Is You Is, or Is You Aint?

She picked up her phone, “Yep?”

“Illlllsaaaa! I need help!” Jack’s voice was tight with panic.

She chinned the phone and started grabbing her emergency gear, the stuff she usually didn’t carry in her jacket pockets, “What and where?”

“I think I got a date!” he wailed.

“Jack,” Ilsa paused, dialing herself back from her combat response before going on. “You are a man grown and do not need a chaperone.” Ilsa put her dagger and vial of blessed saline back in her desk. “And what do you mean ‘you think’ you have a date?”

“There’s an engineering grad student in my comparative theology class that asked me out for coffee and he asked me to meet him Saturday gototheplayinthepark,”

“Breathe, hon.” Ilsa chuckled into the phone, “You like Shakespeare, it’s a public place, it’ll be fine.”

“But what if he wants to string me up by my thumbs and beat me while he listens to me read the original draft of Dostoyevsky's Notes from Underground? I don’t know Russian!” her friend’s voice spiraled up in panic.

“Not on the first date, surely.” Ilsa was struck by another thought, “That explains the subliminal shopping, at least.”

“Are you getting a precog?” Jack asked.

“No, precognition isn’t my bag, remember? But I think I know why I picked up the makings for a big boatload of tortilla soup this week. This is…” Ilsa paused to concentrate, “Okay, kinda, sorta, maybe.…”

Jack made an exasperated noise, “Shoulda, coulda, woulda, what?”

“You should go with Dave to have coffee,” Ilsa murmured, “and don’t remember to take a jacket to the play.”

“Oh… omigod.” Jack’s response was hushed, “How did you know his name?”

“You told me.”

“I did not, I know I didn’t!” Jack squeaked, “You know something!”

“Huh,” Ilsa thought back over the conversation, and said, “Give me a minute.” She took a moment to center, and check the status of the web, humming the charm for clear Sight, before answering. “I don’t know, but there’s a positive connection to you that wasn’t there last week. Does that help?”

“Okay,” Jack was trying to not hyperventilate, “okay, so I’m going to the play on Saturday, and meet you for brunch on Sunday and maybe be bringing someone for you to meet.”

“I’ll remember to dress like a dangerous auntie.” Ilsa teased, trying to get her friend to calm down.

“Ooh, leather and pearls, that is a good look for you, gotcha,” he giggled. “Thanks, heart-sister.”

“Go on, I’ll see you after class tonight.”