Inn on the Edge

by Gail Bridges

  Josh stared at me, his eyebrows raised. “Angie? Are you okay? What were you going to say?”

  “What? Oh, sorry.” I rubbed my temples, took a deep breath. The pain was getting better. Slowly. “I don’t recall, exactly.”

  “You were splitting up tasks for us. So we don’t all search the books for the same thing, remember?” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s the matter? You looked like you were going to faint just then.”

  I sat up again, feeling better. My head was almost back to normal. “A bout of light-headedness, I guess. It passed. I was talking about tasks, huh?”

  “You were on the third thing.”

  I nodded. “Yes. Give me a second. I remember now, I just have to put it into words.”

  “Well?” said Valerian, not waiting a second. “What is it?”

  I met his gaze, taking my time, letting the final pains shoot weakly through my head and disappear. I chose my words carefully. “All right. The third thing is research. We should learn how to fight Mr. Abiba—or his kind—directly. See what his vulnerabilities are. Find out how to get rid of him.”

  “Kill him?” asked Zora, wide-eyed.

  Valerian nodded soberly. He was holding Our Favorite Demons to his chest. “If we have to. Yes.”

  Zora steadied herself by holding on to the bookshelf. “I don’t know. It’s hard, you know? Even after all this…after everything he’s done…”

  Zenith held her once-injured hand to her chest. “I could.”

  “But we might not have to,” said Vane. “We might be able to send him back to where he came from. Banish him. Whatever. There might be something in one of these books that’ll tell us how.” He stared at the bookshelf, frowning. “I’ll look for it.”

  Zenith sighed. “And me.”

  Josh tapped his book. A puff of dust rose from it, making him sneeze. “Anything else, Angie? I’d like to get to work.”

  I looked at them in turn, thinking how unexpected it was that they were all turning to me for direction at this critical juncture and how naturally the role fit. Me, guiding the Guides! I studied their dear faces, remembering the lovemaking I’d shared with each of them…with energetic Vane, tiny, bouncy Zora, muscular Valerian, and Zenith—wonderful, kind Zenith. And of course my very own Josh, who was funny and gifted and caring and the person I loved most in all the world. Finally I shook my head. “No. I can’t think of anything.” Then I frowned. Perhaps there was something else? “Wait! Josh. I think you ought to look up something called…um…radiances. There might be a chapter about them in your book. Look it up, will you?” I let my gaze rest on the Encyclopedia Satanica,wondering why it seemed somehow dangerous. “Okay. Now I’ve finished.”

  “Fine,” Josh said, already leafing through the book. “If it’s here I’ll find it.”

  Quiet now, we pulled off our mittens and settled in with our chosen books.

  Pages turned. The fire popped and crackled. Snow fell heavily outside.

  I switched books. The Illustrated Guide to Demons might have potential. I was only ten minutes into it when I sighed, irritated. The book was shockingly difficult to read, with small print and convoluted, archaic language. Not user-friendly at all. The demons all had foreign-sounding names. And where were the promised illustrations?

  There were Edimmu and Choronzon and Shedim. There were Lilin, the night spirits. There were angel demons that slept with human women, such as Azazel and the Nephilim. The sex demons, the Incubi and Succubi, had entire chapters devoted to them, which excited me—progress—until I found myself caught up in lists of names and dates and who was the half-human offspring of which particular demon, and whether said child had inherited any magical aptitude from his or her demon parent. Horrible, boring stuff that made my eyes water and try to close in protest.

  I needed answers! The book was a waste of time. I reshelved it.

  Where was the picture of Mr. Abiba? Where was the description of our own personal demon and the instructions on how to vanquish him? In which book? Where could I find it? I stared at the rows of books, frowning and shifting from foot to foot. Too much time was passing. We had a bookshelf full of reference material but it wasn’t getting us anywhere. I narrowed my eyes. Were these books nothing but an elaborate distraction? Could it be?

  But there wasn’t anything else to do, so I chose another. Demons in the Mist. At least the title was mildly humorous.

  Zora switched books. So did Vane.

  More pages turned. Valerian served himself a bowl of beef stew. Zenith chose another book. The candles on the candelabra flickered. The one in front of me guttered and smoked and had to be replaced.

  And then I found something interesting. Very interesting. “Listen to this, everyone!”

  Five pairs of anxious eyes gazed expectantly at me.

  I held up Demons in the Mist. “Everyone’s heard of an Incubus, right? A male sex demon?”

  “Yeah,” said Zora, “but Mr. Abiba isn’t an Incubus. He never actually has sex with any of us.”

  “Right,” I said, trying to slow my heartbeat, “he’s not an Incubus. So what is he? According to this book, there are several sub-types of Incubus.” I frowned. “I mean Incubusses. Or is it Incubi? Whatever. There’s something called a Dander Devil. And something else called a…let’s see…a Night Spirit. And a truly horrible thing called a Barbed He-Banshee.” I paused. “But I think our Mr. Abiba is…an Amorous Demon!”

  Valerian let out a slow breath. “Amorous? An Amorous Demon? There’s such a thing? It seems like such a contradiction.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? But the description,” I tapped the book, “sounds just like him. Mr. Abiba is a walking contradiction! Kind and caring one moment, and a monster the next. Right? You know what I mean. Let me read what it says.” I skimmed the page and found the bit I wanted to quote.

  “He is characterized by his dual nature. The Amorous Demon’s grand legacy is his generosity, his kindness to those who do not oppose him, his boundless capacity to love and his skill in engendering adoration for himself in those he cherishes. By all accounts he is a proper gentleman who delights in the finer things in life. He is, however, also famous for his dreadful temper and his bouts of unprovoked cruelty.”

  “That’s him all right,” said Josh.

  “Is there more?” asked Zora, leaning forward.

  I shook my head. “That’s it. It goes right on to the next sub-type. Sorry.”

  Valerian opened his book. “At least we have a name to put on him.”

  “Yep,” said Josh.

  “Amorous Demon,” said Zenith. She made it sound like a curse.

  So now you know. Touché.

  The voice in my head sounded surprised.

  “So now…we know,” I said slowly, not surprised at all. Feeling better than I had all day, I went back to Demons in the Mist.

  Only two or three minutes passed before the next discovery. It was Zora. “Look!” she said. She held her book open wide—Potions and Poultices and Poisons—and turned it around for us all to see. “Our yellow flowers!”

  “That’s them all right,” said Zenith.

  I studied the picture. “They sure are. Right down to the Cadmium Orange stamens.”

  “What does it say?” asked Valerian, leaning forward.

  Zora turned the book around again, reading. “They’re a mild agent that…let me see…blocks undesired glamours. And other things. It’s a long entry.”

  “What’s a glamour?” asked Vane.

  Josh sat up with a start. “Hey, I can answer that!” He was still studying the Encyclopedia Satanica. “I read about radiances, like Angie suggested, and came across something called a glamour. Just a minute.” Josh turned pages until he found what he was looking for. His fingers skimmed the entry. “They’re a type of spell that makes the recipient think certain things are…richer. More intense. Better than they really are.”

  “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 s
hall 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.”