"Tax purposes?" Dov's right eyebrow lifted.
"Tax purposes, insurance purposes, something like that. You know, like when you want to take out a new policy and it calls for a physical? Most insurance companies won't accept forms that are signed by herbalists, no matters how reputable. Edwina just doesn't trust ordinary doctors; says their diagnoses are a crapshoot and they're too closed-minded to accept alternative methods of healing. I'd have thought that if one of them told her she was about to die, she'd laugh in his face and—" Abruptly, the witch-queen stopped talking. She stared at Dov closely. "Mr. Godz?" she inquired apprehensively. "Mr. Godz, is something wrong?"
"No," said Dov, his voice pitched to that soft, scary level that meant he'd had a very telling revelation. "Nothing's wrong at all. In fact, everything you've just told me is so very, very right that I was a fool not to notice it before now."
He stood up and bowed his head slightly to the witch-queen. "It's been a pleasure, but I have to go. Now. Will you excuse me? I'll see myself out."
Fiorella swung her legs off the divan and reached out a staying hand, "Wait!" she cried. "At least let me escort you back through the store. All that power—"
"Unnecessary," Dov replied as he stalked out. "Now I'll be able to stand it. Power and I are old friends. You might even say we're family."
Chapter Seventeen
Midnight in Salem, Massachusetts.
The witching hour found Dov Godz slumped in his rental car in front of Ye Cat and Cauldron engaged in high wizardry of the most puissant order, namely using his palmtop to hack into the records of the M.D. who had supposedly pronounced his mother's death sentence. First he used his own tech skills, enhanced by every drop of magic at his command, to force a passage into Edwina's personal financial records, found evidence of payment rendered for a recent physical examination (for insurance purposes, as he had surmised), and obtained the examining physician's name from that.
Accessing the doctor's records was relatively simple.
Locating a copy of the report that the M.D. had e-mailed to the insurance company was child's play.
Discovering that, in the doctor's professional opinion, Edwina Godz would live to see ninety, was a kick in the head.
Deciding that maybe Edwina would not live to see ninety more seconds of life if he had anything to say about it, was merely the vindictive desire of a moment, cast aside almost as soon as brought to mind. Funny how relief at knowing that his mother wasn't at death's doorstep after all was so quickly replaced by the urge to send her there, special delivery.
Maybe he couldn't kill her, but he sure as hell was going to make her pay for what she'd done to him.
"And Peez, too," he muttered at the glowing screen of his palmtop. "Damn it, Edwina, what the hell were you thinking, putting us through this? Especially Peez. She's always been more concerned about you than I ever was. She gets hurt too much, too easily, and you knew it! Or you should have known it, if you'd paid half a lick of attention to either of us. Why did you do it, Edwina? Nothing good on TV?" He snapped the palmtop shut, started up the car, and drove back to his bed-and-breakfast, thinking dark thoughts all the way.
The front door was locked and deadbolted when he got there. House rules clearly posted in his room indicated that all guests should either plan on being back by midnight or being elsewhere until six the next morning. Dov never was one for conforming to other people's plans. He stroked one fingertip over both locks and they yielded to him soundlessly.
As he climbed the stairs and opened the door to his bedroom he was still immersed in thoughts of vague payback plots to invoke against his mother. He was so distracted that at first he took the scene awaiting him—right in the middle of his bed, no less—for an illusion.
Ammi the amulet, Dov's faithful companion throughout his recent travels, was propped up on a lace-covered throw pillow, its silver eyes fixed on the wavering apparition of a teddy bear that floated in the air just above the headboard. Bear and amulet were in the middle of a very animated conversation:
"So then I says to her, I says, 'Peezie-pie, I jes' wuuvs New Owleenz all to eensy- beansy pieces, yes I does, but oo isn't doing um's job by camping out in this swamp like a brain-dead bullfrog!'" The ghostly bear looked angry and disgusted. "I says, 'You better get cracking, get back in the saddle, back on the road, or else your brother's going to beat you to the punch and steal the company out from under your nose!' And you know what she says to that?"
"No," Ammi replied. "But if you've got an ounce of mercy in your stuffing, you'll tell me without resorting to that dumbass baby-talk!"
"Hey, it keeps her happy, let's her believe you can hold onto your childhood forever." The bear grinned. "Like Edwina says, play 'em right and children are easy to lead anywhere you want them to go."
"Easy for her, maybe." Ammi snorted.
"Preach on," said the bear, in total agreement with the amulet. "I don't know what's been happening, but the more Peez travels, the harder it gets for me to guide her the way I want her to go. I sure could use Edwina's help on this, but whenever I try to get some feedback she says I should stick to giving her my latest surveillance report."
"Tell me about it. I've been giving her the lowdown on what her precious sonny boy's been up to, right on schedule, but when I ask her for maybe a little help with getting him to cooperate with some of my plans, she clams up."
"Plans?"
"Two words: chest hair. I've been trying to get him to shave it off for ages."
"That's barbaric!" the bear exclaimed, crossing his paws protectively over his own furry chest. "No wonder Edwina wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't what?" Dov asked, his voice dangerously free of all emotion as he stepped into the bedroom.
"Oops. Busted," said the phantom bear. "Tough luck, Ammi. At least my half of the operation's still safe. Ta-ta!" The apparition vanished just as Dov's fist closed over the little amulet.
"All right," Dov told Ammi. "Start talking."
"I don't have any idea what you mean," Ammi replied, trying to act innocent and failing spectacularly.
"Sure you don't. And I won't have any idea how you managed to get flushed down the toilet. Maybe the thought of spending the rest of your unnatural born days with sewage doesn't scare you. Maybe you figure that Edwina will rescue her faithful little spy. Maybe you've got some kind of homing device inside you and maybe you don't, but it all comes down to this: Are you feeling lucky, punk?"
"Aaaaiieee!" Ammi shrilled so loudly that it was even odds whether or not he'd wake up everyone in the B&B. "Not that! Anything but that! I'll tell you everything I know, only please, I beg you, I implore you, I cast myself upon your mercy and plead with you: Stop with the bad Clint Eastwood imitations! There's only so much that mortal silver can stand!"
Dov scowled. He thought he did a very good Clint Eastwood. "Fine," he said, biting off the word short. "Deal. Talk."
"There's not a whole lot for me to say that you don't already know," Ammi began. "Edwina contacted Teddy Tumtum and me on the q.t., asking us to keep closer tabs on you and Peez than—"
"Closer tabs on us?" Dov cut in. "How long have you been spying on us?"
"How long has Peez had that blabbermouth bear?"
"Almost forever. But what about me, then? You've been part of my office equipment from the first, but that leaves some pretty big stretches of my life unaccounted for. I expected more thorough work from Edwina when it comes to domestic espionage."
"Then don't sweat it 'cause she didn't let you down. Your sister clings to that bear, so he was the logical place to lodge a listening post. You, on the other hand, haven't got any one thing that's special to you, so Edwina simply scattered dozens of information- gathering devices throughout your life. It would've been too complicated to do that once you hit the road, though, so she tapped me to take charge."