Love Potion #9 (25 page)

And she and Mitch had very nearly become lovers themselves in the process.

The next card was one of Lilith's favorites - The Chariot, number seven. A card of partnership and pairing, of two different steeds pulling together toward a single goal. A card also that represents the harnessing of animal desires, the act of putting them to work for the individual's own good instead of his detriment.

Mitch certainly had shackled their passion. Lilith traced the silhouette of the charioteer and decided it was not such a bad thing. She rather liked his determination that they should be lovers on every level when they came together again. It would make the moment a truly special one, a threshold to their future together. Lilith admired the strength of character and discipline he had developed over the years.

Because Lilith knew that when they did make love, it would be magickal in every way. She and Mitch had their own personalities, their own views of the world and ways of doing things, but like the two different steeds on the card, their objective was as one.

And lifelong partnership was a pretty good goal.

Number eight, Justice, was next. The voice of conscience and morality, it was clearly the voice of Mitch. It was also, incidentally, the card of Lilith's creed, of living as blamelessly as possible.

But Justice rested upon the presence of laws. As well as the written laws of society, the world of men was governed by another unwritten law, that of morality. And morality rose from conscience.

Conscience, the voice within one's own mind that governs choices, right or wrong. Lilith recalled that the first circle laid on the table represented external challenges, the second of those invisible hurdles that had to be conquered before the quest was done. The seated lady of Justice on the card, then, was the first glimpse through the portal from the world of the physical to the world of the spiritual. She provided a hint of the second half of the journey.

Lilith thought about Mitch's certainty of his own responsibility for Janice's departure and knew this was something he would have to resolve to see his own journey complete.

She'd have to consider how to help him with that when the opportunity arose.

Lilith touched the final card facing up. The Hermit held his beacon before the darkness and Lilith knew it represented the next step on Mitch's voyage. Another seeker, like The Fool, The Hermit has the wisdom of experience, though he shuns material aid. He sets out alone, to plan, to think, to unravel mysteries. The Hermit represents contemplation and a coming to understanding with one's own past and one's own self.

Lilith sat back in her chair and frowned at the card, unable to understand what it meant for Mitch. Was he going to disappear on his own for a while? Had it been closer to his conference, that possibility might have made more sense than it did.

Something flickered in her crystal ball like a beacon, but when Lilith frowned at it, there was nothing really there.

How strange.

But she was really tired, after all. Lilith smiled at the reason for her exhaustion. She yawned finally and stretched, knowing she wasn't going to see this solved tonight. At least not without some sleep.

And as Lilith climbed the stairs, she smiled once more at the prospect of her pleasant dreams.

 

* * *

 

But unbeknownst to Lilith, as she slumbered contentedly through that night, her very first grey hair unfurled like a silver thread in her dark tresses. It was a stark statement that things had not remained as once they were, that perhaps the elixir she had sipped so long ago was finally losing its grip.

Lilith, though, had such an abundance of hair that she would not immediately notice this herald of change.

 

* * *

 

Mitch rolled into the newsroom Monday morning, quite certain that the world was a good place. He and Lilith and the kids had had a great time the day before, all working together in the garden. Mitch had managed to more or less mow the lawn - even if most of what was growing there wasn't grass, the yard looked green. Jen's pool had a permanent location for the rest of the summer, Jason and Lilith had managed to get one bed in place and plant some beans before the skies burst open.

It had been a great thunderstorm and they had watched its show from the shelter of the back porch. Much to Jason's delight, the power went off, and they ate Lilith's vegetarian quiche cold, by candlelight.

And the more Mitch talked to Lilith, the more he became convinced that one little kink in her system could be put to rights.

Mitch didn't even blink when Isabel bounced up to his desk in neon pink biker shorts. Her hair was woven into a thick ponytail, she had sunglasses perched on her head and what looked like a butterfly tattoo on her upper arm. Mitch thought she had a few more earrings than she used to.

“New guy?” he guessed.

Isabel grinned. “Bike courier.” She whistled under her breath and rolled her eyes appreciatively. “Legs like you wouldn't believe. And
stamina
.” Isabel giggled, then blushed.

Mitch grinned and shook his head. “Hey, can you do something for me?”

“You know it.”

“Try to dig me up some stuff on selective amnesia, repressed memories, basically whatever the brain does to protect someone from reliving a nasty experience. And, if you run across the names of any clinics or psychologist who are particularly good at treating this kind of thing, jot them down.”

“Another juicy lead?”

“No, no.” Mitch got waved in to the editorial meeting, so he scooped up his notepad. He dropped his voice. “This is personal, so don't spend the company dime on it. I'd just appreciate any quick pointers you could give me.”

He'd figure out how he was going to run this by Lilith later.

“Sure.” Isabel shrugged, her expression immediately serious. “Anything I can do to help?”

Mitch smiled. She was a good-hearted kid. “Not so far. I'll let you know what comes out of this meeting.” He waved, sipped the horrible excuse for coffee and headed into the morning meeting.

 

* * *

 

An Irish Wolfhound is a large dog, a
very
large dog. In fact, many books cite the wolfhound as the Largest Dog. It is not uncommon for a male wolfhound to tip the scales at 140 pounds of lean strength, as Cooley did. Jen wasn't even tall enough to look Cooley straight in the eye.

Like most dogs, wolfhounds eat their weight in dog food every month. Mitch had never even considered joining a gym, the weekly adventure of hauling kibble and daily task of doling it out for a very interested Cooley - never mind walking the amiable beast - more than enough aerobics for him.

Characteristically placid, wolfhounds are often referred to as “gentle giants”. Loyal and protective, they keep an eye on everyone they consider to be their personal responsibility. Cooley was great with the kids, more than tolerant of Jen's tail-tugging. He lumbered after Jason on the little boy's many adventures and Mitch often felt that the dog was the best sitter they could ever have.

But on this particular Monday morning, Cooley was uncharacteristically riled. It was more than a general sense that his “pack” was in jeopardy, he could smell trouble. With canine certainty, the wolfhound knew that the neighbor with the sunflowers posed a dangerous threat to his family.

He paced the length of the new fence, restless at his confinement in the yard. Cooley shoved his nose into the small gaps in the fence and could barely wedge it through, let alone the rest of him. He pawed at the fence and jumped on it a few times, but this time, the fence seemed inclined to stay put.

But there was more than one way to get next door. He couldn't go through the fence or around it, he couldn't jump over the six foot height, but with some diligence he could go
under
it.

So, determined to save his family from dire peril, Cooley settled in to dig at the back corner of the lot. Unbeknownst to the dog, he was hidden from view by a particularly big and dangerously prickly thistle.

It would take a long time for such a large dog to dig a tunnel big enough to accommodate his size, but the thistle would ensure that days passed before the time anyone guessed what Cooley was up to.

And then it would be too late.

 

* * *

 

Much to Lilith's relief, there was no line of panting men at the bookstore that Monday afternoon. A pair of teenagers giggled as they waited for her, an older woman with sad eyes fiddled with her wedding ring.

And a very serious looking young man waited quietly. He was so different from her usual customers that Lilith thought at first he must not be waiting for her.

He was dressed simply but neatly, in jeans and a white shirt, a black leather backpack at his feet, a sheaf that looked to have been torn out of the yellow pages in his hand. His hair was dark, his skin was fair. He was handsome but unaware of it. He looked about the age to be in university, although he dressed with the somber and well-pressed style of someone older. He sat quietly, barely moving, something about the fathomless darkness - and the steadiness - of his gaze making dread rise in Lilith's throat.

The bookstore owner was delighted to see her. Ryan had decked her little table with fresh flowers and kept saying how he hoped she'd enjoyed the chocolates. Lilith smiled and thanked him, then beckoned to the teenager first in line. She shuffled her cards, feeling the young man watch her and refusing to consider why he was here.

She knew without doubt that he was
Rom
, the first
Rom
she had faced since all those years ago. The first
Rom
who had ever sought her out. That couldn't be a good thing. Lilith had actively avoided her kind, refusing to consider herself among their ranks.

Because she was not. It was decided and done.

But the young man's presence made her nervous, all the same.

 

* * *

 

Mitch came out of his meeting, buoyed by praise for his final copy on a recycling materials scam, to find crisis ready and waiting.

Isabel waved a phone at him. “Hey, you know that source you hung your story on?”

Mitch's heart sank as he guessed what she was going to say. “Don't tell me.”

“He called. He's rescinding. His lawyer says he'll sue.” Isabel grimaced. “Mitch, he sounds scared.”

Well, that wasn't too improbable. Mitch had sniffed out organized crime connections to this scam, but hadn't been able to substantiate them.

The managing editor spoke from behind Mitch. “Davison, don't lose this one. I've cleared the front page for this.” He looked grim. “I want that story, one way or the other.”

“Yeah, me too.” Mitch turned back to Isabel. “See if you can get him on the phone again. Let me talk to him - we'll try to set up a meeting.”

Isabel chewed her lip. “What if he says no?”

“Then I'll find what I need somewhere else,” Mitch affirmed, rummaging through the files on his desk. “The story's there and I'm not the only one who knows it. That forensic accountant knew more than he told us, I knew it at the time. I've got his card in here. And the security guard at the plant wasn't surprised. I'll revisit everybody and go over it again.”

Isabel's eyes shone. “Wow! Can I tag along?”

“It'll be a long haul.”

“But the closest I've been to real reporting yet.” Isabel leaned both hands on his desk in her appeal. “Please, Mitch, get me out the goddamn files.”

Mitch considered her for a moment and could understand her frustration. And she could be a great help to him if things were heating up. He looked to the managing editor, who nodded subtle approval.

Mitch flicked the forensic accountant's card at Isabel. “Sweet talk him into a lunch meeting, just the three of us. Tell him you'll make it look like a date, he was worried before and might be more worried now.” Mitch eyed her funky clothing wryly. “But to make it look plausible, Isabel, you're going to have to change.”

 

* * *

 

Even though she sensed the truth, Lilith was still shocked at his first words when he finally took the seat opposite her.

“
Rom san?
” he asked earnestly, his gaze searching, his pronunciation meticulous.

Are you Rom?

Lilith caught her breath at the question, her gaze flew to meet those eyes so like her own. She licked her lips, then shook her head. “I don't understand,” she said flatly, disliking the taste of the lie on her tongue.

But she had made her choice and she would stick with it.

The boy heaved a sigh and frowned. “Neither do I,” he confessed quietly and leaned back in his chair, “but my grandmother told me to ask fortune tellers that until one answered me.” He shoved a hand through his hair and looked suddenly very young and burdened. He smoothed the yellow page listings on the table and Lilith saw that he had torn out the section on Occult Bookstores.

They were crossed out in succession, Ryan's - with its declaration of “Real Fortune Telling on Mondays!” being the one he took a pencil to now.

Lilith couldn't stop her question, although she was certain hers was just a normal curiosity. “What's wrong?”

He shook his head and summoned a half-hearted smile. “It's really not your problem.”

Lilith smiled. “But it might make you feel better to talk about it.”

“You're busy.”

Lilith indicated the lack of line behind him, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Not now. Tell me.”

He looked steadily into her eyes as though considering whether he should do so, then abruptly nodded and leaned closer. “It's my grandmother.”

He swallowed and Lilith saw how deeply he was troubled. She guessed the pair were close, that perhaps the grandmother was not well, and felt sorry for boy opposite her. She wondered if there was anyone else left in his family, and he almost immediately answered her unspoken question.