The Witch's Key by Dana Donovan Page B

black.”
    “I said that?”
    “Yes.”
    “Huh. Don’t know why I would have said that.”
    “Me neither. Are you sure there isn’t something you
want to tell me?”
    She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose in a
classic gesture of denial. “No. Hey, do you want some lasagna? I
made it myself.”
    “I don’t think I…wait. You made lasagna?”
    “Yup.”
    “You don’t cook.”
    “I cook.” She made her way to the oven, removed a
gorgeous looking tray of deep-dish lasagna and set it on the table.
Then she brought over a plate, a fork and a knife and she shoveled
out a piece the size of a brick. “Sit,” she said, leading me to the
table by the hand. I knew that the lasagna was her attempt to
change the subject away from the jeans question, but I did not much
care. With my stomach growling and my resistance worn, I felt
reasonably sure that lasagna was about the only thing that Lilith
would be putting out anytime soon. She sat across from me and
watched as I ate, smiling suspiciously all the while. I had almost
begun to believe that her domestic talents were broadening, when I
noticed the oven-safe plastic pan the lasagna came in.
    “So, you cooked this, did you?” I pointed at the
leftovers.
    “Yes,” she answered proudly.
    “All by yourself?”
    “All by myself.”
    I nodded, shoveling the last forkful into my mouth.
“It came frozen, didn’t it?”
    Without hesitation, guilt or remorse, she said,
“Ah-huh.”
    I knew then that she was not trying to pull anything
over on me. Her pride for a job well done came with genuine
satisfaction. I even believed to a large degree that my approval or
disapproval would shape the tone of our relationship for the
foreseeable future. So, after swallowing the last bite, I looked up
at her, smiled and said, “Lilith. That was the best damn lasagna
I’ve ever tasted.”
    In a way, I had not lied. It was pretty good
lasagna—maybe not as good as some I’ve had up in Boston’s north
end—but having been cooked and served to me with heart by the woman
I loved, I can remember none tasting better. Lilith’s eyes sparkled
when I told her that, and for a belated second, I almost considered
blowing off the jungle recon and staying home with her in hopes of
us serving up something steamy for dessert. But all that went out
the window when she expressed her plans for the evening, which
included her needing the car.
    “To go where?” I asked.
    “That’s none of your business, is it?”
    “I just want to know you’ll be safe.”
    She folded her arms to her chest. “Tony. I’ve been
taking care of myself for over a hundred and seventy years. I think
I know how to keep myself safe.”
    “Is this a witch thing?”
    “What?”
    “Are you going to witch it tonight?”
    “Witch what?”
    “Whatever it is you’re planning.”
    “I’m not planning anything.”
    “Then why do you need to go out? You know you really
should—”
    “Tony. Stop!” My heart skipped a measurable beat.
“You need not presume what I should and should not do—please. When
I suppose what is best for you, then I will validate your
presumptions. Until then, spare me your inquisitions.”
    “Fine,” I said, pushing my empty plate away. “Don’t
let me in. Keep your precious distance. I don’t know what you’re
afraid of, though. I won’t bite. Hell, even if I do, you might like
it if you give me a chance. I mean, really, would it kill you to
open up a bit?”
    She took my plate across the room and pitched it into
the sink almost hard enough to break it. “I am opening up,” she
said. “You don’t see it because you really don’t know me. But you
need to be patient. Whatever is supposed to come will come. Just
let it happen naturally.”
    “Will it?” I asked. “Will it come in my
lifetime?”
    She must have sensed the despair in my voice, or seen
the desperation in my eyes. As she came back to me, I fully
expected her to slap me on the face as hard as she could. I raised
my