Free The Witch of the Wood by Michael Aronovitz Page B

Rudy said.
    Wolfie was sitting Indian style and he caught Ann-Marie’s eye.
    “Sweet maiden,” he said. She smiled back, and Wolfie waved his hand across their shared plane of vision like a windshield wiper. Her expression went blank for a second, and then she switched Brianna to the crook of the other arm, smartly tossing her hair back over her shoulder in Rudy’s direction.
    “Thank you for the tutoring session, Professor. I’ll work on that pronoun antecedent issue. And I’ll pay you next time, I promise.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” Rudy said. “Good luck with your business writing course at community.”
    She flashed a last smile and walked out, oblivious, shutting the door carefully.
    “It’s better this way,” Wolfie said. “No expectations, no social obligations.”
    “Right,” Rudy said, feeling sad about it, but only philosophically really. He moved past toward the door. “There are a lot of items I need to return—”
    “I read your books.”
    “Really?” he said, turning.
    “Every one. I liked Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls best. Great scene by the gorge. I also liked Macbeth, but the wrong side won and Shakespeare’s portrayal of witches is insulting. But you know that already, now don’t you?”
    Before Rudy could laugh along, Wolfie did the “blink” and reappeared in front of him, blocking the exit. Rudy almost pulled a muscle in his neck snapping his head around.
    “Father . . .” Wolfie sing-songed. He came forward slowly, backing Rudy away from the door a step or two. “My patriarch. Daddy . . .” He stopped, and then, to Rudy’s wonder, he started to levitate. When he came eye to eye with his father, he leaned in close nose to nose, breath smelling like honeysuckle.
    “Your books are interesting,” he said, “but they are rather one-dimensional. Like your mind.” He leaned in and kissed his father’s forehead, slowly, deeply. Despite himself, Rudy bent in to the warmth of it and had his eyes closed even after the release. Wolfie patted his crown. “I need for you to bring me to the library, Dad, where I will spend a day and a night. Not the public library on Sproul Road, but rather the one at the University of Pennsylvania. While I realize that history texts are your most dangerous examples of fiction, I must see with my own eyes the patterns through which you prefer to be lied to. I need to study your philosophy, your most intricate rationalizations, and your science . . .”
    He trailed off and lowered himself to the floor, absently taking hold of Rudy’s hand on the way down.
    “Your science . . .”
    Rudy squatted down to his level.
    “What about it?”
    Wolfie smiled, and it was the first time Rudy had ever seen him appear wistful. The boy removed his hand gently.
    “Ancient puzzles.”
    “To aid with the destruction?”
    Wolfie laughed outright, gazing up and off to the complicated future he was planning to unveil.
    “No, of course not, Dad. We really only need psychology for Armageddon. Science is for the aftermath.” He looked at his father directly then, with a mixture of affection and pity. “You will better understand when there is a context, Rudy Barnes. For now, you need to return all the items you bought this morning and take me on this university field trip Monday. You’ll need to either cancel your classes or bring the students along. Computers from here even with a passcode are only useful for searching out scholarly journals, and I need access to the shelf texts as well.”
    “Won’t the pages affect you . . . the wood, the pulp?”
    Wolfie’s eyes blazed.
    “Of course they will. Every book is haunted by the soul of a dead witch, just like the ones on your shelves in the bedroom. But I can’t cry over paper and shadows, now can I?”
    “No, I suppose not.”
    “Return the baby products,” Wolfie said, walking past Rudy toward the light of the window. “And find a way to get me into that library quietly.”
    “Couldn’t