Chapter Six #3
Harper was well versed in the history of witchcraft and shamanism, but New Age witches were a different breed. Still. “What kind of witch are you?”
“I am a kitchen witch. Of the Gaderian coven.”
“I see.”
“You disapprove?”
“Not at all.”
“We do not worship evil, you know. Neither do we worship good. We seek balance. The only reason we can see light is because there is dark, and dark has its purpose. Life relies on death. If you banish darkness, you also banish light.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Harper said.
Sigrid appeared to suspect Harper was making fun of her, but she continued.
“Nothing grows under this great cypress tree, so Delilah could not grow her own herbs. But I have a large garden near Salinas, so she bought herbs from me to make her special concoctions. She was very talented in whispering to the leaves and seedpods, you know. A natural-born healer, though she was too often distracted by other muses, especially of painting. I envied her skills. And now she’s transitioned, and the authorities won’t let me enter to gather my things.
” She kicked the gate so hard her boot left a print on the dark wood.
“Fascists,” she hissed.
From within the Perles Mansion came the sound of a clock chiming six times. Harper glanced up to the second story and, as before, saw a silhouette pass by the dimly lit window.
“Did you see that?” Harper asked.
“See what?” Sigrid asked, following Harper’s gaze.
“Someone passed by that second-story window.”
“That’s the Reflection room.”
At Harper’s puzzled look, Sigrid clarified: “It’s a very special room; octagonal, and entirely ringed with mirrors.
Delilah loved to stand at that window and look out over the garden, into the branches of her tree.
” She gazed at the window for a moment. “But I don’t see anything. Are you seeing it now?”
“It’s not there anymore.” Harper shook her head.
“You must be sensitive,” Sigrid said.
“According to my ex-husband, I am pretty touchy, yeah.”
“I mean sensitive to spirits.”
“I don’t believe so.” I don’t believe at all.
Sigrid gave her another assessing look. “Did you know Delilah?”
Harper shook her head. “No.”
“If you aren’t sensitive, and you didn’t know Delilah, then why are you here?”
“I’m…I was here last night. I was one of the people who found her.”
Sigrid’s eyebrows shot up. “You were on that absurd ghost tour?”
“I lost a bet. Long story.”
“Huh.” The thought seemed to stymie Sigrid. “And you were with Delilah? As she transitioned beyond the veil?”
Harper swallowed, hard. “We…I don’t know if you’ve heard, but she was still alive when we found her, at the base of the tree. She passed at the hospital.”
“Found her at the base of the tree,” Sigrid repeated with a long sigh. She stared up at the massive cypress, dappled light from the streetlamps filtering through its branches. “Strangely fitting, isn’t it?”
“According to the tour guide, that’s where Isabel Perles was found, as well.”
“Joel Aristide told you that?”
“You know him?”
Sigrid let out a loud sigh and rolled her eyes. “I don’t have a lot of time for ‘ghost tours.’ But yes, I know Joel. He must be ecstatic about all this.”
“Wasn’t all that thrilled last night.”
“He’ll recover. His type always does. He’ll play this up, no doubt double his ghost tour business. Disgraceful.”
Harper glanced again at the Reflection room window but saw nothing. Wind chimes tinkled in the breeze, and she could hear the far-off barking of sea lions, but otherwise all was silent and still. And then she remembered why she had come.
“Did Delilah have a dog?” Harper asked.
Sigrid shook her head. “She had a cat that crossed the rainbow bridge a month ago, but no dog. Why?”
“I saw a big black dog in the garden last night. I thought it might be Delilah’s. Then I saw it again, earlier this evening, near my apartment.”
Sigrid stared at her. “Did it bark?”
Harper shook her head.
“Did it have fiery eyes?”
“It— I mean, dogs’ eyes often glow in the dark, right? A lot of animals’ eyes do.”
Sigrid waved away the idea. “It might be a hellhound, or a harbinger of death. Or, of course, it could be a Nahual, a shapeshifter.”
“Or it could be a lost dog.”
Sigrid did not reply, but her unblinking gaze did not waver.
Harper continued, “I like dogs. I’m worried about it.”
“You needn’t worry about this ‘dog,’ ” Sigrid said, making quotation marks with her fingers.
She reached into her bag, scrounged around for a moment, then handed Harper a battered business card with a single name, Sigrid, and a phone number.
“Let me know if you would like me to do a reading for you. I may not be sensitive to the dead, but I’m quite gifted at reading the living. ”
“Thanks,” said Harper, trying not to sound too dismissive. She slipped the card into her jacket pocket.
“Mark my words, Harper Grae,” Sigrid intoned. “If you’ve seen the hound and a spirit lingering in the Reflection room window, you should prepare yourself.”
“For what?”
“For what is to come.”
And with that, Sigrid turned on her heel and strode down the block until her tall form was obscured by the dark.