The Witch's Key (31 page)

Lilith rocked up on her tiptoes and peered over my
shoulder at the boiling dud. “No, it worked,” she said. “You can
tell by the way the bubbles sort of heave before they break.”

“Huh, how come there was no smoke cloud or big boom
like when you do it?”

She slapped me on the arm. “Oh, that’s because I
sometimes throw a little side spell in there for dramatic
effect.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. It’s sort of my thing. Don’t try to copy it
and we’ll get along just fine.”

We let the potion cool to room temperature as the
recipe called for before mixing an ounce of the elixir with five
ounces of orange juice. Then we chilled it in the refrigerator and
got cleaned up for the drive to the hospice care center. On the
ride over, I worried about my chances of getting Pops to drink the
concoction, but Lilith assured me she had a plan for that.

“Think whisper box,” she said. “I’ll make one up and
put it in an envelope to disguise it as a greeting card.”

“What if it doesn’t work on him?”

“It worked on you.”

“Hmm, yes, remind me I still owe you for that.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hey, did you remember the witch’s key?”

She reached into her blouse pocket and pulled out the
very key she had used to send Gypsy on the train ride of her life.
“Got it here.”

We both looked at it, and I know we were wondering
the same thing. A call to Carlos just before we left the apartment
confirmed they still had not recovered Gypsy’s body. “What if….” I
started to say, but she shut me down with just a stare.

Melissa greeted us as we entered the hospice
building, but her reception seemed unusually cool. I guessed it was
because of Lilith. If for no other reason than for what India
likely told her, she probably saw Lilith as a threat to the natural
order of things. I told Melissa I was there to see Pops, expecting
she might let me go right upstairs. Instead, she paged India and
asked us to take a seat. Our butts barely hit the sofa, when India
showed up in the lobby carrying a small brown bag. Because of the
hour, I assumed we had caught her on the way out to lunch. We
immediately stood—I to greet her, Lilith to maintain height
superiority.

“India. You look well,” I said. “How are you?” I
heard Lilith scoff at that.

“Fine, Detective Spitelli.” She smiled at me warmly.
“And you?”

“Wonderful.” I presented Lilith with a casual sweep
of my hand. “You remember Lilith, don’t you?”

“Of course.” India kept her smile, but it had faded
considerably. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, right,” said Lilith, though I have to admit,
saying it through gritted teeth made it look a lot like a smile.
“You don’t really think it’s nice to see me, but I’m cool with
that.”

“Lilith!”

“Well, she doesn’t.”

“Pay no attention to her, India. She’s only
teasing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Please, Lilith. We’re not here to—”

India reached out to steady my hand. I don’t know.
Maybe she thought I would hit someone. I know she certainly wanted
to. “It’s all right, Detective. I don’t mind. I’m glad you’re both
here. I was going to call and ask you to come in anyway.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“To give you this.”

She reached into the paper bag and pulled out an
object that I recognized immediately. Even still, I could not stop
from asking, “What is this?”

She handed it to me. “It’s a whistle.”

I shook my head. “I see that. But why are you giving
it to me?”

Her eyes dropped, and her reluctance to look up again
sent a chill down my back that I will never forget. “He wanted you
to have it.”

I looked again at the whistle, its rounded edges and
oil-rubbed patina that made it look almost as though it was painted
black. My vision faded at the peripheries and my tunnel of sight
filled with nothing but the old wooden block and two trembling
hands. I felt Lilith’s hand on my back working in soothing circles
the way people do sometimes when they know of no other way to
comfort you.

“What do you mean he wanted me to have it? Don’t you
mean wants me to have it?”

India cupped my hands gently and only then did I
realize how badly they shook. “I’m sorry to tell you this,” she
said, “but Mister Marcella…. Pops, passed away last night.”

I felt Lilith rest her head on my shoulder and wrap
her arm around my waist. “No. That’s impossible,” I said. “We came
here to help him. We brought him something that will…this drink, it
will make everything better again.” I broke from Lilith and started
for the elevator. “I’ll show you. It’s not too late. I can—”

India called out. “Dominic, He’s gone!”

Her words stopped me cold in my tracks. I turned
slowly. She looked at me with vitreous eyes blinking back tears,
her hands pressed steeple-like below her chin. “I’m sorry. They
took him this morning.”

I started back in a stall, my feet dragging, my face
creased in anguish. “Where?”

“They’re preparing him for cremation. It’s what he
wanted.”

Lilith came to me softly, nestling her cheek to my
chest, her arms squeezing me tight as if she might absorb my pain.
I cleared my throat of a drying pinch. “How did he…I mean, was
he….”

India shook her head. “He went peacefully. Around ten
o’clock he rang for someone on the night shift. Laurie came in. He
gave her the whistle and told her he wanted you to have it. Said he
was going to catch out on the next southbound. An hour later when
she went in to check on him, he….”

“He caught out?” I said.

She smiled. “Yes. He caught out.”

There was not much more to say after that. I thanked
India for the whistle and kissed her goodbye on the cheek. Once
outside, I felt the cool assault of light drizzle on my face. It
reminded me I had not dressed in layers, a no-no for any veteran
traveler. But the rain did mask my tears, and for that, I was
grateful. People walking into the hospice did not need reminding
why they were there. They needed only to enjoy the time they had
left with their loved ones, and nothing more.

On the drive back to the apartment, I asked Lilith if
she knew about what time it was last night when the train hit
Gypsy.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I know what you’re
thinking. There was only one southbound heading out of Minor’s
Point last night.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I turned to her with
hesitation. “So, do you think it’s—”

“Just a coincidence?” she said.

I set my hands on the wheel at the ten-to-two
position and concentrated on the road ahead. I realized at that
moment that we did not need to speak. We were on the same
wavelength, sharing thoughts like two people that have been married
a lifetime. But as we drove on, my mind began to wander to a place
where even Lilith could not have joined me. I found myself back on
the hilltop that Pops took me to so many years ago, back when I was
just a boy. We sat in the grass looking down on the trains pulling
out of Minor’s Point.

“Big boys don’t cry,” he told me then. I tried hard
to heed his words, but the urge to let it out weighed upon me like
a locomotive. I might have given in to that urge if not for the
hollow flute-like whispering in my ears. I turned to Lilith. She
had Pops’ old whistle pressed to her lips, blowing the catch out
call as sweet and softly as ever I have heard. I almost asked her
how she knew it, how she could play it like an angle’s song. But I
did not. I just leaned my head back and listened.

I do not know if it was the whistle, if it was the
moment of reflective solitude or if Lilith had wished a spell over
me. But I suddenly felt okay with things. I had said goodbye to
Pops when last we met, and he said goodbye to me. And though I
never told him who I really was, I think that inside he somehow
knew. After all, I called him Pops. And he not call me son?

Back at the apartment, Lilith sat me on the sofa and
insisted I kick off my shoes and prop my feet up on the coffee
table. Then she made me a sandwich and brought me a beer. We spoke
nothing more of Pops or Gypsy or India until my belly was full and
my heart was at peace. But eventually the time came, as I expected
it might, when Lilith felt that she needed to tell me what I
already knew, but was afraid to ask. She did this in the most
un-Lilith-like way, which is how I knew she meant it. I had just
finished my beer and started on another when she sat down beside
me, one leg folded under her butt, the other draped over my
knee.

“Tony,” she said, “you told me something the other
day, and I think I might have mishandled my reaction to it.”

“Oh?”

She leaned in closer until our noses nearly touched.
“Yeah, you told me you loved me.”

I nodded uncertainly. “Okay?”

“You remember?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for not
treating the matter with more sensitivity. I should have explained
a few things to you first.”

I stopped her there. “Lilith, it’s okay. I understand
why you could not reciprocate. In fact, I’m a bit embarrassed now
that I tried to move in on you like I did.”

“Embarrassed? Why would you feel embarrassed?”

“You know, because of our relationship.”

“What about it?”

“Come on! That wouldn’t be right.”

“Why not? You love me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“
Well, I think I love you, too. Now, I’m not
making any promises, but maybe we can start something here that
will....”

“No!” I pushed her back gently and slid across the
sofa as far as I could. “Lilith, will you listen to yourself? What
you’re suggesting is repulsive.”

Her face twisted into tight wrinkles and furrows.
“You think I’m repulsive?”

“No, of course not! I think you’re beautiful,
gorgeous and exciting.”

She shimmied back across the sofa toward me, pressing
her body to mine. “Then kiss me.”

“No!”

“Come on, Tony. I’ll show you my tattoo.”

“Lilith, stop it!” I pushed her away again, this time
with considerably more force, almost knocking her off the couch. I
sprang to my feet, holding her back at arm’s length to maintain a
healthy distance. “Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but
this can never happen. I won’t let it.”

Finally, a more familiar Lilith emerged. She picked
herself off the sofa, pulling on the bottom of her blouse to banish
the wrinkles. Her eyes narrowed, her lips thinned. I could see her
nostrils flaring slightly, her breasts rising on every breath.

“If you don’t want me,” she said, her voice falling
flat and monotone. “All you ha to do is say so. I’m not going to
beg. As far as I’m concerned, we will never have this conversation
again.”

She turned and started down the hall to her bedroom.
I knew I could not make her feel any better with my words, but I
had to apologize anyway. At least then, I figured, I would have
done all I could set things right. I followed her to her bedroom
and jammed my foot in the door just as she went to shut it.

“Please, Lilith.” I pushed the door open enough to
wedge my body halfway into the room. “Before you shut me out of
your life completely, I just want you to know that I do love you,
and of course I want you. I’ve wanted you ever since you took me
with you through the rite of passage, hell even before that. But
you have to admit that it just isn’t right for a brother and sister
to have these kinds of feelings for one another. We cannot go—”

“Wait!” She pulled the door open completely. “You
think we’re brother and sister?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Aren’t we?”

“No, we’re not.”

“What do you mean? You told me that Gypsy was your
mother.”

“She was.”

“She was my mother, too.”

At that point, Lilith threw her head back and laughed
aloud. She staggered into the room and fell backwards onto the bed,
her eyes tearing at my expense. “Oh, that’s funny,” she said, after
catching her breath and then rolling back into an annoying
laugh.

I walked over and sat beside her on the edge of the
bed, waiting for her to regain some reasonable composure before
coaxing her to a complete stop. “Are you done?”

She took my hand and squeezed it tightly. “I’m sorry,
bro.” That sent her into another light spasm.

“That’s all right,” I said, “whenever you’re
ready.”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks and forced a
straight face. “Tony, I am sorry. I thought you knew. You did such
a good job investigating the case that I assumed….”

“What?”

“That you knew who you were.”

“Lilith, what are you saying?”

She took a deep breath, gathered my hands in hers and
kissed them. “You are not who you think you are.”

“Meaning?”

“You are not Anthony Marcella Jr.”

My mouth opened to speak, but words failed me. I
think I may have managed an utterance akin to that of a choking
man, but nothing more.

“Did you hear me?”

I nodded. “I don’t understand.”

“All right, it’s like this. I knew J.P. when he was
Jersey Jake, but you probably figured that out already. I knew that
he fathered a baby with my mother, though she never gave him the
satisfaction of letting him know he was the father.”

“Why?”

“She didn’t want him to get too attached to the kid.
You see, there is something about witches you should know. Only
girls born to a witch become witches, and they need no special
ritual to come into their own. But when a witch’s first born is a
boy, then no girl to follow him can become a witch until he either
dies or becomes a witch himself, and that can only happen in a rite
of passage ceremony, which is easier said than done. Despite all
good intentions, barely one in ten males succeeds in becoming a
witch after the rite of passage.”