Page 12 of Bluebeard’s Key

“Hmm. I am a bit taller than you are, so it might be tricky. Should I sit? There’s a big floor mirror over there—my room has one too. Aren’t these rooms amazing? I don’t think I’ve ever slept in a canopy bed. It’s like a Ren Faire.”

Wow, Zayan thought, this boy can talk! But no matter, he was probably nervous about whatever was happening this evening with the Mage. He set the desk chair in front of the mirror and guided Tom over.

“Hold still,” he said, moving behind Tom and stroking his hands gently on Tom’s shoulders. Tying the tie was no problem. Zayan’s parents had put him on display since he was a child—formal dinners, dances, outings, the whole nine yards—hoping to snag a strategic wife for him. By the gods, he was glad those days of matchmaking were in the past, never to be revisited. Coming out as gay was the best thing he ever did, and it was a relief to be rid of them all.

The high collar of the costume set off Tom’s round, fair face, like a ruddy pumpkin sitting on a pedestal. He laughed at himself for the silly image, and took another look, appreciating the view this time. Tom was rather handsome with those dimples and dusting of freckles. Zayan’s nimble fingers made short work of the tie, fashioning the knot with a few practiced motions. Tom scrutinized the entire process, intent, probably trying to memorize it for next time. Zayan caught his eye in the mirror, arms wrapped around his neck and adding the final crease as he tightened the knot, and Tom blushed. Actually blushed. Perfect—that’s exactly the response he wanted to see.

The connection passed as quickly as it had come, and Zayan let it, not wanting to rush the shy man too quickly. In his seduction, he intended to build an edifice of trust and romance, slowly and deliberately, one enticing brick at a time. He patted Tom on both shoulders and stated, “You’re finished.”

Tom stood and examined himself in the mirror, turning right and left. “Thank you! This looks perfect. I didn’t quite catch how you did it, so maybe next time you can walk me through it, so I’m not knocking on your door every evening before dinner. Oh man, do you think we’ll have to dress for dinner every night?”

“Time will tell,” Zayan said, somewhere between amusement and exasperation with Tom’s chatter. “But now, unless you want to see the whole package again, I’ll ask you to step out. I need to get dressed.”

After ushering Tom and his puppy eyes to the door, Zayan set to costuming himself in his ridiculous clothes. To his surprise, the pants fit perfectly, snug at the waist but not too much so, and showing off his slim physique. Since separating himself from his family’s tailor, he had faced almost insurmountable problems with finding clothes that fit. Most adult-size clothing was too large, and junior clothes were too childish. Similarly, the shirtsleeves were the ideal length, the waistcoat hugged his narrow waist exactly the proper amount, and even the shoes were stylish, in a period-appropriate manner, and comfortable. As he was tying his own tie at the mirror, he did exactly as Tom had done, turning right and left to admire the cut of the clothes and how the rich colors accented his trim beard and dark eyes. Yes, he thought, I do have a smoldering charm. Bluebeard’s tailor was obviously doing their part to make him irresistible in the task at hand.

When he left his room, Tom was already waiting in the common area, nervously pacing. He struck Zayan as someone who was never late. His own family always had the opposite philosophy—others waited for you—a way of life that still hounded Zayan even after being summarily excommunicated from his kin years ago. He’d have to watch himself and try to be more diligent, at least until he’d solidified his place in the castle. Bluebeard seemed like someone who always demanded a lot from the people around him.

“Very handsome!” Tom said, giving Zayan the once-over. “I’m thinking twice about these clothes. I thought they were silly, but looking at you, I like them! I suppose when you’re in a castle, you need to dress the part.”

When they got down to the courtyard, Thierry had other ideas. He surveyed them tip to toes, tutting the entire time. “Certainly not, this won’t do at all. Come here, both of you.” Quick as that, he reknotted their ties. Standing back to admire his work, he said, “These are ascots, so you need a period-appropriate knot. Mage Bluebeard has been delayed, but please stay close.”

“Gods, I could use a drink,” Zayan joked, laying his hand on Tom’s arm.

“I hear you!” Tom gushed, obviously nervous. “I probably wouldn’t have made it through graduate school without beer. Oh man, there were so many ups and downs, but I survived and made it here, wherever here is. Do you have any idea? Like I said, I don’t have any cell service and my GPS is a goner. Charlie called this place Greenhaven, and the map upstairs shows an island called Gréne Hæfen, which is probably an old name for the same thing. But the map didn’t have any familiar landmarks around it, so I don’t know where we are in the world.”

“I don’t know either. It seemed like a normal ferry ride when Charlie and I left Ferry Vale, but something odd happened when we got away from shore.”

“That happened for me too! It’s like the world disappeared and another one appeared. Maybe it’s like the wardrobe passage to Narnia, or a stargate, or something wacky like that. What’s up with this crazy place? I’m completely mystified, but it’s rather exciting, isn’t it?”

“That’s one word for it,” Zayan said, still trying to process how he felt. The trip from Ferry Vale had shaken everything he thought he knew. But, at least so far, he didn’t seem to be in any danger. It would be best to live in the moment and take challenges as they came…and he had an enjoyable job to do.

CHAPTER 9

Tom was talking too much, he knew he was, but he couldn’t stop himself. When he got nervous, or found himself in an unfamiliar situation, or any situation for that matter, he talked and talked and talked. Fortunately, Zayan seemed to be engaging with him, answering questions, at least as far as he could tell. He often had trouble reading people, understanding what they were thinking. All too often, when he tried to talk to people, their eyes glazed over and they made excuses to get away from him. From abundant experience, he knew that meant he was talking too much. He had told himself again and again: The best way to make conversation is to ask people about themselves. That’s what he needed to do with this interesting and oh-so-handsome man. He certainly didn’t want to bore him.

He asked, “So what do you think? Is Bluebeard a wizard? I’m a scientist, a chemist, so I’ve never believed any of that kind of stuff.” There he went again, talking about himself. He got back on track and asked, “You’re a chemist too, right? I’m afraid I don’t know anything about you.”

“I’m an organic chemist,” Zayan said, laughing and answering the last question first. “Maybe not as advanced as you are, but I know my way around an Erlenmeyer flask. About wizards, I don’t know, but I’m also wondering now if our host might be one.”

“I know, right?” Tom gushed. He’d been trying to keep his cool ever since he arrived, but he was bursting with the need to talk about this. “What was up with that boat? It was like I was there, and then I was here. Blink! It was like a sci-fi movie.”

“It was, um, surprising, wasn’t it? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Have you ever seen any magical stuff? You know, anything that’s paranormal, that defies the laws of nature? I’ve never seen anything, not that I’ve been particularly looking. I’m always holed up in my lab, and chemistry is about as mundane as you can get. Not mundane—it’s fascinating—but you know what I mean, it’s completely non-magical. Mix iron with oxygen and you’re going to get rust. It’s how the world works.”

And there he went yet again, standing with a stunning man and all he could do was spew nonsense, and about chemistry no less! Nobody wanted to hear about chemistry, but Zayan still hadn’t walked away.

“I’ve had a few experiences I can’t explain, but nothing physical, like the boat ride.”

“Really? How exciting! Like what?”

“Let’s call them altered states of consciousness,” Zayan said evasively.

“What am I hearing about altered states?” Hoyle said, walking up to them and handing out the orchid boutonnieres. He was also decked out as a Victorian gentleman, complete with waxed whiskers. “I have some options out in the greenhouse that could help with that.”

“My department head warned us about controlled substances when I started my graduate work,” Tom laughed, but saw that Zayan was looking uncomfortable. “Let me see if I remember her exact words: We do not synthesize certain classes of compounds in this department.”

Charlie joined them, also in period-appropriate slacks and a tailcoat, all in shades of green.