Page 113 of Honey Cut
“Oh, this looks amazing,” Lady Anguish says as she comes deeper into the room. Merlin is behind her, and his eyes stray to the fake veil behind our chairs. His mouth twitches.
“It was all my wife,” Mark says, and I’m relieved to hear him call me that, especially to Anguish, who was there in the garden last night. If he’s still willing to lay claim to me in front of her, maybe that’s a sign of something good. Something like forgiveness.
“It’s very inspired,” Merlin says, looking at me now. His eyes are dark, and they’re not cold, but they are perceptive in a way that reminds me of coldness. Like he knows how to lift up my skin and look at the blood-seeped tissue underneath.
“Thank you,” I say, and I’m grateful that I sound like my usual self. Well mannered. Graceful. “I thought it would fit the theme.”
“It does,” Lady Anguish says. “Doesn’t it, Merlin?”
“We celebrated Samhain where I grew up,” says Merlin with a smile. “I could almost be back home right now. Except for the central heating and the lube dispenser next to Mark’s throne.”
“My ideas for improving Wales are limitless,” my husband says.
“We just wanted to see the king and queen before we go up to the usual haunt in the balcony,” Lady Anguish tells us, tucking her hand into Merlin’s elbow.
“You didn’t claim a room?” asks Mark. He’s already relaxed into the throne, his knees wide and his shoulders back against the wood.
“We have another stop to make,” Merlin answers. “So we’ll need to leave while the night is still young. Ish.”
“I hope the three of you have a magical night. And remember that we don’t usually spill blood on Samhain these days.” Anguish says it like a joke to Mark, Dominant to Dominant, but her eyes move to mine, and there’s a moment when her gaze is just like Merlin’s. Seeing everything deep in my body and my heart, seeing past the blood and the fascia down to my chromatids and telomeres. Seeing my past and my future and what I’ve been asked to do, and that, like Abraham, I would make myself do it at the price of my own heart.
I’m frozen on the throne when she leaves.
“I like that Lady Anguish,” says Mark. “I’m glad I sold half the club to her.”
“You what?” I ask, looking at him, right as the door opens again and the first wave of trick-or-treaters come through.
He only shrugs but smiles to himself, and then our attention is stolen away by people looking for treats from their king.
forty-two
ISOLDE
Two hours later,and I can’t say how many people Mark has spanked or that I have kissed. The first time Mark told me to kiss a guest, I’d felt my cheeks burn and wondered if it was a test, but he’d only watched me deliver the kiss with the satisfaction of a proud host and not with any jealousy or cruel vindication, so I’d let myself relax.
But it is clear the whole night that the three of us are being watched, reported on. Guests come in, their eyes flicking to Tristan and then back to Mark and me, and more than once to my left hand, as if they expect my wedding ring to be gone. And then to my neck, like they’re surprised to see my collar still in place.
It comes to a head when a daring man dressed like a mobster from the 1920s says, after Mark waves him and the crowd of people around him forward, “I hear your wife gives out more than just kisses. I’d like a taste if it’s on offer.”
He’s smirking, and I recognize the gibe in his words, I see the way he hopes to needle Mark. To impress the people around him, maybe, or as some kind of Dominant dick-measuring gambit.
Whatever his plan, it doesn’t work.
“It’s not on offer, as it happens,” Mark says.
“You might want to ask your bodyguard about that,” the mobster says, still rippling with bravado.
“Or I could ask Dinah if your membership fee is coming due,” replies my husband. He leans an elbow on his throne and braces his head on his hand, and with his sprawled legs, he is the picture of a man completely bored. “I believe last year you gave me some information about your brother? I think this year I might want some information about you instead.”
The mobster tries to laugh, but it comes out strained. “My fee isn’t due for a while yet.”
“Hmm,” Mark says. “Are you sure about that?”
The people behind the mobster now are slowly creeping backward, like they don’t want to get accidentally snared in whatever this is and end up forking over blackmail material about themselves. The guest in question seems to realize that he’s fucked up. “Sir, I, um?—”
“You are not sure,” Mark clarifies for him. “In fact, you’re so not sure about when it’s due that you’re going to leave now and you’re going to find Dinah and tell her that there’s been accounting error and that your next membership fee is due tomorrow, and if you can’t pay it, your membership is forfeit. That is what’s on offer tonight. Tristan?”
Tristan steps forward and herds the guest back toward the door. All of his companions have already made quick, furtive exits, and he’s left alone to protest.
