Love Potion #9 (6 page)

“What was that?”

“Just because we haven't met in this life, doesn't mean we haven't met before.” Her tone was surprisingly matter-of-fact. “You may not remember, but I certainly do.”

She remembered all her past lives. Oh boy, loony tunes. Mitch should have paid more attention to that sign. There was no way he would be able to argue his way free of this one.

“Look. Believe it, don't believe it. We all make our choices,” he said lightly. “I'm your new neighbor and that's it as far as I'm concerned. No past lives, no previous scores to settle, or bad karma leading to lives as cockroaches. I don't do mumbo jumbo. One life is just plenty for me.”

“So very practical,” she teased with soft affection. “Why were you knocking on my door, then?”

Mitch wished that knowing little smile of hers didn't make him want to kiss her quite so badly.

“My stepmother has this idea that people who tell fortunes are perfectly sane,” he confessed. “I came over here to prove her wrong.” He didn't finish the argument, he didn't think he needed to and he didn't want to be rude.

But the lady didn't seem to get his inference, which surprised Mitch. There was something in those eyes that made him think she didn't miss much.

Mitch pointed in the direction of the neon sign. “You would be the Lilith of
Lilith's Lovematches
?”

Her sudden smile was dazzling, and she stuck out her hand in turn. “Lilith Romano: tarot card reader, matchmaker, small business owner, damn good cook.” She quirked a brow. “And perfectly sane, by all accounts.”

She was charming, Mitch had to concede that. “Except for one small kink in the belief system?” he dared to suggest.

Lilith laughed. The sound was rich and rippling, it made Mitch want to laugh along with her. “Speak for yourself,” she retorted.

Mitch couldn't completely stop his unwilling smile at her stubborn consistency. Nor could he refuse to shake Lilith's proffered hand.

It would have just been rude.

But he wasn't expecting her touch to send an army of little tingles over his flesh. The sweet recollection of Lilith's kiss flooded his mind once more, his gaze dropped to her lips in time to see her smile knowingly again.

It was as though she knew what he was thinking and that was a little bit too unsettling for Mitch.

Even if any red-blooded guy would be thinking pretty much the same thing in the same circumstance. He liked to think of himself as somewhat more ethical than the average bear.

Mitch ended their handshake quickly, hauled open the door and stepped out onto her porch. A big sunflower bobbed to one side, its yellow petals seeming to have snared the sunlight.

“Well, I guess it's a question of perspective,” he declared, having no real idea what the heck he meant. He had to say
something
.

To Mitch's surprise, Lilith laughed easily again. She leaned in the doorframe, her bare feet on the threshold, her hair wild curls behind her. The grey cat Cooley had chased twined around her ankles, but she ignored it. God, she was sexy.

And very engaging, if wound a bit loose. Mitch felt like an idiot for what he had done.

For what he hadn't been able to
not
do. For a guy who prided himself on his self control, it was a pretty pathetic showing.

Mitch shoved his hands in his pockets, ashamed at his own behavior and feeling guilty as hell. “Look, Lilith. About what just happened...”

“Forget it,” Lilith interrupted softly. “It was an honest mistake.”

Mitch flicked a glance her way, astounded by this concession. But she appeared to mean it. “Sorry you got me confused with someone else,” he said in a low voice.

Her smile flashed. “Sorry you don't remember.”

At least she stuck to her story. Mitch was suddenly reluctant to hurry home and hose down the chocolate cake that must be smeared all over his kitchen.

So, she believed in all that new age gunk. She wasn't the only one, by any means. And if Mitch ignored that, Lilith was far and away the most intriguing woman he had met in a quite a while.

Maybe ever.

“So, when did you know this Sebastian guy?” he asked impulsively.

Lilith's full lips curved. “Oh, you and I were together six hundred years ago.” She wrinkled her nose playfully. “Give or take.”

Mitch stomped hard on his skepticism and told himself he was just being polite. “That would be in a past life?” he asked as mildly as he could.

“Oh no.” Lilith shook her head and frowned, much to Mitch's surprise. “Well, speak for yourself, at least.”

Just for himself? Their supposed meeting six hundred years ago wasn't her past life? That could only mean one thing. Mitch felt his brows shoot skyward as he stared back at her.

Lilith's gaze never wavered, the intelligence he saw there never flickered.

Mitch cleared his throat and came up with his best reporter voice. “Are you implying that you're six
hundred
years old?”

“No, I'm saying it.” Lilith winked. “Frankly, I don't think I look a day over thirty.”

Mitch stared as the words sank in. That was crazy, plain and simple. Trust him to find a wacko so attractive - it fit perfectly with every other incident in his romantic history!

Mitch was out of there.

“Right!” he called with false cheer from the safety of his own porch. He waved, then ducked into his door, feeling decidedly at-odds.

His gorgeous, passionate, clever neighbor thought she was an immortal. She was completely nuts - and he liked her.

Oh, Mitch could pick ‘em, that was for sure.

“Tell your stepmother to drop over for a free reading anytime,” Lilith called. “I'd be delighted!”

“I'll just bet,” Mitch muttered and stormed toward the kitchen without answering.

He reminded himself that he didn't like people - like fortune-tellers - who preyed on others. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. But even knowing that, his gut response to Lilith wasn't readily dismissed.

He
liked
her, strange assertions and all. He was tempted to believe her.

Which was almost as insane as Lilith thinking she were six hundred years old. Mitch's gut instinct was always right, it had been honed to a fine edge of journalistic integrity.

But obviously, it had just been fooled.

Mitch felt all jumbled up inside: guilty over losing his self-control, confused by Lilith's easy acceptance of what had happened, frustrated by her crazy claims and itching with a desire that had been safely in cold storage for years.

Women. He hadn't missed them at all.

Mitch growled at the chocolate icing adorning the kitchen. He could hear the kids' voices upstairs, but needed a minute to collect himself. Andrea trotted down the stairs, and trailed him into the kitchen.

Mitch rummaged in the fridge and ignored her. He needed a beer. He
deserved
a beer.

And he wasn't going to even consider that some guy named Sebastian had Lilith waiting for him. Mitch certainly wasn't going to wish on any level that he could have been this Sebastian. Now or ever. It was all a bunch of baloney.

The beer, to his delight, was wonderfully cold.

“Did she say a
free
reading?” Andrea demanded with evident excitement. Mitch turned to find her hands clasped together like a child on Christmas morning.

“I don't want to talk about it,” Mitch retorted. He shook a heavy finger at Andrea. “And don't even
think
about going over there. Don't you go over there. Don't let the kids go over there. Period.”

“Why not?”

Mitch indicated the window facing Lilith's house with his beer bottle. “Because she's
nuts
.”

And that, to Mitch Davison's mind, was that.

He should have known better, of course.

 

* * *

 

Lilith shut her front door and leaned against it with a frown. It certainly wasn't very convenient that Sebastian had forgotten everything about her, no less his pledge to return.

It was going to make living happily ever after a little bit more difficult than Lilith had planned.

But they were destined to be together. Surely everything would work itself out?

Leaving such important matters to the whim of the Fates wasn't a very encouraging possibility after what they'd endured before. But what should she do?

Lilith stepped away from the door and remembered that her sign was still on. She grimaced, headed for the switch in the living room, then froze halfway at the sight of something on the floor.

It was one of her tarot cards. It was on the floor, face down, the rest of the deck still wrapped in silk on the table where she had left it.

She couldn't have dropped it. Lilith was not careless with her cards. They could taste disrespect and they would punish anyone who treated them poorly. The cards were vengeful and mischievous.

Mischievous
. Lilith shivered suddenly as she stared at the card. It couldn't have pulled itself from the deck.

Could it? She frowned and stepped closer, her eyes widening as she picked up the card.

The High Priestess. A card of intuition, of trusting your gut, of going with what you know. A card counseling belief in your own convictions. A card that opened the path between conscious knowledge and unconscious belief.

Lilith turned the card in her hands thoughtfully, well aware of her instincts in the matter of Sebastian. So what if Mitch just didn't remember his past life? It would hardly be a first. In fact, some people insisted that reincarnation routinely wiped away all past life memories.

Lilith remembered an ancient priestess telling her that the indent between the nose and the upper lip was the mark of an archangel's kiss, a kiss that swept memory of all but this world and this life from a babe's mind.

And if Mitch didn't remember everything that had happened between them, then that would explain why it took him so long to find her. Lilith should be encouraged that he had reincarnated and found his way to her door, even if he didn't remember exactly why.

And he had admitted that he had bought the house
right next to her own
months ago.

Lilith smiled, immensely reassured. Some part of Mitch did remember Sebastian! Something buried in a corner of his mind had forced him to reincarnate, had compelled him to come here, had urged him to seek her out when he was the right chronological age - even though Mitch himself didn't know it! He was trusting his own instincts, without knowing he why.

Sako peskero charo dikhel
. Dritta's voice echoed in Lilith's ears unexpectedly. But the words were apt enough. “Everyone sees only his own dish.” Lilith had been so focused on Sebastian returning, that she hadn't considered events from his perspective.

The High Priestess seemed to shimmer slightly at Lilith's conclusion. It was all so perfectly obvious that Lilith couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before. The world truly did work in wondrous and mysterious ways!

She and Mitch/Sebastian were going to very happy together, once they worked out a few technical complications. Lilith kissed the card, silently thanking it for reminding her of the power of faith, and slid it back into the deck. She wrapped the silk around the ancient deck and put it on top of the highest shelf in the room.

Lilith flicked off her neon sign thoughtfully. The only question now was how to proceed. She had never imagined that she would have to deal with such issues, but then, the course of love did not always run true.

How could she prompt Mitch's memory of the past?

Should she conjure up a little something, or give him some time?

D'Artagnan meowed, clearly indignant at the state of his dish, whether empty or full. Lilith, puzzling over her choice, followed him to the kitchen.

D'Artagnan bounded to the counter and flicked his tail at Lilith in evident annoyance. He howled, annoyed that he was being ignored, and Lilith immediately brushed him off the counter.

“We have a deal. You know better,” she charged.

D'Artagnan bared his teeth, as though to say “so do you.” He sniffed his dish with disdain, then sat down beside it, regal and expectant.

Lilith opened a can, her mind working busily all the while. Because Mitch seemed to be very much a man who put value in the tangible. And he seemed to find her attractive, even after all this time.

Lilith smiled. Maybe her personal magick would do just fine.

 

* * *

 

The Annex is a neighborhood in Toronto roughly sandwiched between the downtown campus of the University and the posh urban residences of Forest Hill village, that village long ago swallowed by the spreading city.

It's a warren of one way streets and narrow lots, its houses pressed cheek to jowl. The area hosts an eclectic mix of artists, actors, flower children, activists and young professionals. It also boasts the dual distinction of having both the highest concentration of writers in any neighborhood in Canada and the highest rate of bicycle theft in the country.

The two statistics are not believed to be related.

Mitch Davison's house was fairly typical of the area. It was about a hundred years old, made of reddish brick and nestled between two remarkably similar houses. There was a skinny walkway between his house and Lilith's, while his house shared a common wall with the house on its other side.

There was a tiny front yard, long abandoned to the weeds, a rickety wooden front porch that might have been original. The lot allowed for a bigger backyard, with a garage in one corner. The garage was accessed by a common lane that ran between the lots facing Mitch's street and those that faced the street behind.

The house was two stories high, with a high gingerbread-ornamented gable over the front second floor window. Similar trim - in an equal state of disrepair - graced the roofline of the front porch.