TWENTY-EIGHT

Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I wished I had brought some makeup with me. My face and lips had drained of color, but there were dark circles under my eyes that I didn’t recall ever seeing before. My stomach felt better now that I’d thrown up, but my temples were pounding with the beginnings of a monster headache.

I leaned against the sink, closing my eyes. I didn’t know how much of what I’d seen was real and how much was surreal, but I did know that I couldn’t just dismiss the sisters’ warning. I sighed. Trust my mother to give me a gift that hurt to use but was impossible to just leave in a box and ignore.

There was a knock on the door. “Everything all right in there?” It was Enid’s voice.

“Yes, I’ll be out in a moment.” Removing the elastic from my hair, I finger combed the sides and then redid my ponytail. On the wall was a framed photo of the three sisters in the late fifties, in front of the cafe. They looked exactly the same.

When I opened the door, Enid was holding out a fizzing glass of something that smelled medicinal.

“Here,” she said. “You’ll want to get this down you fast.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the glass and raising it to my lips. Then, hesitating, I asked, “Is this just some herbal infusion, or am I going to start seeing the walls breathe?”

“It’s Alka-Seltzer,” said Enid, her white eyes turning in my direction and a small smile playing over her wrinkled seam of a mouth. “No need to go brewing willow bark or blinding newts these days, not when there’s a perfectly good pharmacy just across the road. Now, before you go wasting another question, remember that you only get three answers. Three per customer, that’s the rule. And that’s not per visit—folks always try leaving and coming back, but that’s not the way it works.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you?” Because right now, little old lady didn’t seem to apply.

Enid sighed. “You know, with the Internet and all the resources available to you, I would think that you could figure that one out on your own. But if you insist …”

“No. Wait.” Because I had figured it out, thanks to the extensive education I’d received in ancient Greek mythology from my mother’s films. Although in Beware the Cat there had been a bit of confusion between the Grey sisters of Greek myth and Shakespeare’s witchy weird sisters. But then again, the most pagan thing about Hollywood is the way it borrows and blends the myths of different cultures, and then twists them around to suit its own ends.

I didn’t believe in anything now, but when I was younger, I believed in Hollywood movies. So I was following the Beware the Cat script.

“Are you trying to help me or harm me? That’s the question I want you to answer, and please interpret that in the narrowest possible way.”

“In the narrowest possible way? Well, in that case, I want to help you, my dear. We are all three of us of the nurturing disposition.”

Now that I thought about it, maybe I should have said she should interpret “help” in the broadest possible way. Someone needed to write an etiquette guide for dealing with the supernatural. Then I remembered that I had a guide of sorts, and reached under my sweater for my moonstone.

Enid narrowed her eyes, as if she could see what I was doing. “What’s that you’ve got in there?”

There was something about her voice that demanded obedience. Before I could think twice, I was lifting the pendant out of my sweater and showing it to her. Even through the insulating layer of my silk underwear, the silver was irritating my skin.

“No, no, I can’t see it like that. Take it off. Look at me, what do you think I’m going to do, run off with it?”

Warily, I removed the necklace and handed it to her.

“Ah,” said Enid, appreciatively as she lifted the moonstone to the light coming in from the window. I wondered if she could see, or if she was relying on some other sense to examine my necklace, but I didn’t want to waste another question. As Enid turned the pendant, I saw a small rainbow arc through the air between us. “Lovely. Just lovely. Las Lagrimas de la Luna. A good-quality stone, and what a gorgeous setting.”

There was no accounting for taste, I supposed. “My mother said it belonged to my father’s mother.”

Enid looked at me shrewdly, and now I saw that like the moonstone, her opaque eyes had flashes of bright color beneath the surface, iridescent traces of blue and green and purple. “Makes it all the more valuable, doesn’t it? But it’s not doing you any good wearing it over silk. The stone has to be worn against the skin.” As Enid closed her gnarled hand over the stone, I felt a stab of panic. “I’ll pay you handsomely for it.”

“It’s not for sale.” I didn’t know why I felt so strongly about it, but I held out my own hand, palm up. “And I’d like it back now, please.”

“Just a moment, dear, you haven’t heard what I’m offering. If it’s true vision you want, I can adorn those lovely spectacles of yours with crystals that will help you see things as they truly are, and without the itch and discomfort of silver.”

“No, thanks.” The true vision part sounded good, but even if I’d wanted rhinestones on my chic new glasses, there was something about Enid that made me doubt I’d get the best of this deal.

“Or how about something to help you conceive? I have a potion guaranteed to make even your great-grandmother as fertile as a fifteen-year-old.”

I put my hand on my stomach, which was as flat as ever—flatter, actually, thanks to my days of living wolfishly. “I’m afraid that I have some pretty specific problems in that area.”

Enid reached into the pocket of her apron and produced a small, old-fashioned bottle.

“Dear God, Enid, what is that?” The bottle appeared to contain a shriveled homunculus suspended in a pale green fluid, its pitiful mouth open in its otherwise featureless face.

“This, my girl, is mandrake root, the real kind, grown from a drop of hanged man’s seed. Whatever your problem, one drink from this bottle and I guarantee conception and, yes, a full-term birth.” Enid stuck the bottle closer, so that I could see that it did, indeed, contain a root, and not a tiny, malformed body. “What do you say, my dear? Do we have a deal?”

I stared at the old woman in horrified disbelief. “Enid, first of all, mandrake is part of the nightshade family, and it’s poisonous. Second of all, I have no idea what kind of baby you get when you ingest something grown from a hanged man’s semen, but I’m guessing not the kind of kid who grows up to be president. So no thank you, but I’ll keep my moonstone.” I held out my hand, and Enid looked at it for a moment with a touch of sadness.

“You’re quite right, of course. A gift given from a grandmother … yes, of course you don’t want to sell it. But it’s just not going to do anything sitting on your shirt like that.”

“I have an allergy to silver,” I said stiffly.

“I see. Well, may I put it on for you?”

I turned around, thinking even as I did so that this was a bad idea. But I didn’t want to hurt Enid’s feelings, and saying “No, just put it in my hand” felt like a direct insult. I felt the old woman’s dry, cool hands against the back of my neck.

“I see now that you really do need this necklace,” Enid was saying as she fiddled with the clasp. “That’s half the trick, you know, finding out what it is that people need. Some need a dress, just to get them the interview, say, and some need a skill, like software programming or spinning straw into gold. You need to be able to use your instincts, even when you’re not running around on all fours. Now, then.” Enid stepped away and I faced her. “Now you’ll be able to face what’s coming with your eyes open.”

“It feels a bit tight.” I put my hand to the necklace and discovered that she had fastened it around my neck like a choker, so that the silver was touching my naked flesh. “Enid, what did you do? I told you, I’m allergic to silver!” Looking into those unspeakably ancient eyes, I wondered how I could have put my faith in her, even for an instant. Trying to remove the necklace, I found the catch impossible to open. “How can I get this off again?”

“By removing your head, of course. Oh, dear, and that was your last question, too.”

I tried yanking at the chain, then growled and grabbed Enid by the spindly arms. “Old lady, if you don’t show me how to get this off …”

Enid was unruffled. “You want me to remove your head? Don’t be a dolt, girl, can’t you see I’ve done you a favor?”

I was about to shake her when there was a crash from the other room.

“My word,” said Enid. “I do believe your friend might be in trouble.” With a frustrated grunt, I released Enid and ran into the other room to find Malachy lying on the floor, unconscious. Grigore, Dana, and Penny were crouched beside him, Grigore holding down his hands, the two sisters each pinning an ankle to the floor.

“What’s going on?” I reached for his wrist, and Grigore shook his head.

“He’s having a seizure.”

As Grigore said the words, Malachy began to vibrate as though some giant hand was shaking him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and I had a moment to grab a pencil from Penny’s apron pocket and cram it into Malachy’s mouth before his jaw snapped shut.

“Malachy. Mal. Can you hear me?” Kneeling beside my boss, I pulled back his eyelids and examined his pupils. For a moment, they remained fixed on some distant horizon, and I thought: He’s gone. I felt a sudden hollowing in my stomach. Whatever had been unexplored and unresolved between us would now always remain so.

But then Malachy’s pupils dilated and he was looking at me. “What happened?”

“You collapsed, and started to shake,” said Grigore.

“Did I?” Mal looked befuddled, and so unlike himself that I found myself wrapping my arms around him.

“Are you all right?”

Malachy opened his mouth and another seizure took him. I replaced the pencil and held on to him, waiting it out, wondering what this was doing to his brilliant, singular mind, hoping it wasn’t irreversible. And then Malachy went limp, and I stroked his sweat-dampened hair back from his high forehead. “Mal, can you hear me?”

Malachy stirred and opened his eyes. He began to flail, as if fighting. I removed the pencil and said, “Easy, easy. You’re okay.”

For one unguarded moment, I saw a flicker of uncertainty in Malachy’s green eyes, and then his lids lowered, shuttering his gaze. “Well,” he said, “I do hope you’re not going to start fussing over me.” He glanced at his watch. “We need to get back to the laboratory and finish compounding the medicine. I believe we have less time than I had first estimated.”

Gee, I thought, no kidding. “Can I help you up?”

“I’m perfectly capable of standing up without assistance, thank you very much.”

Ignoring this, I put my arm around Malachy’s waist to help him up, ignoring the burn of the silver moonstone around my neck and the dull throb in my left arm, along the scar Red had given me in our mating ceremony.

I knew better than to touch it, though. I figured love, magic, and poison ivy had one thing in common: The more you scratched the itch, the more you were affected.