Sacred Fire

by Tanai Walker

  “Duh,” I drawled.

  “Fine, I’ll stop,” Sandra said. She reached forward and began to snatch up the draw. “I thought I could share this with you, but I see you’re like everyone else…so close-minded.”

  I covered her hand with my own. The contact startled me, and by the quick draw of her breath, I could tell it startled her too.

  “I’m sorry. Please continue.”

  She looked annoyed but didn’t move her hand.

  “Please. I’m glad you’re here, Sandra, and that I can share this with you.”

  She withdrew her hand as a slow grin spread across her face. “You’re supposed to turn over the third.”

  I did, saw a feathered quill, and sighed, unimpressed. “That has to be an unemotional card.”

  “Like you would know,” Sandra said. “It means that you observe life and record it all in great detail.”

  I bent my brow wryly. “How interesting. You rigged these.”

  “I did not.”

  “Then it’s a card trick.”

  Sandra turned over a fourth card. “You are ruled by the nature of the fox. You’re a loner, and you live in shadow…mysteriosa.”

  “Could the fox be a symbol for the beast?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  Yet there I sat, enrapt, half listening to the words she spoke, more attentive to the lips that spoke them. And her eyes. And the pulse of her neck as she talked. I barely heard a word, the urge to kiss her growing by the second. Maybe it was the gin. Maybe it was the magic in the air.

  When she was satisfied with the cards on the table—a bell, a well-dressed lady, and a drunken man—she laughed with finality, noticed me staring, and said I was full of shit. Otherwise, she seemed pleased with the reading.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You know what,” I said.

  She chuckled. “Tinsley Swan, you’ve got that look in your eye. Like you could devour me in one bite.”

  “Don’t joke like that.”

  She walked behind me. She started in on my shoulders, and I craned my head back to look at her.

  “What do you want?” she whispered. “I can go. I can stay. I’d like to stay.”

  “The beast.”

  “Tinsley, I didn’t see a beast this morning,” Sandra said. “Yes, it was scary, not anything I would want to find under my bed, but it didn’t look vicious. It looked frightened. Wounded.”

  I reached out and touched the side of her face. Her eyes were like smoky quartz and smoldered as they searched mine. My fingers disappeared in her hair. I felt her ear, the back of her neck. I pulled her closer, felt her breath as she exhaled, then a vacuum of air as she inhaled, and finally, her lips were on mine.

  After a time, she moved away. “I didn’t run because I saw you.”

  She kissed me again; this time there were tears on my face. She wiped them away with her hands. We moved to the couch and kicked off our shoes. She undid a few of my buttons and purposely mussed my hair. She said she liked to see me tousled. I said I liked to see her nude, and flushed at having said such a thing.

  We went upstairs. I showed her the bathroom, my bedroom, and then my office.

  “You picked the smaller room to sleep in,” she said. “You definitely are all business.”

  She checked out my equipment and ran her fingers over the rolltop. I watched her nervously. One day, I would have to show her the secret room and the postcards. But not tonight. I wanted to forget about the beast and all its trappings.

  I took her to my bed. She sat on the edge and removed her shirt and jeans. Her bra and panties were a matching black lace affair. Sandra crawled to the edge of the bed, took my hands, and tried to pull me down with her. I didn’t budge, but with a tug of my own, I urged her to her knees and leaned down to kiss her. As we kissed, we sank slowly to the bed, limbs and lips locked.

  “You’re strong,” she whispered. “I felt it last time. Your energy.”

  “You’re drunk,” I teased her. I touched between her legs, felt her wetness through the crotch of her panties. “And you’re horny.”

  I slid my pants and underwear off, and she finished with the buttons on my shirt and unclasped my bra. She ran her fingers over the mark above my right breast, a seven-sided star inside a circle in what looked to be reddish brown ink. The sides were elongated and tapered into seven points that extended past the line of the circle.

  She bent her head to kiss it, but I stopped her.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you to touch it,” I said. “It feels wrong.”

  She kissed my lips. “Okay.”

  Sandra lay on her back. She beckoned me to follow. I covered her body with mine, relished the feel of her skin against mine. She was soft, supple, and fragrant. I nuzzled her belly and breasts, felt her breathing grow ragged. I lowered my head, moved with her until we were pelvis to pelvis, and pushed against her until we were even closer.

  Sandra gasped at the contact. We thrust our hips together and back apart. Our legs parted at the thighs and tangled below our knees. I felt her open up to me. We shared a dozen kisses of varying lengths. We whispered curses, and oaths, and pleas that sometimes sounded like our names.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, she moved to leave. I reached out for her in the darkness and only caught the warmth she left on the air.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” she whispered sleepily.

  “No,” I said. “Stay.”

  Chapter Three

  By midweek, the beast had not reared its horned head. With days left until the final change, I tried my best to go about my usual routine. The smells were still a problem throughout the day, but Sandra was always close to soothe me. She came to my office Wednesday morning dressed for business in a pink skirt with matching heels and an ivory-colored blouse that tied at the neck.

  She brought me an Earl Grey latte and sat in my spare chair sipping on a frosty coffee with a pile of whipped cream on top.

  “Rick Dixon is giving me hell about this stupid stadium contract,” she said. “You know he has a major boner for wayfinding graphics.”

  I made a face at the comment. “Seriously.”

  She grinned and leaned over. “How are you this morning?”

  “Fine and dandy,” I said.

  “Missed you last night,” she whispered.

  “I needed to catch up on my sleep,” I whispered back. “I put a present in your office.”

  Her eyes widened. “For real?”

  I laughed. “Yeah.”

  “If this is your way of trying to get rid of me so you can play with your fake livers—”

  “I’d be broke by the end of the week.”

  She laughed. “I know where you live.”

  That said, she sauntered out of my office to claim her prize, and I actually felt good.

  Her perfume lingered. Or maybe it was the beast’s sense of smell. I sipped my tea and wondered.

  Someone rapped on my door frame, and my father of all people peeked into my office. Our building happened to be one of his properties, but in fifteen years, he had never visited me at work. He filled up the door frame, a tall, lanky man with mahogany skin and gold wire-rim glasses.

  “Tinsley.” He smiled.

  “Dad.” I walked around my desk to greet him. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine,” he said. “Except my only child never calls me.”

  “Dad,” I drawled as I pulled out a chair for him and perched on the edge of my desk.

  “I heard Zidonis was sold,” he said. “How are things under the new management?”

  “Fine. I’ve been forced to promotion.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That’s a big move. It’s about time.”

  “It’s a pain,” I admitted. “I never get to work from home anymore.”

  Dad patted my knee with one of his large hands. “Well, I’ve always admired your work ethic, Tinsley.”

  I smiled slightly. I knew my father thought my
lifestyle odd, but he would never say a word about it. Like me, he lived a solitary life. Most of his social activities were closely related to work. He never remarried or even dated as far as I knew. I could hardly imagine my father being romantically inclined. Our relationship often felt more like one of his business arrangements than anything. Whenever we spent time together, it felt as if he were checking on one of his properties. I suspected that rang true of any other relationships he had.

  “I was thinking of visiting Uncle Charles,” I said.

  He frowned. “That old buzzard?” he asked. “It’s time for you to cut ties with those people.”

  My father despised the Tinsley family, especially after what happened in ’83. Even before that fateful summer, he seemed to merely tolerate his in-laws.

  “I came to see you about Salacia,” he said. “This historical site scene is very big on the island. I was thinking we could offer it for sale as a private or public property.”

  “You want to sell Salacia?” I asked.

  Dad sighed. “Let that place go. After what happened I’m surprised you’ve held on to it for so long.”

  “I don’t need the money,” I said.

  He chuckled. “You do plan on getting old and retiring someday, don’t you?”

  “Do you?” I asked.

  He laughed. “I do and I assure you, I plan to go big.”

  “Of course you do, Dad,” I said. I thought about Salacia and the cost to keep up the place each year. There really was no reason to keep the house. After my mother’s death and my aunt Quinn’s disappearance, I inherited what was left of the Tinsley holdings after decades of fiscal irresponsibility.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  Another knock at the door. Sandra entered flashing her million-dollar smile.

  “Tinsley, I didn’t know you had a visitor.”

  Yeah, right. I surmised with dread that I would have to introduce them.

  “Sandra. This is my father, Stephen Swan. Dad, this is Sandra Ortega, the new management here.”

  My father stood and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You as well,” Sandra said wryly.

  “I came by to discuss some family business with Tinsley,” he said. “It seems we’ve reached the part of our negotiations where I back away and give her time to think.”

  Sandra beamed. “You know Tinsley; she doesn’t jump headfirst into anything.”

  My father agreed and placed his arm around me in a side hug. “Let’s go to dinner soon.”

  We said our good-byes and he left.

  Sandra let out a squeal. “Wow. I see where you get your stiffness.”

  “Ha,” I said.

  “I had to come by and be nosy.” She grinned. “And to thank you for my pin.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  She leaned closer to whisper. “I’ll thank you properly tonight.”

  With a wink, she left me standing there in my office alone.

  “How am I supposed to get any work done?” I asked the empty office.

  My next move was to somehow salvage what remained of the day. I checked email and the headlines at the Democracy Now website, until finally, I was able to settle down enough to get started on my main task for the day―making an animated diagram of a heart dissection. I uploaded the file of a previous heart and began to make an exact copy in separate three-dimensional parts.

  Before I knew it, two o’clock had come, long past the lunch hour. I nibbled at some avocado salad from the previous night’s dinner while I worked.

  My cell rang. I recognized the number on the readout as Jimmy, brother of Cosmo and regular provider of postcards for my collection for the past twelve years. I let it ring until the voice mail picked up the call. Jimmy dutifully left a message.

  I listened to it immediately.

  Jimmy’s voice echoed through a haze of static. “Hey, Tinsley, I know you’re probably busy at work. I’ve got a beautiful girl in my clutches, or let’s just say I have access to her. Come by this evening and we’ll discuss her.”

  I grinned and hoped this was not a farce. Another girl? Jimmy was very curious about what Cosmo had sold me. I reckoned he had been holding out on me in hopes of one-upping his brother.

  At five o’clock, I walked down to Sandra’s office to arrange dinner plans.

  “You’re taking me for Italian,” she said. “Out. Away from the Batcave.”

  She said she would text me in two hours and that the place was not too far from my house. It gave me plenty of time to go see Jimmy.

  I drove to the Heights, a large suburb just beyond Midtown. Jimmy’s shop squatted on an otherwise empty lot at a busy intersection. He came limping out of the back as I entered. There was no quaint bell, and everything was strewn about. Crushed and torn boxes overflowed with VHS cassettes, records, reels of film, comic books, and sports memorabilia. Jimmy dealt in what he called collectibles. There was not a piece of china, crystal, or cameo to be found in his shop. There was a shelf full of action figures both in and out of the box, and another of a mixture of books from trade back to leather-bound. A few dusty red leather chairs flanked a coffee table with Playboy magazines from the seventies fanned out beneath a ray gun prop from some science fiction film.

  “Tinsley.” He beamed.

  I had never asked about his condition, but guessed it to be a severe scoliosis. The affliction seemed to affect his spine and caused it to be severely curved. One of his hips tilted higher than the other, causing a hitch in his gait. His shoulders were hunched and askew in the same angle as his pelvis. Otherwise, he was surprisingly handsome with frosty blond hair and pale lashes over his green eyes. His good looks compounded his physical defects.

  “You survived my brother, I see.” He limped backward.

  “He was nice enough.”

  He seemed to think we shared a deeper camaraderie than we actually did, and always tried to insinuate himself further into my life. I tolerated this less than good-naturedly, and it probably came off as bitchy.

  “Did Cosmo make you participate in one of his tea ceremonies?”

  I nodded.

  “What a queer. No offense there, Tinsley.”

  “None taken,” I said bitterly. “What have you got for me?”

  “A beauty,” he answered, and removed a glossy photo from beneath a stack of paperwork, then slid it across the counter.

  I glanced down at the photo, which turned out to be a flyer.

  “What is this?”

  He grinned. “Take a good look at it.”

  I saw familiar heavy-lidded eyes and curves beneath a pink corset with black laces, but the picture was modern, in color, with a soft gauzy photo-editing filter. Garish pink, glitter-script type read Girls. Live Shows @ Little Foxes.

  In smaller print was an address of a street I knew vaguely.

  “Is this Photoshopped or something?”

  “She’s hot, isn’t she?”

  “This is one of the girls I have already.”

  He laughed and leaned on the counter. “You’ve been looking at those black-and-whites too long, Tinsley. Time for you to see some real live Technicolor girls.”

  “Have you seen her?” I pointed to the picture. “With your own eyes?”

  “Yeah, that’s Leda,” he said, his voice taking a sly tone. “I saw her just last week.”

  “Impossible.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Go check her out for yourself. This is a special guest invitation I was given to hand to someone discreet. They are very selective when choosing their clientele.”

  I barely heard him. My horned Golden Goddess, this so-called Leda, lay on her stomach dressed in a corset, stockings, and garters with bows, on a pile of cushions surrounded by black. She looked directly into the camera, a slight smile on her parted lips.

  “This is so strange. Cosmo—”

  “What did he have for you anyway?” Jimmy asked. “Nothing as good as the stuff I get.”

&nb
sp; I inspected the flyer closely in the dim light of the shop. Perhaps Jimmy was right and I had been staring at those old postcards for so long I was beginning to see the girls everywhere.

  “She’s a fucking model too,” he said and whistled. “She’s the face of this new tequila coming out in July―Bacchanista.”

  I looked up at Jimmy. He nodded suggestively.

  “Is this place…legal?”

  He shrugged his misshapen shoulders. “It’s not like anyone is tossing money at dancing girls. In fact it’s very classy, very discreet, definitely—like I said—your type of place.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Just go in and tell them Jimmy sent you, but don’t expect the royal treatment right off,” he explained. “You can see Leda or any other girl they have for a private show, and things can get more intimate if you’ve got the cash.”

  I made a face of disgust. What I disliked most about Jimmy, besides his outright crudeness, was his assumption that I was some aging yuppie with a secret fetish, like he had something on me.

  I glanced back down at the flyer. “It doesn’t seem the sort of place I’d be interested in, Jimmy. It looks shady.”

  He seemed a little upset by the remark. “I thought you were a big wheel, Tinsley.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, a professional broad who knows what she wants and goes for it.”

  I almost laughed in his face. “I’m a bit more complicated than that, Jimmy.”

  “So it’s a maybe?” he asked and reached out. “Then give it back and I can hand it off to someone else who can appreciate it.”

  I held on to the card. “Well, can’t you get another?”

  The corners of his lips pulled down and he groaned. “No. Like I said, Little Foxes is not the kind of place that lets just anyone off the street in.”

  “I’ll give you fifty bucks for it. I may decide to go.”

  He stared at me for a moment and grinned. “So you were shitting me about not going.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He nodded in appreciation. “I get it, Tinsley. You like to play it close.”

  I dug out my wallet, but he waved me off. “Keep the flyer. Just don’t forget to tell that dickhead Claudio that it was me who sent you.”