Inn on the Edge (29 page)

To a person, they looked embarrassed.

“We should have told you before this,” said Zenith… Margarita?
Rita?

No,
Zenith
.

“Wow,” said Josh, shaking his head. “Just…wow. We were
suspicious of the Vs and Zs when we first got here—”

“But later, we forgot,” I said, interrupting him, “what with
all the sex. All those apexes! And those irresistible Guides.”

“Mmm, yes, those Guides!” Josh smacked his lips. “They’d
make you forget anything.”

Vane laughed. “You guys were pretty irresistible yourselves.
We
all
wanted to teach your first Lesson!” He turned to the others.
“Didn’t we?”

Zora giggled. Valerian blew air out of his nose. Zenith
batted her eyes.

“But Mr. Abiba chose me!” said Vane, pretending to fan
himself. “My
god
. The Invisa-Lover…whew!”

My insides did a flip-flop as I remembered.

“Anyhow, about the names,” said Zenith, bringing us back.
“He gave us new ones when we became Guides. There’s a whole ceremony involved.
And lots of sex. We weren’t supposed to tell you they weren’t our real names.
But, hey. We weren’t supposed to plot an escape either.”

I laughed.

“He already has names picked out for you two,” said
Valerian.

“Oh?” said Josh.

“Valentino. You’re going to be Valentino.”

Josh snorted. “Valentino? I’m not a Valentino! Never!”

“You’d be surprised how painless it is to take on a new name
around here,” said Zenith.

Perhaps. But she would never be Margarita to me.

“How about Angie?” Josh asked, pointing. “What name did he
choose for her?”

“Zenobia,” said Zora.

“Are you
kidding
me?” I said. “Zenobia? I don’t want
to be a Zenobia!”

All six of us broke out laughing at the same moment.

Then we laughed even harder when we realized what we’d done.
The atmosphere inside the cave changed yet again. It grew warmer. Homier. More
welcoming. The faces around me glowed in the flickering candlelight, familiar
and comforting. We were easy together. We liked one another. At one time or
another, we had all been lovers. We knew one another intimately, as only lovers
could.

Now we were friends as well.

As the laughter died down, I found myself looking out of the
cave’s entrance. The snow had almost stopped and I could see fleeting patches
of blue sky. How much time had passed? Was Mr. Abiba getting impatient? We’d
eaten two petals and were soon due for a third. “Okay,” I said, looking around
the table, taking charge again. “Vane. Zenith. Valerian. Zora. Josh.” I waited
a second. “Charlie. Rita. Rodney. Anne. And…Valentino.”

Josh gazed at me, his face a study of careful innocence.
“Yes, Zenobia? What can we do for you?”

I waited for a long moment.

Then I banged both hands on the table, making a loud
thonking
sound.

“Let’s
do
this!”

It was four hours later and we were almost ready.

I’d spent the time feverishly painting my heart out,
throwing every iota of creativity at the walls of the Fine Arts Room, filling
them with the “fruit of my imagining”. I’d painted as fast as I could, using
big, expressive strokes, using wide fields of color—using everything I’d ever
learned from every teacher I’d ever had, every critique I’d ever sat through,
every art book I’d ever studied, every painting I’d ever done up until that
very moment.

A frenzy of magnificent creativity…inspired by fear.

Every touch of brush to wall had to be perfect, beautiful,
worthy enough to trigger the ancient spell. I painted landscapes and portraits
and so much more, each image blending seamlessly into the next, my new work
added around and between the older work I’d already done, everything running
together in a glorious ring of color. In my heart of hearts I knew this was the
masterpiece of my entire life—my personal Sistine Chapel. Who knew if I’d ever
create such passionate, painful works again?

Well, if this was what it took, no thank you. I’d rather
decorate cakes in a bakery.

It was done except for the most important part. The double
doors.

I dragged my paints and brushes over to the entrance. Then I
just stood there in front of the doors, paralyzed by their blank surfaces.

“What are you going to paint on them?” asked Josh, coming up
behind me. He was taking a two-minute break so that Zenith could stretch a sore
calf muscle.

I tugged a drop cloth into position. “Hell if I know.”

“Um. That could be a problem.”

It was already five o’clock. The plan was for the
preparations to come to an abrupt halt in half an hour. We would stop painting,
quit practicing, put away tools and art supplies, make sure everything was in
order and get dressed for the grand finale. That didn’t leave much time for me
to finish the doors. Only half an hour! Half an hour to paint the most
important pictures of my life. And I didn’t even know what I was going to put
on them yet. An hour from now—oh, how time was
flying
—assuming I came up
with something, it would all begin. We would call Mr. Abiba, start the music and
dazzle him with our brilliance.

What
was
I going to put on the doors? My rush of
creativity hadn’t ended, had it? Not now! Not when I needed it most.

I was tired, so tired.

Josh massaged my shoulders, my neck, my back. He leaned in,
whispering, “You have paint on your ear. Charming as always.”

“What color?”

His hands reached around to the fronts of my shoulders.
“Some sort of yellow.”

“Ummm. That feels nice. What kind of yellow? Cadmium Yellow?”

He grunted. “If you say so.”

Zenith joined us. She was wearing black lace-up high heels.
Flamenco shoes, for making
thump-thump
noises and kicking up her feet.
They made her taller, different somehow. More Spanish. More like a
Rita
.
She put a hand on each of us, pulling us close, adding herself to our intimate
little moment. It was as if were her natural place, as if she’d always belonged
there, between us, claiming us. “We’re going to do this. We are.”

“Yes,” Josh said, reaching across me to kiss her straight on
the mouth.

She kissed him back. Then she kissed me. “We’re going to
free ourselves! Never forget it.” Her hand was on my butt, squeezing and
caressing. I sucked in my breath, wanting her, wanting Josh, wanting them both.
My mind cried out.
What about Vane? What about Vane? They’re a couple! Damn
it, they’re a couple!

Zenith pulled away, ending it. Not that anything was going
to happen, not now, not when the world was about to explode. What was wrong
with me, to be thinking about sex at such a time? Was it the glamour spell,
making me act this way? Zenith must have known what I was thinking. She patted
me gently on the cheek. “Later,
amiga
. I promise we’ll talk. But for
now, I have to take your man away. Hey!” She gestured at the still-unpainted
doors. “Angie! You know what you should paint there? Mr. Abiba on one side and
yourself on the other. Bride and groom. Get it?”

Then she pulled Josh away and they were gone.

Bride and groom.

I stared at the doors, already seeing it in my mind’s eye.
Mr. Abiba and me. Bride and groom. I felt sick to my stomach but Zenith was
right. It would be perfect. Mr. Abiba wouldn’t be able to keep himself from closing
the doors, even if he was suspicious. He would
have
to see us together,
man and wife, our hands reaching for each other, straining to touch where the
doors met in the center. Our hands would come together, yes…but only whenthe
doors met securely. Only when they completed the circle.

Perfect.

Better yet, as even bigger bait, the bride’s hand would be
holding the engagement ring. I would attach it to the painting, to the door,
with a short golden cord. He would see that ring. He would think he was to close
the doors, pluck off the ring, bring it back to me and put it on my finger. And
marry me. Only it wouldn’t happen that way. If all went well, he would have
vanished in a puff of smoke by then. If all went well.

I went to work.

There was pounding behind me. I knew it was Valerian nailing
together his bridal arbor, but I paid no attention, not even sparing a glance
for those nicely bulging muscles as he swung the hammer. The flamenco music
started up again, fiery and insistent and loud. I ignored it. Zora came and
went, leaving the Fine Arts Room and then appearing again a few minutes later,
apologizing each time for interrupting my work. She brought in armloads of
flowers. And clothing. Suits for Josh and Vane. A red dress full of ruffles and
black lace for Zenith. My wedding dress. A veil. A bouquet. I ignored those
too. I had to.

Through it all, I painted. And painted. And painted.

Too soon, Valerian was beside me, his hand gently resting on
my forearm. “It’s time, Angie,” he said.

I applied one last eloquent line to Mr. Abiba’s handsome
chin, bringing his face into perfect focus. His image gazed longingly at my
image on the facing door, its hand reaching for mine.

“There,” I said, setting down my brush with a satisfying
clunk. “It’s done. What do you think?”

Valerian stared at the painted doors. “Disturbing,” he said
finally. “The way they look like they’re really holding hands. How did you
do
that?”

“I don’t know. I had to.”

He opened the doors and closed them again slowly, just to
see the painted hands touch. Then he spun in a slow circle, following the
unbroken chain of paintings and ivy vines around the room to where they
connected with the portraits on either side of the doors. “It’s brilliant. Mr.
Abiba won’t be able to resist. Come on, Angie. We’re running late.”

I turned around…and sucked in my breath. The room had been
transformed. How had I not noticed all these preparations he and Zora had been
doing during the past four hours? Had I been so single-mindedly focused on my
work? It wasn’t only the bridal arbor, although that was lovely, all wreathed
with flowers and ivy. No, it was everything together, the whole thing. It was
the rose petals scattered on the floor. It was the translucent shades of
Viridian Green slotted over the track lighting, infusing everything with their
delicious hue. It was the spotlight aimed where the performance would soon take
place. But most of all it was my paintings, surrounding it all, lending an
otherworldly, vibrant underpinning to the room and all it held.

I felt faint. “It’s…wonderful.”

“It is. Too bad it’s all going up in smoke.”

“Shhh, Valerian! Don’t! In case he’s listening in.”

“If he is, then he already knows what’s up. But Angie, Mr.
Abiba isn’t listening in. I just saw him. He’s busy refereeing a game of nipple
soccer.” Valerian looked at me through lowered eyelids. “Don’t ask. All I can
say is that your pal Geoffrey just made two goals for the red team. And the
surprise player on the blue team is—ta-da!—Rhonda-Lynne.”

I smiled. “
Nipple
soccer?”

“Believe it or not.” Valerian glanced at Josh and Vane and
Zenith. He lowered his voice. “Know what? You can hear them practicing that
Spanish stuff all over the inn. I don’t know how, but you can. Mr. Abiba is so
turned-on he can barely contain himself. Believe me. I saw the look on his
face. He’s playing nipple soccer with the rest of the guests but he can’t wait
for six o’clock.”

“Oh,” I said, “that’s good.” I tucked a wayward lock of hair
behind my ear. “Right?”

Valerian leaned in closer, never taking his eyes off me.
“Very good.” His lips brushed my cheek. “Angie, you look…hot. All covered with
splotches of paint like that. With your glowing eyes and your crazy hair. Hot.
Like a madwoman version of Vincent Van Gogh.”

Which was exactly what I felt like.

Valerian didn’t look so bad either, in his black T-shirt
with the rolled-up sleeves and a tool belt buckled around his waist. Would
Valerian mind if I ran my paint-covered hands through his hair? Would he mind
that they were covered with Raw Umber and Phthalo Green and Cadmium Orange?
Because I really wanted to feel that lovely spiky sensation between my fingers
again. I reached out, then stopped myself. It was only the glamour spell making
me feel like that. The glamour spell. I put my hand down.

“I need the bride! I need the bride!”

I turned around to see Zora holding up my wedding dress,
making impatient “come here” motions with her arms. “I’ve gotta go,” I told
Valerian, leaning in and whispering into his ear. “You know, I wish we’d had a
chance to finish what we started before this whole thing fell apart. I really
do.”

“Me too,” he said, “oh god, me too.”

“Angie, come and put on your dress!”

I went.

Zora led me to the far side of the bridal arbor, where we
had a bit of privacy. I stripped down to my underwear, shivering. She held the
dress out for me but I didn’t take it just yet—I couldn’t. It was my
wedding
dress
. It was freshly washed, just as Mr. Abiba had promised, each pleat
perfectly ironed, each section of lace carefully spread out and pressed, the
yards and yards of satin skirt flowing in long, graceful lines. It looked
better than the day I’d bought it. Whoever had washed it had done a
painstakingly professional job.

I fingered the fabric, letting memories wash over me. The
blustery spring day when my mother and I—as giddy as teenagers—had picked it
out. The three fittings it had taken to get it to conform to my body, hugging
me in some places and flowing in others. I remembered my mother and my aunt
helping me to put it on just before the big event. And the wedding itself, of
course. How happy Josh and I had been! How our eyes had followed each other
around the room! How we’d ached for each other! And I remembered the promises
we’d made, how we’d sworn everlasting love. How we’d sworn to be each other’s
one and only, never touching another person, forever and ever, until death did
us part.

Little did we know that forever would only last a day and a
half.

Well. There was nothing to do but to get on with it. If we
survived the coming escape, I’d have plenty of time to worry about forever. I
let the satiny fabric slip through my fingers. The dress wasn’t important now.
It was bait for our trap. I would get over it. But what about my fledgling
marriage? What about Josh and me? I didn’t want to get over that! I wanted to
be married to Josh forever and ever, even though I was going through the
motions of
marrying a demon
.

Was I crazy? How had my life taken such a bizarre turn? I
barely recognized myself.

And where exactly did all of this leave Josh and me?

“Are you okay?” said Zora, frowning, looking at me
worriedly.

I sighed. “Just give me the dress.”

“Wait. We have to get this paint off you first.” She set the
dress on a chair and took a wet rag to me. She scrubbed my hands, my arms, my
cheek, my ear. “Okay. That’s better. Now you can put it on.”

I slipped it over my head.

“Zora…” I said.

She tugged it down over my breasts and hips, until the white
satin skimmed the floor. “Mmm? What is it?” she murmured as she slipped my
strappy wedding shoes onto my cold feet. Then she turned me around and fastened
the row of tiny buttons that ran up my back. “Lovely,” she whispered, “so
lovely.”

“What if this wedding is nothing but a big trap? For me?”

She made a soft snorting sound through her nose as she
flattened the lace of my bodice. She straightened the pointy ends of my
sleeves. Buttoned the two pearls under the wrists. But she didn’t say anything.

“What if he tricks me into actually marrying him?”

She sat me down and took my hair out of its ponytail holder.

“What if he plays mind games with me and I can’t get him to
close the circle? What if it all goes terribly wrong?”

She took my hair in her hands, picked up a few stray strands
from my neck.

“What if we’re just spinning our wheels and he’s been in
control all along?”

She drew a brush down the length of my hair in slow passes, taking
extra care with the tangles. The cap I’d worn back in the dragon’s cave hadn’t
done my hairstyle any favors. “Honey, we’re doing everything we can to save
ourselves.”

“I know. But what if it’s not enough? What if he’s laughing
at us, Zora? At
me
?”

The brush hesitated at the crown of my head. “He isn’t.”

“I hope not. Ow! That hurt.”

“Sorry.” She took her fingers to the problem area. “You know
what
I’m
worried about? None of us have any idea what we’re doing. At
all. What do we know about magic? Nothing! Those books didn’t exactly spell it
out for us, did they? What’ll happen when Mr. Abiba closes those doors over
there? We don’t know. Anything could happen. Or…nothing could happen. We’re
clueless!” She tugged on my hair. “Jeez, honey. This is taking far too long.
What did you do to your hair? Did you take an eggbeater to it?”