Chapter Two

“Nana!” Toby shot up in his bed, awakening from a dream.

Toby was relieved when the redhead beside him didn’t stir. He couldn’t remember her name. He slipped out of the bed and quietly closed the door behind him. He poured himself a drink and picked up the suit jacket he had discarded, reaching his fingers into the hidden compartment sewn into the lining and retrieving the little bronze mirror his grandmother had given him.

His mother died when he was eight years old. Unable to cope, his father had drowned himself in a bottle of whiskey. It took a while for the state to step in and transfer the guardianship of his young life to his Nana. For three long years, he teetered between complete negligence and his father’s drunken rants. When he moved in with his grandmother, it took him a while to learn to trust again. His confidence in their relationship was strengthened by homework and little afterschool sandwiches with the crust trimmed off. He learned to love her, despite the fact that she embarrassed him in the supermarket and drove slower than molasses in her beat-up old station wagon, which caused him to be late to school almost every day.

He knew his heart had been completely restored by her love when he felt comfortable practicing his ‘Will you go to the prom with me?’ speech on her because he was nervous about asking the most popular girl in school to be his date. He and his Nana had developed into quite the duo.

Just when he was certain that life would be good, the fates, once again, turned. Nana passed away during his senior year of high school. He came home after football practice to find her lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of urine. Once more, he was on his own.

Ever since his grandmother’s death, Toby had dreamed about her. At first, he replayed sweet dreams in his mind to recapture a fleeting moment of her presence. She held his hand and counseled him as they walked slowly through the ballpark at dusk. She sat in the old rocking chair on the porch and told him how proud she was when he was accepted at Harvard. She carefully considered every pretty girl in the neighborhood and suggested that Toby take her favorite to the movies.

It was only when he started using his gift to make trades on Wall Street that she began to look at him with accusation blazing in her eyes. Toby knew it wasn’t rational, but he was almost convinced that his sweet old grandma was really a witch who watched his every move and haunted his dream-time from the great beyond.

He stared down at the brass mirror, which was the size of a thimble, age-worn and round. It looked like a trinket you would find on a back shelf at an antique shop, so small and dingy that if you were to find it on the street, you would pick it up and throw it in the trash bin. But it wasn’t trash; it was the single source of his power and success. Another reason why he thought his grandmother might be a witch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” The redhead came out of the bedroom wearing his shirt.

“No.” He took a sip of his whiskey.

She sat in his lap and took the cup from his hand, taking a long gulp.

“What’s this?” She touched the tiny mirror with her fingertip.

“Don’t touch that,” Toby growled territorially.

“What is it?” Her interest was piqued.

“It’s nothing,” he answered.

When he held the mirror, he could read a person’s innermost thoughts. They scrolled across their foreheads like the news ticker streaming at the bottom of a broadcast, spelling out every little secret. Most of the time, he preferred not to know what was going on in the murky minds around him, but every once in a while he read something that was paramount to him acquiring more wealth. This little mirror had been the key to his success.

“And no, it’s not drugs,” he answered her thoughts.

“Well then, what is it?” She leaned in seductively.

“It’s none of your business.” He swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.