Inn on the Edge (21 page)

“Join us?” invited Zenith breathlessly, gazing back at me
over her shoulder.

“Can’t. Working,” I said, adding a line here and a bit of
shading there. “Try to be still, won’t you?”

Considering how uncooperative my subjects were, the painting
came together surprisingly well. I brushed in the strong line of Tim’s
shoulders and back, and the softer contours of Geoffrey giving him a blowjob. I
shaded Zenith’s cascading hair and the bit of visible floor mat, put in a hint
of background. Corrected colors here and there. Added a light source. Refined
Logan’s skin color. Put a glint of Quinacridone Gold in Josh’s eye. And then—in
only forty-three minutes—it was done.

I stepped around the people-pile to get a longer view from
the other side of the room. I studied my new painting, narrowing my eyes,
tilting my head, pursing my lips. This painting was good. Very good. Perhaps it
was the best of all the wall paintings. Since when had I painted so quickly? So
masterfully?

Perhaps I was a natural at this too.

“Take a look, everyone. See? You bunch look like you’re
having an orgy! How funny is that?”

Nobody answered. Too busy having thebest sex
possible.

I grabbed a lukewarm cup of Zettia’s tea, drank it in a
single swig, and, still humming under my breath, went back to putting the last
touches on my giant landscape. The dune grass was finished, so I turned my
attention to the clouds. There were dozens of them. Filling the sky and fading
into the distance, looking just as they had when Josh and I had driven along
the ocean on our way to the inn. With my too-small brush, I painted dark
underbellies and white edges, clouds pregnant with rain, wispy clouds drifting
in the wind. Time passed and I barely noticed.

I was happy. Happier than I’d ever been in my life.

“Angie?”

It was an hour later, perhaps. I turned around at Zenith’s
voice. The people-pile had shrunk by three, and I hadn’t noticed a thing. Tim
had left. And Logan. Josh was gone—practicing his borrowed guitar, I assumed.
Geoffrey and Nikki were dozing, cuddled tightly together, their backs to me. It
was just Zenith and me.

“Angie…” Zenith said again, softly.

“Mmm-hmm?” I mumbled, looking directly at her but seeing sky
and water and clouds.

“Do you like it here?”

I blinked. “What?”

She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest and putting her
arms around them. Her Burnt Sienna hair cascaded down her back. “Do you like it
here?”

What kind of question was that?

“Sure I do,” I said, frowning. “What’s not to like? Why do
you ask?”

She sighed. “It’s nothing, really.” She took a strand of
hair and drew her fingers through it, over and over. I couldn’t take my eyes
away. “It’s just that…”

I waited. My eyes following the movement of her hand. I
stood still, thinking,
I wonder if she’ll let me do her portrait now.

“Mr. Abiba, he likes you.”

I flushed. “I know.”

“A lot. More than everyone else.”

“Yeah.”

She regarded me. “Angie,” she whispered, looking over her
shoulder at the closed door to the Fine Arts Room, “that’s not always a good
thing.”

I didn’t answer.

“His love can have…serious consequences.”

“But he’s been so kind!”

She sighed. “He can be kind. But there’s another side to
him.”

I turned my back to her for a moment, scumbling a tiny
amount of Cobalt Blue onto the heavy, dark underbelly of a cloud. Another side
to Mr. Abiba? Did he have an underbelly, like the cloud I was working on? If he
did have an ugly side—and something told me Zenith was right—I didn’t want to
think about it. It made me uncomfortable. Challenging Mr. Abiba led to places
I’d rather not go. When Nikki had said something about him yesterday, I’d
changed the subject, and quickly, because somehow Mr. Abiba knew things. He was
aware of everything that went on in his inn.

But this was Zenith. She wouldn’t lead me into trouble. I
smeared a thin line of paint onto the edge of the cloud, then turned to face
her. “But I thought you adored him.”

“I do. I do! But sometimes…”

I set down my brush. “Sometimes what, Zenith?”

“Sometimes he frightens me. A lot.” Her voice lowered so
much I barely heard it. “So much that sometimes—I can’t believe I’m telling you
this—sometimes I just about pee my pantsfrom the fright.” She looked
up, met my eyes. “But then it passes and I think I’m nuts. Am I nuts, Angie?”

We’re all but slaves
, Valerian had said.

I went to her. I sat down next to her, put my arms around
her, kissed her pale cheek, buried my face in her hair and held her slim,
elegant hand in my own—the hand that had made such beautiful love to me. I
twined my fingers in hers. “No,” I whispered, “you’re not crazy.”

“Then you’ve felt it too?”

“I think so. Maybe. There was something weird during the calling
card game.”

We sat like that, rocking gently, listening to Geoffrey’s
gentle snores.

She put her cool palm flat against my cheek. “You’re in
danger. He wants you. And what he wants, he gets.”

I ran my hand over her shoulder, down her back.

“Listen to me, Angie.”

I reached under her shirt and cupped her small breast in my
hand. “I am.”

“Are you? The last woman he loved went over the edge.”

I didn’t move for a long moment. Then I took her nipple
between my fingers and thumb, rolling it gently. “The one Josh’s song reminded
him of? Her?”

Zenith’s eyes were darker than I’d thought. And anxious. “I
don’t know. Maybe. Zora told me about it. Zora’s been here longer than I have—she
knows more than I do, but I don’t think even Zora knows much. And we can’t ask
Zettia.” Zenith arched her back at my renewed ministrations to her nipple, or
perhaps it was the fingers of my other hand working their way between her legs.
She straightened her knees. Spread them for me. “Oh, that feels nice, Angie!”
She closed her eyes, took a long, shuddering breath. “I shouldn’t be talking to
you like this. Really I shouldn’t. I’ll probably regret it…”

I kissed her again.

He loves me
, I thought.

He chose me.

“Zenith,” I whispered, “It’s later.”

She stared at me, uncomprehending.

“
Later
,” I repeated.

A smile teased the side of her mouth.

“You promised me. Remember?” I pulled her down onto the bare
floor—no room on the mat—and kissed her. I brushed the hair from her face.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful about Mr. Abiba,” I said. Then I began to
practice my newly acquired sexual prowess on her, as if she were a finely wrought
antique instrument and I were a maestro musician. We made fine music together.
This time, I was the one who sent her into throes of ecstasy.

I was learning. Oh yes, I surely was.

And, some time later, after Nikki had woken up and joined
us, near the end of our delicious three-way, all-girl lovemaking, running riot
through my head like a stuck song as I enjoyed my own delicious four apexes in
a row, the words…

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me…

He loves me!

It scared the living shit out of me.

“Mr. Abiba loves me,” I whispered to Josh.

We were in bed, alone for the first time in…well, I didn’t
know how long. It was late. 2:30 in the morning, maybe later. Dinner was long
over. My glorious hours of painting were long over. It was just the two of us,
lying in each other’s arms, sleepy and satiated, our genitals coated with
liberal applications of Mr. Abiba’s special salve, coming down from yet another
shatteringly exquisite Lesson with Vane.

We’d explored a new Tool, the French Connection.

Ah. Those
Tools
.

They just kept getting better and better. The worlds they
created seemed so real. This time Josh, Vane and I had fucked our way through
Paris. We’d made love with wild abandon on the viewing platform at the top of
the Eiffel Tower, had oral sex in the nave of Notre Dame Cathedral, had a
delicious three-way in the Louvre, and that had been only the beginning.
Through it all, there had been coaching from our wonderful, gentle Guide. New
positions. New moves. Something called the Gateway to Paradise. And at the end,
a difficult erotic sequence called a Nerve Engager, performed by us both in
careful tandem on our guinea-pig Guide. Our first attempt with the Nerve
Engager had earned us shouted compliments from a wildly apexing Vane, which
made Josh and me quiver with pride.

It was a Lesson, after all. And Vane was our teacher.

But now the apexes were over. Vane was gone. It was just Josh
and me in our rather mundane North Tower, holding hands, whispering in boring,
everyday English.

“Mr. Abiba loves me,” I said again.

“Mmm,” said Josh.

“Josh, think about it! Mr. Abiba
is in love with me
.
Zenith told me the last person Mr. Abiba loved went over the edge. Doesn’t that
bother you?”

Josh frowned. “He loves all of us, not just you. He loves me
too. I’ve seen him look at me like he wants to eat me alive. I’ve seen it
plenty of times.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes then opened them again. “Zenith
told you this?”

“Yes.” I sat up in bed, pulling the covers to my chin. I
regarded him. “You like her don’t you?”

He grinned. “Crazy about her.”

I nodded. “You and me both, with good reason. She’s
amazing.” I searched his eyes. “But Josh, Zenith told me something else too.
She told me something about you. About you, and her.”

He frowned.

“About what you and she did after the train game.”

“That? Ah. Well. Yeah.” He scratched his nose. “I almost
forgot about that. Zenith and I had a nice little…encounter when you were still
knocked out. That damn Train Ride! It made you go into convulsions! I was so
worried about you I didn’t know whether I was coming or going!” His fingers
plucked at the bedspread. “Making love with Zenith made me feel better, that’s
all. You know how it is here—the sex is everything!”

“But why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “I guess I fell asleep after
Zenith and I finished. And when I woke up she was fucking
you
…and no
kidding, it was fucking amazing. Know what? You and Zenith did me in, you were
so hot together.” He started speaking more quickly, picking up speed, warming
to his topic. “Why didn’t I tell you that I made love with her too? I forgot!
It’s that simple. It was never supposed to be a secret.” His words rushed out
now, tumbling over one another. “But does it matter? We’ve both made love with
Zenith since then, right? And also with Vane and Nikki and Geoffrey and Tim and…hell,
with everyone, like I said. So Zenith and me screwing after the train game
doesn’t even mean anything anymore. Water under the bridge, right?”

I didn’t answer.

“Right?” He stared at me, starting to get concerned. “Angie?
Am I right?”

“Except that you
didn’t
tell me! You could have. You
had the perfect opportunity.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked sheepish.

“You know what I’m talking about, Josh! The next morning,
when you admitted you weren’t really asleep when I made love with her. You
could have told me then. You could have but you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded wounded, stricken. “It doesn’t mean
anything. Really.”

I regarded him. Then I leaned over and kissed him on the
cheek, doing my best to
love
freely and generously
. I shoved
jealous, mean-spirited Angie back under the rock she’d crawled out from. “Okay.
I believe you. I’m just trying to figure it out. Anyway, there are more
important things to talk about, like what Zenith said about Mr. Abiba loving
me.”

“Then tell me the rest.” He sounded glad to be changing the
subject.

“Okay. But we have to be careful.” I put my finger to my
lips. It wasn’t a good idea to talk about Mr. Abiba, especially in our room.
There might not be hidden cameras over the bed as we’d joked about that very
first night in the inn, but there was something in our room with us—a presence,
keeping tabs on us, observing our sexual escapades. I was sure of it.

Josh looked at me, his head tilted.

I glanced around the chamber at the now-dark windows, at the
window seat with its many pillows. Then I saw the roll-top desk, and my breath
caught in my throat. The roll-top! It had that strange dead zone next to it! I
clutched Josh’s arm. “Come with me,” I said, so quietly it wasn’t even a
whisper. I pointed at him, at myself, then at the roll-top desk. “Over there,”
I mouthed.

“Why?” he mouthed back.

But I didn’t answer. I scrambled off the bed and he
followed, grumbling. I stepped into the corner between the desk and the wall
and felt the same muted, chilly sensation I’d noticed days before, back when
I’d first explored the room. How big was the odd patch? Was there space for
two? I shuffled my feet, feeling for boundaries. There was space for both of
us, just barely, if I turned sideways and lined my feet up with the edge of the
affected area. I maneuvered myself into the corner as far as I could, then
pulled Josh into the dead zone with me.

“What the
hell
?” said Josh as soon as he entered the
space, his eyes widening. “It’s cold! What’s this…place…doing in our room?”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“I don’t like it.”

Our voices sounded different in the dead zone. Flat. Tinny. As
if we were breathing high-altitude, top-of-Mount-Everest air. Dry,
throat-tickling air. Josh extended his arm from the boundary, then pulled it
back in again, covered in goose bumps. It wasn’t a place where we wanted to
stay for very long.

“There are other areas like this,” I whispered. “Remember on
the stairs? And in front of the fireplace?”

Josh looked at the door to our room. “Can he hear us?”

“I don’t think so.”

We stared at each other. Now that we had a safe place to
talk—maybe—we didn’t know what to say. Did we even need a safe place to talk?
Was Mr. Abiba’s love so dangerous? Josh put his arms around my waist and pulled
me close and we huddled together for a long moment. I started to relax. He
smelled so nice, my Josh, a combination of Ivory soap and the inn’s
complimentary shampoo, the one in the miniature cut-glass bottles with the
exact scent of those ever-present yellow bouquets. He sneezed, then he ran his
hand down the small of my back over and over again, petting me as if I were a
cat. “Angie,” he said slowly, “this is so strange. I can think better in here.
Like my head was full of sand and now it’s draining away. Do you feel it too?”

“Yes, I do.” Something was shifting inside my head, like an
itch I couldn’t scratch, making me want to squirm in his arms. My thoughts were
getting clearer with every passing moment…and some of them weren’t nice
thoughts. Not at all. “Josh,” I whispered, my knees going weak. “Oh my
god
.”

His hands stilled. “What? What is it?”

“I just realized something. Today I had sex with…what? Five
different people?Or was it six? Seven, including you!” I gasped,
horrified by my own words. “And…and…and I had fun doing it. They’re nice
people. But
why
? Why, Josh? I didn’t plan to do this! Not on our
honeymoon!” I held on to him, making noises that sounded suspiciously like
strangled sobs. “Josh, what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s okay,” he whispered.

“It’s notokay!”

“I’m doing it too, Angie. I probably slept with more people
today than you did.”

“But I came here to be with you. I love
you
.”

“I know,” he said, and kissed me sweetly on the cheek. “I
love you too. Don’t worry. We’re all doing it.”

“Yes…” I said slowly, trying to get my breathing back under
control. Then I sneezed. “We are, aren’t we?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” But the way he looked at me said
he wasn’t so sure.

“Maybe,” I said. A far-off foghorn moaned into the darkness,
making me shudder. “But maybe it does
.
Maybe the sex means something
completely differentthan what we think.” I frowned, surprised by my own
words, trying to figure out what they meant. Why did I feel so disturbed?
Something hovered just out of reach, dangling so close I could almost grab hold
of it—almost, almost… But even though my mind was getting clearer, the
something slithered away, back into the foggy reaches of my mind. Was it about
the sex? About the amount of sex? The multiple partners?

Was it?

Just because we were running from bed to bed, sleeping with one
another in a frenzy of erotic delight, didn’t necessarily mean it was the right
thing to do. The problem was that I had no idea what the right thing was
anymore.

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” asked Josh, “Because if you
aren’t…”

“Of course I am!”

He hugged me close. “I’m so glad,” he whispered, and kissed
me.

It was true. I adored the sex. It was getting better with
each day that passed—with each hour, almost. And those Tools…my god, those
Tools were magnificent. Who wouldn’t like them? I kissed his rough cheek.
“Enjoying myself isn’t the word for it. I’ve never had so much fun in my life.
I’m learning so much about myself. Who would ever have thought I’d be so sensual?
I’m loving it. But Josh, that’s beside the point. Can you explain why we’re
banging everything that moves? Can you?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled me closer.

“
Can
you?”

“No. Unless it’s the food.”

“It’s almost like…we don’t have a choice.”

This time it was Josh who made a strangled-sounding noise.

“Free will,” I said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

He stared at me, his eyebrows pulled together.

Why were Josh and I sleeping with everyone at the inn
except—mostly—each other? Because it was fun? Because it was exciting? Were we
doing it because wewanted to? Or because Mr. Abiba wanted us to?

I didn’t know. But I had a hunch.

All this thinking was giving me a headache. My mind was
clearer than it had been ten minutes before, but I was still horribly confused,
because even if I’d been manipulated into it, I’d wanted all that sex. Each and
every time—except for when I was painting, which seemed to turn it off—I’d
wanted it more than anything. I still did! If Vane or Zenith—or Geoffrey or
Nikki or Logan or anyone—had walked into that room, at that very instant, with
Josh and me still crammed into the corner by the roll-top desk, my loins would have
leaped with anticipation, my pussy would have fairly dripped with lust.

Just listen to my language! Not like me at all.

My nipples would have got hard, color would have risen to my
cheeks and my lips would have displayed my most charming come-and-get-me smile.
I would have wasted no time in getting whoever it was to make love to me.

An exaggeration but not by much.

Was that person
me
? Really?

It wasn’t the honeymoon we’d planned. It was breathtaking,
yes, but as I’d just told Josh, that was beside the point. None of it was what
Josh and I had asked for. It wasn’t
us
. Didn’t
we
get any say in
the matter?

It didn’t look that way.

I stared at Josh. “Free will,” I whispered.

“Mr. Abiba,” he whispered back, even more softly.

I nodded, frowning.

Josh was right. Mr. Abiba was behind it all. He was
everywhere. He was like an octopus, with his tentacles wrapped around us, squeezing
us, sucking on us…and we hadn’t even noticed the danger we were in. It wasn’tright, not at all. Was Mr. Abiba using Josh and me and the others us as his
personal petting zoo? So he could get off on our sex lives? So he could guide
us and watch us and manipulate us? Was he—and this made my entire body go cold—
feeding
off us?

And there was something else.

Josh gripped my arm, concerned. “What is it?”

“He’s… He’s…” I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut,
unable to go on.

He was getting younger. The hair. The color of his skin. The
disappearing age spots. The vigor in his step, in his voice, in his manner. The
way he looked happier, younger, more energetic every time I saw him. The way he
had clutched at my naked body in the ghost town, holding me in his strong
embrace, moaning with pleasure as I quivered with unfulfilled lust.

The bastard—he
was
feeding off us!

“We have to get out of here,” I gasped.

Josh just looked at me.

“He’s using us—our
sex
, I mean—to get younger! To
rejuvenate! Haven’t you seen it, Josh? Remember what he looked like when we
first arrived? Like a warmed-over skeleton. Well, he doesn’t anymore! Don’t
tell me you haven’t noticed.” I gripped the edge of the roll-top desk, hanging
on for dear life. “I think he’s some sort of…I don’t know, some sort of vampire.
Well, not a vampire exactly, because he doesn’t do the blood thing, at least as
far as we know…” I shot a nervous look at the door. “So not a vampire, but
something very like one. Something that sucks passion instead of blood.”