by E J Frost
“Look,” I say, getting a little annoyed when my second favorite sweater lands on the floor. “Whatever I wear’s going to be covered by my work smock anyway. Why do you care?”
He turns around, holding a cream knit minidress that definitely was not in my closet a moment ago. “Try that on.”
With an exasperated shrug, I shed my towel and wiggle into the dress. It fits perfectly, like everything he’s not-found in my closet. And it’s beautiful, which I admit grudgingly as I do a little twirl to see it flare around my thighs. He tosses me a pair of black suede ankle boots, which he also did not find in my closet. The kitten heels are low enough to walk in but high enough to show off my calves. They’re as gorgeous as the dress, and they make me feel like a million dollars.
“Feel good, don’t they?” He watches me take a few steps in the boots. At my nod, he says, “You should feel good about yourself, sweet meat. More often than you do.” He moves toward the door, collecting my breakfast tray as he goes.
I stare after him. Listen to him pad down the stairs, humming something that sounds suspiciously like the Stones’ Gimme Shelter.
He cares about how I feel about myself. The demon who wants me with him – whatever that means – cares more about my self-image than any boyfriend I’ve ever had. I’m not sure if I should be flattered, or horrified.
Evonne wolf-whistles when I walk through the clinic’s front door and Lin appears in my hearth-room before I’ve even had a chance to start grinding the coffee beans.
“You had time to go shopping?” she asks, eyeing my outfit. “I was sure you’d be holed up with the Sexybeast all weekend. Tell me you didn’t get that on sale. You did. I can tell by how disgustingly pleased you look with yourself. You hit the Basement without me, didn’t you?”
I shake my head. No matter how many dinners together we’ve missed of late, I’d never, ever go to Filene’s Basement without Lin. Her taste is miles better than my own and I’ve never seen anyone so determined to hunt down a bargain. “A gift from him,” I say.
“Oh, God.” She smacks the back of her hand against her forehead dramatically. “It’s those European men. They all have amazing taste. Is he hung like a horse? I bet he is. They all are.”
I choke around the edge of the bag of Bruegger’s Gingerbread that I’m trying to tear open with my teeth. “How would you know that?”
“I was married to one, remember? Zian was French-Chinese and he had the biggest thing I’ve ever seen. It should have been in the Guinness Book of World Records.” She pulls out the stool tucked under my workbench and flops onto it dramatically, a move that would land me on my backside if I tried it.
“Somehow I don’t think that makes you an authority on the penis size of all European men,” I say. I’m sure Jou could give her ex a run for his money, although that’s not a topic I’m willing to discuss. Not with Lin; not with anyone. “Speaking of men, how was your weekend? Pick a lot of apples?” I give her a speculative eyebrow.
“Yes, actually. There’s a peck on your desk.”
I nod. I noticed it on my way in. My mouth’s already watering with thoughts of what the demon might concoct. Apple pancakes. Apple crumble. Apple pie. The crust would be the same deep golden-brown as his skin . . .
I shake myself and attack the stubbornly sealed bag again.
“You’re welcome,” Lin says, and smiles when I mumble a belated ‘thank you’ around the plastic edge. “You did sleep with the Sexybeast, didn’t you? Come on, Zee, even for you it just can’t be that complicated.”
“I’ll tell if you do.” I sigh as the bag finally yields. “God, there’s vacuum packed and then there’s vacuum packed. You’d think these were going up on the space shuttle.” I pour the beans into the grinder and Lin waits while it whirrs.
“Matty and I didn’t make it past the first date.”
“Slut,” I say affectionately.
She shrugs. “Carpe diem. Now tell.”
“Fine. Yes, I slept with him.”
“Thank God!” Lin exclaims. “I was beginning to think you’d taken a vow of celibacy after Saul.”
“Just because I don’t jump into bed with every man I meet—”
“Your loss,” Lin says, with a shake of her ponytail. “Anyway, I’m glad the dry spell has ended.”
I pause in pouring the ground beans into the filter. “I bumped into Saul this weekend, actually.”
“You did?” Lin sits up straight on the stool.
I sigh and focus on the coffee apparatus. “It hurt, Lin. It shouldn’t hurt anymore. But it does.” All of it still hurts. Seeing Saul again. Knowing Jou set me up to prove a point. I understand his point, and I understand that he doesn’t understand why it hurt me so much. But it still hurts.
“Oh, it’ll always hurt a little. It’s been, what, two years since my divorce was finalized, and it still hurts.”
I glance up, surprised. She’s always seemed totally over her ex. “But you’re with Matty—”
“And you’re with the Sexybeast. Doesn’t make any difference. You move on, but the hurt is still there. I’m not sure it ever goes away. Ask me again in a decade.”
I smile at her, because Lin always talks this way, like we’ll still be partners and friends ten years from now. And then my smile wilts at the edges. If the demon has his way, the only place I’ll be in a decade is with him, in Hell.
“That’s not a very happy look,” Lin says, calling me on it immediately. “What’s up?”
I shrug one shoulder and set the coffee machine. “I’m conflicted.”
“Between Saul and the Sexybeast? C’mon. I mean, I only met Saul a couple of times and he seemed like a nice enough guy but there’s really no comparison.”
No, there’s not. But not in the way she thinks. “Jou’s a little . . . alternative.”
“Alternative?” She laughs. “Is he Rastafarian or something? With those dreads he could be. God, they’re gorgeous. So what? You can’t possibly object to him being a little counter-cultural.”
I can object to him being a demon. And wanting to make me one. Or whatever a seggurach is. I’ve got no illusion that it’s something I’d want to become. “He’s very alternative. More than I’m comfortable with.”
“Wait a minute, you’re not going on about him switch-hitting again, are you? So he likes men, too. So what? He’s clearly very into you. The way he was looking at you the other day. Whew, it gave me shivers.” She fakes a shiver and I roll my eyes.
“That’s not the issue.” She clearly hasn’t been speaking with her brother. Or maybe Wen-Long is keeping his brush with the infernal to himself. I’ll have to call him later and ask him to keep it that way.
“Then what is?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
It’s Lin’s turn to roll her eyes. “Too complicated?”
“Lin, honestly, how would you feel if a guy asked you to give up everything you know . . .”
“He doesn’t want you to move back home with him, does he?”
Close enough. “Something like that.”
“Wow, he got serious fast. How long have you known him?”
“A few days.” Although it feels like much, much longer.
“Well, he must feel it’s right. Where does he come from anyway?”
“Somewhere warm,” I mutter. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to give up everything and go off with some guy I just met—”
“Why? Because you’ve got such deep roots here? What do you have, a second cousin once removed out in Andover or something? Don’t be stupid. There’s nothing holding you here. Okay, fine, maybe he’s jumping the gun a little to ask when you’ve only known each other a few days. But maybe he knows it’s right. Haven’t you ever felt that way? Haven’t you ever met someone and just known it was right?”
I take a deep breath, inhaling the wonderful smell of brewing coffee. No, I never have. I’ve been in love, or thought I was, but I’ve never met someone and immediately known it was right.
“Have you?”
“Yes.” Her mouth tightens and I flinch, because she must mean her ex and I didn’t mean to bring that subject back up. “Once. When I was still in med school. I met him in Fort Lauderdale. We had one of those Spring Break things. Best week of my life. Then I went back to school and he got assigned overseas. He was in the Air Force. You know, like Top Gun? He asked me to marry him long-distance, from Azerbaijan or somewhere. I could barely hear him the line was so crackly. He had to ask me three times before I understood what he was saying. I sent him a care package of socks and underwear as an engagement present. He sent me a ring that he must have bought on a bazaar. I swear it was tin. Two months later, he was killed. They said it was a training accident. And I’ve been settling for second best ever since.”
“Oh, Linnie—” I say, aghast.
She flips her ponytail over her shoulder, putting it behind her. “If he’s sure this soon, well, maybe he’s right. Give it a chance.”
I rub my forehead uncertainly. Could she be right? Could he? “I don’t know. It’s such a big change.”
“Coffee’s ready,” she says, signaling an end to our heart-to-heart. I pour, stir in sugar and milk. I hand Lin her cup and pick up Evonne’s and Ruth’s cups to take out to them.
As I back out of the door, Lin says, “Carpe diem, Zee.”
Seize the day. I nod, but I don’t know if I can. And what if what I seize ends up destroying me?
I take a break from brewing to sneak an apple off my desk and discover that Evonne has left me the mid-month invoices to review. Biting into a fabulously crisp Granny Smith, I sit down and begin working through them, ticking them off against my appointment calendar. I pull the invoice for Michelle Palladino, because I’d rather she have the blood work before I charge her, but I sign off on the rest of them and return the thick stack to Evonne. Thirty-two invoices, without Mrs. Palladino’s. Even if a few don’t pay right away, it will still be our best month to date.
On the way back to my office, I poke my head into Lin’s. “Hey, good month, huh?”
She glances up from writing a note on the bright yellow paper she likes to use. “Not bad. And we both managed to get laid. A banner month, all things considered.”
I shake my head and retreat. “The apples are really good, thanks.”
“Friday night,” Lin calls after me. “Foursome.”
“Not a chance,” I call back. Not because what she’s suggesting is as lewd as it sounds, but because I can well imagine what dinner with Lin, her boyfriend and Jou would be like. Pick on Tsara-time. No thanks. Being one-on-one with the demon is challenging enough.
When I return to my hearth-room, the smell hits me immediately. Green grass. Growing things. The richness of the fertile earth. Moisture and blood and lymph. New life. Whew, I’ve been trying to improve the potion, but that smells like a major improvement.
Fuck, that’s tasty, sweet meat.
I jump at the demon’s thought. I’m brewing.
I know what you’re doing. It’s making me hard all the way over here.
What are you doing?
Reading.
That sounds innocuous. Suspiciously so. What are you reading?
Shibari, the Art of Japanese Rope Bondage. Thought I’d brush up. Lots of other ways I can tie you up.
I should have known. I roll my eyes even though I know he can’t see it. I hope he’ll be able to taste my disgust.
Nope, disgust’s got no taste. Not to me. I heard that thought loud and clear, though. You can’t shield for shit.
I wasn’t trying.
Mmm. Whaddo you think goes with a little light bondage reading? Café Estima or Colombia Narino Supremo?
I recognize the Starbucks blends, even though I don’t generally drink either. I don’t have those at home.
Yeah, maybe somethin’ more exotic. The Ipanema Bourbon sounds kinda tempting. Probably doesn’t have real bourbon in it, though. Just like that duck tour. Your world’s full of false advertising. In Hell, you get what’s on the label. Fiendyke’s got fiends in it. Soulfield’s got souls. Fuckin’ Ipanema Bourbon, probably comes from Wisconsin.
I don’t want to ask, because I’m not sure I want to know, but the same crazed impulse that’s driven me since the demon crashed into my life forces the thought to the front of my brain. Where are you?
Borders.
He’s invaded my bookstore. You’re downtown? About two blocks away if he’s at the Borders on School Street. My body tightens for absolutely no good reason.
Nope, Burlington. Parking downtown is Hell.
He would know. Why are you at the mall? No, wait. I don’t want to know.
His rich, wicked chuckle slides through my mind. Lotsa neglected housewives doin’ the retail therapy thing. Good huntin’.
Stop. I mean it.
Here comes one now. Fresh outta the salon. I can smell the acrylic. Let’s see what she does if I flash her the cover . . . oh, yeah, that got her attention. Here she comes.
Stop!
What’s the matter, sweet meat? I’m not gonna fuck her. I’m not even gonna feed off her. You stuffed me so full last night I got a pot belly this morning.
Unlikely. He’s got the tightest six-pack I’ve ever seen. I snort aloud, the sound echoing a little in the cavernous space of my hearth room.
Whaddo you think she wants? Huh, health, wealth and happiness. Fuckin’ predictable. You humans need to come up with some new desires. Those are so last century.
I rub my hands over my face and try to shake his thoughts out of my head. I’m brewing. Leave me alone.
Aww, c’mon, sweet meat, talk to me. I’m bored. Stealin’ souls off these mallrats wouldn’t challenge an imp. How ‘bout I drive into town for a quickie?
Absolutely not! But my breasts and belly tighten crazily at the thought.
Yeah, you’re right. I’m too full to take any more without rupturin’ a gut and you taste too good when you’ve been doing your greenwitch thing for me to resist. Although . . . I could just bend you over your cauldron—
No!
Killjoy. I’ll spend the afternoon huntin’ smokers. That’ll use up a little charge. They’re so easy to find in this decade it’s almost not sporting, though. All I gotta do is check the nearest doorway.
I really don’t want to hear anymore. But that’s a lie. I’m fascinated. I knew he was feeding off me during sex, but I didn’t understand the dynamics of it. How often do you need to feed?
Depends on what I’m doin’. When I’m topside, every week or so. Why?
I’m just curious. And I am. There are moments when I think I’m beginning to understand him, and then there’s the rest of the time, when I feel like I don’t know anything at all. Certainly nothing that can help me.
You thinkin’ of holding out on me? Seein’ how long it takes me to starve? His thought goes flat and hard.
No. I wouldn’t do that. You know I wouldn’t do that.
Good. ‘Cause ‘no’ stopped meanin’ ‘no’ around the time you let me tie you up.
That spiderweb sense of constriction around my wrists. I shake my head. ‘No’ still means ‘no.’ I stopped saying it.
Yeah, you did. Let’s keep it that way. ‘No’s’ not my favorite word outta you. I like ‘yes, yes,’ and ‘harder, harder’ better . . . oop, Miss Acrylic here wants to talk business. Wealth an’ beauty. Ciao, sweet meat. See you at six.
I feel him slide away, the hot pressure of his presence receding to a dim awareness, like the body-memory of really great sex the morning after. I feel a warm surge between my legs at the thought.
I shake it off and return to my potion.
Chapter 29
There’s an intercom in my hearth-room, but it only works on the odd day. When the energies I’ve called don’t interfere with its temperamental electronics. Today either I’ve closed my casting circle better than usual or I’ve summoned less juice, because the intercom buzzes while I’m ladling the magic milk into containers.
/> I re-trace my circle widdershins. Once I’ve broken the circle, I walk over to the intercom and hold down the talk button.
“Tsara, there’s a Timmy Karr in reception asking for you.”
“New client?”
Evonne clears her throat audibly. “I don’t think so. She says she’s from the Column Museum.”
A nervous ruffle runs down my spine. I shrug it off. I don’t have anything to be nervous about. The Museum wanted King Solomon’s ring; they got King Solomon’s ring. It’s not my fault it was a little worse for wear. “If she’ll give me five minutes, I’d be happy to see her.”
Five minutes later, with the magic milk bottled and dated, I stand next to my desk while Evonne shows a short, smiling, older woman into my office. Her hands are too small and frail for the extremely firm handshake she gives me.
“Timothea Karr,” she says, her words precisely enunciated and slightly accented, although I can’t say right off where her accent’s from. “Please call me Timmi.”
“It’s very nice to meet you.” I stumble over ‘Timmi’ and decide to give it a miss. She hands me a cream business card with a gold outline of a temple on it.
“Curator of Iconic Art and Late Antiquity,” I read off her business card. “Wow, I don’t really know what that is.”
“It’s not as impressive as it sounds, believe me.” Her smile crinkles the corners of her bright black eyes. “Your office is very harmonious, Tsara. May I call you Tsara?”
I nod. “My partner’s a feng shui practitioner. She designed the offices.”
“Very nicely balanced. Although I feel there should be a bit more Earth, if I may say so.”
I force myself not to flinch. My Element. And there’s no reason she would have named it unless she was testing me. Which means the good Curator is a practitioner and she’s sensitive enough to sense the source of my magic. That’s a talent I don’t have, and I didn’t even get a buzz off her when I shook her hand, so she shields better than I do, too.
I’m not ready to let on to any of that yet, though, so all I say is, “I’ll mention it to Lin.”