Love Potion #9 (7 page)

There was a living room, dining room and eat-in kitchen on the main floor, a back door leading from the kitchen to the backyard. Upstairs were four bedrooms - two quite small - and a bathroom. The basement had been made into a perfectly hideous apartment some thirty years before, though Mitch had plans to gut it and make the kids a playroom.

In his spare time.

Such as it was.

Mitch liked that the house appeared to be structurally sound, if in dire need of some repairs. He liked that it was close to the subway. He liked that the kids would have a yard to play in and he appreciated the friendly atmosphere of the neighborhood. Although the Annex was funky and urban, there was a vestige of small town concern between its residents.

And Mitch liked that. He also appreciated that he could afford the place, no small feat for a single income family in a city of high-priced real estate.

The realtor said the house had Potential.

Mitch wasn't thinking about any of this at five the next morning, when a wet nose poked his ear in silent demand. He grimaced and feigned sleep but Cooley wasn't fooled.

The damn dog could tell when his breathing changed.

Cooley took off like a shot at the first sign of life, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor, his weight thumping down the stairs to the kitchen. Mitch rolled to his back, managed to open one eye and survey the ceiling.

At least it was light out.

But it was already hot.

And Mitch had aches where he had forgotten he had muscles. He'd been up half the night, sorting, unpacking and moving furniture as quietly as he could while the kids slept. Andrea had retired at midnight, leaving Mitch to his work.

He surveyed the room, less than impressed with his progress. There were still boxes crowding the room on every side. A sheet was tacked over the window, Mitch's sleeping bag was cast over the mattress still on the floor.

He would not think about families having two adult players.

It was the moment in the midst of a move when everyone is exhausted and it seems that the chaos will never be set into any kind of order. Mitch decided right then and there that he really hated moving.

Maybe he would die in this house, a good sixty years downstream, so he'd never have to move again. It was a cheering thought.

Mitch considered the wobbly line where the avocado green paint ran out and the chartreuse began. The previous owner must have shopped in the odd lots section of the paint store. All those colors mixed wrong that no one wanted. His gaze wandered to the miscellaneous Slavic blessings inscribed over the door in red crayon.

Mitch thought somewhat more critically about Potential.

Cooley howled plaintively from the kitchen.

“All right, all right.” Mitch rolled out of bed and hauled on his shorts.

He peeked in on the kids, making Cooley wait, his heart contracting to find them sleeping like little cherubs. Jen had a death grip on Bun, her cherished toy of the moment, Jason frowned as though concentrating on sleeping very well.

The door to the guest room was closed but he knew better than to look in on Andrea before she declared herself ready to face the world. Mutual respect was based on understanding the Rules.

Cooley barked, his low woof resonating through the house. Mitch took the stairs two at a time, not wanting the dog to wake anyone. As soon as Mitch set foot in the kitchen, Cooley wagged his tail and nosed the back door with rare impatience.

“Really gotta go, eh?” Mitch unlocked the door and grinned at the dog. “Don't let the dandelions get you. They're pretty big.” He barely opened the screen door before Cooley shoved it open and took off.

Barking all the way across the yard.

Dammit! It was five o'clock on a Sunday morning!

“Cooley! Give it a rest!” Mitch called
sotto voce
, but the dog was oblivious to his command.

He muttered a curse and lunged out the back door, just in time to see a cat's silvery tail flick amidst the dew-encrusted sunflowers.

Having everything make sense was little consolation right now.

“Cooley! Be quiet!” Mitch darted barefoot across the yard. He quickly discovered that the dandelions were mixed with a healthy crop of thistles. Mitch cursed and picked a thorn out of his toe, hopping closer to the barking dog.

He'd certainly had better mornings.

The cat watched Mitch from its perch on the fence, its tail waving as though it taunted him to come and shoo it away. Something in its expression was eerily assessing. Then the cat looked down at Cooley and hissed in open antagonism.

The dog went wild.

Cooley barked and jumped on the fence, thoroughly ignoring Mitch's commands for silence or sitting. The wolfhound's considerable weight made the fence wobble dangerously. Mitch realized with horror just how old that fence was and saw what was going to happen.

Right before it did.

“Cooley!
No!
Get down!” he roared, forgetting his own demands for quiet in the heat of the moment. He sprinted across the remaining distance and got one hand on the dog's collar.

But it was too late.

The rotten fence posts gave out with a moan and a creak. The fence went down with a bang - right into Lilith's crop of sunflowers - the cat yowled in astonishment, then ran like hell.

Cooley shook off Mitch's grip, bounded over the debris and gave chase, barking all the while. The pair cut a swath of destruction through Lilith's yard, the dog clearly trying to gobble up the cat, the cat running for its life.

In a heartbeat, they had wrought havoc.

One glance was enough to tell Mitch that Lilith treasured this garden. It was all blooms, little pathways lined with nodding flowers Mitch couldn't name, a horticultural haven like the ones in glossy magazines.

And his dog was trashing it.

Mitch wasn't doing a very good job of stopping him. He bellowed, but to no avail. He darted after the pair but couldn't get a grip on Cooley.

Suddenly, the cat scrambled up a trellis. It perched on the roof, looking daggers at the dog, as its tail lashed angrily.

Cooley had his front paws up on the house, his back paws planted in flattened flowers, while he barked fit to beat the band.

“Cooley!” Mitch shouted, certain every single one of his neighbors was all awake by now.

Maybe they were entertained.

Either way, it was a hell of an entry into the neighborhood.

The dog, his prey clearly out of range, stopped barking. He looked at Mitch and seemed to suddenly understand that he was in Deep Trouble. The wolfhound sat back on his haunches, right in the middle of something with a lot of crushed orange flowers, and looked as sheepish as a big hairy dog can look.

Mitch surveyed the damage and felt sick. Flowers were broken, tomatoes lay bleeding on the pathways, sunflower stalks were snapped. He didn't know a lot about gardens, but he guessed that this one wouldn't recover this summer.

Mitch met the dog's gaze, snapped his fingers and pointed imperatively to his own yard. Cooley skulked across Lilith's garden, steering a wide path from Mitch. The huge dog was trying so hard to make himself small that Mitch might have laughed under other circumstances.

But there was nothing funny about this. Mitch owed his neighbor, however nutty she might be, another apology. Another biggie.

“Well done,” he commented to Cooley, who lay down in the furthest corner of the yard to sulk. “We're making a great impression here. Thanks a lot for doing your part.”

The wolfhound dropped his nose to his paws - no doubt a bid to look pathetic - but Mitch wasn't interested in making up just yet.

He shook a warning finger at the dog. “Cat or no cat, don't even
think
about crossing that fence line again.”

Cooley inched further back into the corner, as though acknowledging the command, his big brown eyes so sad that he looked like he might weep.

Mitch heaved a sigh and winced as he looked at the damage one more time. It was too damn early for this kind of stuff. Even the birds were still quiet. Lilith would be asleep and Mitch wasn't going to wake her up early for this.

How was he going to make this come right? He shook his head and went back in the house. At least Mitch knew where the coffeemaker was. He'd treat himself to a cup of brew. Maybe that would help him come up with brilliant solution by the time Lilith woke up.

What a way to start the day.

 

* * *

 

3

The Empress

 

Lilith awakened to the sound of hammering.

D'Artagnan was on the foot of the bed, looking smug. She sat up, eying the cat warily.

“We have a deal,” she reminded him. “No jumping on the counters, no sneaking on to my bed.”

The cat didn't even blink.

Nor did he move. Honestly, he was getting too cocky for his own good! Lilith moved her foot under the sheets and he bounded away, his nose in the air as though he was insulted.

That was hardly anything new.

Lilith took a deep breath, not liking the humidity in the air. The sun was streaming through her sheer draperies, but not a whisper of breeze lifted them away from the open window. It was stuffy and still, even so early in the day.

So much for hoping it would rain and clear the air. Lilith rubbed her eyes and knew she hadn't slept that well. She reached for the deck of tarot cards beside her bed and drew a card, as she often did in the morning, to give her counsel for the day.

The Empress.
Lilith rolled her eyes. A card of productivity, of getting things done, of harvesting what has been sown, of finding a glimmer of the divine in the mundane through simple labor.

Well, someone was being productive, there was no doubt about that, despite the hour. That hammering sounded close. And it just didn't quit. Lilith frowned in irritation, wondering who would be building something so early in the morning.

Couldn't they give it a rest?

Lilith's window faced the back of the house and she loved to look out at her garden in the morning. It delighted her to see the sunlight glint off the dew, to watch the bumblebees meander through the flowers. It would ease her irritation this morning. She rose with a smile of anticipation, tugged back the drapes and gasped.

Because this morning, her perfect garden was a perfect disaster.

Lilith stared in horror at the damage. Everything along the fence line was smashed flat. Her sunflowers were broken, her columbines were trodden down, several zucchini's were pureed on the garden path. There were leaves and petals from the roses cast on the ground, several beds were crushed beyond recognition.

A very grim Mitch was hammering a section of their common fence back into place. His shirt was off, a glimmer of sweat shone on his tanned skin. The other three sections of the fence lay on the ground in Mitch's yard, obviously having been moved off her plants.

Mitch's massive dog cowered guiltily against the garage in the far corner of his yard and Lilith recognized a prime mover when she saw it.

But big dogs didn't just suddenly take it into their heads to be destructive. The dog's current manner indicated that he had forgotten himself in the heat of the moment.

Lilith made a very good guess as to exactly what that particular moment had been.

“D'Artagnan!” She dropped the curtain and turned to confront the cat. D'Artagnan strove to look innocent, as sure a sign as there could be of his guilt. “You had something to do with this. Don't think I don't know it.”

The cat bolted so fast that he was no more than a silver blur in the hall. Lilith rolled her eyes, knowing she had all the answers she needed.

But her garden!

She turned back and found herself watching Mitch instead of looking at her once vigorous flowers. There was something about the sight of a handsome man out fixing things in her yard that made Lilith catch her breath.

Not just any handsome man either. Her one true love.

Whether he knew it or not.

Although this was hardly the kind of interaction she had hoped for the night before, Lilith had learned long ago that the great forces could be playful. A can-do kind of witch worked with what she had.

What Lilith had was a half-naked, grumpy Mitch fixing her fence.

She'd have to make that work.

Later, she'd deal with the darned cat.

 

* * *

 

Jason was feeling pretty important. He liked helping his dad just about best of all, even better than catching tadpoles. Dad had said they'd have lots to fix in this new house and he'd been right.

They were fixing the fence already.

Dad put out his hand for a nail. Jason picked one out of the old olive jar in Dad's toolbox. He liked Dad's toolbox. It was kind of a mess, but there were lots of interesting things in there, if you looked close. All sorts of bits and ends, things that Dad could put together to fix just about anything.

Like the fence.

Dad winked as he took the nail. “Thanks, sport. Don't know how I'd get this done without you.” Jason grinned as his dad hammered that nail into the old fence.

Jason was getting another nail out of the jar when the lady came out of her house next door. She looked at where the fence had landed on her plants and looked really sad. Jason felt bad that her flowers got smushed and felt a bit guilty that he had been so excited to see her yard when he got up today.

He'd been peeking through the fence the day before. Jason just knew she had better bugs over there and he had kind of been hoping to have a chance to look at them.

His dad stopped hammering. “Lilith, I thought you'd still be asleep.” It sounded as though Dad felt really bad too.

The lady looked at Dad. “Some hammering woke me up,” she said quietly. She had a nice voice, kind of low. And she was really pretty. She had her hair in a ponytail, but it was all dark and curly. It looked soft. She had a long dress on, like a princess, and it was blue like Jen's Bun.