"Right, and one with a contact name and address, so I got a little overeager."
"No doubt. Wrong demon, perhaps, but I'm calling for the same reason. With a contact name."
"Oh?"
"I was making some calls myself asking about Jack the Ripper legends and supernatural connections, and someone suggested Anita Barrington. She's a witch running a bookstore in Toronto, and quite an expert on such lore. I know her only by reputation, but I thought if this was a potential shortcut to bypass my rather slow research..."
"We'll take it."
Lore
HECATE'S HAVEN WAS A TINY BOOKSTORE ON YONGE Street, wedged between a candy shop and a Korean takeout. When we arrived, a plump woman with a long silver braid was flipping the open sign to closed.
She looked out at us, her faded blue eyes crossing our faces with a questioning look, as if we weren't her usual clientele. Then her gaze dropped to my stomach, and her lips parted in a silent "Ah." She hurried over and opened the door.
"Let me guess," she said. "You're looking for something to protect you against the water contamination."
Before I could answer, she leaned forward, hand on my arm, and continued. "In times of trial, many of us feel the need to turn to the mystical. To be blunt though, dear, there's no ward that can protect you as well as common sense. Follow the health bulletins and avoid tap water, and that will serve you far better than any charm or amulet."
"Anita Barrington?" Jeremy asked.
She looked up at him. "Yes?"
"You were recommended to us by Robert Vasic."
A frown line appeared between her eyes, then she let out a small laugh. "Ah. Well, that's different, isn't it? Come in, come in."
She ushered us into the shop and locked the door, then closed a beaded curtain over the front window.
"You must think me a dotty old lady, jumping to conclusions, but you would not believe the day I've had."
She waved me to a stool pulled up to a counter stacked with used books.
"Is that too high?"
I hopped onto it.
"Excellent," she said. "Now, there's another one there if you gentlemen care to fight over it."
She headed behind the counter. "Such a day. Mind you, when one runs a bookstore with 'Hecate' in the name, one comes to expect shoppers looking for charms and wards and other New Age nonsense."
Still talking, she climbed onto a stool behind the counter. "Today, though, the phone hasn't stopped ringing, nor the chimes over the door. We consider ourselves such an enlightened society and yet, when our most basic fears are aroused, where do we turn? Magic and superstition."
She pulled the plastic wrap off a plate of bakery cookies and pushed them toward me.
"Eat up," she said, eyes twinkling. "While you still have the excuse."
I took two.
She continued. "Now, if Robert Vasic referred you, then I know you aren't here for charms against the water contamination. While humans are scrambling for supernatural cures, we supernaturals are renting cottages and stocking up on bottled water. So, how can I help you?"
I started by asking her about supernatural stories related to Jack the Ripper.
"Ah, our folklore," she said, eyes lighting up. "My specialty. I adore stories--they tell us so much about ourselves and our world, and our particular world has some of the most fascinating ones. However, in this case, I suspect you'll be disappointed. What fires the imaginations of humans does not necessarily fire our own."
"Because we've seen far worse than Jack the Ripper?"
"Exactly. If you look for human fiction and folklore speculating that Jack the Ripper was a supernatural, you'll be absolutely swamped by it. There's a wonderful story by Robert Bloch--" She laughed. "But that's not what you're here for, is it? Let's stick to our folklore. Now--"