Witch Wants Forever Page 8

  “No. He needs his family close by. When he’s ready he can go to work for the company.”

  “Dad…”

  “Zane. You know that’s what’s best.”

  Zane didn’t know that for sure, but it wasn’t a war he wanted to wage. At least not at that juncture.

  CHAPTER Seven

  Rachel was ready to go to war with the entire Wimberley colony if she had to. They couldn’t keep her from using magic to right things. After all, wasn’t that what magic was for? To right wrongs?

  “Rachel, my precious girl,” Gale said. “My heart is breaking for you, but you can’t use magic to get Dash back.”

  “I’ve yet to hear a good reason why not.”

  Gale took in a deep breath. “Alright, I’ll give it to you. Some of our rules are about conforming to a sort of universal ethical code that has been understood as right and wrong by every seeker of wisdom or truth for as long as such thoughts have been recorded. They’re universal because they apply to everybody. But since we have more leeway with physics and outcomes, we have more rules than humans. With greater privilege comes greater responsibility.

  “Any person, human or witch, who really wants to know whether a thing is right or wrong can, in stillness, look into the dark glass of their spirit and simply ask that question. The answer is always there. Sometimes people ignore it, or challenge it, or rage against it. They may compartmentalize or refuse to believe, but people who do wrong always know. Always.

  “Dash is human and he’s suffered brain trauma. He’s damaged.” Hearing her mother use that word to describe Dash brought a new flood of tears streaming from Rachel’s already red and swollen eyes. “It may be temporary. We’re all going to send light and hope it is. But even if it’s permanent, you can’t use magic. This is one of those events that has to play out. You can’t try to force Dash to remember. It’s too dangerous.

  “There’s no white witch, black witch. There’s only right and wrong.”

  Her mother’s words struck her heart with the full force of righteousness, coupled with the obligation to countless generations of witches who chose the right thing even if it would break them. Rachel walked to her bedroom, closed the door, crumpled against it, began to cry, and didn’t stop.

  She was inconsolable. Tears flowed off and on for two weeks, but she never passed an entire hour without weeping. She didn’t bathe. She barely ate. And she didn’t want to talk to anybody.

  She refused to wash the sheets because a trace of Dash’s scent lingered on his side of the bed. Sometimes in the middle of the night she went to the garage and simply sat behind the wheel of Dash’s red Audi roadster. He’d left his car with her and taken her SUV to the airport and she was glad. She knew it was probably her imagination to think the car smelled like him, but it felt like a tiny sliver of his spirit lived in that car.

  Sometimes she clutched his pillow to her chest for comfort, but it only served as a reminder that a pillow is a poor substitute in the absence of a soul mate.

  Twice she entered the vault, which her mother and friends had made her promise not to do, and freed her spirit, not for wandering but for the express purpose of looking in on Dash.

  The first time she flew to him so fast that she was there almost instantly. He was alone, sitting on a sofa looking through a wall of glass at the glorious rise of the Colorado Rocky Mountains. He stared straight ahead, unmoving, his body language and expression screamed sadness.

  In her diaphanous astral form she had no substance to command. She couldn’t touch him. She couldn’t even sit down next to him. All she could do was hover, reach out with her love, and hope the comfort she wanted to give penetrated the miles.

  Watching a tear form and begin the descent down his cheek was her undoing. Her ghostly form was wracked with silent sobs. She railed and screamed and cursed the gods for bringing them together only to separate them in the cruelest way.

  Knowing that her ‘visit’ did neither of them any good, she was able to stay away for ten days. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, and had to know how he fared, she made sure her mother was occupied for a time and secluded herself in the vault.

  Dash was in a restaurant, or maybe some kind of club, with his brother. His hair had grown a tiny bit over his ears and was beginning to curl. It was boyish. And hot. She liked the hair and the new clothes.

  “So you’re officially free from endless tests,” Zane said.

  “Small favors,” Dash said, abbreviating the common saying.

  “Yeah. So what now?”

  They’d gone through the tedious and aggravating process of rebuilding Dash’s twenty-first century documentation. His driver’s license had turned out to be Louisiana issue. He’d never changed it over to Texas. He could have flown to Louisiana to apply for a replacement, but it was only good for ninety days if he didn’t establish permanent Louisiana residency.

  So the logical thing was to go through the process of procuring a Colorado license, which meant appointments, written test, driver’s test, hassle, hassle, hassle. They went through Zane’s thorough checklist item by item.

  When Dash was issued a temporary permit, Zane took him car shopping. They spent two days hearing pitches and taking test drives. In the end Dash opted for a red Audi roadster. Zane assured him he could have a more expensive car, but that was the car Dash wanted. He’d known it the instant he saw it.

  “Now?”

  “Let me see if I have it right. You don’t remember your personal history yet.” Zane deliberately appended the word ‘yet’ because, even though with each day that passed the odds of Dash remembering grew smaller, he wanted to keep the door open to that possibility. “But you do remember everything you learned in school. You’ve got a shiny MBA that’s just itching to be put to use.”

  “Itching?” Dash raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes. What are you thinking? You’re going to spend your life tooling around town? Be a trust bum? A playboy?”

  “Let me think. What’s entailed in ‘tooling’?”

  “Well, let’s just say you’ve got the car for it.” Dash smirked and popped a raw broccoli floret into his mouth. “Forget about tooling for a minute. Come over to the offices Monday. Let me show you around. I’d bet some serious money that, if you get a close look at operations, you’re going to have some suggestions about how things could be done better.”

  Dash bit off half a carrot stick and chewed thoughtfully. “No coat. No tie.”

  “Well, we’re not barefoot-in-the-park Silicon Valley. But we’re not stick-up-the-ass Wall Street either. Business casual okay with you?”

  Dash shrugged. “I’ll have to check my calendar.” Zane threw a pistachio at him. Dash looked around. “Even I know they don’t allow food fights in Cherry Creek Country Club.”

  “Unless you want to bring shame on the family and perhaps get us thrown out, say yes.”

  Dash smiled in a way that told Rachel he was becoming comfortable. With his brother. With his altered circumstances. With being back in Denver.

  The emotional conflict rent her in two. In some ways Dash’s growing comfort level felt more tragic than his unhappiness had. On the other hand, didn’t real love mean wanting him to be happy? Even if it meant that her life was over?

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Excellent.” Zane beamed. “Monday. That will give you a couple of days to play golf and get your head around becoming a working stiff.”

  “You seem pretty sure that I’m going to want to throw in with Fonteneau. If my MBA is as good as you seem to think it is, wouldn’t lots of people want to hire me?”

  “Oh, yeah. They definitely would.” Zane grinned. “But nobody’s gonna love you like we will.”

  Dash couldn’t help but smile. And couldn’t help but feel his affection for Zane growing daily. For the first time since he’d been found by Jack Berry, he had the desire to ask a question about his past. “Did we, ah, like each other?”

  Zane went stock still. “You a
nd me?” Dash nodded. Zane’s eyes grew pinkish as he blinked fast and swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he answered in a raspy voice. “A lot.” He stood suddenly, tossed his linen napkin by his plate and said, “Be right back.”

  Rachel watched Zane hurry away so that Dash wouldn’t see the degree of emotion that question dredged up. She loved that Dash had someone close who loved him. She hated that Dash was moving on with his life.

  Floating at the same time she felt her heart was growing heavier, she began to slowly fly away. She was so numbed by confronting the fact that Dash was going on without her, that she was almost tagged by one of the ghoulie goblins. She’d never changed what she’d called them as a child. What would be the point in updating the vocabulary? They were what they were.

  She darted away before he grabbed the edge of the white garment that draped around her body as she traveled. It wasn’t something she’d ever decided to wear, conjured or designed. She was simply dressed by the powers that be when she traveled and she accepted that for what it was. A principle. It changed size and shape as she grew older and was so light she didn’t even know it was there unless she directed her attention to it.

  During Rachel’s time of grief and withdrawal, covens of thirteen or less were convening circles round the clock for the purpose of cocooning her bereft spirit in swirling ribbons of blue, white, and yellow light so that she might turn toward the path of healing and choose life. Because they’d all come to love Dash as one of their own, they would have done the same for him, but were afraid that, even with the best intentions, they might accidentally interfere with the delicate and mysterious circuitry of his brain.

  No matter how powerful witches may be, witches are not gods.

  At the end of two weeks, Rachel emerged from her isolation to tell her mother and her friends that when she looked into the future, she could not imagine life without Dashiell Fonteneau. She’d made a decision. She’d rather die than live without him.

  CHAPTER Eight

  Dash had been told that his family’s business was impressive. He hadn’t expected it to cover seven square blocks in the shadow of downtown Denver where the city abruptly went from cosmopolitan high rise business-retail-residential to industrial. Dash also hadn’t realized how close his penthouse was, but he supposed he should have. It made sense to house out of town guests nearby. On nice days he could walk to work in half an hour if he wanted.

  Zane had given Dash instructions on where to park and said he’d come to reception to meet him. When he arrived, there was a parking spot, just two spaces from the front door with a giant sign that said “Dash”, with an arrow pointing down at the space.

  Dash smiled. It was a nice welcome and fit with everything he’d learned about Zane up to that point.

  The foyer of Fonteneau Food Services wasn’t designed to impress as were some of the city’s prominent law firms or mutual fund companies. It was functional. Linoleum tile and stained paneled walls that hadn’t been updated since the early seventies.

  A young woman behind the counter was wearing a bright floral print dress past the fashion deadline for summer, with a turquoise cardigan over it. She was cute enough, but Dash had to wonder if she was oblivious to both color and texture.

  Then he decided that thought was a little too metrosexual for a manly man.

  That also brought him up short. He had a moment of panic, wondering if he was gay and feeling like he’d be even more out of touch with how to behave if that was true. But after a few seconds of trying to form images of naked men, he concluded that, no, he was definitely not gay.

  She smiled as he approached.

  “I’m…” he began, but she interrupted.

  “I know who you are, Mr. Fonteneau. Welcome to Fonteneau Food Services. Your brother asked me to call when you arrived.”

  Dash nodded and returned to looking around. There were several old black and white photos of ancient looking trucks and a building that, he supposed, was the precursor of the present company home in which he stood. He imagined that he might be looking at people who were related to him in some way.

  Zane breezed through the door. “You found us!”

  Dash smiled. “The parking space…”

  “If you sign on the dotted line, it’s yours. Permanently.”

  “Well, that would be a nice perk.”

  “Yeah?” Zane grinned. “Wait until you hear about the health care plan! And we have free waters and sodas in the break room!”

  “Well, how could I say no to that?” Dash answered amiably.

  “Right?” Zane gestured toward the door through which he’d just appeared. “Ready for the grand tour?”

  “No. I’ll take the bronze tour, please.”

  Zane chuckled. “Maybe I like this version of you even better.”

  Who knows what might be the perfect thing to say to someone else at the exact right time? When that happens, it’s like a little miracle and feels like it must be attributable to something more organized than blind luck. For whatever reason, Zane had stumbled on the verbal key that would open Dash’s heart to being enthusiastic about a new life.

  Being better than he had been before, in some way, sounded good to Dash. Like a proposition he could get behind.

  The two brothers spent the morning walking the stock, transport, and delivery side of the business, talking about every aspect of how things worked. Zane was astounded by some of the questions Dash asked, some of them creating lightbulb why-hadn’t-we-thought-of-that moments.

  “If it’s okay with you, we’re going to grab a quick lunch with Da… ah, Grey. Then this afternoon I’d like you to take a look at the back office. The financials, order systems, invoicing… you know.”

  Dash shrugged. “Sure.”

  “There’s a grill right around the corner. We could walk.”

  “Okay.”

  Zane texted Grey to say they were headed to lunch and was told that he’d drive and meet them shortly.

  “So what did you think?” Grey could barely restrain himself to get through hellos before asking that question.

  “You wouldn’t believe the ideas he came up with. Off the top of his head.”

  Grey looked at Dash. “Like what?”

  “I don’t want to overstep,” Dash said.

  Grey was quick to assure him that his opinion was valued. “Nonsense. We want your input.”

  After Dash mentioned a few things he’d noticed that could improve productivity without much expense or disturbance in current procedure, he said, “I saw photos at the front. When I arrived.”

  Grey smiled. “Yes. We’ve been in business since 1923. Same location. Well, we’ve added on, of course. I’m not going to beat around the bush. We want you to come work for Fonteneau. Put your education and talent to use for the family.

  “Zane says he has more to show you today. So take a look and think it over. Then give us a chance to make an offer.”

  Dash wasn’t ready to commit, but he wasn’t ready to run either. So he gave a tentative nod.

  On the walk back Dash asked, “I’m curious about the penthouse.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It seems like maybe it was acquired for the purpose of impressing potential partners or vendors or investors?”

  “All true.”

  “Well, I’m wondering how that ball got dropped before it reached reception.”

  It took a minute for Zane to catch up with what was meant.

  “Oh.” Given the time it took Zane to respond, Dash was afraid he’d hurt Zane’s feelings. Finally he said, “Wow. I don’t have any explanation except that, I guess this kind of thing happens in family businesses. It’s looked exactly like that all my life. Probably most of Grey’s life, too. After a while, when you’re so used to something, you stop thinking in terms of it being anything other than familiar. I guess we started thinking it was supposed to look that way. But trying to see it through somebody else’s eyes? Somebody new? It doesn’t look good, does it?”

 
“No.”

  Zane chuckled. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “I just did.”

  “Yeah, well. Should we hire a designer?”

  “Not today. But it’s something to think about. That and the way your receptionist presents herself.”

  “Susie?”

  They were only steps away from the entrance. “Okay. Pretend you’ve never been here before. Open the door. Take a look at the reception. And Susie.”

  As soon as they were past reception and headed upstairs to the second story offices, Zane said, “Oh, man.” Dash snickered. “Now I’m mentally going through every deal that didn’t go our way and wondering.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t that. But impressions can pave the way. You know?”

  Zane nodded.

  If he’d thought that Dash had some good ideas about the operations side of the business, he was struck dumb by the suggestions Dash made regarding how to bring the business into the twenty-first century before it was overtaken by a more streamlined connectivity-savvy outfit.

  In mid-afternoon Zane showed Dash a large office on the west side with a view of Coors Field and the mountains. The décor wasn’t to his taste, but it was a comfortable layout. And… baseball. What red-blooded guy wouldn’t like to work a few blocks from the ballpark?

  “Do we have tickets?” he asked Zane.

  Zane liked the interest shown by that question and did a little happy dance on the inside. “Club level for entertaining and right behind the owner’s seats at home plate if you’re an actual fan.” After a pause, he added, “Hope this means you’re going to hear Grey’s offer.”

  The truth was that, though he hadn’t shown it, the grand tour had revealed a lot to be excited about. What was most exciting was how much needed overhaul and improvement. Almost everything.

  Dash saw that there was enough work to keep him distracted from whatever was bothering him night and day, that thing, for years maybe. And like Zane had said; what was he going to do with his time? Tool around?