E. Godz (20 page)

The thought no sooner formed itself than Dov felt the puddle beneath him ooze a little
higher until it was a pool, then a pond, then a lake whose bottom and borders spread
farther and farther away from him as his head sank beneath the clammy water. He
splashed wildly, trying to stay afloat, but could not remember how to swim. The waters
rushed into his chest and darkness followed. The giantess had taken her revenge.

And as he sank deeper into the black lake, all he could hear above the sound of the
rushing waters was Ammi's persistent, penetrating voice insisting: You know none of this
would've happened if you'd only shaved your chest hair!

Dov woke up in a wash of sweat almost as cold as the drowning lake of his dreams.
He lurched into the bathroom, tearing off his clothes as he went, and threw himself into a
hot shower. That made him feel a little better.

He came out of the shower and wiped steam from the mirror with a towel so that he
could see his reflection. He looked awful, rumpled and haggard enough to be a shoo-in
for the role of Willie Loman in Death of a Salesman.

"Work," he said aloud. "I've got to get to work. Salem is the last stop I've got to make.
All I need to do is get this Fiorella woman's support and I bet I can swing the rest of the
fence-sitters. Then I can go back to Miami and not have to think about Edw— I mean, I'll
bet that there's a ton of stuff back in the Miami office that needs my attention. I've been
letting things slide too damn much, being on the road like this. Whether or not I get
control of the company, I've still got an obligation to the accounts that we handle directly
in Miami. I don't care how much is at stake, I am not going to let the home team down!"

"Rah, rah, rah," said Ammi, deadpan. "And might I add, boola-boola."

Dov was in no mood for sass. He jerked the amulet's chain so hard that he snapped
the clasp, then he flung it out the bathroom door, vaguely hoping it would land on the bed
so that he wouldn't have to hunt for it on hands and knees when he wanted to find it
again.

He toweled himself off, picked his damp clothes off the bathroom floor, unpacked his
things, got dressed and groomed to his own satisfaction, and only then checked on the
amulet's whereabouts. He wasn't very surprised when he didn't find it on the bed; he
knew his luck. A cursory survey of the bedroom floor likewise produced nothing.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he called, trying to put a little interest into
his voice. He was too emotionally exhausted by his dreams to work up any enthusiasm
for locating the sarcastic bit of jewelry in a hurry.

"Come on, Ammi, give me a hint," he said. "I've decided that I'm going to hunt up
Fiorella tonight after all. I know it's almost ten o'clock, but that's not going to be too late
to phone a witch-queen. If she says it's okay to come see her, I'm going. I can go with you
or without you, your choice. So how about it? Are you in or are you going to sulk and
miss all the fun?"

Silence answered him.

"Fine. Be that way. I don't have time for this. Catch you later." He walked out of the
bedroom without further ceremony.

Once out on the nighted streets of Salem, he took out his cell phone and called
Fiorella's home number. It rang for a long time without answer or answering machine. He
was about to give up and go back inside to locate Ammi (and see if the little amulet had
an alternate contact number for the witch-queen) when there was a click and a woman's
voice, very low and sweet, saying: "Ye Cat and Cauldron, why not drop by for a spell?
We now feature special evening hours the better to serve all your arcane needs. This is
Fiorella speaking; may I help you?"

Dov introduced himself and secured a very warm invitation to come to the witch-
queen's book shop as soon as possible. ("How very fortunate you are, Mr. Godz, that I
have a call-forwarding spell put on my home phone. Just as good as a pager and much
less annoying.") He found a parking spot right in front of Ye Cat and Cauldron, but didn't
attribute it to either luck or magic. After all, the hour was fairly late, tourist season was
not yet in full swing, and most of the good folk of Salem were home waiting for
Letterman to come on.

A light burned inside the bookshop; several, in fact. Actually, the place was lit up like
Christmas at Macy's and the crowds within were almost as thick. As soon as Dov opened
the door and stepped inside, he found himself up to his eyebrows in women. They came
in as many shapes and colors as that candy gel used to make chewy fish, worms, teddy
bears, sharks, spiders, and the whole Noah's ark of tooth-rotting fauna. Tall, short, fat,
thin, meek, bold, laughing, grim, their skin, eyes, and hair of every color found in nature
or made possible through chemistry, cosmetics, and contact lenses, they surged and
swarmed around the bookshelves, wicker shopping baskets on their arms piled high with
purchases.

Dov felt his heart begin to beat faster with fear. It wasn't that he was afraid of being
trampled or shoved. He certainly wasn't scared of women per se. What had him spooked
was the way that every single one of the ladies present acted as if he weren't there. Their
glances either bounced off him entirely or went right through him, seeing nothing where
he stood. The phenomenon wasn't caused by active hostility on their part or even
common rudeness. The room pulsed with magical power, more than Dov had ever felt
centered in one spot before. They were the source of the power and its victims, for it was
the power itself that possessed them and made them unable to recognize that Dov existed.

It was very disconcerting. He didn't know what to do. He thought about calling out
Fiorella's name, but stopped short of doing it. What if the power caged within this room
had also rendered him inaudible? What if it were only a matter of time before he
dissolved clear out of reality and ended up ... where?

"Mr. Godz?" A shapely green-eyed blonde materialized at Dov's side and took him by
the hand. "I'm Fiorella; so pleased to meet you."

He tried to smile at her, but he was still fast in the thrall of unreasoning fear. She gave
him a sympathetic look. "Oh dear," she said. "You poor darling, have we really got the
power turned on that high? I'm so sorry. Come with me; it's better in the storeroom."

Dov allowed himself to be led like a little child on a shopping expedition with
Mommy. "You mustn't feel bad," she told him. "This happens a lot on nights when we
offer extended hours for shopping."

"Is it a ... woman's magic thing?" Dov asked, his voice hoarse and fragile.

Fiorella showed her dimples. "Perhaps it is. Most of my female customers spend their
worldly days being treated a little better than furniture. The people around them at home
or at work or in the social whirl never seem to see them unless they absolutely must.
Sometimes it's because they aren't pretty enough, or young enough, or wearing the right
clothes, or holding down the right sort of job. They're the mothers with small children
who get shoved aside by the people who think anything outside of an office isn't real
work. They're the women who accomplish great things but who only turn visible when
someone wants to ask them when they're going to get married and have kids. They're the
ladies who wear size 18 dresses who can't get a salesclerk to notice that they want to buy
the lipstick that the size 2 model is wearing. They were once the eleven-year-old girls
who wanted to play Spin-the-Particle-Accelerator instead of Spin-the-Bottle. They make
most men and some women nervous. And do you know what else? They don't like being
invisible. That's why they come here, seeking magic, trying to learn how to be seen again.
Meanwhile, as long as there are enough of them banded together in one place, they
automatically invoke the power to treat others the way they've been treated themselves.
They can't help it."

While she spoke, Fiorella simultaneously conducted Dov through the thick of the
females thronging her store, behind the main display counter, and out via a bead-hung
doorway. The farther they went from the open-to-the-public part of Ye Cat and Cauldron,
the better he felt, so he made no objection when she took him straight through the little
parlor where she'd entertained Peez. A door at the far end of the Lilith Lair opened onto a
narrow flight of stone steps that went down into the earth. A gust of warm air from below
blew over his face and dried the beads of nervous sweat from his brow as he and Fiorella
descended, a breeze that smelled of Oriental spices.

The steps ended in a room that was empty except for a wide green velvet divan, a
marble-topped table bearing a crystal decanter and two silver goblets, and a pair of
wooden chairs so straight-backed and uncomfortable-looking that they would have
pleased even the critical eye of a Puritan elder. The walls were covered with trompe l'oeil
paper printed to resemble the shelves of a well-stocked library.

"I thought you said you were taking me to a storeroom," Dov said, looking around
uncertainly.

"This is it." Fiorella reached out and tapped the spine of the book closest to her. Its
outline shimmered and an actual book popped out of the wall like toast from a toaster.
The witch-queen passed it to Dov so that he could examine its solidity. The blank spot its
removal had left in the wallpaper was already refilled by a fresh volume. "A little magic
prevents a lot of storage problems, which can be the making or breaking of a small book
business," she explained. "Plus it cuts down on the need for reserves against returns."

"Fascinating." Dov riffled through the pages, then handed the book to her again. She
put it back in its original site. The replacement volume very agreeably sank into the wall
to accommodate its twin's return.

"I was so glad to hear from you tonight," Fiorella said, waving him into one of the
wooden chairs. "I've been looking forward to our meeting ever since your sister stopped
by."

"How was she?" Dov blurted. The question surprised him. It just wasn't the sort of
thing he'd expect himself to say. An inquiry as to whether or not Peez had secured
Fiorella's backing for the company takeover, maybe; a query about any deals Peez might
have offered the witch-queen so that he might, in turn, better them, perhaps. But a simple
question about her health and well-being? A sincere one, no less? Astounding.

Because it was sincere; Dov couldn't deny that. He actually cared enough about Peez
to ask after her! This was something new for him. How had it happened?

And why shouldn't it happen? he thought fiercely, as though someone had challenged
his right to feel concern for her. She's my sister, dammit! We're family! Why the hell
shouldn't I want to know how she is?

"Just fine," Fiorella replied, sitting opposite Dov and filling the goblets. "A trifle
disappointed that I couldn't bring myself to give her my unqualified support, but
otherwise well. You see, I like to hear both sides of most things before I make up my
mind. That's why I'm so glad that you've finally come to see me. I'd like to choose
between you and your sister for the directorship of E. Godz, Inc., after Edwina—"

Dov burst into tears.

He was still shaking with sobs as he felt Fiorella move nearer and put her arms
around him. She stroked his hair and whispered soft words of comfort, helped him to his
feet, led him to the green velvet divan and lay down beside him, cradling him to her. He
cried and cried until all of his tears were gone. Then he closed his eyes tight, took a deep
breath, blew it out forcefully, and thrust himself out of Fiorella's embrace.

"I am such an idiot," he said, sitting on the edge of the divan with his head in his
hands.

"Probably," Fiorella said, being amenable. "But would you mind specifying what
brought on that little bout of personal evaluation?"

"Very funny. I've got a friend you should meet: He's jewelry, but the two of you
would get along fine in spite of that. The two of you, working together, should be able to
get my ego whittled down to sand-grain size without breaking a sweat."

"Jewelry doesn't sweat. Do you mean you're a fool for crying, or for crying in front of
me?" The witch-queen remained comfortably stretched out on the divan like a modern
day Cleopatra. "Put your mind at ease, Mr. Godz: Men have been allowed to cry in public
since the '90s, and not just over football games. Or are you afraid your outburst will make
me think less of you as the potential head of E. Godz, Inc.? Au contraire, it's a blessing to
find a CEO who's got human emotions. Why do you think we call it sympathetic magic?"

Dov sat up a little straighter, feeling the old self-confidence trickling back into his
bones. "Really?" he asked.

Fiorella nodded. "Considering all the stress you're under, I'd be repulsed if you didn't
show a little emotion. Mr. Godz, what I do within the spiritual path I've chosen—what all
of us who follow such paths do—is to seek connection. If I wanted a leader who was cold
and detached from everything except the dictates of his own ego—" She sighed. "Never
mind. I hate discussing politics."

"It has been a rough time for me," Dov admitted. "I've spent most of it, ever since I
heard about the report from Mother's doctor, trying not to think about what's coming. It
all seems so ... strange to me."

"You're not the only one," Fiorella said. "I must say, when I first heard about poor
Edwina's condition, I was shocked."

"Of course you were. You and she have been more than business associates, right?
When a friend tells you her doctor's only given her a short time to live—"

"Oh, it wasn't that so much as— Well, yes, it was that, but what struck me as even
more shocking was that Edwina not only went to a common M.D., but that she actually
believed what he told her. In all the years that I've known your mother, I can count the
times she's seen mainstream medicos on the fingers of one hand. Frankly, I think she's
only gone to see them that many times for tax purposes."