by Kailin Gow
I approached, only slightly reluctant to leave behind
the flames that had so transfixed me. “Mr. Cutter...” my
mother began.
“Antonio,” he smiled broadly, looking me up and
down with a jovial air.
“Antonio, I don't believe you've met my daughter
yet.”
“Miss Mackenzy Evers herself?” Antonio held out a
hand to shake mine. I did so as politely as I could, my cheeks
turning furiously pink. I had always done my best to stay out
of the hair of my mother's employers – as the child of a single
mother, I had learned early on that concierges and bell-boys
made the best (and often only available) baby-sitters, and
that my unofficial “day care” would continue as long as I
avoided the glances of the higher-ups, who tended not to
look so favorably on twelve-year-olds trading stories of
celebrity sightings with the regular staff. But Antonio did not
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look at me, as my mother's old bosses had, as an unfortunate
imposition, a blot on the otherwise impeccable record of the
finest Event Planner the West Coast hotel industry had ever
seen. Rather, he even looked pleased to meet me.
“She's just as pretty as you said, Rose,” Antonio said.
“And looks just like you.”
My mother laughed. “Just the Asian side,” she said.
“The Italian hair and those green eyes are all her father's.”
Her laugh died out suddenly. She looked me up and
down with a sudden concern, as she always did when she
slipped up and mentioned my father, as if searching me for
signs of childhood trauma. But there were none to be found.
I had long come to terms with the story of my conception –
a somewhat romanticized account of my mother's brief affair
with an Italian financier who had passed through a Roman
hotel early in her career – and although I knew little about
him beside his green eyes and penchant for midnight gelato,
I was perfectly content with the idea that my mother and I
constituted a family all our own.
“I'm glad you've come, Mackenzy,” Antonio said.
“Are you enjoying the dance?”
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KAILIN GOW
“Oh, very much, sir!” I exclaimed.
“No 'sir,' here,” Antonio shook a mock wagging
finger at me. “We like to keep things simple here, informal.
I always tell my staff – what makes a luxury hotel isn't the
fine napkins or the glitz and glitter in the lobby, it's the
people who make a great hotel what it is. And we at Cutter
Imperial are a family. We all care about the hotel. We all care
about our guests. And that's what makes us the number-one
hotel in Aeros.” He laughed. “But I'm boring you, talking
business policy. You should be off with kids your own age.
With my son, as a matter of fact. Arrived back this morning
– but of course I haven't seen him for more than a minute or
two. He's probably gone out to get himself in trouble. Not
that I blame him, of course. I did far worse at his age.” He
chuckled.
“I'd like to meet him,” I said shyly. I knew that it
wasn't done for staff to mingle with the owners' children –
but this didn't seem like an ordinary hotel. Besides, my
senior year would be starting up in a couple of days, and –
although I had been reasonably popular back home – the idea
of finishing up my high school career alone and friendless
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Princes of Paradise (M.A.G.E. #1 )
seemed ever more likely as the start of the new term loomed
closer.
“He'd probably like to meet you!” said Antonio. “He
needs to make some friends before he starts school.”
“But surely he must have...”
“Nah,” Antonio shrugged. “I sent Chance off to Eton
years ago – he's been boarding in England and learning to
take tea with counts and dukes. Not my sort of thing, of
course – but he insisted.” He sighed. “Any school that
teaches fencing as a varsity sport is irresistible to the ten-
year-old mind. Plus, he has family over there – I thought it
would be good for him to get a proper education, things
being what they are in the U.S...”
The Erosion had massively weakened the American
economy, as transport between the current American
Archipelago had grown massively more difficult and
agricultural production in the ocean that had once been the
American Midwest had all but stopped. The best schools –
the best everything, for that matter – were increasingly in
Europe.
“What made him decide to come home?” I asked.
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KAILIN GOW
Few who could afford Eton's sky-high fees would willingly
choose an American school, although the town's Aeros
Academy, to which I was being sent thanks to the death of
an elderly and childless third-cousin, had a good reputation
as one of the toniest schools in the U.S. A reputation that was
growing more intimidating by the day.
“Decide, kicked out – same difference.” Antonio
spoke quickly, almost too quickly. “He got into a bit too
much trouble trying to sneak girls onto school grounds. That
ten-year-old swordsman didn't think too much about girls
when he went up there – but by eighteen...ah, well. Some
time in Aeros will be good for him. I don't trust the Brits,
Rose – too formal for my liking.” Antonio grinned, but his
smile no longer seemed genuine. It was plastic – almost
forced.
I smiled. I could sympathize with this mysterious
Chance. Playboy or not – certainly he didn't sound like the
class bookworm – Chance was likely to be as lost and alone
on day one as I was. Perhaps we'd make friends, I told myself
– perhaps, like his father, he'd overlook my lowly
background as the daughter of “the staff,” and we could
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team up against the cliques and challenges of senior year.
“See, Mac,” my mother was telling me. “I don't know
what you were so worried about. You won't be the only new
kid in the senior class. You'll have Chance there. You two
can help each other!”
Antonio grinned. “I'm sure Chance will be glad for
the company. He needs good, reliable friends. Perhaps you'll
help keep him in check. God knows he needs somebody to
do that for him.” Yet as he spoke, Antonio's smile vanished.
He was no longer talking about a rakish playboy, getting into
scrapes for seeing too many girls. His voice was too serious
for that.
In check? I looked up. Who was this mysterious bad
boy Chance Cutter – and how could I manage to keep him
from getting into trouble? I had my own problems to worry
about – a new school, a new life, this new place – without
worrying about someone else's? Yet something about
Antonio's smile gave me a shiver. Did he know something I
&nbs
p; didn't?
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KAILIN GOW
Chapter 2
The conversation between Antonio and my mother
turned once more to business, and I took this as my cue to
make a graceful exit. As much as I loved my mother, there
was something about this place, this night, that made me
want to be alone. Alone to watch the fire-dancers, the
flickering of the flames. Alone to cast my eyes over the grass
skirts and the fluttering flowers, the muscled chests of the
shirtless dancers.
The feeling of uneasiness I had about Antonio's
Chance began to grow. I felt as if my body, my blood, were
reacting to something in the air – like an allergy, a sickness.
The fire, the music, the throbbing beat of the drums and the
pulse of the melody, seemed to course through my body; it
overwhelmed me. I walked closer to the bonfire, my body
aching to feel the flames once again close to my skin, to let
them singe and caress me so slowly, so gently...
The music grew louder. All conversation subsided as
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the drone of the music, punctuated by the ever-more-rapid
beat of the drums, took over. I could feel my heart beginning
to beat to the rhythm – the loud, long wail of the singers
mingling with this passionate pulsing as the drummers struck
their hands against the stretched skins of their drums, again
and again. The flame at the center of the bonfire seemed to
grow brighter; as I looked into its white-hot heart, I felt all
at once that it was calling to me.
Come on, Mackenzy, it seemed to be saying. Come
here. Come join us.
I took a step closer. I could feel the heat of the fire –
so hot now that my skin was prickling and the hairs on my
arm grew singed – and yet I felt no pain. I felt only a strange,
dull pleasure in the heat – a pleasure that grew as the music
grew louder still, echoing in my ears.
Come on, Mackenzy. Come closer. Come with us.
Without knowing what I was doing, I took another
step towards the flame, shaking as I did so. All at once, I
wanted nothing more than to throw myself onto the bonfire,
to catch my clothing alight, to burn, burn with the fire and
the passion and the magic of this music, of this sound. I
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KAILIN GOW
wanted it to envelop me; I wanted it to become part of me,
to be one with the music and with the fire.
I took another step closer.
Suddenly, I was pushed back, coming back to my
senses as a group of masked male dancers made their way
onto the stage, their sweat-drenched bodies glistening with
effort as they began leaping and dancing into the air.
I looked around wildly, trying to figure out what had
happened. What had come over me? As I looked at the spot
where I had stood, so painfully close to the flame, so close
to danger, I was overwhelmed at my own stupidity. Didn't I
know I could have been killed? It would have been so easy
for a misplaced spark, a stray gust of wind, to set me alight...
And yet I had felt that force of desire within me, so
strong, so overpowering. I had wanted to get closer to the
flame. I had wanted to be burned. It was just exhaustion, I
told myself – I hadn't even finished unpacking, and the stress
of school tomorrow was making me nervous. I was just tired.
That was all it was.
The men's dance quickly distracted me. This was the
most skilled dance I had seen yet, an acrobatic set of jumps
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and kicks, as the dancers flirted with the flames, their feet
and arms lightly skirting danger every time their bodies
passed through the fire. One by one, the dancers were
reaching into the audience, pulling up women – mostly the
other hotel guests – to dance. They came – some reluctantly,
some (including one eminently flattered-looking woman in
her late seventies) with glee – eager to participate in the luau.
I tried to slink away as quietly as I could. The event
with the fire had unnerved me, and although I normally
loved to dance, I wanted to stay as far from the flame as
possible, lest that strange desire overtake me again. I looked
away, hoping no pairs of eyes would catch at mine from
behind the mask.
Yet one of the dancers seemed to fix upon me. His
face was hidden beneath a wooden mask decorated with red
and orange flames, but a look at his body alone was enough
to assure me that he was, without a doubt, the most attractive
of the men onstage. Even sparkling with sweat, his beauty
was clear. His body was not the lifeless chiseled marble I had
seen on so many Californian surfers – carefully sculpted
abdominal muscles that looked as dull and dead as the stone
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KAILIN GOW
they resembled – but a powerful, dynamic thing, full of force
and vigor. His power came not from hours at the gym, but
from something more. Something deeper.
It was the sight of this powerful body, so animal in
its strength, so alluring in its sexuality that made me hesitate
a moment before trying to get away. And this moment was
all the man needed. In a single movement, he bounded over,
taking my hands in his.
In that instant, I felt a sudden spark, mingled with
confusion. The strange feeling that had taken over my blood
earlier seemed to rise up again, stronger this time, as if I were
in the very heart of the flames themselves. I jumped back,
surprised at my own reaction. But as I looked at the dancer,
I felt not strangeness but familiarity – as if I knew this figure,
knew his touch, knew how it felt to be worshipped by his his
tongue, his hands, and his body as he made love to me over
and over again. Had we met before? Certainly not – I had
only been in Aeros a couple of days. But something about
the way his fingers held mine...
No, I was being silly, I told myself. It was just
exhaustion; that was all.
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“I should go,” I said. “I'm tired...”
But the dancer would have none of it. He grabbed
hold of my wrists and pulled me roughly into the circle,
moving his hips in time with the music. I watched with
amazement. Most guys I knew limited their experience of
dancing to a reluctant grind or two to an R&B song, but this
was different. This boy seemed totally in sync with the
music, his body connecting with the force of the rhythm, the
magic overtaking him. He wasn't just dancing; he was
making the music with his body, taking part in creating it,
his hips grinding so erotically to the rhythm, it felt as though
he was making love to me with his dance.
And I was moving with him. Even as I felt myself
resist, I knew it was too late. My body was swaying back and
forth in time with his. I could smell the sweat on him, his<
br />
fierce animal musk. Our bodies were so close together that I
could feel his hot breath on my face. As he held me close,
his body pulsing with the beat, I looked up into his mask and
saw two shimmering eyes filled with desire, brilliant and
blue like the sunlit sky, eyes that seemed to bear deep into
me, finding me out, knowing all my secrets. His gaze
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KAILIN GOW
frightened me. Could he see that deep, I wondered? Did he
know about the fire – about how close I had come to walking
straight in? About that feeling of connectedness – with the
flame, with the music, with this place – that had come over
me, that was now stronger than it ever had been before?
I had to break this spell. I had to come back to my
senses. I tried desperately to make conversation, hoping that
talking to this mysterious figure, having something as stupid
and banal as cocktail-party small talk, would break the
power that the flame had over me, that his hot sweaty body
had over me, making me clench with desire as his skin
touched mine, and his hips with his hardness came
dangerously close to my aching crotch.
“So, uh, do these happen all the time?” I asked,
feeling foolish as soon as I said it.
“Me having a hard-on while I dance on stage? No,
not often,” his husky voice said, almost mockingly.
Embarrassed, I stammered, “No, these dances.”
Again his tone was bored, defiant, like he was angry
about something. “The hotel puts these on, if that's what you
mean.” The voice was not what I had expected. It was light,
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almost dismissive – certainly not American. The accent was
tinged with the trace of something foreign, although where