Free Back in Black by Zoey Dean Page A

slapped a perky smile on her face. “Dee, if you don't mind, could I speak to you and your
chi
in the study?”
    Without waiting for an answer, Sam turned around and headed for her father's study—actually an ornate library done in nineteenth-century British style. Bookcases lined three of the walls from floor to ceiling; four plush leather chairs faced one another at right angles, each with its own Tiffany reading lamp. There were two rolling ladders to reach books on the highest levels and a huge picture window that looked out on the only weeping willow tree Sam knew about in Bel Air.
    All the world's greatest literature was on those shelves, bound in leather. Sam was the only one in the household who actually ever read any of it. While waiting for Dee, she pretended to busy herself with a first edition of Herman Wouk's
Youngblood Hawke
—a novel about an aspiring writer that Sam had always thought was a masterpiece of storytelling. She heard rather than saw Dee pad into the room.
    “What is it?” Dee asked, blowing her wispy bangs off her forehead. Evidently, meditating had caused her to work up a sweat.
    Sam wasn't exactly sure how to approach what she wanted to say. So she lifted one of the priceless gold Fabergé eggs that decorated some of the small bookstands around the library, then absentmindedly tossed it from one hand to the other. “You know how much I want you on this Vegas trip. I mean, we've been planning it forever.”
    “Careful with that egg,” Dee cautioned. “It's worth about a million dollars.”
    “Two million.” Sam set the egg down. She didn't want to hurt Dee's feelings, she really didn't. But her loony spiritual bullshit could ruin the entire Vegas trip. “Anyway,” she continued, “I'm not sure that you're in the right frame of mind these days to really enjoy Vegas.” She hoped she sounded sincere. “What I was thinking was, your parents are still out of town. This seems like the perfect time for you to go home and embrace the quiet. For your spiritual growth, of course. Without any of us around to distract you. Think what a pleasure that would be.”
    Dee's lower lip trembled. “You don't want me to come?”
    “Of course I want you to come!” Sam insisted, perhaps a shade too enthusiastically. She tempered her pitch for the sake of covering over her bald-faced lie and bought a moment's breathing room by putting
Youngblood Hawke
back on its shelf. “But seriously, Dee—look at yourself. You're a changed person. You don't drink anymore. You've become a vegan. You don't have sex. You don't gamble. I admire you for it, I really do. But why would you even
want
to go to Las Vegas?”
    “Oh, see, that's the beautiful part.” Dee's face lit up.
    “People in Vegas are so lost, you know? I really think I could help them.”
    Sam felt like heaving into the nearest planter. “You're going to Vegas to help the sinners?”
    “I'm doing so much healing work now, Sam,” Dee explained earnestly. “It's so life-affirming, you know? It's God-realization. A kind of tikkun olam, a repairing of the world, a regathering of the divine sparks that were lost at the moment of creation. If you would come with me to the Kabbalah Centre just once, you'd see exactly what I mean. Ultimately, work on the self and work on others is the same thing.”
    I have no fucking idea what she's talking about
, Sam thought. She didn't want to say that, though. Hurting Dee's feelings was easily accomplished. But unlike Cammie, who seemed to get perverse joy out of cutting Dee to shreds, Sam remembered that the essential core of Dee was good, even if she got a little—okay, a lot— flaky around the edges.
    “All righty, then,” Sam chirped. She had no clue what they were going to do in Las Vegas if Dee was serious about changing the souls of its inhabitants. But there was always the chance that the change in scenery would help bring her friend back to a clearer sense of reality. “Well … cool. So meet me and