A Cast-Off Coven: A Witchcraft Mystery by Juliet Blackwell

Author:Juliet Blackwell [Blackwell, Juliet]
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780451230492
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2010-06-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

"Back to our washing?" Bronwyn asked after we lugged the Hefty bags from Eugenia's house into Aunt Cora's Closet. She acted as game as ever, but I didn't have to read her vibrations to know she was not looking forward to more backbreaking work.

"Why don't you go on home and relax? I'm actually fixin' to meet with a friend this evening."

That was a stretch. It was more that I wanted to have a little chat with someone who had known Jerry Becker well, or at least the paternal aspect of the man.

"If you're sure . . . but I don't want to leave you with all this."

"Go on--I'm sure your granddaughter will be excited to get her present. Really, I'm not going to do any more washing today."

I dug the scrap of paper Walker had given me out of my backpack and dialed Andromeda Becker, woman of the pink feathers and black spikes.

"What do you want to talk about?" Andromeda asked over the phone.

"About your dad. But I do better in person--would it be all right if I dropped by?" I asked.

It sounded as though she put her hand over the speaker; I heard muffled voices.

"Okay," she said when she came back. "Wanna come over now?"

"Perfect," I said, hung up, and looked down at my grumpy, neglected familiar. "Want to come for a ride? You'll have to stay in the car, but you're welcome to join me."

Oscar seemed torn between sullenness and eagerness. Given his visage, it was hard to tell. Finally he decided to come along, sailing into the front passenger seat.

I checked the map before making my way to the address on Russian Hill, not far from the school. The neighborhood was tidy and obviously well-to-do, though cramped. Narrow streets were laid out in a stubborn grid on the steep hills, resulting in some of the most precipitous grades in the city--the kind where the nose of your car goes over the ledge and you just have to have faith there's a road under you somewhere. Some stretches did away with auto-accessible roadways altogether, replacing them with staircases. A few tourist-laden cars were backed up at the top of Lombard Street, a brick stretch of road characterized by sharp switchbacks and featured in any number of movies and TV shows.

I squeezed my car into a narrow space between a late-model Jaguar and a shiny Lexus. On the other side of a four-foot wall along the dead end of the street was a sheer two-hundred-foot cliff of rock all the way to Chestnut Street below, interrupted only by a few tenacious scrub bushes.

The address Andromeda gave me was spelled out in brass numbers on a plain wooden door. It was a modern structure, with lots of wood and glass, taking advantage of the incredible view--not exactly the cold-water walk-up of your average starving artist.

While waiting for someone to answer the bell, I tried to quell my nervousness. After a childhood spent being turned away from doors in my hometown, I still felt out of place when asking permission to enter a house.

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