Delilah Recovered **2017 Watty Winner**

chapter one

Dee checked the address for the tenth time. She could feel the sweat rolling down her back underneath her off-season navy blue outlet mall suit. Her hand hovered over the gilded, hexagram-shaped door knocker. She took a step back. The gothic mansion she stood in front of, with its terra cotta brick and massive semi-circle arched windows, took up a solid city block. Nestled inside two Roman columns, sat an antiqued weathered wooden door that looked like it had endured decades of snow and wind. A series of seals had been engraved upon the door. Despite her nerves, Dee counted them. She couldn't help herself. There were forty-nine.

Her heart hitched. Her stomach churned over. It felt like that moment in the theater when the lights dim before a scary movie begins. Dee had made a mistake. She was definitely in the wrong place. The moment that Dee decided to turn around and start back towards the street, the door swung open.

"Miss Smith, we are expecting you," a portly white-haired woman announced.

Dressed in a prim blouse with a rounded collar buttoned up to her neck, a simple black skirt, and oxfords, she looked more like a nanny and less like an executive assistant. "Mrs. Fairfax?"

"The one and only," she said as her face broke out in a welcoming smile.

Dee looked around, "Am I at the right place?"

Ms. Fairfax put her arm around Dee and ushered her into the house. "My dear, you are exactly where you are supposed to be. Now come in, please."

Dee looked down the long hallway. It had large black and white checkered ceramic floors that gave the illusion that it had no end. It was like a museum with walls lined with paintings. One painting caught her eye; it was a man with his head in a woman's lap; his muscular body draped over her silky, bright scarlet skirt.

"Samson & Delilah by Rubens. It's Mr. Solomon's favorite. He takes it with him wherever he goes," Mrs. Fairfax said as she led Dee down the hallway and into the study. "Isn't your given name Delilah?"

The truth of the matter was that Dee never felt like a Delilah. Once she understood the story of Samson & Delilah, the woman who tempted the mighty Samson by tricking him into trusting her to cut off his hair only to steal his power and strength, she never understood why her parents gave her such a name. She could never live up to it, she thought as she entered the library.

Mrs. Fairfax pointed at a large mahogany-colored leather chair. She put her hand on Dee's shoulder and said, "Good luck," before leaving the room.

Dee slipped off her backpack and fished out a copy of her resume, along with her list of questions for Mr. Solomon. She sunk into the chair and took a deep breath. It smelled like a library. Her eyes traveled around the midnight blue room as she took in the rows and rows of vintage books that lined the walls floor to ceiling. She noticed what appeared to be dried blood on the series of swords and daggers hanging over the fireplace. She looked around and then stood up to get a closer look. Each one had a magical alphabet with half-moons, arrows, and crosses engraved on the blades and handles. Gently, she ran her index finger over the letters and then picked up a small dagger.

"My mother collects them," said a low, smoky voice behind her.

When she turned around, the dagger slipped from her hands and she came face-to-face with Samuel Solomon III. Dee froze as she watched him catch it one swift motion before the razor-sharp blade could slice open her leg. He was handsome, the kind of handsome that always gets his way, with his crisp white button-down shirt open at the collar, grey dress pants, and not one strand of his caramel-colored hair out of place. She watched as he deftly placed the dagger back on the wall.