Chapter 6 – Lily
LILY
It’s not a date, but I still have nervous first-date butterflies.
I’ve dressed and redressed about six times already, spending at least the last hour pulling clothes out of the closet, checking them in the mirror, and then throwing them across the room in frustration.
After an hour of indecision, I settled on a modest but clingy combination of a tiered maxi skirt, a crop top, and a long green cardigan.
The fit is cozy, cute, and very boho, which should fit the vibe of whatever hippie witch doctor Cassini intends to drag me to.
There’s no way I’d admit it aloud, but I’ve been thinking about him all day.
I definitely don’t trust the guy. He’s a creepy asshole who stole my phone and nearly smashed someone’s skull in—I haven’t forgotten that.
But he saved me last night. He put himself in harm’s way to protect me, and when he touched me, all I wanted was to lean into him. To feel closer.
It has to be some kind of trauma bonding after I was attacked, or the fact that he’s the only lead I currently have about that tattoo and my mom.
But I’m also a human woman who hasn’t gotten laid in a long time, and he happens to be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in real life.
At 8 p.m. on the dot, he arrives in his flashy old car, which growls through my sleepy neighborhood long before I spot it across the street.
He greets me in the same clothes from last night, but now he’s covered in a thin layer of dirt.
He runs a hand through the strands of jet-black hair falling across his face and looks up sheepishly through those long black eyelashes.
Yep.
Very handsome.
For a creep.
“What the hell happened to you? You didn’t want to shower first?” I say, wrinkling my nose and scanning him up and down. “Get a change of clothes, maybe?”
“You don’t want to know,” he says with a smile. “Are you ready to go get some answers?”
Inside the car, I’m pleasantly surprised to find that he doesn’t smell bad—in fact, it’s the opposite. He smells earthy and warm, like taking a walk barefoot through a mossy forest. I want to get closer so I can properly inhale his scent, but then I guess I’d be the creepy one.
Neither of us knows how to make the small talk needed to get through this car ride, so I fold my hands in my lap and stare straight ahead in silence as the engine vibrates beneath us.
Last time we were here, I was being shoved into the passenger seat like an old suitcase. Now I’m here of my own free will. In a car with a man I hardly know, being driven to an unknown location, to meet a stranger.
Great instincts there, Lily. Real smart.
Somewhere out there, a couple of true-crime podcasters are screaming at me to get out and run a million miles in the opposite direction. I know my alarm bells should be ringing, but I’m calm. I can’t explain it, but it feels right. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
“Are you ever going to give me my phone back?” I say, puncturing the silence, “Spending the day without social media was nice, but I’m already starting to miss the memes.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What’s a meme?”
“Seriously?”
“Check the glove box,” he says. “I’m sorry I had to take it, but I thought maybe you just needed some time to calm down before doing anything crazy like calling the cops. Cyrus and his friends… They don’t respond well to that kind of thing. It would only make things worse.”
“Thank you,” I say, snatching it up. The relief of having it back is overwhelming—like getting a limb reattached.
“I figured you’d probably want to let someone know where you’re going,” he says, glancing at me sideways. “A smart girl like you probably has safety protocols.”
He’s right. I almost collapse with relief when I confirm I have enough battery life to text my stepdad:
Lily: Running late for SA trip. Something came up. Will call tomorrow.
Then I open my location and send it to Kate with a message:
Lily: With a guy. Come find me if I go missing.
Her response is almost instant:
Kate: Are you on a date???? Be careful!!! So many psychos out there!
I discreetly glance over at Cassini, taking in his profile as he concentrates on the road. When he shifts gears, the muscles in his forearms flex under his black shirt.
Lily: Kinda. It’s complicated.
I slip my phone into my purse and settle back into the leather seat. “Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?”
He reclines and stretches with one hand on the wheel, and another running over his stubbled jaw. “We’re going to see an old friend of mine called Paloma. She’s a kind of alternative medicine practitioner. Known her for a few years. She’s good at dealing with unusual cases like yours.”
He glances towards me, so fast I barely catch. It’s about the millionth time I’ve caught him doing it
“Is what I’m wearing okay? You keep looking over, and it’s making me nervous. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wear something…special. Did I misunderstand?”
Something in his jaw twitches. It could be anger, but I’m not sure.
“You look great,” he says tightly, before adding under his breath, “really great.”
After that, we drive the rest of the way in silence. His eyes never leave the road, and I spend the journey staring out of the window and watching the streets blur past.
About twenty minutes later, we pull into a strip mall that’s seen better days. Between a taqueria and a check-cashing place sits a small laundromat with flickering neon signs advertising “Wash & Fold” and “Se Habla Espanol.”
I frown at the building, then back at Cassini. “You’re taking me to do laundry? I know I was giving you shit about the dirty clothes, but I think this is a little extreme.”
He smiles—the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him. “Trust me.”
Inside, we’re met with the comforting smell of fabric softener and the rhythmic tumbling of clothes in dryers. It’s soothing, like the sound and smell of easy domesticity, and I get an overwhelming urge to curl up on top of a pile of clean clothes and take a nap like an old cat.
A Latina woman in her fifties is folding towels at a central table, her graying hair pulled back in a neat bun. When she sees Cassini, she clucks her tongue.
“Dios mío. You again?” the woman says without looking up from her folding. “She’s out back. Go on. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
Cassini flashes her a smile and makes his way over to a vending machine that seems like it hasn’t worked since the 90s.
He punches in a number, but nothing happens—no candy falls.
He runs his hand along the side and finds a concealed handle and pulls.
There’s a satisfying click followed by a creak as the entire machine swings inward like a door.
“What the hell is this place?” I whisper.
“Come on,” he says, gesturing for me to follow. “You’ll see.”
Despite every red flag on the planet, I follow him through the concealed entrance as the distant sound of a buzzing intercom fades behind us.
I hold my breath as we squeeze through the passageway, and it takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
A fluorescent light buzzes and flickers above us, and there’s a steady dripping sound echoing through the hall.
Gradually it opens up into something more accommodating.
There’s no natural light, but an abundance of lush plants envelopes us—hanging from the ceiling, sitting on side tables, climbing up the walls in elaborate macramé holders.
When we reach the end, we’re met with a row of three folding theater chairs outside a mahogany door.
“What’s in there?” I ask nervously gesturing towards it.
Cassini’s smile is enigmatic. “Answers, Take a seat and wait. She’ll be out soon.”
Despite my better judgment, I perch on one, and it wobbles so much I have to stay perfectly still to get it to stop.
“What do we do now?” I ask, trying to stay calm, but my pulse is already spiking.
This place is shady as hell. No legitimate person works out of a laundromat dungeon. For one, it’s definitely not sanitary.
Cassini balances on the edge of a seat, his broad, tall body barely fitting in the meager space. “This is where we’re meeting Paloma. She’s a bruja.”
I blink at him, not sure I’ve heard correctly. “A what?”
“A witch.”
The words hit me like a slap, and I stand up so fast the seat rocks backward. He has got to be kidding me.
“Nope. Not going to happen. Sorry, but I shouldn’t have come here. Thanks for the ride and the suggestion, but I’m going to call myself an Uber and—”
He grabs my hand, and the shock of his cold skin against mine stops me dead in my tracks. We lock eyes, and where I expect to see anger, I find something far gentler. He’s almost pleading with me to stay. I look down at his icy hand for answers, but he drops it quickly and takes a step back.
“What the hell? Your hand. It’s—”
Before I can warn him of the dangers of poor circulation, the door swings open, and a beautiful woman emerges.
She’s probably in her mid to late forties, with wild, jet-black curls that cascade past her shoulders and spill onto her warm brown skin.
Her lips are painted coral-red and pursed like she’s tasting each word before deciding whether to speak it.
When he said we were meeting a witch, I expected an old lady in a kaftan, but she’s well dressed in tight black jeans and an off-the-shoulder top that shows a tapestry of intricate tattoos running down both arms.
But it’s her eyes that stop me—they’re this incredible amber color, and when she turns her gaze to me, I feel her burning straight through my flesh and through to my soul.
My intuition, which has been oscillating between anxiety and acceptance for the last twenty-four hours, suddenly goes quiet. Not silent—just…calm. Like when you’re standing in the scorching sun and a cool ocean breeze hits your face.
“I’m Paloma,” she says, extending a hand. “And you must be Lily.”