Delilah Recovered **2017 Watty Winner**

chapter seven

When Samuel spotted a small cottage cobbled out of mismatched grey and black stones with a bright red door, he stopped. He put his compass in the pocket of his army green cargo pants. Then, he deliberately made his way around back to the garden, filled with flowers and medicinal herbs.

Perched on a lime green garden matt, sat Sage Pentreath, the leader of The Clan. She hadn't changed much since Samuel has last encountered her. She was still a stout woman with a long silver braid that snaked down her back, grazing her ankles. He watched her as she pulled out the thorny weeds.

"Don't just stand there gaping at my ass, grab a hoe and help," Sage said as she tossed him a small hoe.

Samuel took off his mirrored aviator sunglasses. "I don't do weeds."

Sage turned around and looked up at him with a mischievous smile. "We both know that you've never had a problem getting your hands dirty before."

"We have business to discuss," he said, looking at his watch.

She turned around and continued to tend to her garden. "Talk and dig. Two birds. One Stone."

Samuel looked up at the sky. He knew arguing with her was an utter waste of time. He sighed and bent down next to her.

Sage tossed him a gardening mat. "I wouldn't want you to get your pretty knees dirty."

They worked in silence. "How many witches would love to see Samuel Solomon, leader of The OB coven on his knees? And all I had to do was ask," she mused.

"More like order. You stubborn cow," he replied.

Sage looked over at Samuel's progress. She took the hoe from him. "That's thornapple."

"They're all bloody weeds to me," he said standing up and brushing the dirt from his legs. "Your son is causing all sorts of difficulties."

Sage stood up. "So I've heard."

"All the way out here?"

"I'm retired, not dead." She said as she made her way toward her cottage. "If you're as tired and as hungry as you look, come inside."

Sage led him into her kitchen. "Retirement must be treating you well," he said as he admired her French copper stove, Carrara marble countertops, hand-carved cabinets, and stone fireplace.

Sage smiled, "Finally got my dream kitchen and nobody to cook for." She grabbed a wooden spoon and stirred something bubbling in a big iron pot.

Samuel walked over to the stove and peered into the pot. "What do you have there? Eye of newt and roasted toadstool?" he teased.

"Beef stew." She replied pulling three delicate hand-painted bowls with delicate poppies painted on them.

He leaned in and inhaled the stew. "Smells like the home I once knew, the home that the years have long since washed away."

"Good Lord, you only get sappy like this when she's around," Sage said as she dished a heaping bowl of stew for him. "Sit down."

He noticed a platter of homemade bread and an assortment of English cheese on a wooden platter on the table. "Stinking bishop, my favorite. I know that was hard to come by in the middle of nowhere."

"Let's say that I may have anticipated your visit," she said as she placed a bowl on the floor. "Theodore, lunch is ready." No sooner did the words escape her mouth than a small white dog came tumbling into the kitchen.

Samuel took a bite of her stew. He closed his eyes and savored it as a dull sadness wound its way around his heart. He felt hollow. He took another bite and realized he was homesick.

Sage watched him as he ate. She lit a light-brown clove cigarette. She took a long pull on it and blew the sweet smoke out.

"What do you want from me?" Sage asked as she sat down across the table from him.

Samuel pushed his bowl aside. "I need to call in my chit."

"You've become tedious Samuel, you and your coven. You conspire to take over the world. While Ascent tries to save it and the game continues century after century," she said as she stamped out her cigarette into her uneaten bowl of stew.

"The OB coven, we are the descendants of the great King Solomon."

"Please, spare me the lectures about your King, and your linage," she said, putting her hands up in surrender. "We are all descendants of great witches. Some of us just know when to walk away and let the humans have at it. "

Samuel picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth. "Ah, I see it now. You've got it all figured out. You abandon your coven to hide out in the woods fussing about in your garden and dilly-dallying with your little dog," he said as he took a bite of cheese.

"My coven is safe because of the deal I brokered with the witch hunters. Can you say the same for yours?" She asked as she lit another cigarette.

"You hideout off the grid making candles and peddling your herbs while your sister, Honey, the Queen of the Impotentim, and her cult thrives. It's disgraceful," he replied.

Sage's face twisted in anger. "Mind your tongue son, or I'll rip it out with my bare hands. This is your war, not ours." She said as she blew smoke out of her nose like an angry dragon.

"You can't hide away forever."

"Maybe I can in this life, and the next if the humans haven't destroyed the planet. What do you want from me?" She asked as she grabbed his arm.

In one swift motion, pulled away from her and stood up. "When the time comes, I will collect on my debt."

Sage looked up at him. Her face which usually held a mask of mischief, now held something else, fear. "It's really her then?"

"Yes. It's really her." He said as he put his sunglasses on. "Time for you and yours to get back in the game my dear."