We left Oscar snoozing in the corner of Aidan’s office under the watchful eye of Noctemus. My familiar was mumbling, “Fart goblin,” and chuckling to himself in his sleep.
As we drove across town, Aidan explained that ours was an exploratory mission.
“Most likely she’s just trying to mess with your head,” Aidan said. “Which, I might point out, she accomplished—admirably. Don’t be such an easy mark, Lily.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Also—and please note that I’m not telling you what to do—but did you honestly not anticipate that Oscar would go after the cupcakes in the Dumpster?”
“I underestimated him. I often do, I find.”
I noticed that Aidan’s glamour seemed to shimmer slightly, to be off in the glare of the late-afternoon sun. “Aidan, are you sure you’re all right going out this afternoon?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I, um... sometimes I see your glamour slip.”
He gave me a quick, sharp look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Renee once mentioned... She told me that you were looking for a fountain of youth. Was that true?”
He muttered something under his breath.
“Sorry?” I said.
“I said,” he replied, “that Renee has a big mouth.”
“Does that mean she was right? Is there such a thing as the fountain of youth?”
“Of course not,” he scoffed.
“Then...?”
“She’s fishing, obviously. But the truth is, Renee knows that my powers have been diminishing over the past year or so. I’ve told you as much myself. That’s one reason why you and I need to work together, now more than ever, to secure the future of the city we love.”
“Why have your powers been diminishing?”
“That’s a conversation for another time,” Aidan said as he turned onto Renee’s street. “We’re here.”
We rolled past a now-closed vintage clothing store, Vintage Visions Glad Rags, whose owner had died not long ago. Renee had mentioned she wanted to expand her cupcake business into the site, but so far the clothing store remained closed, its fine inventory still crowding the unlit display windows, surely growing dusty by now. The memory of finding the owner, poisoned and paranoid, holding a gun came back with full force. It was a haunting image.
Again I wondered, if Renee gained the upper hand in the supernatural battle for control of San Francisco, would I have to leave town? Would Aunt Cora’s Closet be left like Vintage Visions Glad Rags, sad and dusty and falling to ruin?
Enough with the catastrophic thinking, Lily,I chided myself.
Aidan found a parking space around the cornerfrom Renee’s bakery. As we approached, we saw the tiers of pretty iced cupcakes crowding the display windows, and inside three customers waited in line. Renee was behind the horseshoe counter, as usual, charming her patrons and chatting about what she liked to call her “fairy cakes.” I noticed the new product line that Maya had mentioned: One entire shelf was now dedicated to “savories,” such as meat pasties and vegetable cheese rolls.
Also on the counter behind Renee was a large tray of burned cupcakes, still steaming. I sniffed, trying to pick up any underlying scents—or even obvious ones like charred batter—beneath the overwhelming aroma of sugar and vanilla. But Aidan had called it: My sense of smell had been compromised. Last time I was here, I had sensed a very subtle putrid scent amid the delicious fragrances of baked goods.
One by one, the three customers were taken care of, each leaving the shop with a pink bakery box tied up with twine. Renee turned to me and Aidan, her eyes glittering.
“What a lovely surprise! Lily, it’s always such a pleasure! And you brought the mysterious and oh-so-difficult-to-pin-down Aidan Rhodes. From what I hear, Aidan, you rarely go out anymore. Are you feeling quite yourself these days? You look a mite peaked.”
“I feel fine, Renee. Thank you for asking,” Aidan responded, his eyes not leaving hers.
The staring contest went on for several moments. I noticed behind the register a pile of vintage-style fabric swatches and a basket holding spools of colored thread.
“That looks like fabric from Lucille’s Loft,” I said.
