CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MOIRA
Moira kept her hands busy sorting through vintage denim, cleansing her crystal collection with smoke and sunlight, and occasionally bringing Rhys eggs on toast to make sure he was eating. He spent most of his time in his study, up until ungodly hours working until he could barely see straight. He was smoking again too, late-night cigarettes that strung him out and kept him awake through the wee hours. But she would give him a few days before she reminded him that he promised never to get cigarette smoke in her wallpaper.
Rhys wasn’t interested in talking about David, but Moira could tell from the tightness in his jaw and the distant look in his eyes that he was thinking about him plenty. For her part, Moira was worried about the psychic. She had gotten close to David without meaning to, and witnessing his relapse had been unsettling. She didn’t like the thought of him coping alone, but she didn’t feel it was appropriate for her to reach out unsolicited.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to.
Moira was in her meditation room, looking aimlessly out the small window while propped up on cushions on the windowsill, when her phone buzzed gently. She did a double take when she saw the contact name.
David Aristarkhov.
Heart flapping, Moira scrolled to read the message.
Hope all is well over in Jamaica Plain. How are you holding up?
She couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at her lips. Her heart had been all but hardened against him after his silence over the last few days, but here was proof that he hadn’t deleted her number, at least.
Every day a little better,she typed back, weighing every word carefully. She didn’t want to scare him off or let him right back into her good graces with fawning attention. We’re both keeping ourselves busy with work. You?
Work’s fine,he replied, evading giving her any emotional information with his usual slippery ease. I took the last couple days off.
Moira gnawed on her bottom lip and tapped her manicured fingers against her phone. David taking time off work was like the U.S. Postal Service ceasing operation: not impossible, but indicative of some larger terrible crisis. If he wasn’t working, that meant his condition was worsening. He could only answer emails and take calls from home so long before someone noticed he wasn’t operating at maximum capacity, and Moira wasn’t sure how forgiving his high-pressure job would be. If David lost his job, she didn’t know what he would do with himself.
How’s the sick spells?she asked.
Still shitty.
Are you doing your shielding meditations?
If I schedule them into my day, they feel more like productivity and less like I’m getting ready for Lilith Fair.
Moira snorted, rolling her eyes. Still, his particular brand of acidic humor was comforting. That meant he still felt well enough to joke, at least, and that he wanted to make her laugh.
I’m glad you’re resting, she typed back, slow and careful. There was a lot more she wanted to say, but she was worried that if she smothered him, he might never come wandering back. He really was like a feral cat.
For nine long minutes, there was nothing. Moira let out a groan, letting her head loll back against the window. She was too old to bite her nails waiting for boys to text her back, even if they were terrible grown ones she wasn’t trying to entice into dating her.
Then, David replied. I’m sorry I was a dick to you after the gala. I don’t do well with substances. But that’s not an excuse.
An apology was something she would never stoop to asking for (“queens’ crowns slip when they bow to other people,” her mother would say) but damn if it wasn’t good to hear.
I appreciate you saying so.
If we all live through this goddamn summer, I’ll take you shopping to apologize. If I die before then, I’m willing you my vinyl.
Nobody’s going to die.
And that was it, the end of their conversation. Moira tossed her phone down on a cushion and lost herself in thought. A few weeks ago, Rhys’s eyes had been bright with the thrill of discovery, and David had lavished her with friendly touches and compliments. She had waded into uncertain emotional waters with both of them and found it exciting. Now she felt like she was losing them to their own self-isolating instincts. Rhys had people in his corner who wouldn’t let the High Priesthood eat him alive, but Moira wasn’t sure if David had anyone to help him fight back his own darkness. It wasn’t her business, strictly speaking, but she still cared. He had mentioned a sister, but she didn’t feel comfortable calling a family member out of the blue to tip them off to David’s condition.
However, now that she thought of it, there was one mutual connection they shared.
It was time to pay a visit to Lorena Vargas.
Lorena’s botanica was easily recognizable on the cramped streets of Jamaica Plain by the myriad of colorful statues crowding the windows. Saints rubbed elbows with Aztec warriors and angels taking flight, hovering over Hindu deities and Madonnas of every ethnicity. A sign above the door offered both remedies and consultations.
The scent of Palo Santo hit Moira in a warm wave as she slipped into the shop. Any Boston occultist worth their salt recognized the smell of Lorena’s botanica, whether they came to her for oil-dressed candles or to place an order with one of her many mysterious suppliers. The shop looked humble from the outside, but as far as the supernatural was concerned, Lorena’s was the center of the universe.
Moira wound through the narrow but well-ordered shelves of rosaries, bundled sweetgrass, and hand-labelled tinctures in little square bottles. There was remedy for everything here: hotfoot powder to drive away sex pests, Saint Expedite medals to hurry up immigration paperwork, road opening oil to dot in the corner of a resume.
“Lorena,” Moira sang out, poking her head down another empty aisle. “It’s Moira.”
“Up here,” Lorena replied, voice coming from somewhere in the back of the shop. Moira wandered over to the counter just in time to see her ease herself up from a low chair. She had been plaiting thick ropes of fragrant grass and flowers in a basket at her feet. Her most esteemed saint was set up behind her, a skeletal figure robed in black and surrounded by offerings of flowers, coins, and small bottles of liquor.
“Ah, Moira!” she exclaimed, the lines of her face deepening as she smiled. As always, she wore her long black hair braided with a red silk flower pinned to her crown. “I haven’t seen you since you came in for your house blessing bath! How did it work? You let the herbs soak like I told you?”
“Of course,” Moira said, reaching over the counter to clasp Lorena’s hands in her own. “Your spells are the best in town.”
“And don’t go forgetting that! You tell your friends and send them to me,” she said with a chuckle. She had a warm, rich voice and a low laugh, weathered by a lifelong love affair with cigarillos.
“What are you looking for today?” Lorena asked, wiping the dust of dried flowers from her hands. “Maybe a dominating oil to help Rhys with his new job? Or something to help with conception? No, no, on second thought, you won’t have any trouble having babies if you want them. It’s just not your time yet.”
She said it all so flippantly, but Moira felt a little winded. It was possible Lorena had heard about the High Priesthood from somebody else; gossip travelled fast through occult circles. But it was also possible she hadn’t, and she certainly didn’t know anything about Moira and Rhys’s decision to delay the babies conversation for a few more years. Moira touched her stomach absently. You had to watch Lorena; whatever she predicted came true.
“Actually, I came by to talk to you about David Aristarkhov. You two know each other, don’t you?”
“Know each other? I practically raised that brat,” Lorena said fondly. “What’s he done now? He didn’t hurt your feelings, did he? He’s got a mouth on him.”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just that I think he’s in trouble, and, well… He had a bad night last week. Now he won’t let Rhys or I get close enough to help him.”
Lorena arched an eyebrow. “I thought David and Rhys hated each other.”
“It’s complicated. But I’m worried about him, and I didn’t know who else to turn to. Would you please look out for him? Maybe just call and let him know you’re there if he needs somebody to talk to?”
Lorena pressed her lips together thoughtfully and nodded. Then, she craned her neck and yelled at whoever was in the back room of her shop, moving boxes around. “Mijo! Bring me my glasses.”
“I told you, they’re out there,” an exasperated male voice responded.
The heavy curtain that separated the back room from the rest of the shop was thrown back, and David stalked through. He stopped dead when he saw Moira, something like fear flickering across his face. He was wearing a Scorpions T-shirt instead of a suit in the middle of a weekday, which meant that either he had come to his senses and taken an extended break from work, or his work had suggested that he do so.
Lorena flapped her hand at David. “Well, where are they? I don’t see.”
David stayed rooted to the spot for a heartbeat, then snatched up the pair of red glasses buried under a stack of receipts and handed them to Lorena.
“Same place as always,” he muttered, unable to make eye contact with Moira.
“You’ve got a friend here who’s very concerned about you,” Lorena went on. “You’re lucky to have her.”
Moira was suddenly flush with embarrassment. She had gone out of her way to drive to the botanic for a man she barely knew.
“I didn’t know you would be here,” Moira said quickly. “I would never drop in on you like that, I was just…”
David finally met her gaze. Did his eyes soften just a bit, or was she just being hopeful?
“Worried about me,” he finished.
Moira nodded helplessly. “What are you doing here?” she asked, hoping she sounded conversational and not like she was interrogating him.
“Doing chores to make up for never calling me,” Lorena said. “He just showed up at my door, looking guilty as a dog. He said somebody very wise told him that he owed me an apology for all those years of silence. You’ve forgotten there are people who care about you, is that it, David? Why don’t you run along with Moira and let me work. I’ve got a lot of orders to fill.”
Lorena gave Moira a look that said you’re welcome, then turned back to her herb bundling.
Moira looked awkwardly at David. “Can I buy you a coffee?” she asked.