“Beag,beag!”
He started spouting something that sounded a lot like Oscar’s rendition of the prelude toThe Canterbury Tales—in other words, some form of English I couldn’t understand. Or maybe it was another language entirely.
“I can’t understand you,” I said.
“Beag! Silber!”
“Silber?”I repeated. “As in silver? Is the beag made of silver?”
“Silber!”
Happily, although spirits can speak through a medium, they very rarely “take over” the medium’s physical body. I was pretty sure that if Tristan could have, he would have gone for my throat. Or, at the very least, for the box.
“What about Renee Baker? Is she involved in this?”
“Kaka.”
Were we talking baby talk now?
He mumbled under his breath, as though searching for a word.“Kuchen?”
“Kuchen—that’s German for cookie or cake?” I ventured.
“Cupcakes!” he exclaimed.
Well, at least I understood that last part. So, Tristan was definitely involved with Renee and he associatedher with cupcakes, as we all did. After all, she was the cupcake lady.
“The seers saw. The prophecy.”
“What is the prophecy? Tell me.”
“San Francisco. The child will come.”
I blew out a frustrated breath, more confused than ever. Luckily, I’d been mired in confusion before. In fact, I was beginning to think that this was my process when trying to figure out supernatural mysteries.
Hervé twitched and moaned softly. He was coming out of his trance. The question-and-answer period was over.
Chapter 8
Hervé looked vacant and confused, which was typical for someone coming out of a deep fugue state.
While I gave him some space to recover, I studied the paintings on the door panels and in a border framing the ceiling. It wasn’t hard to imagine a brokenhearted hotelier painting yet another door, a wall, a column, one after another. The variations of grotesques were endless, the outlandish combinations of beasts and mythology restricted only by one’s imagination. Had the artist been desperate to forget, I wondered, or desperate to remember?
“Did I say anything?” Hervé asked after a moment.
“You said plenty. I’m just not sure what any of it means.”
“You never know with these things. Often the meaning is revealed over time.”
“I just hope that time comes sooner rather than later,” I said.
Hervé stood and brushed off his clothes while I gathered my stones and tea lights. I used a small whiskbroom to sweep up the salts, hoping that whatever residue remained behind wouldn’t interfere with an ongoing police investigation. Shawn said the forensics unit had already come and gone, but still. I probably should have run this one past Carlos.
I repacked the supplies in my backpack and picked up the shoe box; then Hervé and I made our way down the circular stairs. Shawn was fast asleep on the couch in the front parlor, so I left the room key on the desk and we let ourselves out.
The night was chilly, with a thick blanket of fog blowing in off the bay; I shivered, pulling my cardigan tight. When would I learn to take a coat whenever I was out at night in San Francisco, no matter how warm the day?
A group of five people about Shawn’s age laughed and feigned screaming as they ran across the street. Traffic was light compared with daytime, but nonetheless there were a good number of cars cruising the street. It always surprised me that San Francisco had so many people out at night, despite the fact that most restaurants closed by nine thirty. San Francisco was not New York City.
