Love Charms

by Multiple

  “Virgil,” Dita said, as if it meant something to Annie.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Virgil Yadira,” she expounded. “I can give you his address. Eric stays there, I believe, most of the time. At least, he was the last time I heard from him.”

  Relief flooded Annie’s chest. “Oh, thank you. I really need to speak to him. Thank you so much.”

  Dita unfolded her small bag and took out a white business-sized card and a pen. She wrote something on the back. “Here, my address is on the front.”

  Dita held the card fast when Annie reached for it, waiting until their eyes met. “Virgil keeps bees.”

  Annie’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Finally, she just nodded. Dita released the card and Annie looked at the address. It was in the city.

  “He keeps them on the roof of their apartment complex. If you wouldn’t mind, could you ask him for a jar of honey?”

  “A jar of honey?” Annie repeated, wrinkling her nose.

  Now both Dita’s mouth and her eyes were smiling at the same time. “Yes, just ask for Dita’s special honey. He’ll know.”

  Annie nodded, putting a hand to her forehead. “Sure.”

  Dita smiled again as she stood, and for the first time Annie looked at her fully. She was wearing a beautifully patterned sarong wrapped around her waist, a thin band of material over her breasts, covered with a sheer silvery top with flowing sleeves and edges. Her body moved like music as she swept the large bags of beans up in her arms and walked toward the back of the café.

  Over her shoulder, Dita sang, “Thank you, dear. Good luck!”

  Annie watched her go, fingering the thick card. She glanced at her watch and stared in disbelief. It was after noon! She had missed three clients already! She rushed to her car, digging her cell phone out as she fumbled with her keys. She was so distracted by the time that it didn’t occur to her until later that Dita’s airy sendoff was a strange thing for her to say.

  Chapter Four

  “Come…look!”

  Afraid of heights, Annie refused to walk over to the edge where Virgil was trying to show her the view. He gave up, coming to stand beside her. Crossing his enormous arms over his chest, he nodded, surveying the rooftop with a smile. His own personal Bee-Kingdom? She shook her head and sighed.

  “So where is this honey?” Annie queried, straining her neck to look up at him. She shaded her eyes against the warm May sun glaring off his bald, dark head. According to Virgil, Eric hadn’t been here in a month and now she wanted to get out of here as soon as she could. Perhaps if she returned the jar of honey to his mother, Dita could give her another clue as to her son’s actual whereabouts.

  “The honey is still in the combs. I haven’t harvested this year,” he explained, pointing to the large white boxes lining the roof. There have to be at least fifty of them. As a city dweller, she had never seen a beehive before and hadn’t given much thought to bees except at picnics.

  “How…how many bees are in each, uh…?”

  “Hive?” Virgil smiled down at her, his teeth a gleaming contrast to his dark skin. “In the peak of summer, there are probably thirty-five thousand, but it’s early yet. I’d say probably ten thousand.”

  Annie did the math. She was standing on a roof in the midst of half a million bees.

  “Okay, well,” she said, taking a step back. “Let’s just get this jar of Dita’s special honey, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “There’s no reason to be afraid,” he assured her, his voice a soothing timbre. “These bees aren’t aggressive. Unless you’re allergic?”

  “I’ve never been stung.” She took another cautious step, backing away from the large white boxes. “I suppose I could be. Just how do they survive up here in the winter?”

  “They stay inside and wait for spring.” He nodded toward the closest hive. “They have been active lately, since the weather has really started to warm.”

  Annie bent to look more closely at the hive nearest to them. There were a few bees buzzing around the outside, and some crawling on the surface. She frowned, tucking her hair behind her ear as she stood. “There are really ten thousand bees in each of these things?”

  “Yes.” He moved around her. “Let me show you.”

  “No!”

  “You don’t need to be afraid.” His smile was an invitation. “You just need to be smart and careful. These bees won’t sting you. Trust me.”

  Annie swallowed hard. “Okay.”

  Virgil moved toward one of the hives, his words flowing like poetry. “You should always approach a hive slowly, with your arms out in front of you. Bees will be frightened by sudden movement. Everything should be slow, fluid. Think of how honey drips. That is how you move.”

  “Shouldn’t we have some protection?”

  Virgil chuckled, the sound seeming to vibrate in his chest. Annie was surprised the bees didn’t feel it. “Some beekeepers do. I don’t. You, however, should put on a pair of those goggles over there.”

  He nodded toward a pair of swimmer’s goggles hanging on a nail. Annie situated a pair on her face, feeling silly. The world took on a plastic haze.

  Virgil stood fixed before one of the boxes, taking deep breaths through his nose. When he spoke to her, he only turned his head. “I am going to open the hive and show you one of the supers—that’s these things that look like trays. The top ones will have just a few bees and be mostly honey. Go a few rows down, and we will find all our bees.”

  Annie gulped, feeling faint. “Okay.”

  He smiled that welcoming smile again. “You can come look. But never breathe right onto the bees. They will take off and may sting if you do.”

  Virgil pulled one of the middle trays from the hive. His movements were slow, easy, and practiced. Supers! I don’t know what’s so super about them! Annie watched, amazed. A low drone she had just assumed was the buzz of the electric wires on the roof grew louder. It was the bees humming!

  He was graceful, his movements as smooth and lithe as any ballet dancer. The sun was bright and shone onto the golden combs as he tilted the tray up. Annie gasped. There were hundreds of bees working in the waxy substance, the tray dripping honey in slow drops at Virgil’s feet. Curious, she leaned in, remembering what he had said about breath, keeping hers confined to her nose. Virgil, turning his head away from the hive as he spoke, whispered, “Taste.”

  Annie moved her hand in slow motion, watching as bees crawled over the frame, over Virgil’s big, dark fingers, a few buzzing upward and settling on his arm. Annie touched her finger to a wet part of the comb and just as slowly brought it back to her mouth. It was the sweetest substance that had ever touched her tongue, and she looked up at Virgil in wonder, moving just her eyes to meet his. He smiled.

  Lost in the moment, Annie finally noticed a bee sitting on her arm. She froze. Her first instinct was to blow at it, or shake it off, or worse, run!

  “Be still. Wait.”

  She followed his instructions, holding her breath as she felt the bee’s crooked legs, so soft they tickled, working their way toward her elbow. Then there was a little buzz and the bee took flight, heading back to the comb.

  Virgil replaced the tray with the same deft care he’d used to remove it. Annie’s heart was pounding and her ears were ringing. She felt charged, exhilarated, like she did after waking up from dreams of flying.

  “Wow,” she breathed, her eyes shining up at him.

  “Food of the gods,” he said with a wink.

  Annie grinned back at him. “I’ll say!”

  “I find beekeeping to be quite a meditation,” he remarked. “You have to move slowly up here.” He pointed at the floor. “Unlike down there.”

  Annie nodded in understanding. “Thank you for showing me.”

  Virgil shrugged, changing the subject. “Well, about Dita’s honey. We’ll have to go into the greenhouse.”

  “In there?” Annie pointed to the small glass building at the other end of the roof.

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nbsp; He nodded and then motioned for her to follow him.

  “So, Virgil, how did you get permission to do all of this?”

  Virgil walked and Annie mimicked his fluid steps. “I own the building.”

  Annie stared at him as they stopped outside the door, bemused. “You do?”

  He ignored her question. “The bees in here are different.” His smile was gone. “These are a strain of bees derived from African honeybees. Have you heard of them?”

  Her eyes widened, remembering some news story she once saw. “Aren’t those killer bees?”

  “Yes,” Virgil nodded. “They are not so named because one sting can kill you, but because they are much more aggressive than their European cousins out here.”

  Annie peered into the greenhouse and could see bees buzzing about. “How much more aggressive?”

  Virgil shrugged. “They can sense a threat fifty feet or more from a nest. They respond quickly. They sting in large numbers, and they will pursue a perceived enemy for a quarter mile or more.”

  Annie’s hand went to her throat as she looked up at him.

  “These are actually assassin bees,” he continued. “They have killed off another hive in order to take over this one. I harvested them from the wild. It is believed the nastiest bees actually make the sweetest honey.”

  Annie frowned. “Is that true?”

  “Partially true.” His eyes moved over her face. “They are harder workers and produce more, but honey is like wine. It picks up the flavors of the nectars in the local environment, so its sweetness depends on the flowers.”

  Annie shaded her eyes again, looking into the greenhouse. “Is that what makes this honey special?”

  “Yes.” Virgil nodded. “Honey was once called the soul of flowers. This honey is the soul of the passionflower. They are highly fragrant, and their nectar is very potent. It makes honey that tastes…well, you’ll see.”

  Annie breathed in the smell of the flowers as they entered. “Isn’t keeping killer bees illegal?”

  “Not yet. Just walk behind me.”

  It was like walking into Eden. The scent permeated everything. There were flowers blooming, crawling on vines toward the ceiling, like exotic, fragrant sunbursts. It was warm and humid inside.

  “The bees have free reign in here, all year round,” he explained. “Step carefully.”

  She followed, trying to tuck herself behind his large, muscled frame as he walked, as if then the bees wouldn’t notice her.

  Virgil led her toward the other end of the greenhouse. “Bees eat honey. The goal of beekeeping is to harvest honey while still leaving the bees enough to survive. One of the reasons African strains developed was because bees adapted to people cleaning their hives out entirely. It’s called bee-robbing. Now all African strains seem to believe they are going to be robbed.”

  Annie nearly ran into him as he stopped. She considered his words, thinking of some of her clients’ ingrained behaviors. “I can see how that could happen.”

  Virgil moved to pick up a box-shaped hood that looked like it would fit over one of the hives that lined the end of the greenhouse. Annie counted ten of them and did the math. One hundred thousand assassin killer bees.

  “What is that?” Annie asked, watching him turn the hood over and apply liquid to the inside top.

  “It’s a fume board.” Virgil put the cover over one of the hives and then glanced at his watch.

  “These bees are so aggressive, we have to outsmart them. Instead of taking the supers out, like we did outside, we drive them deeper into their colony so we can safely remove the upper trays full of honey.”

  In spite of her fear, Annie couldn’t help her curiosity. “What’s that stuff you put on it?”

  “Benzaldehyde.”

  She laughed. “God bless you!”

  He smiled back. “It’s just oil of almonds. Bees hate the stuff.”

  “Huh!” She peered at the next closest hive. To her untrained eye, they looked just like the bees outside. “Now what?”

  He shrugged. “We wait.”

  Annie was aware of the gentle hum of the bees around her flitting from flower to flower. She wondered with a shiver what it would be like to die from a hundred thousand bee stings. She had a strange impulse as she watched the bees crawling over the hives to knock them all over, just to see what would happen.

  She hugged her arms over her chest, turning toward the wall to look at some of the flowers climbing a vine toward the ceiling. She had never seen a passionflower before. They were exotic and strange, and they reminded her of sea urchins. She touched an orange and yellow one, leaning in to breathe in the scent. It was divine and dispelled any unpleasant thoughts of bee-tipping.

  She noticed that Virgil was watching her. She smiled at him. “So when did you see Eric last, again?”

  He cleared his throat before speaking. “As I said, about a month ago. But that’s not unusual. He paid his rent in one lump sum for the year, and he comes and goes. For all I know, he could show up tomorrow.”

  Annie cocked her head at him. “He doesn’t tell you where he’s going? Leave you any number?”

  He shook his head, looking puzzled. “None of my tenants do.”

  “Oh!” Annie knitted her brow. “He isn’t your roommate?”

  “No.” Virgil laughed. “Eric has his own apartment in the building. I do believe he has a roommate, but I don’t see either of them much. Those guys keep odd hours.”

  Annie tried to remember exactly what Dita had said. “Oh. I thought—”

  “We should be about ready,” he said, turning toward the hive. “I’d really like to veil you, just in case, if you don’t mind.”

  Annie felt like a blushing bride as he slipped the hooded gauze over her head and his fingers lingered over her as he adjusted it. She watched through the film as Virgil turned and removed the fume board. He pulled off the top super and replaced the hooded fume board over the hive.

  “There it is.” He sounded satisfied. “Hand me that knife.”

  Annie handed him a large, sharp, serrated knife from the table next to her as she leaned closer to study the comb, noticing each little hole was covered with wax. Virgil began removing those caps with his knife.

  “A lot of beekeepers will smoke the bees, to make them more lethargic, but it affects the flavor of the honey.”

  Annie looked up at him. “Now what?”

  “Now we spin the honey out.” Virgil slipped the comb into what looked like a large pot. He put a lid with a crank on top. “Turn it.”

  Annie did, once. Virgil laughed. “Keep going!”

  Annie turned the crank, again and again, until her arm grew sore. When Virgil lifted the lid and removed the comb, it was mostly empty, and the honey remained on the inside walls of the container. Virgil pulled a tiny jar out of a box on the floor and set it on the table with a funnel.

  “I’ll put this back.” He nodded toward the hive. “You pour the honey.”

  Annie took off her veiled hood and poured, watching the thick, golden syrup fill the small jar. Virgil helped her scrape the sides of the container and funnel with a little rubber spatula. As she put a lid on it, she realized the jar was only half-filled. She estimated that it was an ounce or two of honey at most.

  “It’s a lot of work for a little bit of honey,” she remarked, feeling the stickiness of honey on her hands.

  Virgil nodded. “One bee makes about a twelfth of a teaspoon of honey in his lifetime. It takes a lot of bees.”

  “Wow! That’s teamwork!”

  Virgil swept some honey off the spatula and held his finger out to her. “Taste.”

  Annie hesitated, realizing the intimacy of the act. Looking at him, she realized he did too. His eyes were dark, inviting. She extended her tongue, licking the sticky liquid off the tip of his finger. She groaned, instantly reaching her tongue out for more and sucking it off.

  Virgil smiled, nodding. “Worth the risk, isn’t it?” He put his own finger into his mo
uth to taste and Annie watched, flushing.

  She licked her own sticky fingers. “I can’t believe how good that is!”

  He gave her a moist towel for her hands. “Nothing like the honey you buy in stores, is it?”

  “I’ve never tasted anything like it!”

  Annie glanced at Virgil and saw a warm, intense look in his eyes, one she often received from men. She swallowed hard.

  “Ah,” he said. “I have one more thing to share with you before you go. Come down to my apartment.”

  Annie left the veil and goggles and followed him outside where the bees were buzzing busily and the breeze felt cool compared to the air of the greenhouse. They took the stairs down one flight, and he led her into his apartment, which consisted of the entire top floor of the building. Annie stopped in the doorway, aghast at the view of the city from his windows.

  Intent on sending a clear message, Annie stayed near the door and waited while he went to the kitchen.

  “Honey cake,” he said when he returned with a wrapped confection. “If you think raw honey is good, wait until you try this.”

  “Virgil.” His name felt like velvet in her mouth. She found herself thinking of Eric, and wishing he were with her to share the experience she’d had today. “Thank you for everything. I appreciate you taking the time to do this.”

  He smiled, his face a little sad. “Eric is a lucky man to have a woman like you looking for him. If I see him, I will give him the card you gave me.”

  “Thank you.”

  In her car, she slipped the honey jar into one jacket pocket and the honey cake into the other. Annie wondered what to do next. In spite of Virgil’s apparent interest, she couldn’t think of anyone but Eric. She wouldn’t stop looking for him, although part of her felt she was being led on some wild goose chase.

  She glanced at her watch. It was getting late on a Friday night, and she had no clients. She searched for the card Dita had written Virgil’s address on. When she found it in the zippered pocket of her purse, she turned it over to locate the woman’s number. Grabbing her cell phone, she dialed and waited.