“Yes, I noticed the faded signage painted on the side of the building.”
Xochi nodded. “From what I was told, the bar used to be called Soren’s Pearl, after the famously cursed Soren Perles—perlameans ‘pearl’ in Spanish.”
“I thought Soren Perles was a respected physician.”
She shrugged. “Depends on who you believe. All I know is that his house was supposed to be cursed, and according to what I read this morning, it still appears to be.”
“You’re referring to the Perles Mansion?” asked Harper.
“The very one.”
“In what way was it cursed?”
“Harper’s a folklorist,” said Tariq. “She loves this kind of story.”
“Ah. Well, what I heard was that Soren Perles’s brand of medicine was not entirely on the up-and-up. Something about his stealing bodies, or body parts, for unearthly purposes. A local legend says he still stalks the streets at night, in searchof research subjects with which to nourish the roots of his Witch Tree, or something along those lines.”
Harper looked to Tariq, who shrugged. “As a teen, we used to dare each other to explore the Perles Mansion, back when it was abandoned. But I never heard much of the backstory.”
“Some folks liken him to an evil spirit, especially now, around Halloween. They believe he’s a bone collector. They’re a bit obsessed with the legend. They say—”
Suddenly an orange water bottle clattered as it rolled along the tile floor. Xochi crouched to scoop it up. Harper’s view of the bar was blocked, but it sounded like Joel was growing more agitated, the strident tones of his voice rising above the music and the murmur of the crowd.
“Hey!That’s enough!” Xochi barked in a commanding voice, and pointed toward Joel and the man he was talking to. “Take it outside, you two!”
Xochi shook her head and sighed. “Cretins. Anyway, I should get back to work. Nice to meet you, Professor. And, Tariq, I expect to see you here on karaoke night. You and I are going to sing a duet one of these days.”
“It’s a deal.”
Tariq and Harper watched as Xochi returned to the bar, handed Joel his orange water bottle, and said something to him. A moment later, Joel got up and left.
“Speaking of ghosts,” Tariq said after a moment. “I remembered today that Delilah once told me she had a premonition of her own death. And that she would never leave the Perles Mansion.”
“That’s…kind of creepy. I thought she wasn’t scared of the alleged spirits at the mansion.”
“She claimed she wasn’t. But living in the mansion had a definite influence on her, and it showed in her artwork. Shemade her name in artistic circles as a California impressionist. After she moved into the mansion ten years ago, her style changed.”
“In what way?”
He took out his phone and pulled up several photos. “Here’s an example of her earlier work, from before she moved in.” He handed her the phone. The paintings were moody, sun-dappled landscapes and seascapes painted in saturated colors, featuring scenes from the local area.
Tariq scrolled through several more photos. “And here’s what she started painting afterward.”
Harper recognized the style from the canvases she had seen in the Perles Mansion. They were colorful and dreamlike, even surreal, sort of a cross between Leonora Carrington and Marc Chagall but with her own unique twist. An old-fashioned lighthouse, someone swimming across a river, a weeping angel on its knees, an incongruous interior scene of a door ajar and a fireplace with a huge old mirror over it. In the glass was reflected some sort of ethereal…something. A face?
Someone trapped within the glass? Trying to climb out?
A shiver passed over her. She felt Tariq’s eyes on her.
“I have a bit of a phobia when it comes to mirrors,” Harper explained.
“I remember.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “That, and your affinity for classic rock and red wine.”
It occurred to Harper that Tariq remembered a lot more about her than she did about him. Her memories of graduate school consisted mostly of spending hours in the library and seminars, relaxing with Jake, and eating a lot of Top Ramen.Tariq was always there in the background, steady, smiling, and sweet. It wasn’t that she didn’t remember him, but she doubted she would recall something like a phobia he had, much less his taste in music or wine.
