"Mr. Godz?" A shapely green-eyed blonde materialized at Dov's side and took him by the hand. "I'm Fiorella; so pleased to meet you."
He tried to smile at her, but he was still fast in the thrall of unreasoning fear. She gave him a sympathetic look. "Oh dear," she said. "You poor darling, have we really got the power turned on that high? I'm so sorry. Come with me; it's better in the storeroom."
Dov allowed himself to be led like a little child on a shopping expedition with Mommy. "You mustn't feel bad," she told him. "This happens a lot on nights when we offer extended hours for shopping."
"Is it a ... woman's magic thing?" Dov asked, his voice hoarse and fragile.
Fiorella showed her dimples. "Perhaps it is. Most of my female customers spend their worldly days being treated a little better than furniture. The people around them at home or at work or in the social whirl never seem to see them unless they absolutely must. Sometimes it's because they aren't pretty enough, or young enough, or wearing the right clothes, or holding down the right sort of job. They're the mothers with small children who get shoved aside by the people who think anything outside of an office isn't real work. They're the women who accomplish great things but who only turn visible when someone wants to ask them when they're going to get married and have kids. They're the ladies who wear size 18 dresses who can't get a salesclerk to notice that they want to buy the lipstick that the size 2 model is wearing. They were once the eleven-year-old girls who wanted to play Spin-the-Particle-Accelerator instead of Spin-the-Bottle. They make most men and some women nervous. And do you know what else? They don't like being invisible. That's why they come here, seeking magic, trying to learn how to be seen again. Meanwhile, as long as there are enough of them banded together in one place, they automatically invoke the power to treat others the way they've been treated themselves. They can't help it."
While she spoke, Fiorella simultaneously conducted Dov through the thick of the females thronging her store, behind the main display counter, and out via a bead-hung doorway. The farther they went from the open-to-the-public part of Ye Cat and Cauldron, the better he felt, so he made no objection when she took him straight through the little parlor where she'd entertained Peez. A door at the far end of the Lilith Lair opened onto a narrow flight of stone steps that went down into the earth. A gust of warm air from below blew over his face and dried the beads of nervous sweat from his brow as he and Fiorella descended, a breeze that smelled of Oriental spices.
The steps ended in a room that was empty except for a wide green velvet divan, a marble-topped table bearing a crystal decanter and two silver goblets, and a pair of wooden chairs so straight-backed and uncomfortable-looking that they would have pleased even the critical eye of a Puritan elder. The walls were covered with trompe l'oeil paper printed to resemble the shelves of a well-stocked library.
"I thought you said you were taking me to a storeroom," Dov said, looking around uncertainly.
"This is it." Fiorella reached out and tapped the spine of the book closest to her. Its outline shimmered and an actual book popped out of the wall like toast from a toaster. The witch-queen passed it to Dov so that he could examine its solidity. The blank spot its removal had left in the wallpaper was already refilled by a fresh volume. "A little magic prevents a lot of storage problems, which can be the making or breaking of a small book business," she explained. "Plus it cuts down on the need for reserves against returns."
"Fascinating." Dov riffled through the pages, then handed the book to her again. She put it back in its original site. The replacement volume very agreeably sank into the wall to accommodate its twin's return.
"I was so glad to hear from you tonight," Fiorella said, waving him into one of the wooden chairs. "I've been looking forward to our meeting ever since your sister stopped by."
"How was she?" Dov blurted. The question surprised him. It just wasn't the sort of thing he'd expect himself to say. An inquiry as to whether or not Peez had secured Fiorella's backing for the company takeover, maybe; a query about any deals Peez might have offered the witch-queen so that he might, in turn, better them, perhaps. But a simple question about her health and well-being? A sincere one, no less? Astounding.
Because it was sincere; Dov couldn't deny that. He actually cared enough about Peez to ask after her! This was something new for him. How had it happened?
And why shouldn't it happen? he thought fiercely, as though someone had challenged his right to feel concern for her. She's my sister, dammit! We're family! Why the hell shouldn't I want to know how she is?
"Just fine," Fiorella replied, sitting opposite Dov and filling the goblets. "A trifle disappointed that I couldn't bring myself to give her my unqualified support, but otherwise well. You see, I like to hear both sides of most things before I make up my mind. That's why I'm so glad that you've finally come to see me. I'd like to choose between you and your sister for the directorship of E. Godz, Inc., after Edwina—"
Dov burst into tears.
He was still shaking with sobs as he felt Fiorella move nearer and put her arms around him. She stroked his hair and whispered soft words of comfort, helped him to his feet, led him to the green velvet divan and lay down beside him, cradling him to her. He cried and cried until all of his tears were gone. Then he closed his eyes tight, took a deep breath, blew it out forcefully, and thrust himself out of Fiorella's embrace.
"I am such an idiot," he said, sitting on the edge of the divan with his head in his hands.
"Probably," Fiorella said, being amenable. "But would you mind specifying what brought on that little bout of personal evaluation?"
"Very funny. I've got a friend you should meet: He's jewelry, but the two of you would get along fine in spite of that. The two of you, working together, should be able to get my ego whittled down to sand-grain size without breaking a sweat."
"Jewelry doesn't sweat. Do you mean you're a fool for crying, or for crying in front of me?" The witch-queen remained comfortably stretched out on the divan like a modern day Cleopatra. "Put your mind at ease, Mr. Godz: Men have been allowed to cry in public since the '90s, and not just over football games. Or are you afraid your outburst will make me think less of you as the potential head of E. Godz, Inc.? Au contraire, it's a blessing to find a CEO who's got human emotions. Why do you think we call it sympathetic magic?"
Dov sat up a little straighter, feeling the old self-confidence trickling back into his bones. "Really?" he asked.
Fiorella nodded. "Considering all the stress you're under, I'd be repulsed if you didn't show a little emotion. Mr. Godz, what I do within the spiritual path I've chosen—what all of us who follow such paths do—is to seek connection. If I wanted a leader who was cold and detached from everything except the dictates of his own ego—" She sighed. "Never mind. I hate discussing politics."
"It has been a rough time for me," Dov admitted. "I've spent most of it, ever since I heard about the report from Mother's doctor, trying not to think about what's coming. It all seems so ... strange to me."
"You're not the only one," Fiorella said. "I must say, when I first heard about poor Edwina's condition, I was shocked."
"Of course you were. You and she have been more than business associates, right? When a friend tells you her doctor's only given her a short time to live—"
"Oh, it wasn't that so much as— Well, yes, it was that, but what struck me as even more shocking was that Edwina not only went to a common M.D., but that she actually believed what he told her. In all the years that I've known your mother, I can count the times she's seen mainstream medicos on the fingers of one hand. Frankly, I think she's only gone to see them that many times for tax purposes."