The Witch's Key (11 page)

I stepped back to gain a healthy distance. “What am I
doing? I’m trying to keep you from poisoning me.”

She blinked at me with only half a smirk. “What are
you talking about?”

“That!” I said, pointing. “I hope you don’t expect me
to drink that.”

I swear, I hate the face she made after that. It’s
one of Lilith’s best: the one she flashes whenever I say or do
something stupid, which, incidentally, I seem to do a lot around
her. “Are you serious?” she said, and she dipped her big wooden
spoon into the ink and propped the bulk of the lumpy mass out of
the brew. “This?” I leaned in for a closer look. “These are my
jeans.”

“Your jeans?”

She let the wad tumble back into the pot. “Yes! I’m
dying them black because I got axle grease all over them. What did
you think it was?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, some wacky brew you found
on Witchit, maybe.”

That made her laugh. “And you thought I wanted you to
drink it?”

“No! I turned and started into the living room.
“Forget it. I have to shower. I’m going out with Carlos
tonight.”

“Really?” As I passed through the living room and
down the hall, Lilith followed. “Going where?”

“On assignment. It’s police business.”

I took a left off the hallway into my bedroom, a
place Lilith had never stepped foot in before. “But you’re not a
police officer anymore,” she said, crossing the threshold and
fulfilling the first step of a multi-part fantasy of mine. As I
pulled some socks and underwear from my dresser drawer, she backed
her legs up to the foot of the bed and plopped down on top of
it—fantasy step two. I knew it would be a cold shower now.

“I’m only going to help Carlos out,” I said. “It’s
sort of a recon mission.”

“You going into the jungle?”

I pulled out an old shirt and a pair of jeans from
the next drawer down. “Yes. How’d you guess?”

“Well, daah! You don’t have to be a witch to see into
that crystal ball.”

“Yeah.” I glanced up into the dresser mirror and saw
her looking down her cleavage, brushing away at a spot just above
her breasts. It looked like droplets of dye had splattered her
blouse, leaving me with visions of little black freckles staining
through to her skin in places I had only dreamed of. I shook the
image from my mind and gathered up the rest of my things. “I
suppose,” I said, and I headed for the bathroom, and once again,
Lilith followed.

“So, did you see your father again?”

I set my things down on the toilet seat and drew back
the shower curtain. “Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I saw Mister Marcella, but it turns out he
isn’t my father.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s this guy named, Jake.”

“Jersey Jake?” she said, but I got the feeling she
didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

“That’s right. How did you know?”

Her eyes broke contact with mine and fell away. “Just
a guess.”

“No, Lilith. Look at me.” She came back, only now she
had regrouped, and I knew she would not tell me anything that she
did not want me to know. “You don’t just pull a name like Jersey
Jake out of thin air. What made you say that?”

Her brows creased tightly. “It wasn’t thin air. We
were talking about hobos, and Jersey Jake was a well known hobo in
these parts sixty years ago.”

“Maybe in hobo circles,” I said. “But how would you
know about him?”

“I was around then.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s the answer you’re getting.”

“Fine.” I started the water in the shower. “I guess
we’re done then.”

“I guess we are,” she said, though she did not leave
right away.

I peeled off my shirt and shoes and undid the buckle
on my belt. When she still would not leave, I asked, “Anything
else?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Nope.”

“Then I’m getting in the shower now.”

“Okay.”

I assumed she was only challenging my modesty, and so
I called her bluff by dropping my pants and underwear to the floor.
I stood there in my convictions, confident in my manhood, waiting
for her to blush and retreat. When that did not happen, I realized
that I had foolishly subordinated myself to her once again. So,
with my chin high, I turned my back, tested the water temperature
until I got it right, and then stepped into the tub. As I reached
behind me to pull the shower curtain closed, I felt a stinging
pinch on my lower right cheek. I should have expected it. I knew
she was still there, probably smiling broadly at my glacier-white
ass, but I jumped just the same. And to make matters worse, I even
squealed like a little girl.

“Lilith!”

I heard her giggle. “I’m going.”

By the time I finished showering, Lilith had wrung
out her jeans and hung them on the line outside to dry. When she
came back, I asked her how she managed to get axle grease on the
jeans in the first place.

“Axle grease?” she tried giving me that confused look
that Carlos often gives me, only with Carlos, it’s usually not an
act. “Where did you hear that?”

“From you. You told me that’s why you were dyeing
them black.”

“I said that?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. Don’t know why I would have said that.”

“Me neither. Are you sure there isn’t something you
want to tell me?”

She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose in a
classic gesture of denial. “No. Hey, do you want some lasagna? I
made it myself.”

“I don’t think I…wait.
You
made lasagna?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t cook.”

“I cook.” She made her way to the oven, removed a
gorgeous looking tray of deep-dish lasagna and set it on the table.
Then she brought over a plate, a fork and a knife and she shoveled
out a piece the size of a brick. “Sit,” she said, leading me to the
table by the hand. I knew that the lasagna was her attempt to
change the subject away from the jeans question, but I did not much
care. With my stomach growling and my resistance worn, I felt
reasonably sure that lasagna was about the only thing that Lilith
would be putting out anytime soon. She sat across from me and
watched as I ate, smiling suspiciously all the while. I had almost
begun to believe that her domestic talents were broadening, when I
noticed the oven-safe plastic pan the lasagna came in.

“So, you cooked this, did you?” I pointed at the
leftovers.

“Yes,” she answered proudly.

“All by yourself?”

“All by myself.”

I nodded, shoveling the last forkful into my mouth.
“It came frozen, didn’t it?”

Without hesitation, guilt or remorse, she said,
“Ah-huh.”

I knew then that she was not trying to pull anything
over on me. Her pride for a job well done came with genuine
satisfaction. I even believed to a large degree that my approval or
disapproval would shape the tone of our relationship for the
foreseeable future. So, after swallowing the last bite, I looked up
at her, smiled and said, “Lilith. That was the best damn lasagna
I’ve ever tasted.”

In a way, I had not lied. It was pretty good
lasagna—maybe not as good as some I’ve had up in Boston’s north
end—but having been cooked and served to me with heart by the woman
I loved, I can remember none tasting better. Lilith’s eyes sparkled
when I told her that, and for a belated second, I almost considered
blowing off the jungle recon and staying home with her in hopes of
us serving up something steamy for dessert. But all that went out
the window when she expressed her plans for the evening, which
included her needing the car.

“To go where?” I asked.

“That’s none of your business, is it?”

“I just want to know you’ll be safe.”

She folded her arms to her chest. “Tony. I’ve been
taking care of myself for over a hundred and seventy years. I think
I know how to keep myself safe.”

“Is this a witch thing?”

“What?”

“Are you going to witch it tonight?”

“Witch what?”

“Whatever it is you’re planning.”

“I’m not planning anything.”

“Then why do you need to go out? You know you really
should—”

“Tony. Stop!” My heart skipped a measurable beat.
“You need not presume what I should and should not do—please. When
I suppose what is best for you, then I will validate your
presumptions. Until then, spare me your inquisitions.”

“Fine,” I said, pushing my empty plate away. “Don’t
let me in. Keep your precious distance. I don’t know what you’re
afraid of, though. I won’t bite. Hell, even if I do, you might like
it if you give me a chance. I mean, really, would it kill you to
open up a bit?”

She took my plate across the room and pitched it into
the sink almost hard enough to break it. “I am opening up,” she
said. “You don’t see it because you really don’t know me. But you
need to be patient. Whatever is supposed to come will come. Just
let it happen naturally.”

“Will it?” I asked. “Will it come in my
lifetime?”

She must have sensed the despair in my voice, or seen
the desperation in my eyes. As she came back to me, I fully
expected her to slap me on the face as hard as she could. I raised
my chin stiffly, closed my eyes and held my breath. She stopped
only when our knees touched. Then she cupped her hands below my jaw
and planted the sweetest, most delicate kiss upon my lips that I
had ever known. It took me by surprise and left me speechless. Our
lips parted softly like falling petals. When I opened my eyes
again, I found her face so close to mine that I could still feel
the warmth of her breath on my chin. She blinked back a starry gaze
and then peered deep into my eyes.

“Yes, Tony, it will,” she said, softly. “And when it
does, it will be worth it. Trust me.”

She pulled away, leaving me feeling stranded and
strangely alone. I could no longer connect with the insecurities
and anxieties of wondering where I stood with her. I could only sit
back and hold on to the emptiness that somehow I knew she would one
day fill. ‘It will come’ she said, a promise as vague as life
itself. It will come. She will come. I knew that now, but for the
remaining emotions: desire, frustration, anticipation, could I
wait?

I watched her turn and walk away, a haunting image
for a shipwrecked psyche such as mine. Her departure struck me as
symbolic of my dilemma. The promise of her return meant that she
held complete and utter control over the durance of my soul. No
longer did I hold the key to my own destiny, but then, since
meeting Lilith on that cold March night at Doctor Lieberman’s
workshop, I suppose I never did.

Later, after taking her shower, which did not include
me looking in on her, double standards being what they are, Lilith
came to me with a puzzle of sorts. It consisted of a small jar of
dried beans and a snippet of hair. She said she wanted to see if my
witching abilities were noticeable enough to measure.

“How do you find that out?” I asked.

“Simple,” she said. “I’m going to test your scrying
powers.”

“What, like fortune telling?”

She seemed to weigh the question. “Well, same skills,
different application. Here.” She handed me the jar and then piled
the hair clippings onto the table. “This is what you do. Open the
jar and dump the beans out right on top of the clippings. Then,
from the pattern of the beans, I want you to tell me where the
other snippets of hair just like these are hiding.”

I looked at her like she might be daft. “You’re
kidding, right?”

“No! You can do this. Come on. I have faith.”

“But how am I supposed—”

“Just try it. What have you got to lose?”

“I don’t know, my dignity?”

That made her laugh. “Tony, any dignity you had when
you walked through that door, you lost this afternoon, stepping
into the shower.”

“Yes. Thanks to you.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome. Now, spill the
beans.”

At the risk of falling victim again to one of her
pranks, to which I assumed there’d be many, I opened the jar and
dumped the beans out onto the table. They staggered as they
bounced, dancing in nervous step to the rhythm of their own
chatter. After settling, what I had left was a scattering of dried
beans, some shinny hair clippings and a witch, whose face told me
that I had my answer, only, I had no idea what that answer was. I
looked up at Lilith, hoping for a clue. She pointed eagerly at the
beans.

“Excellent drop! I think you’re a natural.”

“Natural what? Idiot?”

“Come on!” She pointed again. “You don’t see it?”

“See what?”

“The answer. Look, it’s staring you in the face.”

I looked again at the beans, thinking that maybe I
just was not trying hard enough. “It would help if I knew what I
was looking for,” I said. “Is it like a message? An arrow?
What?”

“Yes and no.”

“Lilith.”

“I mean, it’s none of those things and all of those
things. The answer isn’t in the beans. It’s in your head. The beans
only provide a pattern to which you assimilate and interpret for
the purpose of navigating sub-psychic peripherals in the
brain.”

“What?”

“Yes, listen. These peripherals run parallel with
cosmic energies surrounding all of us. If you learn to harness
that, then you can know things that others may never dream.”

I concentrated on the beans again. “How will I know
when I see it?”

She reached across the table to pat my hand. “Don’t
worry. You’ll know.”

I imagined that part of making it happen was my
believing I could make it happen. Only a year before I had seen
incredible things, examples of phenomenal supernatural events that
unfolded before my very eyes. Things I would have thought
impossible, even ridiculous, had manifested themselves in
spectacular ways through nothing more than simple spells, chants
and will of mind. And should I fail to mention that I, too, am a
product of the supernatural? Had I witnessed nothing at all so
astonishing in the past, I would still have to confess my
convictions since I now breathe through the lungs of a man forty
years younger. So, I sharpened my focus on the pattern the beads
made and I concentrated hard on allowing my sub-psychic mind to
assimilate the cosmic energies that Lilith spoke of.