Carpet Diem

  “Do you know, I think I used to have something like this,” she said. “I can’t remember what, though. Isn’t that funny?”

  She slipped it over her wrist, but she was so delicately built that what was almost tight on Harriet’s wrist hung loosely around hers.

  “Oh dear,” she said, exhibiting how it slipped over her hand easily, “I’m not sure it will stay on.”

  Harriet stared. Her brain was clearly working, but slowly. Simon’s was in panic mode. She’d given away half the necklace for nothing.

  Now what?

  “I’m sorry,” Cassandra said. “And it is such a thoughtful gift.”

  She frowned sincerely. Simon could feel himself starting to shake again. Plan A had just gone dodo hunting.

  “Would it fit as an anklet?” Amelia asked.

  Simon resisted the urge to hug her. It would probably have been unseemly. And difficult to explain.

  “Oh, good idea!” Cassandra answered.

  She went down on one knee with the grace and ease of a dancer, lifting the hem of her floor length skirt to reveal that she wasn’t wearing shoes. Her feet, Simon noticed, looked as smooth and soft as the rest of her skin, despite her apparent lack of inclination toward footwear. She carefully unclasped the gift and fastened it around her ankle.

  “There,” she said, showing it off. “Like it was made for me.”

  As she stood up, she wobbled slightly, staggered to her right and caught Amelia’s arm. Bob instinctively moved to catch her.

  “Ooh,” she said, “head rush. I must have stood up too quickly…”

  “We need to get you some food!” Amelia said, laughing slightly nervously.

  Cassandra didn’t answer. She was staring intently at Harriet, who smiled benignly back at her. Still swaying, of course. Cassandra looked like she was searching for something: a word on the tip of her tongue; a name for a face she hadn’t seen in years.

  “Do I…? Have we…?” she squinted at Simon now, who was doing his usual illuminated rabbit impression.

  “Cass?” Amelia asked with concern.

  Still no answer. Cassandra looked at Amelia as if she were a complete stranger.

  “Cassandra?” Amelia asked, now urgently, shaking her arm gently.

  “Yes, sorry,” she finally answered. “What?”

  “Are you all right? You’re a million miles away.”

  “Of course, yes … just…” she looked at Harriet again and noticed the other bracelet. “Just feeling woozy. You’re right, I should eat. We all should!”

  With that, she freed herself from the supporting arms and led them towards one of the large doorways leading off the entrance hall.

  “This way, ladies and gentlemen,” she said with a flourish.

  Amelia and Bob followed her directly, though Amelia watched her with concern. As Simon started to follow, Harriet caught his arm.

  “What do you make of that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. It did something, but I don’t know what.”

  “Do you think she knows it was the bracelet? Anklet. Whatever.”

  “Well, it was obvious to me.”

  “You know about it, you halfwit!” It was a whispered shout, but still a shout. And a fair point.

  “Right then,” Harriet said, visibly bracing herself. “Into the lion’s den…”

  She walked ahead, more steadily than before. Probably the adrenalin, Simon thought in passing. He was definitely shaking now.

  “Welcome!” Priest greeted them as they entered a spacious wooden kitchen with an appropriately huge, round, wooden table as its centrepiece. It was about eight feet across and only as he got closer could Simon see that it appeared to be a sliced section of a single tree.

  “I hope you like chilli!” Priest boomed in that same resonant voice. He stood at a huge Aga, stirring a pot in which an entire cow could lose its way.

  Harriet had stopped in front of Simon, staring lecherously at their chef and host. Simon tried his best to discern whether he was seeing the common, drunk-and-horny Harriet or if it was actually spellbound zombie Harriet.

  It could go either way, he decided, and sat down, hoping to disguise his now trembling legs.

  ----

  Certain questions asked around a dinner table are guaranteed to cause profuse sweating and numbness of the extremities.

  “What are your intentions toward my daughter?” is one. This often causes men, and boys, to sputter incoherently and look piteously at said daughter, presumably in the hope that she will be holding up a placard with an appropriately witty yet respectful response, avoiding the need for later conversations about baseball bats and testicles.

  However, this would have been far too easy and too predictable for Priest to really enjoy. Instead, he opted for, “So, how much is your wedding going to cost me?”

  “Daaaaa-aaaaaaad!” Amelia protested.

  Bob sat silent, half in shock and half of him, quite unexpectedly, rather intrigued by the idea. This girl was amazing and made him feel a way he’d last felt a long time ago; before he’d ever heard of immortals.

  There was something about her. Every time he looked at her, he wanted to touch her. It was as magnetic as the time he’d seen her frozen in the garden, her dress rippling in the breeze.

  Remembering that moment, it occurred to him that, contrary to Ingrid’s assumption that he was taking advantage of her vulnerable position, no sexual thought had crossed his mind. She had seemed too perfect, too serene and beautiful. To think of her sexually in that moment would have been too base; too crude. She was so much more.

  Looking at him now, her eyes sparkled with life. Life and embarrassment. Bob desperately wanted to kiss her. Not a reaction, he imagined, that Priest had in mind, and certainly not likely to be the best way to endear himself to a man who seemed to have positioned himself as his future father-in-law.

  “I think your daughter is amazing, sir,” Bob said, turning to Priest. “And if I was ever lucky enough to be her husband, I believe I would spend every day for the rest of my life being grateful.”

  Harriet looked at Bob with her mouth open and her eyebrows heading for the ceiling. She turned to Simon and the two exchanged a silent conversation, which consisted of:

  “What the fuck?”

  “I know!”

  “Didn’t see that coming.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I need another drink.”

  The final statement was made clearer with the assistance of Harriet swirling her empty glass.

  Amelia beaming at Bob. Priest and Cassandra looked equally taken by surprise, however, Priest recovered and sat upright in his chair.

  “Son, that’s the best answer I could imagine to that question. Well played.”

  Cassandra put her arm on Amelia’s.

  “I do like him.”

  “Me too,” Amelia answered. “And you know what else?”

  She turned to her father.

  “I don’t stop when I’m with him. Not once. Well, except when mother was trying to kill him.”

  “Really?” Priest raised an eyebrow. “That is interesting.”

  He looked inquisitively at Bob, then cocked his head and stood up again.

  “Who wants seconds?”

  Simon nodded and handed his plate over. It was damned good chilli.

  ----

  “So, I hope you will all accept this evening’s meal as my sincere apology for the actions of Amelia’s mother today,” Priest spoke authoritatively as the guests sipped their coffee. Or liqueur.

  Harriet raised hers in a salutary gesture.

  “Don’t mention it, sweets. I’d already forgotten.”

  She grinned widely at him. Priest returned her smile with a mix of appreciation and amusement.

  “It’s fine, honestly,” Simon added. “We all survived it.”

  “You did indeed. Not least thanks to my new deputy, apparently. I have to say, I didn’t think the old pirate still had it in him!”

&
nbsp; Priest gave a deep, booming laugh, which was instantly infectious. Simon found himself, along with the rest of the table, laughing along, despite having absolutely no idea what was funny about that, and still being in desperate fear of being found out and bludgeoned to death at any moment.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I like to have a smoke after dinner.” Priest stood up and made for the balcony door. “If anyone cares to join me …?”

  Harriet stood up, wobbled slightly and followed him out into the night. She made no excuse or explanation, as if there had been nobody else in the room.

  Amelia gave a concerned look after the pair for a moment, then at her stepmother. Cassandra looked … distant. She seemed to have retreated into herself several times during the meal and Simon wondered whether it was as obvious to everyone else as it was to him. He was watching her with particular care. Which was difficult, as he was particularly aware of not being caught staring at her.

  Considering her natural beauty, it would not be hard to explain why he was staring but, as Simon was such a horrendous liar, the chances were that in the course of trying to lie about it he’d most likely have told Priest everything, including inappropriately intimate information about his recent Cherry-related activities. All in all, therefore, it was best he not arouse suspicion.

  “Anyone for more cake?” Amelia suddenly asked, proffering the remains at Simon.

  ----

  “Smoke?” Priest offered, a match lighting his face in the dark.

  “No thanks,” Harriet answered. “I don’t smoke.”

  Priest looked quizzically at her. “So you came out here because…”

  “You asked if anyone wanted to join you.”

  Harriet was attempting coquettish; it was more cockhound-ish.

  Priest smiled broadly. “You come out onto a man’s balcony and smirt with him without even bothering with the pretence of smoking?”

  “Smirt?”

  “Smoking and flirting. Where have you been?”

  “There’s name for that? Jesus. Kids make up words for anything.”

  “Kids?” Priest inhaled deeply.

  Harriet realised her mistake as soon as Priest questioned it.

  “Um, yeah. I’m a little older than I look. Shh...” she pressed her finger to her lips coyly, “don’t tell the owner.”

  Priest laughed and a cloud of smoke bellowed from his mouth into the night.

  “Well, now, I’ll see if I can get round that. I do have some sway with him.”

  Priest sucked in again, as there was a peal of laughter from inside.

  “Your brother seems … nervous,” he nodded toward Simon.

  “Simon? He’s always like that. He’s a fud.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “It’s accurate. Trust me.”

  “You are something else, young lady. You sure I can’t interest you in a smoke?”

  “I’m not a fan of cigarettes, sorry.”

  “Who said anything about a cigarette?”

  Harriet cocked her head and smiled, before taking the little smoking bundle from her host.

  “Well, I say,” she said, smiling, “you are full of surprises.”

  “I like to think so. Makes life more interesting, don’t you think?”

  “Mm. Speaking of surprises, what about that Prisoner guy. What’s with him?”

  “He’s hilarious, isn’t he?” he replied.

  “Is he?”

  “You know the only reason we keep him locked up?”

  “Why?”

  “He told me to either give him the island or throw him in jail. I offered to let him leave, but he said no. I even tried to let him escape. The little bastard keeps coming back!”

  They both laughed this time.

  “Honestly?” she asked.

  “God’s honest truth – so to speak.”

  “So, did you steal his island?”

  Priest stopped smiling.

  “This island didn’t exist before me.”

  “Hmm.” Harriet blew out a plume. Was he being literal? Probably. “Your wife. She’s … hot.”

  Priest’s eyebrows raised again. “You have no idea.”

  “You guys into threesomes?”

  He coughed and laughed at the same time. Recovering his composure, he smiled warily at Harriet.

  “You serious?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll certainly ask…”

  “What are the chances she’ll say yes?”

  “I usually get what I want.”

  Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  ----

  Calderon looked up the mountain. The idiot on the beach had finally told him where he could find the man he wanted.

  The cable car was not an option. They’d know he was coming.

  He grabbed hold of a rock jutting out above him, lifted a foot began to climb.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Simon would not have slept well. He was terrified of how much Priest had figured out, and how much Harriet would end up telling him after she stayed up with Cassandra and him at the end of the night. Bob and Amelia had gone to bed at the same time, but to their own rooms. Simon liked how chaste their courtship appeared to be. It was a little beacon of decency in a sea of debauchery. Not that he was averse to a little debauchery, clearly, but it reminded him to feel a little bit bad about it.

  He wouldn’t have slept, but that he was really rather drunk.

  And he wouldn’t have woken up either, but for the knife at his throat.

  “Right. What’s the story?”

  For a small, attractive blonde dressed in what appeared to be some kind of silk kimono, Cassandra was terrifying.

  Simon gulped and felt the blade rub against his Adam’s apple.

  As a general rule, when Simon had no idea what to say, he kept his mouth shut. That didn’t seem to be an option on this occasion, so he chose the next best thing.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Cassandra looked at him curiously. She drew the knife back and put her leg up on the side of the bed. In a Victorian novel, this would have been advanced foreplay. However, in this instance, it wasn’t the forbidden flesh of her ankle she was showing him, it was the anklets around it.

  Both of them.

  “I woke up with these on. And the funny thing is, they seem to be made from a necklace I owned a long time ago. So where did you get them and why are you here?”

  “Em. OK.” Simon’s brain flailed desperately for an answer that would avoid him being filleted. If the necklace-cum-anklets was working, she was back to herself. Hopefully. That meant that the best course of action might just be, unthinkable as it was after the last 24 hours, the truth.

  “Faunt sent us. To rescue you.”

  Cassandra’s face went through a range of emotions that ran from pleasantly surprised to utterly gobsmacked via slightly perturbed. There were several tangents along the way.

  “I don’t believe you,” she finally said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  Simon’s head was reeling, and not only with terror. The hangover was already kicking in.

  He decided on a course of action readily embraced by many intoxicated brains: when the truth fails, throw more truth at it. It’s not a route to take lightly.

  “I need you. I need to take you back to him so he can tell the angel and the demon where my carpet is so that they don’t kill me and I can decide to give it to one of them.”

  Simon remembered to breathe in.

  Cassandra sat down on the end of the bed.

  “So … you own a carpet that heaven and hell both want. An angel and a demon came for it, but you didn’t have it…?”

  “I did when they got there.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “It was stolen.”

  “When?”

  “I was asleep.”

  Cassandra nodded. “Right. So they took you to Faunt to ask where it was. And his price for the information was … me?”
<
br />   Simon nodded.

  “And they threatened to kill you?”

  “Well, not exactly, but Daniel – that’s the angel – sort of let me know that he wasn’t against the idea.”

  Cassandra stood, thoughtfully.

  “The carpet; is it a relic?”

  “I think so. It’s part of a bet, apparently.”

  Cassandra sucked through her teeth. “OK. That does make sense, then.”

  She stood quietly for a long time. Simon realised he desperately needed the toilet.

  “Em, would it be OK if I went to the bathroom, please?”

  Cassandra cocked an eyebrow at him. “Use the en suite. I need to think.”

  ----

  Simon staggered back to the bed. He’d splashed a great deal of water on his face and run it over his wrists in an attempt to sober up. It hadn’t really helped. He hoped his impromptu decision to blurt out everything wouldn’t get him, Harriet and Bob killed. It would be a disappointing end to the story.

  “First of all, I need you sober,” Cassandra said. “Drink this.”

  She handed him a small vial of red liquid.

  “What is it?” Simon asked.

  “You don’t need to know. Just trust me.”

  That was definitely not what Simon needed to hear from the woman he was unsure would ever let him leave this room.

  “Really?” he asked. “Can I trust you?”

  Cassandra looked at him as if she’d forgotten he was there and had just been reminded.

  “Look at you. You’re like a lost puppy! You can trust me,” she said, ruffling his hair. “I’m a very capable witch, and that’s a potion to clear your head. There are a number of good reasons why Priest has kept me here. Very few people in the world can exert any control over him. I’m one of them. And I need to know why Faunt wants me.”

  Simon knocked back the red liquid in one gulp. His head, stomach and vision all cleared instantly.

  “Wow. That’s … wow.”

  “I told you.”

  “What did you mean, ‘why he wants you’? You’re his wife.”