweeping and mopping under and around racks of clothing is no easy feat, and though I “cleansed” the shop every morning, given the circumstances, I thought it best to add a little extra magic. After the shop had been thoroughly vacuumed, mopped, and wiped down, I smudged widdershins, then sprinkled saltwater deosil, all over the store.
Next we set up several small folding café tables, and ringed the room with long tables for refreshments. There wouldn’t be enough room for everyone to sit at a table, but we wanted at least some chairs for those who needed them. Tomorrow morning we would put out the fresh flowers, dishes, and silverware. I was happy to have a reason to put all that vintage cutlery Selena had been polishing to good use.
I had noticed Conrad and his friend Shalimar whispering throughout the day; she seemed to be urging him to do something. Shalimar left after our pizza feast, and I asked Conrad if everything was okay.
“Dude, I’mma turn twenty-five next month,” he said. “I wanted to ask you . . .”
“Would you like to hold a party here?” I asked.
“Naw, it’s not that. It’s more like . . . I’m, like, tired. I was thinking I want to change things. Maybe visit my mom.”
“I didn’t know you had a mom.”
“Dude. Sure. We . . . we haven’t been close; but lately I’ve been thinking. I mean . . . a person never knows what’s gonna happen, y’know? I’m not getting any younger, and neither is she. It’s easy to act like you’ve got plenty of time, but when you really think about it, no one really knows how much time they have.”
“You are a very wise man, Conrad,” I said.
His words made me think of my own mother. Yes, I was anxious to see her, but part of me had been hoping she wouldn’t come. It was going to be hard to face her—wonderful, but hard. In some ways it was tempting just to avoid the whole thing. But Conrad was right. How did I know how much time I had, or how much time she had? I had faced disaster, and even death, several times in the past couple of years. I couldn’t take life, or time, for granted. None of us could.
“So, when you say you want to make some changes,” I continued, “what do you mean?”
His eyes shifted around the newly cavernous shop, as though he was embarrassed. “Dude. Sobriety. You’ve offered to help me get sober, before.”
Inside, I was jumping up and down in excitement. But I didn’t want to come on too strong, afraid to scare him off. So I played it cool. I kept my focus on the glass front of the display counter I was cleaning. “Oh, sure.”
“Is that, like, difficult?”
“Making any sort of serious change in life is always difficult,” I said. “But sometimes that’s an indication of how important it is to do.”
He nodded. “I guess I’m up to the challenge.”
“I know you are.” I smiled, and hugged him. Conrad was shaggy, his clothes threadbare. But he was kindhearted, and intelligent, and a good friend. “And I’ll be there beside you, every step of the way.”
“Thanks, Lily.”
“It will be my honor, and my pleasure. Now, care to help me set up some tables?”
“It will be my honor, and my pleasure.”
* * *
? ? ?
We had started our day before eight, so by four we had finished all we could do in preparation for the big Magical Match Tea. Tomorrow we would do all the last-minute tasks, like laying out food and flowers. Tonight everyone had baked goods to make, not to mention matching outfits to perfect, so we dispersed early.
I drove Selena back to her grandmother’s house, and we had a long talk about enforcing rules. We decided Selena would come to the tea tomorrow, but be grounded for a week after that. And any further shenanigans—especially putting herself in danger—would mean she might not be allowed to attend my wedding.
Afterward, I hurried back home to bake a few dozen macadamia butterscotch chocolate-chip cookies and wash all the silver cutlery Selena had polished, and I also wanted to brew to help Conrad.
And then I would brew for our safety tomorrow at the tea. I was profoundly worried about the Ashen Witch not appearing the last time I’d brewed, but I didn’t know what else to do but what I’d always done. I flipped through my Book of Shadows, but found no answers. How should a witch respond to such a thing?
As Oscar and I were finishing up our third batch of cookies, I asked: “Oscar, you know how my guiding spirit shows up when I brew?”
“It’s awesome when she does that!”
“What do you . . . I mean, what would it mean if . . . I mean . . .”
“Mistress?”
“What if she didn’t show up?”
He blinked.
“What if she started not showing up?” I rephrased as I used the spatula to transfer a dozen cookies, hot out of the oven, onto the rack to cool. Oscar’s huge eyes followed the progress of each and every cookie.
“I never heard of that,” he said.
“Surely I can’t be the first—”
“Oh, I dunno. Seems to me you’re the first at a lot of things.”
“You’re saying it couldn’t happen?” I gestured with the spatula. “Once a guiding spirit, always a guiding spirit?”
“Pretty much. Maybe she’s just being shy. Or maybe you just didn’t notice her, somehow.”
“Maybe. Hard to imagine, though,” I said as I deposited the empty cookie sheet into the sink. I sensed movement behind my back. “I’m serious, Oscar—you’ve already eaten at least a dozen cookies’ worth of batter. Those are for the fund-raiser tomorrow, and it’s a good cause. So no more cookies, understand?”
“Yes, mistress.” He grumbled something about me having eyes in the back of my head.
“Oscar, I’m not your mistress anymore. You know that, right?”
He nodded. “And I’m not supposed to call Master Aidan ‘master’ anymore. I remember.”
“Right, because he’s not your master. But . . . do you ever miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Working for Aidan.”
“How do you mean?”
“I just wondered if you would ever consider going back to work for Aidan.”
His bottle glass green eyes grew even bigger than normal, and started to glitter with the beginning of tears. “I won’t eat any more cookies! I promise! Don’t send me away, mistress!”
“No, Oscar, that’s not what—”
He hopped up onto the sink and started scrubbing the cookie sheets. “Let’s get this kitchen spic-and-span, shall we?”
“Oscar, honestly, I appreciate the help, but—”
“Yup, you and me, mistress. We’re gonna make cookies, and clean up right after, and—”
“It’s not about that. Oscar, would you please calm down and listen to me?”
“It’s that mandragora, isn’t it? I never liked him. He’s the sneaky sort, going behind a guy’s back—”
“No, I promise you. Finnall belongs to Calypso. This isn’t about replacing you, Oscar. I’ve told you before: You’re family. It’s you and me, for better or worse.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I couldn’t help but notice that, once reassured, Oscar abandoned the dishes in the sink and went back to staring at the cookies cooling on the rack.
“Feeling better now?” I asked.
“Much, mistress. Why were you asking about Aidan?”
“Aidan told me he wouldn’t help me get Sailor out of jail unless either you or Sailor went back to work for him.”