“Was she cruel to Jason?”
“No.” Andrea frowned. “Surprisingly not.” She smiled. “For some reason, Janice was an exemplary mother, if rather an unaffectionate one - maybe that was her tack to get Mitch’s approval for those couple of years. I don’t know, but everything really did seem to settle down. When she got pregnant again and they said it would be a girl, she seemed pleased. I thought she might bond better with a girl, so when Jen was born, I took Jason for a few weeks.”
Andrea smiled. “I think every pot in my kitchen had a spin around the floor, he worked every clasp on every purse and figured out every baby-proof device in the place. Tupperware fascinated him - I can still hear his chortles when he managed to make it close with a burp. We were having quite a lot of fun, Jason and I, until Janice pulled her stunt.”
Andrea’s lips drew to a thin line. “Clearly, things were much worse than I had ever imagined.”
She cleared her throat. “You see, Janice was a taker of the first order. She never understood the golden rule, that everything you give comes back to you a hundredfold. The great irony of all of this is that if she had given just a tiny bit to Mitch, she would have been showered with more love and attention than even she could have handled.”
Andrea met Lilith’s gaze. “She truly would have been the center of his universe for all time, because if nothing else, Nate taught Mitch how a man should love his wife. But Janice only saw what was in it for her, and she missed the greatest prize of all.”
Andrea shook her head abruptly. “I’m still angry with her,” she confessed. “I’m still angry that she hurt Mitch so badly, that she left him believing that it was his fault. I’m not proud of that, but it’s unfair that Mitch blames himself for her selfishness. It’s unfair that he gives and gives to his kids, but doesn’t dare to expect anything for himself. Janice taught Mitch that - and it’s a lot less than he deserves. She’s still got him all trussed up and oh! It makes me furious!”
Andrea reached out suddenly and squeezed Lilith’s hand. She took a deep breath and obviously tried to blink away the sheen of tears in her eyes. “But you’re undoing the lesson, Lilith, as I never imagined anyone could.” She bit her lip. “Don’t stop. Don’t give up on him.”
“I won’t,” Lilith pledged, surprised when Andrea gave her a big hug.
“I know,” Andrea whispered. “That’s what I like about you. You’re almost as stubborn as I am. You’re going to fit right in to this family and don’t let anyone tell you different.”
Lilith grinned and hugged Andrea back, wiping away a tear of her own. She looked up to find Mitch lingering at the gate, his gaze warm. He smiled at her and Lilith smiled back.
“Okay?” he mouthed and she nodded.
Mitch slammed the gate as though he was just arriving and the kids raced to meet him. Andrea straightened and wiped away the last of her tears, summoning a quick smile.
“Is there a nice cool swimming pool back here?” Mitch demanded. “I need a swim.”
“Me, too!” Kurt declared, following Mitch into the yard.
“Here, Daddy, here!” Jen cried, running to catch at Mitch’s hand when he made a great show of not being able to find the pool. He collapsed into it finally, almost overwhelming it. Jen jumped on top of him, Cooley barked, Jason got the hose and turned it on Kurt. The yard soon became grounds for a big boisterous water fight that left them all soaked.
Mitch shook out his hair the way Cooley did and grinned up at Lilith. “I had this idea,” he said to no one in particular, his gaze fixed upon hers. “How about we take Nana to the airport tomorrow, then go to the zoo?” This idea was greeted with great approval, but Mitch was watching Lilith closely. “Join us?” he asked, the tentative edge to his words making her smile.
“I’d love to,” Lilith replied warmly. Andrea hummed approval but Lilith was much more interested in Mitch’s flashing grin.
“Good!” he said, leaving no doubt of his feelings about the matter and Lilith felt her heart begin to pound.
“Lillit!” A bedraggled Jen tugged on Lilith’s skirt. “Can we take Dartaggin? He can visit the big kitties.”
Jen looked so hopeful that Lilith didn’t immediately have a good answer for that. “I don’t think so, Jen.”
“Why not?”
Andrea started to chuckle. “Get used to that one,” she murmured, then ducked into the kitchen. Mitch winked, then insisted on seeing the state of Jason’s garden, the two of them soon talking about all manner of bugs and crawly things. Kurt waved and departed for some big date.
“Why not, Lillit?” Jen demanded again and Lilith knew she was going to think of something but quick.
Talk about trial by fire.
*
When Lilith went home that evening, the next card had turned itself over.
She picked up The Hanged Man and studied the card. Pictured was a man, hung upside down. A rope bound his one ankle to the bough of a tree, a noose on the wrong end of the man, like the Norse god Odin swinging from the world tree for nine days and nights in search of illumination.
Number twelve in the higher arcana, The Hanged Man was a clear reference to Sebastian’s untimely demise. It was also Mitch Davison after Janice got through with him.
On a third level, it could be Mitch today. Lilith sank into a chair and thought about it. The Hanged Man has the courage to challenge what he knows is true, to put aside the pain of his own experience, and to trust that taking a chance will win him results. The Hanged Man trusts in what he cannot see, what he does not really know to be true but believes is true. The Hanged Man sacrifices what he holds dear, counting on forces he can’t explain to take him to a new plateau of understanding.
Lilith fingered the card. Clearly, Janice had shaken Mitch’s faith in love and given him a radically different experience of marriage than the one he had expected. And just as clearly, Mitch was slowly putting the “lessons” Janice had taught him aside. Lilith could feel him letting down his guard, trusting her, showing her more and more of who he was. The way his gaze clung to hers, the way he worked to make her smile were the mark of a man preparing to come courting.
Lilith smiled with the realization that Mitch was taking a chance on love, despite what he had experienced before, no doubt in the hope that he and Lilith would find a magickal love well worth that risk. He had to be facing one of his great fears - for Lilith knew how tender broken hearts could be - but Mitch faced the challenge squarely. She had to admire his steady progress and his determination.
But then, they were destined to be together, after all.
Lilith put down the card thoughtfully. She considered that Mitch had something to teach her. Her own refusal to visit this elderly Rom woman looked childish in comparison to his resolve.
Because Lilith wasn’t taking any chances. Lilith believed in a lot of things that couldn’t be seen, but she hadn’t been prepared to risk anything beyond that.
She was acting like a coward. The realization did not sit well.
But as Lilith sat there and considered that, Mitch’s conviction in the merit of taking a chance fueled her own. She felt his faith well up inside her and heard again the echo of conviction in his suggestion that this grandmother might need Lilith as much as Lilith needed her.
He might be right.
He might be wrong, but there was only one way to find the truth. And there was only one way to prove that she wasn’t a coward. Lilith was still afraid of what might happen, but she had to face her fear.
Lilith knew then that she would go the hospital.
*
Mitch was a very happy camper. They’d had a great time at the zoo, just like a family. The kids were so comfortable with Lilith that he knew he had nothing to worry about on that score, and she was so clear-thinking and sensible that he knew she’d take exemplary care of them.
Of course, he’d still worry, but he’d worry less.
On Tuesday, the hardware store called to say that Lilith’s new storm door w
as in. Mitch picked it up on the way home and installed it that evening, keeping one eye on the kids as they played. He could hear Lilith reading fortunes in the front of her house and shamelessly eavesdropped.
Lilith’s advice, without fail, was positive, caring and compassionate. Even if she had some strange preconceptions, it was clear that there was no maliciousness or opportunism in Lilith Romano.
For once, Mitch Davison was very glad to keep finding reassurance that he had been wrong.
*
On the following Thursday afternoon when all her appointments and obligations were resolved, Lilith took a deep breath and dressed carefully. She walked down to the subway, a scrawled slip of paper in her hand. It was high time she shake hands with her destiny and confront the legacy in her veins.
Even if the prospect made something tremble in her belly.
The hospital was bustling with activity, the emergency ward filled to the brim. Lilith worked her way through the throng to the main reception and discovered, to her mingled relief and trepidation, that she hadn’t come too late.
The smell of death, or more accurately the sense of its presence, grew stronger in the elevator, and stronger again when Lilith walked down the long pale corridor. Nurses brushed past her with efficient smiles, but as she drew near the end of the hall - and closer to the room number she had been given - the activity slowed noticeably.
And the tang in the air grew stronger. Lilith realized that no one else could sense it, no one without her Gift, but to her, it was as unmistakable as the sting of freshly cut onions.
It was the last room in the hall that bore the right number, the same room from which the whisper of death emanated. Lilith tapped on the door and, when there was no answer, she nudged it open.
An elderly woman sat staring out the window, as though she would make sense of the rush of traffic on the highway below. She didn’t even look up when Lilith stepped into the room, but Lilith knew she had found in the right place. The woman’s cheeks were hollow, her gaze distracted, a knowledge in her pose of her own inescapable fate.
Not to mention its proximity.
And Lilith knew from the hook of the woman’s nose, the squint of her eyes, the determination of her posture, that this was the Rom grandmother she sought. Although she wore the standard hospital issue backless gown, her feet were shoved into slippers rich with colorful embroidery. Gold hoops hung from her ears, a floral shawl was cast over her bony shoulders.
Lilith paused and stared, suddenly awash in recollections. This could have been Dritta, it could have been a dozen women Lilith had known.
It could have been herself if she hadn’t drunk the elixir.
Lilith swallowed hard. The prevalence of white in the room even made her shiver, the scent of disinfectant and laundered sheets so far from the fresh breeze of the outside air.
Lilith bit her lip, recalled the grandson’s dismay, and considered that this grandmother was in no small pain herself. It was clear she had no interest in who came to her door, her manner much like that of Dritta in a temper. Lilith remembered how she had coaxed Dritta from a foul mood with compliments, and decided it was worth a try.
She had come all this way, after all.
“Good afternoon, phuri bibi,” Lilith said softly from the doorway in Rom. She used the term phuri bibi, literally old aunt, but its import was noble, more akin to great lady.
The woman stiffened and turned, her eyes narrowed as she surveyed Lilith. Her lip curled. “Posh rat!” she charged.
Half-blood.
Lilith swallowed, certain her expectation of rejection would soon be proven right. But she shook her head. The Rom had little use for half-breeds and the woman was obviously using that as an excuse to get rid of Lilith.
How like Dritta that was!
“Tacho rat,” Lilith corrected softly. Full blood.
The older woman’s eyes widened. She turned slightly in her chair and her gaze sharpened like that of an inquisitive bird. When she spoke in full sentences, Lilith knew she had made progress.
“But you speak the words like they do not belong on your tongue,” the woman charged in rhythmic Rom. “You cannot be of us.”
Lilith advanced into the room and paused, not far from the woman’s bright gaze. “I have not spoken Rom for a long time,” she admitted. There was no point in lying, even if the truth gave this woman the excuse she needed to send Lilith away.
“Why not?”
Lilith looked into those dark eyes so like her own, took a breath and confessed. “I was called mahrime.”
The woman’s lips pursed, but she did not pull away. “Why?”
“I loved a gadjo.”
The woman snorted and fussed with her gown. “No Rom man was good enough for you?”
“No Rom man was my soul mate.”
The older woman looked up at that. “You have him still?” she asked with a coyness so unexpected that Lilith almost smiled. Instead she nodded and her companion’s resulting smile spread slowly.
Then the older woman abruptly sobered and looked across the room. “I had a soul mate until they stole him from me.”
Lilith didn’t know what to say to that, so she waited.
The other woman finally bit her lip and looked back to Lilith, her tone brisk once more. “Are you a good Rom girl? How did my grandson find you?”
“I am a drabarni,” Lilith admitted. A fortune-teller. An herbalist. A healer. For the Rom, they were all one and the same.
Which was why the grandson had been sent for a fortune-teller. Lilith knew.
The woman’s eyes gleamed approval. “He is a clever boy in his moments.” She reached up and pinched Lilith’s cheek. “And are you a good drabarni? Do you have the Sight?”
Lilith nodded, unable to deny how the woman reminded her of Dritta.
She nodded approval of that. “You make your man a good wife, whether he is gadjo or no. After all, shuk chi hal pe la royasa.”
Beauty cannot be eaten with a spoon.
It was a favorite old Rom proverb and good to hear it on another tongue. The words convinced Lilith that she had done the right thing in coming here.
“But I am mahrime,” she felt compelled to remind the woman. After all, any contact with her could taint this woman as well. “Does it not trouble you?”
The older woman blew through her lips like an old horse. “We are not so many that we can stand apart on such things,” she said regally. “I am too old to care. You are here. You speak Rom to me. It is enough.”
The relief that flooded through Lilith left her feeling weak in its wake. She blinked back unexpected tears, seeing now how foolish she had been to be afraid. Mitch had given her this. Mitch had given her the gift of confidence to face her past.
She was going to have to make sure the man was rewarded.
Lilith’s characteristic determination to set matters to rights was rising to the fore again. “Your grandson said you had something to tell him,” she suggested gently.
The woman clicked her teeth in agitation. “I must tell him in Rom. It is not a tale for gadje words.” She seemed to get much more upset suddenly and stirred in her chair. “This wicked gadje place, I do not like it, with all its white and bad luck and death. It is wrong, it is evil, it is not where I should be!”
The grandmother struggled now to get up, as though she would walk right out of there, but she was obviously too frail to do so. She railed against her weakness and made a sound of frustration in the back of her throat, cursing the gadje with unexpected vigor. Lilith reached out to reassure her, and the woman grasped her hand with surprising strength.
At the move, the older woman’s bright shawl fell back and Lilith saw the blue tattooed number on the woman’s forearm. A shiver ran over her own flesh at the sight, then she looked up to meet the woman’s eyes.
“You see it,” the elderly woman whispered with triumph, her voice less even than it was just a moment before. ‘You do know without knowing.”
Be
fore Lilith could agree, or dismiss the dark images that crawled into her mind, the older woman’s fingers tightened around Lilith’s like a claw. “I think you know what it is to be hunted.”
That Lilith did. Her mouth went dry, her gaze strayed again to the tattoo. She heard the dogs; she felt the ground tremble; she smelled fear.
The woman leaned closer, the shimmer of a tear in her bright eyes, anxiety in her words. “But tell me, child, tell me. Your gadjo is not such a man as these were, is he?”
“No.” Lilith shook her head vigorously. She had seen pictures of the Holocaust, she had heard of the trials faced there. But she had not considered that her own people had suffered.
“They said they came to study us, but that was not enough for them.” The old woman straightened with a snort. “We called it the porraimos.”
The Devouring. Lilith closed her eyes as a cold hand clenched inside her. As was so often the case when the Rom reapplied a word to a situation for which their language had not words, the choice was more than apt.
She felt foolish now that she had never guessed what was happening within a Germany run by people so concerned with the purity of bloodlines. Though she had lived through those years, Lilith had never known, never imagined that the Rom had suffered too. She wondered what she would have done if she had known. Lilith wondered whether she, like so many others, would have believed that there was nothing she could do to help.
It was only now that she saw the weakness of not even trying.
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