Inn on the Edge (25 page)

“Oh yes, you certainly can,” said Mr. Abiba.

Josh stood there, motionless except for his poor bruised
fingers, which twitched and jerked and tapped on the tabletop, quivering,
shaking, never stopping their frenetic movements, making me wonder what the
gift was, anyway.

And then I knew. The antique guitar. It had to be.

Josh’s mouth worked. Slowly, so slowly, he removed every
shred of paper and ribbon from the gift and set them aside. The rest of us
watched, captivated—
could it be, could it be
—as he revealed a leather
guitar case of purest Raw Umber. A soft sigh went around the room. The case was
an old, well-loved thing, scratched and mottled by time and use, one of its
buckles bent and misshapen, a long shallow gouge on the top, a stain near the
end. It spoke of times gone by, of a cherished instrument with a long history
of its own. Josh caressed the leather, his eyes almost closed. “I can’t,” he
said again, but I knew he would.

Mr. Abiba waited.

Josh flipped up the latches—
snap, snap, snap
—then
lifted the top. His shoulders hunched almost to his ears as he leaned over the
open case, studying tuning pegs and frets and strings and nail marks and the
minute, precious details of the rosette. A gentle almost-whistle escaped his
lips. He gingerly plucked a string, tentative, as if he’d never played a guitar
before, as if he hadn’t performed a small recital on this very instrument. He
plucked it again, rich and soft. The low E? The A? I didn’t know. I didn’t
care. It was beautiful. Josh dampened the sound with the palm of his hand.

“Well?” said Mr. Abiba.

Josh, his hand still on the guitar, turned to look at him.
“I accept. And with all my heart, I thank you.”

Mr. Abiba nodded, smiling gently. “And with all
my
heart, I say you are most welcome.”

“It’s too much.”

“No, it is not. I know you, Joshua Taylor. I know you will
cherish it. I know you will do it justice. And I know that one day you will
pass it along to another young musician, one who is as deserving as you are.”

Josh didn’t answer. He patted the guitar one last time,
closed the case, buckled it, then lifted it from the table. Then he went back
to his chair at the far end of the room and placed the case at his feet with
his hand draped over it as if it were a beloved pet. I watched, frowning,
hoping I might be able to resist Mr. Abiba’s gift, whatever he had in store for
me. What game was Mr. Abiba playing? Why torment us then turn around and shower
us with affection and gifts we couldn’t refuse?

Did he
enjoy
making us squirm, making us struggle?

Worst of all, why did I so very badly want to like him
again?

Mr. Abiba turned to me. My turn. I gasped. Already tensing
up. Already struggling.

“Angela,” he said, his face somber. He spoke slowly,
enunciating every word. “My dear. Why are you so
furious
with me
?
”

I sat there, dumbstruck, my mouth working, no sound coming
out.

“Come now, Angela,” Mr. Abiba said, “stop prevaricating.”

What could I say? I couldn’t accuse him of having hurt
Zenith because, obviously, he couldn’t be trusted not to do it again—not to do
something worse. And I couldn’t let on that Josh and I were trying to escape, or
that we were set on getting help from the other Guides. So…what? What could I
tell him? The longer I wallowed in speechless confusion, the worse it was and the
guiltier I looked. So I threw up my hands and blurted out the least dangerous
accusation I could think of. “Fine. Fine! You’re right! I ampissed off.
You tricked Josh and me—just now, on the stairs.”

He banged his hand onto the table, making it rattle, making
me jump. “I
knew
it! Your eyebrows were scrunched up in a most
unbecoming manner, my darling.”

I tried to unscrunch my eyebrows. I couldn’t do it, which
made me even more furious.

Mr. Abiba made a concerned clucking sound with his tongue.
“Then you must grow a thicker skin, my dear. Everything we do here is in good
fun. No one is out to get you.”

He moved to pat my shoulder but I twisted away, feeling more
surly than I had in my entire life. I couldn’t let him mangle the truth so
blatantly! “All in good fun, Mr. Abiba?
Bullshit!
You manipulated Josh and
me into it!”

“Ah. The lovely handjobs.”

I didn’t answer.

“What is the harm in a bit of tomfoolery? Who was hurt by
it? Hmm?”

“That’s not my point.”

Mr. Abiba spoke in low, calming tones, a teacher now. “It’s
a beautiful thing, Angela, to try new ways of apexing. To practice the sexual
arts my Guides have been teaching you—sexual arts that I myself have codified
and refined and made available to all. Apexing is a bountiful, life-affirming
thing, truly it is. Do you not agree?”

“But you set us up! You were laughing at us—all of you!”

“Is that what you think?”

He was dragging me off topic, avoiding my accusation,
deflecting my questions with
beautiful this
and
bountiful that
. I
knew it but I couldn’t do anything about it. Clenching my jaw, I glared at him.
“You were mocking us!”

“Was I?” He looked over the wrapping paper-strewn table at
our rapt audience. “No, Angela, I was not. As I told you, we were telling
jokes. I myself told several amusing tales. Isn’t that right, everyone? We were
indeed laughing but not at you. My darling girl, everything isn’t about you.
Not all the time, anyway.” He squeezed my hand, then left his there, covering
mine. “So what’s wrong, Angela? You’re still scowling. Why are you so unhappy?
You can tell me.” His eyes became tender, worried. He leaned toward me, his
voice hushed—a best friend, a caring confidant. “Is it Joshua?”

Something let loose inside me, shifted, threw me off
balance.

“It
is
Joshua, isn’t it?”

Something huge that I hadn’t known was there.

“Tell me.”

“Yes! Yes!” I cried. “You’re right! It is Josh! He was
making love to me and…he called me Nikki!He
called me by her name!
”
Horrified, I buried my face in my hands.

“Dear, dear. Oh dear. My poor child,” whispered Mr. Abiba.
“That wasn’t very nice of him, now was it?”

I shook my head, blinking away tears and hiccupping, more
confused than ever. Where had this come from? The Nikki thing had upset me a
little but not like this. It didn’t make sense, falling apart over what had happened
on the stairs when there was so much else to worry about. Insignificant! A mere
trifle! And I wasn’t guiltless either—I’d been having my own trifle, about
Geoffrey.

But still. Her
name
. How could he?

“We’re…we’re newlyweds!” I wailed. And then I was bawling.

Mr. Abiba patted my shoulder.

“Angie—” came Josh’s anguished voice from across the table.
He half rose from his chair.

“No, Joshua! Let
me
handle her!” barked Mr. Abiba,
cutting him off. He ran his cool hand over my hair and down my back, sending
shivers along my spine. I trembled under his caress, melting with his touch,
feeling his warmth wash over me, wishing he would never stop, ever, for the
rest of my life. And hating myself for wanting it.

He didn’t stop, of course. How could he? It was how he did
his dirty work.

“Ah, feelings.” Mr. Abiba’s voice became even more soothing.
He moved his hand under the collar of my shirt and onto my shoulder, skin on
skin now, making me fairly moan with pleasure.

And with disgust—
and
with disgust!

“Emotions,” he continued. “They’re inconvenient, pesky
things, aren’t they? Jealousy. Hurt. Betrayal. I quite understand. Please look
at me, darling. Dry your eyes. Think about it. Be rational. You and Joshua are
in a special place, here at my beloved Inn on the Edge. The rules have
changed—there was complete openness and understanding on both your parts.” He
leaned in, his cheek pressed to mine, his fingers massaging the back of my
neck. I smelled cinnamon on his breath. His voice lowered to a deep, somber
register, a sound that made the skin on the back of my neck itch. “Or am I…
mistaken
about you?”

“No.”

He regarded me.

“You’re not mistaken—you’re right,” I admitted. “Josh asked
me first. And I said okay.”

“Then where’s the harm? What was so wrong about you and Josh
bringing each other to apexes on the stairwell? As I said, it was lovely. I
quite enjoyed your passionate lovemaking, even as I was storytelling with the
others. Please, Angela, I wish to know. Tell me—where is the harm?”

Where
was
the harm? I didn’t know anymore. “Forget
it,” I mumbled.

Mr. Abiba sat back in his chair, triumphant.

But then, from the corner of my eye, I saw Zenith do
something that brought me back from my befuddled state. She touched her nose
twice. Scratched her cheek. Reached into her pocket. Discreetly put her hand to
her mouth. Swallowed. A petal! She was sneaking a petal right in front of Mr.
Abiba! I perked up, watching her but trying to look as if I wasn’t. Remembering
it all, remembering everything but trying to look as if I didn’t. Vane ate a
petal too. And Valerian. And Zora. They were
all
eating the little
yellow petals! Josh nodded my direction, almost imperceptibly. He too put his
hand to his mouth.

Mr. Abiba’s eyes flickered from my face but he said nothing.

My befuddled state drained away. So it was true, all of it.
Mr. Abiba was trying to confuse me but he was a manipulative bastard and
something dreadful had happened last night! Josh and I hadn’t been wrong. As
soon as Mr. Abiba was finished with me, as soon as he moved on to something
else, I’d swallow my own petal, take back my anger, proceed with my escape
plans, regain ownership of my thoughts. I straightened my spine, in more ways
than one. “I’m okay now,” I told Mr. Abiba, dazzling him with my most winning
smile. “I’m just being a baby. You’re right—those hand jobs werefun.” I
leaned in, whispering, barely even making a sound. “I didn’t know I had a G-spot!”

“There—you see?”

“I do see.” I took a deep breath. “Oh yes, I do. Mr. Abiba, may
I have my present now? Please?”

He stared unblinking into my eyes.

“Please?” A little less sure of myself this time.

A disembodied voice—Mr. Abiba’s—spoke in my head, ice cold,
like a slap to my subconscious.

Angela, my little sweetheart. You play with fire! You
engage in a battle of wits against someone who is far stronger than you. You’ll
only hurt yourself.

I pushed, pushed,
pushed
against the voice, but my
efforts to rid myself of him failed.

He noticed, though. Oh yes, he noticed.

Charming little thing, aren’t you?
His lips twitched
into something resembling a smile.
Angela, I am so far out of your league
that you and I are in different universes. You haven’t a chance against me.

“Fuck you,” I whispered.

My head filled with his laughter.
But oh, you are so
adorable for trying! I do love you, you know.

In an abrupt, almost painful leave-taking, he vanished from
my head. I sat there next to him in a cold fury. Ignoring my state, Mr. Abiba
shoved the last box in my direction. “Open it,” he said quietly. It was an
order.

My movements wooden, I did.

Then I just about fainted dead away.

Tennenbach brushes.

He’d bought me
Tennenbach brushes
, the entire goddamn
set of them. Thirty-six handmade, imported brushes—the company’s complete line.
Thirty-six beautiful brushes with their lacquered black handles, arrayed in a
velvet-lined cherrywood case, from the miniature pointed brush with the tip
made of only nine hairs, on through the full array of flats, rounds, angles and
fans, ending with the very background brushes I’d been lusting after. They took
my breath away, those brushes. They glowed with potential. They were the most
wonderful gift I’d ever received, and that was saying a lot, since I’d been
married just a few days earlier and gifts had been raining in on Josh and me
for weeks. But it was true. The best gift ever.

Mr. Abiba had chosen well. It was as if he’d known my most
cherished, my most intimate desire. Not even Josh had had any idea how much I’d
wanted these brushes! Mr. Abiba’s gift tore me apart. How could I hate someone
who cared so much, who knew me so completely?

How?

The gift’s only flaw was the golden engagement ring threaded
onto the handle of the biggest brush. An old-fashioned ring, sparkling with
heavy diamonds and dainty filigree.

I couldn’t deny it. I was crazy about the brushes. But a
ring
?

If I hadn’t believed it before, I did now. He loved me. And
my time was running short.

And just like that, I knew what I had to do, for I knew him
too.

I didn’t make a stink about the ring. I left it in place,
not even bothering to take it off the brush handle. Then slowly, thoughtfully,
I closed and latched the Tennenbach case. I felt light-headed, knowing I had
the key to everything. We could do this! We could engineer an escape and set
everyone free! It was possible now because I finally
got
it. I finally
understood what made Mr. Abiba tick. It was simple. It was obvious. It was
right in front of our faces. He craved love. Attention. Adoration. His hunger
for our adulation knew no bounds—he needed our worshipful fawning even more
than he needed our sexual exploits.

We would use it against him.

So when the gift-giving was finally over and we were milling
around the dining room, admiring each other’s presents, I had no intention of
slipping an insipid note to Zenith or to one of the other Guides. I wasn’t
going to wait around, hoping someone else would come up with a plan—not with
that horrible ring hanging over me. I stood apart, taking deep, fortifying
breaths, trying to remember what the voice in my head had said, then deciding
it didn’t really matter. I was either going to try or I wasn’t, and not trying
wasn’t an option.

All on my own, I came up with a new plan. I figured I’d
start the ball rolling by making a speech. But first I had to organize my
thoughts. Decide what to say, which words to use. Figure out how to make Mr.
Abiba believe my words when he’d seen right through me earlier. I had to trust
that his hubris—an Abiba-worthy word if there ever was one—would put blinkers
over his eyes and cause him to miss my real intent.

I rapped my knuckles on the table. “Everybody! Listen up!”

Mr. Abiba turned from an animated conversation he’d been
having with Rhonda-Lynne. He gazed at me in surprise, his dark eyebrows high,
questioning. “Yes? What is it, Angela?”

“I have an announcement.”

“You do?” His voice rose in surprise. “Hush, everyone! Our
Angela wishes to speak!”

The room quieted. Everyone stared curiously at me.

I gazed back, steeling myself. Josh held his hands rigidly
at his sides, anxious, his mouth pursed. I frowned, wishing I’d had the chance
to speak to him about my new plan. He was concerned about what I might say,
poor guy, not to mention that he was still upset about the Nikki thing. I would
have been worried too, in his place.

Be careful
, his concerned eyes told me.
I love you
so much. And I am truly sorry.

I will
,I told him right back.
I love you
too! And I know you are. So am I.

He smiled then, giving me the fortitude I needed.

I cleared my throat. “Hi, everyone!” I gave a small wave to
the crowd. Well, it felt like a crowd. “First I’d like to apologize to Mr.
Abiba for my behavior just now. I’m so sorry to have ruined your delightful
event.”

Mr. Abiba bowed graciously from the waist, pleased. “No need
to apologize. Nothing was ruined. You exaggerate.”

“Thank you,” I said, mustering a fawning look. “I don’t
deserve it.” I turned from him, including everyone else in the room. “You see?
You see how quick he is to forgive? An example of how good-natured our Mr.
Abiba is—just one example of many! He’s generous. He’s entertaining. He’s full
of surprises. He has been so kindto us.”

I paused for effect.

Mr. Abiba stood motionless, speechless for once.

I continued my little monologue, my mind working so fast—so
fast. “From the moment we arrived at his inn, he’s guided us and taught us. His
hand has been in everything we’ve done. His influence is apparent at every
moment. Right, everyone? Right? It’s true—you knowit is!” I clasped my
hands together over my heart. “As if we needed more proof, look at the gifts he
gave us just now. Thoughtful, expensive gifts. Gifts that show how much he
cares for us. Gifts that prove he listens to us and supports us. That he
encourages our artistic endeavors. Such as my Tennenbachs. I
love
them,”
I said, my breath catching.

I allowed a single tear to roll down my cheek.

“He does! He
does
encourage us!” said Rhonda-Lynne.

There was movement. It was Zettia, coming in from the
kitchen. She went to stand next to Mr. Abiba, taking his hand possessively. He
didn’t react. His eyes were on me.

“Who else would do all this for us?” I continued, “No one
else—no one! Only our dear friend and mentor. So let’s thank him. Let’s give
him a giant round of applause!”

When the cheering had died down, I looked quickly at Josh.
He nodded. Zenith stood off to the side with Zora next to her. Their eyes never
wavered from my face.

“Mr. Abiba,” I said, holding out my hand, “come stand with
me.”

He did. In several long, graceful strides, his robes
billowing, he crossed the room. I smiled up at him. He loomed over me, taller
even than when he’d held me in the ghost town. Would it ever stop, this creepy
metamorphosis he was undergoing? Getting younger, growing taller, becoming ever
better-looking—where would it end? When Mr. Abiba looked like Michelangelo’s
David? Suppressing a shudder, I took his hand. It was cold. “For all the things
you’ve done for us,
we
want to give
you
a gift!”

He was genuinely touched, I’ll give him that. It wasn’t
fake. I saw the wetness spring to his eyes. I saw his jaw work, the veins
throbbing in his temple, the color rushing to his cheeks. I was standing right
next to him. I saw.

“Really?” he sputtered. “I don’t know what to say! This
is…unprecedented. Unprecedented.” His eyes searched wildly for Zettia, but she
wasn’t there anymore. “Entirely unprecedented.”

“Well that’s good!” I said. “It shows how much we adore you.
It proves that we love you more than any other guests you’ve ever had. Right?”

“Yes,” he said, blinking, “I suppose it does.”

He reached out to hug me but I pulled away. “Wait a moment,
Mr. Abiba. I’m not finished yet. We’ve decided your gift must be a surprise.”

Mr. Abiba narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. “A surprise?”

My heart pounded, making my face flush. “Yes—a wonderful
surprise! But we need your help so that we can discuss it in secret. Will you
help us to surprise you, Mr. Abiba? Please? We can’t do it without your
cooperation.” I laughed then, at my most charming. “Why, it’s impossibleto
keep secrets from you, as Josh and I well know.”

A smile tickled the edges of his lips.

Vane stepped forward. “The other Guides and I really want to
do this for you.” he said, following my lead, sounding ever so earnest. “A
token of our deep gratitude.”

“Please,” I said again.

Mr. Abiba considered our request. Then he swept his hands
grandly, taking in the whole room. “Secrets. Surprises. This is most unusual.
But of course I will help!” he said, magnanimous. “It will be my pleasure. How
may I be of service?”

He’d fallen for it! At least I was pretty sure he had. And
if he hadn’t, if he was only agreeing to the request out of morbid curiosity,
he must think there wasn’t anything we could do to harm him. Well we would just
have to see about that, wouldn’t we?

I glanced around the room, regaining my bearings.
Good
job
, mouthed Josh. Vane gave me an almost imperceptible nod. Valerian was
leaning on the table, biting his lip. Zenith and Zora had crept closer and were
now standing next to Valerian, looking hopeful.

“How may I be of service?” Mr. Abiba said again.

I took a deep breath. “I need a Tool.”

Mr. Abiba frowned.

“The Storybuilder,” I rushed on before he had a chance to
refuse. “All of it.”

“The Storybuilder—of course! What a clever little thing you
are. It’s the only way to keep a secret from me. There
is
no other way.”

“Then you’ll do it? You’ll let us plan your surprise in
private?” I held my breath, gazing up at him. I thought the voice in my head
might speak up, might say something sarcastic or boastful or threatening, but
it didn’t.

Mr. Abiba reached into his robe and pulled out a necklace, a
shimmering gold chain made of small, hammered links. Hanging from it was a
capsule just like the ones Geoffrey and Logan and Valerian and I had used to
get to the ghost town. Mr. Abiba’s personal Storybuilder pendant! He placed the
chain over my shoulders, letting the capsule fall between my breasts.

“Done,” he cried, laughing. “All yours. My gift to you.”

“Thank you,” I breathed.

But he wasn’t finished.

He fingered the capsule, caressing my breasts through my
shirt as he did so. The look on his face changed. He leaned in close, his lips
brushing my hair, a long arm encircling me, pulling me close, bringing my body
alongside his own. And then the voice spoke in my head, just as I’d known it
would.

Angela Taylor. At last I hold you again!

I fidgeted in his embrace but there was no escape. Besides,
he was holding me by a gold chain around the neck.

He fondled the necklace.
This is charming on you, my
love. May I call you love?
He didn’t wait for an answer but kissed me
tenderly on the little hollows above my collarbone. First one then the other.
Slowly. Carefully.

I sighed. I couldn’t help myself.

Let the others wait while we chat. I’ve taken care of it—they’ll
never know they missed anything.
His cool lips nuzzled me behind my ear and
kissed me under my chin.
I so wish you would wear the ring I gave you.
His little finger rested lightly on my right nipple. His thumb rubbed the
other. I smelled cinnamon again.
Will you wear it? For me?

And for a moment I was lost. I tried not to squirm,
because—I’d rather not admit this, such a traitorous body I own—his touch felt
wonderful. Breathtaking. Irresistible. My nipples were hardening. My loins were
contracting, sending those familiar heat waves down my legs and up my chest.

My love
, he murmured
.

I could feel it inside me, that love, shining and bright
with edges as hard as ice.

Love of mine, listen well. I shall play along with your
little game. You are working so very hard to outwit me and I simply cannot bear
to ruin your fun.

I stiffened in his arms. Fun? He thought this was fun?

But you ought to know there’s no point. None at all.
There’s nothing you can do to me, my love. The sooner you learn that fact, the
more content you’ll be. Oh Angela. I would do anything to make you happy. Don’t
you know that?

He kissed me again, on the mouth, and I suppressed a moan,
lost in the moment.

But wait.

What had he just said? Something important. Something about
playing games, about outwitting him, about secrecy…

Oh…
oh
!

He was doing nice things to my nipples, very nice things,
and I stopped caring what he might or might not have said. What did it matter
anyway? His large, cold hand cupped my breast, massaging it, making love to it as
no one ever had, not even Zenith. Through mixed shivers of delight and disgust,
I remembered something from before, something that had happened in the ghost town,
something Mr. Abiba had done. I sucked in my breath, my body reminding me of a
glancing touch of pure light, a touch of pure liquid beauty. There was
something else too. Hadn’t Mr. Abiba hinted that he wasn’t allowed to make love
to me?

But why?
Why
wasn’t he allowed? What was stopping him
from using everything in his power to entice me to have sex with him? He could
do it! He could take me by the hand and lead me away, and there would be no
resistance from me—no, none at all. I yearned for his body, for his newly
sculpted chest and his youthful arms corded with lovely veins. I wanted nothing
more than to run my hands down his hard stomach and to explore what lay below.
I wanted that pure light inside me again—I wanted
him
inside me again.
Oh, how wonderful it would be!

All true. Yes.

But I also wanted to spray myself down with disinfectant and
take a bath in fingernail polish remover.

He smacked his lips, grinning. The bastard knew what he was
doing to me.

“Stop it,” I hissed.

And it did stop. It faded away—the want, the shivers, the
heat waves. All of it gone.

And that right there
is why I love you, Angela
Taylor
.

“Why?” I asked, curious in spite of myself. “What did I do?”

You have no idea, do you?
He took my chin in his
fingers and gazed into my eyes.
Then I shall do my best to explain. You put up
a wall. A small, insignificant wall—nothing that could stop me but a barrier
nonetheless. Do you know how many women could do what you just did? Only you.
Only you.

I didn’t say anything.

You, my dear, are truly remarkable.

I just stared at him.

You don’t believe me, my love? You need more? Then I
shall give you more. Do you remember the train game? Of course you do! You were
remarkably good at it. Your reaction time was very swift. Your involuntary
sexual response was the strongest I’ve ever encountered. You were so eager, my
love. You embraced each sensation I threw at you and came back for more. And
oh, what you did to me! How you ignited my passion! What a delightful little
surprise you were!

He shook his head, remembering.

But that’s not all. You stopped the game! No one has ever
stopped the train game. Until you, I didn’t even know it was possible.

I blinked. I spoke aloud. “I derailed it?”

No. You stopped
it. There’s a difference. You
wrested it away from me. You took the train into yourself—you took control of
it. You broke my charm!
My love, you are the only person ever to have
done such a thing. And I’ve been doing this for a very long time.