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spiritual babbling, the perfume.”
    “Aromatherapy,” said Annabella, toying with the dark hair that flowed over her shoulders like lava. “And it’s not woo-­woo. It’s transformative.”
    “No one came here for aromatherapy, I’ll tell you that. And now no one’s coming much at all.”
    “Hang on.” Lara waved a hand in the air for attention. “I’m still confused. Business is down, is that it? The market for sex has collapsed?” She winced. That hadn’t come out right.
    Annabella clucked her tongue reproachfully. “It’s not only about sex. We tend to ­people’s deepest needs. Now we are also tending to other needs.”
    Puzzled, Lara frowned. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what other needs?”
    “Neuromuscular. Myofascial. That sort of thing.”
    Lara blinked. For the first time in her life Annabella was actually speaking her language. Anatomical terms—­the soothing lingo of the medical world.
    “ Sí, querida! We’ve been practicing our massage on some of the firefighters and they really seem to appreciate it. Romaine and I have been working our little fingers to the bones on those handsome men.” Annabella winked. “Tough job, no? You should come along with us, Lulu. We’re leaving as soon as—­”
    “Focus, ladies, focus,” Janey broke in. “Fact is, our clients are getting older. They’re starting to be more concerned about their spines than their inner selves. It’s distracting from our mission. Besides, your Aunt Tam was the heart and soul of the workshops. She was like the Deepak Chopra of sex. Without her, it’s just—­”
    “Sex,” said Dynah. “Nothing wrong with that.”
    “One thought—­Dynah’s—­is to go back to our roots, and revive the Pink Swan,” Janey explained.
    Lara glanced around the Be Loved and Welcomed Room. It wouldn’t take much to turn it back into a brothel. Take away the jade sculpture of Kuan-­Yin and the Tibetan “tongka” tapestry, and maybe the placard that read, RELEASE YOUR MIND A N D T H E R E S T W I L L F OLLOW. Which, she was pretty sure, her aunt had stolen from Salt-­n-­Pepa.
    She shook herself back to attention. What was she thinking? She wasn’t here to help rescue the Haven. She was here to break the news to the Goddesses. “Actually, I came to tell you guys something.”
    “Or . . .” said Janey, scanning the ledger. “Another idea is to turn the place into a spa and continue to offer massage and maybe mani-­pedis. We might have to remodel, which would take a bite out of our reserves, such as they are.”
    “The Pink Swan Healing Spa.” Annabella wrote the name with her finger in the air. Both she and Romaine gazed at it as if they could actually see it. Dynah rolled her eyes and snorted scornfully.
    “Tam didn’t leave so much as a note with instructions about what she wanted to do with the Haven. We’re not even sure who owns it now. Unless . . .”
    Slowly, all of them turned their gazes on Lara, who felt herself turn pink. Somehow she’d lost control of the conversation. Scratch that—­she’d never had control. She never did at the Haven. And now she had to tell them that all their ideas for the Haven were pointless. The place had to be sold.
    “Aunt Tam left the Haven to me.”
    Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could swear she heard her aunt’s rippling laughter.
    And then a cacophony of voices broke out.
    After assuring the Goddesses that she’d think about their ideas before making any final decisions, Lara escaped to the room where she’d lived from the age of twelve. Aunt Tam had completely redecorated it, banishing everything black and goth—­everything Lara—­and turning it into a pink cotton candy nest.
    Tears collected at the corners of her eyes as she cursed herself once again for not coming back in time to see her aunt. Being in this pink room—­bedspread a deep rose, curtains a pale sunrise pink, rug a delicate mauve—­was like being pulled into one of her aunt’s