The Witch's Key by Dana Donovan Page A

Lilith followed. “Going where?”
    “On assignment. It’s police business.”
    I took a left off the hallway into my bedroom, a
place Lilith had never stepped foot in before. “But you’re not a
police officer anymore,” she said, crossing the threshold and
fulfilling the first step of a multi-part fantasy of mine. As I
pulled some socks and underwear from my dresser drawer, she backed
her legs up to the foot of the bed and plopped down on top of
it—fantasy step two. I knew it would be a cold shower now.
    “I’m only going to help Carlos out,” I said. “It’s
sort of a recon mission.”
    “You going into the jungle?”
    I pulled out an old shirt and a pair of jeans from
the next drawer down. “Yes. How’d you guess?”
    “Well, daah! You don’t have to be a witch to see into
that crystal ball.”
    “Yeah.” I glanced up into the dresser mirror and saw
her looking down her cleavage, brushing away at a spot just above
her breasts. It looked like droplets of dye had splattered her
blouse, leaving me with visions of little black freckles staining
through to her skin in places I had only dreamed of. I shook the
image from my mind and gathered up the rest of my things. “I
suppose,” I said, and I headed for the bathroom, and once again,
Lilith followed.
    “So, did you see your father again?”
    I set my things down on the toilet seat and drew back
the shower curtain. “Yes and no.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means I saw Mister Marcella, but it turns out he
isn’t my father.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yeah, I guess it’s this guy named, Jake.”
    “Jersey Jake?” she said, but I got the feeling she
didn’t mean to say it out loud.”
    “That’s right. How did you know?”
    Her eyes broke contact with mine and fell away. “Just
a guess.”
    “No, Lilith. Look at me.” She came back, only now she
had regrouped, and I knew she would not tell me anything that she
did not want me to know. “You don’t just pull a name like Jersey
Jake out of thin air. What made you say that?”
    Her brows creased tightly. “It wasn’t thin air. We
were talking about hobos, and Jersey Jake was a well known hobo in
these parts sixty years ago.”
    “Maybe in hobo circles,” I said. “But how would you
know about him?”
    “I was around then.”
    “That’s not what I asked.”
    “It’s the answer you’re getting.”
    “Fine.” I started the water in the shower. “I guess
we’re done then.”
    “I guess we are,” she said, though she did not leave
right away.
    I peeled off my shirt and shoes and undid the buckle
on my belt. When she still would not leave, I asked, “Anything
else?”
    She smiled and shook her head. “Nope.”
    “Then I’m getting in the shower now.”
    “Okay.”
    I assumed she was only challenging my modesty, and so
I called her bluff by dropping my pants and underwear to the floor.
I stood there in my convictions, confident in my manhood, waiting
for her to blush and retreat. When that did not happen, I realized
that I had foolishly subordinated myself to her once again. So,
with my chin high, I turned my back, tested the water temperature
until I got it right, and then stepped into the tub. As I reached
behind me to pull the shower curtain closed, I felt a stinging
pinch on my lower right cheek. I should have expected it. I knew
she was still there, probably smiling broadly at my glacier-white
ass, but I jumped just the same. And to make matters worse, I even
squealed like a little girl.
    “Lilith!”
    I heard her giggle. “I’m going.”
    By the time I finished showering, Lilith had wrung
out her jeans and hung them on the line outside to dry. When she
came back, I asked her how she managed to get axle grease on the
jeans in the first place.
    “Axle grease?” she tried giving me that confused look
that Carlos often gives me, only with Carlos, it’s usually not an
act. “Where did you hear that?”
    “From you. You told me that’s why you were dyeing
them