Inn on the Edge (28 page)

“Oh,” said Vane.

“Uh,” said Zenith, shifting in her seat.

“Like food?” asked Zora. She didn’t sound pleased.

Josh studied the book again. “Yes. Yes! It says here that
food is often glamourized. With almost universally pleasing results.”

Vane looked at Valerian, who looked at Zora, who looked at
Zenith, who looked at me. I asked the question we were all wondering. “Okay.
The food. We get it. So what about…
sex
?”

Josh turned another page, peering at it. “Yes. Sex too. Only
this book calls it ‘congress’.” He looked up. “Apparently glamours were all the
rage in the fifteenth century, when there was a lot of congress between lords
and ladies. And between the nobility and their stable boys and kitchen maids.
Naughty, naughty.” He fell silent but for his index finger tap-tapping on the
page. He sighed heavily. “Glamours. Sexual congress. Huh. We all knew it was too
good to be true.”

“
I
didn’t,” whispered Zora.

I hadn’t either. All that wonderful sex—the earth-shattering
apexes, the heady eroticism that infused every inch of the inn—it was only a
glamour? A spell cast on us? How could that be? But at the same time, how could
it
not
be? I sat around a table with the people with whom I’d shared
those beautiful apexes, remembering their touches and caresses and whispered
tender words, and I realized something. It didn’t matter. Glamour or not, it
felt real.

It was real. It had happened.

The wind howled in the distance, a lonely, mournful sound. I
looked out at the snowy view, hoping the mountain goat I’d seen earlier had
found shelter. “All right then. So it’s a glamour. Let’s move on.”

Josh nodded. And the others too, after a moment.

“I want to know more about these yellow flowers,” I
continued, gesturing at Zenith’s book. “Why did you start eating the petals?
How did you know?”

“We didn’t know anything,” said Zenith. “Not really.”

Vane agreed. “I saw Zettia sprinkle a few petals onto Mr.
Abiba’s dinner. And then again at breakfast. I told Zenith. She thought they might
have protective powers or something. So we decided to eat them too.”

Laughter invaded my head. My jaw clenched.

Decorations—mere decorations!

Mr. Abiba was back. The glamour-casting, amorous bastard.

The flowers have a subtle peppery taste. Don’t you agree,
Angela?

He couldn’t keep doing this to me, wandering in and out of
my mind as if it were free day at the zoo! It wasn’t right. I wouldn’t let him.

My suspicious little Guides eat flower after flower, but
they’ll never discover the true purpose of my posies.

More laughter
.

The pretty little things are merely a reminder of home!

I took a deep breath, although I wouldn’t need it for what I
intended to do.

My love! I have another clue for you!

I tensed my entire body, getting ready.

Zenith is hot on the trail of something that could help
you in your quest. She’s very close. Don’t let her switch books.

I found a hidden location in my mind, a place I’d accessed
only once before. I entered it.

Angela! Stop this! What are you doing?

Telepathy!
I yelled silently, steeling myself against
the pain.

Angela, my one and only!
Mr. Abiba’s ethereal voice
became soft, gentle, a lover’s croon.
Light of my life, oh love of mine,
don’t you remember what I told you about telepathy? That you must never do it
under any circumstances? That it’s—

Go away!
I shouted, interrupting him, doing the very
thing he was warning me against.
I told you to leave! Get the hell out of my
mind! Now!

I braced myself for what I knew was coming. That wrenching
pain of using mental telepathy. Somehow I knew it would be worse this time.

Angela. This is a very dangerous thing you are doing.

I know it is! I don’t care! I just want you to leave us
alone!

A wave of searing pain grew inside my head, making me cry
out, but still I railed at him.
Leave us be, Mr. Abiba!
The pain was
sudden, sharp, twisting and pulling, making the world tilt this way and that.
You
said you were a man of your word!

I am.

You are not!

Angela, my only sin is giving you words you want to hear.

Someone called my name. It barely registered.

Out! Out! Out!
It was all I could manage. I clutched
at my temples, screwing my eyes shut, feeling as if I was about to lose
consciousness—but I couldn’t faint. I had to banish Mr. Abiba from my head. We
couldn’t do anything with him spying on our every move. Gritting my teeth, I
forced myself to deal with the pain, forced myself to
think
.

But it was hard. So hard. I felt myself slipping away.

“Angie?” Someone was calling me from across a great
distance, insistent, frightened, touching my shoulder, waving a hand across my
face, giving me little shakes on the shoulder. “Angie! What’s wrong? Are you
okay?”

Oh dear.

Mr. Abiba was still in my head. Damn him.

I made a half moaning, half gurgling noise.

Now look what you’ve done to yourself. Love of mine, why
didn’t you listen to me?

“What’s the matter with her?” asked a woman, her voice
shaking.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” said the first person. “Angie!
Angie! Talk to me!”

I didn’t. I couldn’t. The pain.

You can’t win, dear heart. Why do you insist on trying?
You’ll only hurt yourself.

“Is it a stroke? Is she having a stroke?” said a man. I
recognized the voice but I couldn’t put a name to it. Whoever he was, he
sounded as if he were speaking from deep underwater. Or maybe as if he were
crying. “Oh god, don’t let it be a stroke!”

“Maybe it’s a seizure?” A woman, a different one, coming
nearer. “She had one before, right? During the train game.”

“Does she have a history of epilepsy?” asked someone new, a
man.

“
Help
her! Her eyes are rolling up! Oh my god—Angie!”

“Lie her down!”

“Quick, on the floor! I’ll take her legs, you take her
shoulders.”

From some distant place I felt strong arms lift my inert
body and lower it onto the carpet. Someone placed a pillow under my head.
Couldn’t they just leave me alone? This was hard enough without these
horrified, anguished people hovering over me, distracting me. Perhaps I ought
to create a barrier against him in my mind, as I had before. Could I? Did I
have enough strength left? With my last bit of energy, I threw up a feeble
wall. It wasn’t enough.

My dear, it’s time to stop. This is what happens when you
don’t pay attention! I told you that you weren’t schooled enough for telepathy.
I told you. You didn’t listen. You can do yourself much harm, playing around
with things you don’t understand.

I ignored his chastising voice.

My dear, you have only yourself to blame.

“Maybe we should go for Mr. Abiba,” said one of the women. “He’s
a doctor.”

“No! Never!” said the other woman. “And I don’t believe he
really is. The asshole probably lied.”

I am very much a doctor. Only you might call it something
else.

“Did she stop breathing?” A cry of despair. “Is she
breathing?
Is she
?”

A cool hand over my nose, my mouth. A worried voice.
“Shallow. But yes, she’s breathing.”

“Then why won’t she wake up? Angie! Angie!” Anxious hands
shook me, harder this time.

Not to worry, my love. I would never let anything happen
to you, but you were in sore need of a lesson.

Someone was crying.

Wayward acolytes need to learn from their masters, do
they not? How else are they to learn? I do so wish there were an easier way. It
hurts me to see you suffer so. Ah, my poor dear. You are slobbering all over
yourself.

He sighed dramatically.

I suppose you’ve had quite enough. I truly wish you no
harm, my angel. I am but a benevolent lover looking after his darling’s best
interests.

He paused.

I shall make you a proposition. To settle your mind, I
will pretend to step aside. I will let you believe that you’ve have your
way—that your precious little tantrum has accomplished precisely what you
intended.

I felt his chuckle in my head.

Although it entertains me that you could believe such a
ridiculous thing to be true. You still have no concept of the strength I
possess, do you? Be that as it may, from now on I will let you think you’ve
driven me off. If I choose to speak, you will not remember. But hear this—I
shall never leave you, Angela Taylor. I am with you. Always. Whether you are
aware of me or not.

I stirred, moaning, beginning to come back from wherever I’d
been.

One final thing. Zenith has yet to find what is right in
front of her. I grow impatient. Angela. Dear heart. Kindly suggest that she
look at page seventy-four. Put me out of my misery.

I tried to open my eyes. The light hurt, hurt, hurt.

My love. All this, I do for you.

A man called out to me, anguished…and I recognized his
voice. Josh! It was Josh. “Angie? Angie! Are you all right?”

Another voice—Vane’s—spoke urgently. “She’s coming around, I
think. Angie! Talk to us. Wake up!”

I turned my head away, feeling as if I would throw up.

“Look!” It was Zenith, crouching at my side. “Her eyes are
fluttering!”

“Want Josh,” I managed to say.

“I’m right here, babe.” Then I felt his arms around me,
holding me, rocking me, his warm body anchoring me to this world, bringing me
back. “I love you,” he murmured over and over again, his lips brushing my hair.

I took a deep, shuddering breath and gazed up at him through
the black patches that partly obscured my vision. “I love you too,” I
whispered.

“What happened?”

“Mr. Abiba…he… I… Oh, it was awful!”

Josh pulled me closer. “I thought we’d lost you.”

“I’m better now,” I said. And it was true. After a moment, I
sat up, still in his arms. I squinted at him, thinking,
Why are there tears
on his cheeks?

“Can you tell us about it?” asked Zenith, taking my hand in
hers.

I turned to her. My vision was getting better, little by
little. “Not really. It’s all fuzzy. Sorry.” I made a face. “Ugh. My head is
killing me.”

“Here, drink this,” Valerian said, handing me a mug of hot
spiced cider. It smelled just like the cider my mother used to make at
Halloween. “Maybe it will help. Then you should rest.”

I sipped, and it did help.

“Yum. Thanks.” I took another drink. Now I noticed the
alcoholic tang, unlike my mother’s cider. I held the warm mug in my hands.
Black splotches still floated across my vision and the world still lurched
unpredictably, but things were getting better. I swallowed, wondering if it was
a great idea to drink cider when I’d just had a coma-seizure-near-death
experience. Or whatever it had been.

What the hell. It tasted good. I took another drink.

They were watching me.

“Um,” I said, suddenly shy. “Thank you. You guys are the
best. Help me up, Josh?” I settled into my chair again. Zora handed me the mug.
Vane took a lap blanket from the couch and tucked it over my legs. “I mean it.
Thank
you. I’m feeling much better now. Back to business. What were we talking
about before I had my…ah, episode? The flowers?”

“Yeah,” said Valerian, “the flowers.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, Angie? You’re still awfully
pale,” said Zenith.

“I’m better. Thanks.”

Josh peered at me. “Your color is coming back.”

“And my vision. Finally.”

“Good,” said Valerian, digging around in his pocket. He
pulled out a limp cluster of bedraggled flowers. “It’s time again. We ought to
keep eating them. Just in case.”

We ate another petal. Just in case.

Even me.

And then we hit the books again. What else could we do?

An hour later—we’d just eaten another petal—I stood up and
stretched, yawning. I hadn’t had another seizure. That was good. But I was
exhausted, my back and neck ached and I hadn’t found anything even remotely
useful. Not the tiniest little thing. Which was not good at all. I put my
current book—
Noises in the Closet
—back on the shelf. “This isn’t
working,” I said, to no one in particular.

Vane looked up from his book,
A Thousand and one Spells
.
“Give it a chance, Angie. We haven’t searched for long enough. You’re tired.
Maybe you should lie down.”

“No. We’re wasting time!”

“How is this wasting time?”

I didn’t have a good answer. I just knew it was. I snatched
a random book from the shelf—
Milton’s Hexes and Curses
—and tossed it
onto the table, throwing Vane a dirty look.

“
I’m
not wasting time,” Vane mumbled, “I don’t know
about you.”

“Kids,” said Valerian. “Cut it out.”

We went back to our books.

“Zenith,” I whispered a few minutes later. “That book you’ve
got. Which one is it?”

“
Ancient Spells
. See?” She held up one of the small,
hand-bound pamphlets I’d noticed earlier. “I’m about halfway through it. Might
be something here, I don’t know. But there are so many…how do I know which to
study? How do I know which will work against Mr. Abiba?” Her shoulders slumped.
“It’s hopeless, Angie.”

“Page seventy-four,” I said, “look at page seventy-four.”

Giving me a quizzical look, she flipped through pages. Then
she put the book down and stared at me. “Ringing spells! How did you know? I’ve
heard of those. Let me read a bit…”

I went back to my book but found it hard to concentrate. How
had I known what page to send her to? How odd.

About ten minutes later, Zenith stood up. “I think this
might be it,” she said quietly. “Maybe. It’s from this booklet. Page
seventy-four, just like Angie said. I found a spell. A ringing spell.” She bit
her lip. “It’s an all-around spell that’ll work on a wide variety of demon types.”
She let out a small laugh. “I can’t believe I just said that. The spell looks
encouraging but the book doesn’t say exactly what it does.”

“Read some of it for us,” I suggested.

“Well, all right.” She sat down again and propped the
booklet up in front of her. “It’s long. And it’s kind of hard to understand. It
doesn’t sound like a spell but it is. It’s this guy, Tobias, and he’s getting
advice from an angel. Here goes.” She began reading, her voice clear and
strong.

“
What are these remedies good for, he asked of the angel
Azarias. I beseech thee, tell me why thou hast bid me to encircle the demon
with the fruit of my imagining? And the angel, answering, said to him, If thou
createst a circle around him and cause him to thusly complete it and therefore
make it whole, the smoke thereof shall drive him away so that he comes no more.
”

Valerian scratched his head. “Jeez. That’s the kind of stuff
you’re reading?”

She marked the place with her finger. “Yes. Dense, isn’t it?
They’re all like that.”

“Zenith,” I said quietly, “can you read it again?”

She did.

“Sounds like gibberish to me,” said Josh.

“What does it mean?” Zora asked.

“I have no idea,” admitted Zenith. Then she made an
irritated
harrumph
sound and grabbed the candelabra. “This thing is
driving me crazy—I can’t see you, Zora!” She plunked the candelabra onto the
sideboard where our food waited, mostly uneaten. A drop of hot wax splattered
on top of the basket of dinner rolls. “There. That’s better.” She sat down
again and picked up her booklet, frowning at the entry in question. “Too bad.
It sounded good. It had potential but I don’t understand it.”

“I do,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You
do
?” said a very dubious Josh.

“Yes.” I looked at each of them in turn. It was so clear to
me—how could they not see it? “I do understand. Listen—it says to encircle the
demon with the fruit of my imagining. Get it?”

They didn’t.

So I repeated the line, slower this time, placing emphasis
on the words “encircle” and “fruit of my imagining”.

The others stared at me. Zenith put her booklet down.

“It’s so obvious!” I fairly shouted, “It’s
me
! My
paintings
!
On the walls of the Fine Arts Room. All connected by painted vines of ivy to
make a circle—the fruits of my imagination!”

“Holy
shit
,” whispered Valerian. He ran a hand
through his short hair.

“She’s right,” said Josh.

“Go on, sweetie,” said Zenith. “What else? Is there more?”

“Yes. A lot more.” I couldn’t sit still. My knees jiggled so
hard they set
Milton’s Hexes and Curses
to wobbling, and now it was in danger
of sliding off the edge of the table. I shoved the book to a safer position,
then stood up to pace around the table. “We have to ring the Fine Art Room with
my artwork…
with him inside it
! Encircling him. Trapping him. Just like
it says. And…then what? Something about smoke? About vanquishing him? He’ll
never see it coming!”

“Not exactly, honey,” said Zenith.

“Yes, exactly!”

Zenith picked up her booklet again, frowning slightly. “It’s
not that easy. You can’t just paint the room and…what? Hope that Mr. Abiba
wanders into it? That won’t work. He has to trigger the spell himself. He has
to close the circle. See? It says you have to ‘cause him to thusly complete it
and therefore make it whole’.”

She was right.

I stood near the bonfire, quivering. She was right.

But there had to be a way. I looked out the cave’s entrance,
pondering the problem. It was snowing even harder now, a blizzard almost. I
could no longer make out the mountains in the distance or even the crags and
cliffs that surrounded our dragon’s lair. All I could see was snow. Lots of it.
Swirling, billowing, frosting the outermost part of the opening ledge, blowing
in almost as far as the bonfire. I shivered.

“Angie,” said Josh, “what are you thinking?”

I faced them again. I felt the warmth of the fire on my
cheeks. “We trick him.”

“How?” said Zenith, leaning forward.

Something—everything—changed, just like that. I wrapped my
arms around my stomach, excited now. The dragon’s cave seemed alive with
possibility. I felt it and I knew they did too. I saw the hope on their faces.
We were tense, wound up, ready for action. Our lethargy of only a few moments before
vanished into thin air.

And just like that, I knew exactly what had to be done.

“We lure him into the Fine Arts Room,” I said, going back to
the table and sitting down again. “We tell him the surprise we’ve planned is a
special performance in his honor.”

“Oh,” said Vane, “he’d totally go for that. What kind of
performance?”

“We’ll get to that in a moment.”

“What’s the trick?” asked Zora.

“Picture this.” I closed my eyes, imagining it. “My
paintings ring the room. The performance starts and it’s amazing, like nothing
seen before at the inn. We call for Mr. Abiba.” I start to talk faster. “He
arrives. He’s thrilled! He’s enchanted by the performance. And then he sees the
best part of all, something I’ve planned just for him…the surprise within a
surprise!” I open my eyes and see them hanging on my words. “When he sees it,
he gets so excited he can’t think straight, he’s blown away…and—here’s the
trick. He doesn’t know it but I’ve painted the backs of the doors. It’s the
final part of my ‘ring of imagining’…and it’s hidden from view.” I was out of
breath, panting with excitement.

“Yes, yes!” said Valerian, nodding, gripping the edge of the
table, his knuckles white.

“And I say, ‘Hey, Mr. Abiba, can you please close the door?’”

“Oh!” said Zenith.

Vane blew out air through his pursed lips. He sounded
disappointed. “That won’t work.”

“No,” agreed Josh, “he’s way too smart. He knows every trick
in the book.”

“It
will
work,” I said, putting both hands flat on
the table and leaning forward. “He
will
fall for it.” I had their
attention now. “He will fall for it because I will be standing in the middle of
the room, wearing my wedding dress and that engagement ring he gave me,” I
looked at my husband, “offering myself as his bride.”

This was greeted with silence.

“Shit, Angie,” said Josh, “you can’t do that.”

“I’m not going to
marry
him, Josh! I just want to
throw him off his game! I’m a distraction, nothing more. All I want to do is
surprise him so much that he’ll do what I ask. I want him to shut the fucking
double doors of the fucking Fine Arts Room and close the fucking circle! Just
like in Zenith’s book!”

They stared at me. Josh looked away. “You don’t have to
swear,” he said finally.

“It’ll work,” said Zenith. “He’s an
Amorous
Demon,
remember?”

“Yes,” said Vane.

I took Josh’s hand in mine. Lifted my fingers to his lips,
where they’d been so many times before. “But I won’t do it if you don’t agree.”

His kissed my hand. His eyes met mine. “I don’t like it…but
you have to. It’s the only way.”

We sat in quiet at the table for a long moment.

“Angie, what do you need from
us
?” asked Zora.

I closed my eyes, trying to envision the Fine Arts Room.
“Okay. I need to have the ring of paintings finished by the time we call for
him. It’ll take a while, but he already knows I’m painting in there so he won’t
be suspicious.” I mentally filled the room with pictures connected by painted
vines of ivy, working out how much time it would take to complete the job. My
paintings would be no masterpieces, but what did that matter? “Three, four
hours. It shouldn’t take much longer. I’ve got a lot done already. I’ll dash
off the rest, using the big brushes he just gave me.” I flexed my fingers,
imagining myself actually
painting
with a Tennenbach brush. “Ironic,
isn’t it? That he gave me the very brushes I’m going to use to ring him with?
Anyway, we won’t let him in until I’m ready. We’ll tell him we’re doing prep
work for his surprise. That he isn’t allowed.”

“That won’t stop him,” said Josh. “If he really wants to go
in, I mean.”

“I know,” I said. “But I think he’ll stay away.”

“How long until you’re ready?” asked Zora.

“Several hours. This afternoon. How about we plan it for
just before dinner?” It was early afternoon. That gave me plenty of time, if I
worked faster than I’d ever worked in my life. My breath caught in my throat as
I realized something else had just changed. Our escape now had a timeframe. It
was scheduled. It was truly happening.

“Go on,” said Valerian. “What’s the rest? What about the
performance?”

“Actually, Valerian, you gave me the idea.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“A while ago, you told Josh and me something very
interesting about Zenith. Remember? When you came to collect us for breakfast
on Monday morning.”

“Ah, so I did.”

I turned to Zenith. “You’re a flamenco dancer!”

“I am.”

“I forgot about that!” said Josh, half rising from his seat.

“Oh my god,” breathed Zenith. “Josh—you play flamenco guitar?
I had no idea.”

“Why would you?” he said, his fingers making a showy
rasgueado
strum on imaginary strings. “You’ve never heard me play any! I studied flamenco
for years. I even went to Spain for a summer.”

“So there you go,” I said. “Flamenco dancer, meet flamenco
guitarist.”

“We’ll need to practice together,” said Josh.

“And I’ll need to choose a dress and do my hair and makeup…”

“I’ll help with that,” offered Zora. She turned to me. “And
I’ll help
you
to get ready too.”

“I’ll help as well,” said Valerian. “I’ll do anything else
we need. Stage. Set. A flower-covered arbor for Angie to wait under. Whatever.
I’ll do it.”

“Yes!” I said, nodding. “You can hide me in your arbor until
the perfect moment.”

“That’s good,” said Zenith.

Vane rapped his knuckles on the table. “Hey, you forgot
something. Me.”

We all turned to him.

Zenith clapped her hands. “Of course! How did I not think of
that? My teacher taught Charlie some flamenco songs! You’ve all heard him sing!
He’s got a beautiful voice. But Mr. Abiba has no idea he can sing flamenco—it’ll
come as a complete shock to him.” She turned to Josh, her eyes glowing.
“Charlie will sing with us! He’ll be part of the performance!”

“Mr. Abiba will love it,” said Valerian. “He’ll think he
died and went to heaven. And that’s before he sees his beautiful bride.”

I made a face at Valerian. “Fine. Great. But who is
Charlie?”

The room went quiet. Water dripped from somewhere deep in
the bowels of the cave. Outside a bird of prey shrieked, its call echoing
shrilly from the surrounding cliff faces. It sounded eerie. Ominous. Full of
portent.

“I am,” said Vane, sighing. “I’m Charlie. My real name is Charles
Buck.”

His real name? What the hell?

“And I’m Margarita,” said Zenith, not sounding like herself.
Her vowels had gone all soft and sultry. On second thought, soft and sultry fit
my Zenith. Fit her very well indeed. She met my eye. Smiled at me. Dipped her
Burnt Sienna head. Made my insides clench with desire. “Margarita Sanchez
Martinez. My friends call me Rita.”

I gaped at her.
Rita?

Valerian cleared his throat. “Um. My real name is Rodney
Applegate…but Valerian is so much more exciting, don’t you think?”

Nobody answered. Vane shifted in his seat.

“Well. I’m Anne,” said Zora, pulling her wild blond curls
into a loose ponytail and then letting them fall free again. “Anne Laurie
Applegate.”