Banishing the Dark (Arcadia Bell #4)(29)

She didn’t budge. “It’s not open.”

“But you just came out of there,” he protested.

“My mom’s the grandmaster, which means I can come here whenever I please. It’s not open to the public today.”

“Grandmaster? What’s that? Is that like a caliph?”

There went that brow again, sliding halfway up her forehead. “How do you know about the caliph?” she asked.

Oh, now he had her attention. Best to play it cool. He leaned back against one of the palm trees. “I know a lot of stuff. My dad’s girlfriend is a magician.”

She didn’t seem as impressed as she should have been. “Is she a member?”

“Just of the main lodge in Florida.”

“Hmph. My mom’s the head of the Bull and Scorpion. That’s what grandmaster means, since you didn’t seem to know.”

“I thought you said your mom taught drama class.”

“She does.”

“Both?”

“Why is that so strange?”

He shrugged. Cady had a normal job, too. So he guessed it wasn’t. If his weirdo drama teacher back in La Sirena was a magician, it might actually make monologues from Macbeth more interesting. “Look, I just need to talk to someone about helping me out with a project.”

She took another bite of her apple. “What kind of project are you talking about?”

“I need some information.”

“What kind of information?” she asked

“Lodge secrets.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” he asked. “I don’t even know your name.”

A muffled voice called out from the other side of the door. “Coming, Mama,” the girl shouted over her shoulder before turning back to Jupe. “Sorry. Lunch break’s over, and I’ve gotta walk back to school before the bell rings.”

“Wait!” Jupe detached himself from the tree. “I’m being serious about needing help. It took me two hours to get out here.”

She hesitated. “You’ll have to come back when the lodge is open to the public.”

“Which is when?”

“Sophic Mass is tomorrow at seven p.m. And that’s seven p.m. sharp—if you’re even ten seconds late, they won’t let you in. They lock the doors. So don’t be late.” She tossed her half-eaten apple into a trash can and opened the door.

“Mass? What the hell is that? Do I have to dress up?”

“It’s a public ritual to raise energy. Bring ten dollars for a donation. We have dinner afterward. It’ll be good. My dad grills out back. And it’s casual dress. I just wear whatever I had on at school that day.”

“Seven tomorrow,” he said, more to himself than to her. How the hell was he going to catch another bus out here? He’d have to think of a good story to tell the Holidays, which made his stomach hurt a little, because he didn’t really like lying to them.

The girl slipped inside the door and turned around to look at him one last time. “I like your jacket,” she said in a softer voice, gesturing toward the monster patches on his sleeves. “A lot of old movies are better than new ones, but I usually like books the best.”

Oh.

Wow.

Jupe had a lot to say about that, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out. His mouth went all dry, and his heart was beating like he’d been running.

“By the way, my name is Leticia Vega,” she said from the shrinking darkness of the closing door, pronouncing her name with a rich, rolling accent. Le-ti-ci-a. “And if you ever call me ‘Letty,’ I’ll lay a hex on you that’ll make all your teeth fall out.”

If Lon intended to give me another chance to see him naked, I missed it. He called Jupe and the Holidays to report in, and I fell asleep before he’d even finished his phone call. When I woke to the sound of our dueling cell-phone alarms, he was in the other bed, and it was half an hour before sunset. We quickly packed up and began the five-hour drive to Pasadena, trading barren wild coast for the sprawl of Southern California.

And the landscape wasn’t the only thing changing: my unexplained strength had abandoned me. Whether it was time or sleep that erased it, I didn’t know. But when I tested it on a metal letter opener I found in the motel desk drawer, all I got was a hand cramp.

“Had to be a side effect of your transmutation that first night,” Lon said as night settled across the Pacific Coast Highway.

“Almost makes me want to try shifting again if that’s the freebie I get for the effort.”

“Nothing’s ever free.”

True. And my eyes were still a little silvery. Not noticeable enough to have to wear sunglasses, so that was something. But deep down, I was still worried the whole thing was a bad omen.

I spent the first couple of hours of our trip chasing broadband signals as I searched for any information I could find on Karlan Rooke. He was in his early seventies, a wealthy man who’d traveled around the world collecting plants for a twelve-acre private estate, which he opened up to the public in the 1980s. It was one of several botanical gardens in the City of Roses, and although it was not as vast as the gardens at the Huntington Library, it was successful because of its niche collection of unusual plants and had earned a quirky nickname.