“Yes.” Virgil nodded. “Honey was once called the soul of flowers. This honey is the soul of the passionflower. They are highly fragrant, and their nectar is very potent. It makes honey that tastes… well, you’ll see.” Annie breathed in the smell of the flowers as they entered. “Isn’t keeping killer bees illegal?”
“Not yet. Just walk behind me.”
It was like walking into Eden. The scent permeated everything. There were flowers blooming, crawling on vines toward the ceiling, like exotic, fragrant sunbursts. It was warm and humid inside.
“The bees have free reign in here, all year round,” he explained. “Step carefully.”
She followed, trying to tuck herself behind his large, muscled frame as he walked, as if then the bees wouldn’t notice her.
Virgil led her toward the other end of the greenhouse. “Bees eat honey.
The goal of beekeeping is to harvest honey while still leaving the bees enough to survive. One of the reasons African strains developed was because bees adapted to people cleaning their hives out entirely. It’s called bee-robbing. Now all African strains seem to believe they are going to be robbed.” Annie nearly ran into him as he stopped. She considered his words, thinking of some of her clients’ ingrained behaviors. “I can see how that could happen.”
Virgil moved to pick up a box-shaped hood that looked like it would fit over one of the hives that lined the end of the greenhouse. Annie counted ten of them and did the math. One hundred thousand assassin killer bees.
“What is that?” Annie asked, watching him turn the hood over and apply liquid to the inside top.
“It’s a fume board.” Virgil put the cover over one of the hives and then glanced at his watch.
“These bees are so aggressive, we have to outsmart them. Instead of taking the supers out, like we did outside, we drive them deeper into their colony so we can safely remove the upper trays full of honey.” In spite of her fear, Annie couldn’t help her curiosity. “What’s that stuff you put on it?”
“Benzaldehyde.”
She laughed. “God bless you!”
He smiled back. “It’s just oil of almonds. Bees hate the stuff.”
“Huh!” She peered at the next closest hive. To her untrained eye, they looked just like the bees outside. “Now what?”
He shrugged. “We wait.”
Annie was aware of the gentle hum of the bees around her flitting from flower to flower. She wondered with a shiver what it would be like to die from a hundred thousand bee stings. She had a strange impulse as she watched the bees crawling over the hives to knock them all over, just to see what would happen.
She hugged her arms over her chest, turning toward the wall to look at some of the flowers climbing a vine toward the ceiling. She had never seen a passionflower before. They were exotic and strange, and they reminded her of sea urchins. She touched an orange and yellow one, leaning in to breathe in the scent. It was divine and dispelled any unpleasant thoughts of bee-tipping.
She noticed that Virgil was watching her. She smiled at him. “So when did you see Eric last, again?”
He cleared his throat before speaking. “As I said, about a month ago. But that’s not unusual. He paid his rent in one lump sum for the year, and he comes and goes. For all I know, he could show up tomorrow.” Annie cocked her head at him. “He doesn’t tell you where he’s going?
Leave you any number?”
He shook his head, looking puzzled. “None of my tenants do.”
“Oh!” Annie knitted her brow. “He isn’t your roommate?”
“No.” Virgil laughed. “Eric has his own apartment in the building. I do believe he has a roommate, but I don’t see either of them much. Those guys keep odd hours.”
Annie tried to remember exactly what Dita had said. “Oh. I thought—”
“We should be about ready,” he said, turning toward the hive. “I’d really like to veil you, just in case, if you don’t mind.” Annie felt like a blushing bride as he slipped the hooded gauze over her head and his fingers lingered over her as he adjusted it. She watched through the film as Virgil turned and removed the fume board. He pulled off the top super and replaced the hooded fume board over the hive.
“There it is.” He sounded satisfied. “Hand me that knife.” Annie handed him a large, sharp, serrated knife from the table next to her as she leaned closer to study the comb, noticing each little hole was covered with wax. Virgil began removing those caps with his knife.
“A lot of beekeepers will smoke the bees, to make them more lethargic, but it affects the flavor of the honey.”
Annie looked up at him. “Now what?”
“Now we spin the honey out.” Virgil slipped the comb into what looked like a large pot. He put a lid with a crank on top. “Turn it.” Annie did, once. Virgil laughed. “Keep going!”
Annie turned the crank, again and again, until her arm grew sore. When Virgil lifted the lid and removed the comb, it was mostly empty, and the honey remained on the inside walls of the container. Virgil pulled a tiny jar out of a box on the floor and set it on the table with a funnel.
“I’ll put this back.” He nodded toward the hive. “You pour the honey.” Annie took off her veiled hood and poured, watching the thick, golden syrup fill the small jar. Virgil helped her scrape the sides of the container and funnel with a little rubber spatula. As she put a lid on it, she realized the jar was only half-filled. She estimated that it was an ounce or two of honey at most.
“It’s a lot of work for a little bit of honey,” she remarked, feeling the stickiness of honey on her hands.
Virgil nodded. “One bee makes about a twelfth of a teaspoon of honey in his lifetime. It takes a lot of bees.”
“Wow! That’s teamwork!”
Virgil swept some honey off the spatula and held his finger out to her.
“Taste.”
Annie hesitated, realizing the intimacy of the act. Looking at him, she realized he did too. His eyes were dark, inviting. She extended her tongue, licking the sticky liquid off the tip of his finger. She groaned, instantly reaching her tongue out for more and sucking it off.
Virgil smiled, nodding. “Worth the risk, isn’t it?” He put his own finger into his mouth to taste and Annie watched, flushing.
She licked her own sticky fingers. “I can’t believe how good that is!” He gave her a moist towel for her hands. “Nothing like the honey you buy in stores, is it?”
“I’ve never tasted anything like it!”
Annie glanced at Virgil and saw a warm, intense look in his eyes, one she often received from men. She swallowed hard.
“Ah,” he said. “I have one more thing to share with you before you go.
Come down to my apartment.”
Annie left the veil and goggles and followed him outside where the bees were buzzing busily and the breeze felt cool compared to the air of the greenhouse. They took the stairs down one flight, and he led her into his apartment, which consisted of the entire top floor of the building. Annie stopped in the doorway, aghast at the view of the city from his windows.
Intent on sending a clear message, Annie stayed near the door and waited while he went to the kitchen.
“Honey cake,” he said when he returned with a wrapped confection. “If you think raw honey is good, wait until you try this.”
“Virgil.” His name felt like velvet in her mouth. She found herself thinking of Eric, and wishing he were with her to share the experience she’d had today.
“Thank you for everything. I appreciate you taking the time to do this.” He smiled, his face a little sad. “Eric is a lucky man to have a woman like you looking for him. If I see him, I will give him the card you gave me.”