“Do what?”
“Disappear into purple smoke.”
“Purple?” His nose wrinkled. It was kind of adorable if he was adorable which he wasn’t.
“Your smoke is purple. Go away. I’ll call you out after we get there.”
“That’s interesting. Is it a dark purple or a light purple?”
“Dark, like in eggplant skin, you probably call it aubergine. Now go away.”
“Don’t we need a special sign or word to call me back?” His lips shifted up on one side making a dimple.
“A safe word? Not a bad idea. How aboutAnnoying Wizard.”
“That might come up. How about Chestnut? That’s another word for Sorrel.”
“Perfect. Chestnut. Go away. I’ll call you back in a bit.”
The edges of his skin turned inky purple, then wispy as he disappeared.
“Don’t worry, I’m still here, Sorrel.”
“Get out of my head,” I said, clasping my ears and stumbling out from the alley. The couple coming down the sidewalk did a double take and stepped off the curb to avoid getting too close to me.
I grinned at them. Then, with all senses on alert for portals, I darted across the street to catch the Muni.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The wide, flat streets of the Marina district were lined with Art Deco apartments and row houses, each with a street-level garage and a door leading to the second floor. The address Rose had given me was for a white four-story apartment building on Francisco Street with a fire escape on the front.
Harold was listed on the old-style buzzer panel. The door clicked, and I climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. Ranth was silent, but there was a weight on me like his aura was piled on top of mine. Years of dealing with strangers didn’t make meeting new people easier. I didn’t even know if Harold was really a magic practitioner, but I was certain he wasn’t like me.
The apartment number had a partial frosted glass door like an office. I knocked lightly. Then harder. Finally, I tried the handle, and the door opened.
“Harold? Harold Dawkins?” I called out, walking into an open plan living room-slash-office. The room was scented with something akin to crushed leaves. At one end, a man in a leafy green coat sat behind a desk. On the wall behind him were two windows shrouded by mustard yellow blackout-style curtains. An overhead light cast a glaring circle in the center of the room, leaving the edges dim.
I stood on the threshold. “Hi there. Are you Harold?” I asked. I didn’t really love entering someone’s space without being invited, and this place crawled over me as “off,” though I couldn’t figure out what wasn’t hitting me right.
Harold Dawkins’ hair was the color of spent tea leaves and cropped flat on top like a lawn mower had trimmed it. He nodded at brown-lacquered chairs in front of the desk.
I approached tentatively, noting the location of two closed doors on my right. His deep-set eyes, the striking color of damp mint leaves, tracked me like prey. He gestured for me to sit, as if I was his minion. I chose a chair, and he nodded, as if suggesting that I speak. His cheeks were sunken like he didn’t eat well, but his skin was smooth and golden. Probably my stepdad’s age, but it was hard to tell. I adjusted the gold bracelet while unease and annoyance prickled across my skin—but I hadn’t come here for his approval. I needed his help.
“My friend, Rose, of Sage, Flame, & Crystal, sent us, I mean, me. I have a problem involving a wizard trapped in a chain. Actually, I don’t know for sure if it’s a wizard or spirit.”
Ranth hissed in my head, “I’m not a spirit. I told you that. And I am not anit.”
I shifted. “Well, he might be a wizard, or whatever they called them back then. He’s old. Well, he’s young now, but he’s from the past.”
Harold’s eyes were oddly unfocused. Although he appeared to be staring at me, he still hadn’t spoken.
“I’m sounding confused, aren’t I?”
Harold nodded again and rested his elbows on the desk, knitting his knobby fingers together. Each one had a golden ring.
“Excuse me, don’t want to be rude but can you talk?”
Harold sat back and traced a finger along his rounded jaw studying me.
