The Edge of Reason

by Melinda Snodgrass

  And so it began. They shared a split of champagne with their appetizers. It was nothing like the stuff her dad sometimes brought home for New Year’s. The bubbles tickled the back of her nose and the flavors exploded across her tongue.

  Once she got used to the texture, the oysters, prepared with spinach, were delicious and the foie gras beyond description. She ate well at Kenntnis’s but she had never experienced food like this. She had a salad with honey-toasted pecans and crumbled cheese while he sipped at lobster bisque. For her main course he selected sweet and succulent king crab. There were different wines with each course. They concluded with a chocolate mousse, brandy and coffee.

  No course was rushed, providing them with plenty of opportunity to talk. He said little, using his words like keys to unlock more information from her, and she responded. Books, movies, her dreams of travel, her family, her isolation, her studies, her feelings for Richard; it all came out. Finally she wound down, replete and oddly exhausted; she leaned back in her chair, feeling as if her skin was too small to contain both her emotions and the masses of food and liquor she’d consumed. Sensation prickled across her skin. Heat blossomed at the base of her spine. Somehow she was feeding her power and she wasn’t even trying.

  She lifted her eyes and met the man’s blazing green gaze. His look seemed to pierce through to her heart. He smiled, displaying sharp narrow teeth, and Rhiana knew he sensed the power rising within her. With an autocratic gesture he dismissed the hovering waiters. They were the last people in the restaurant.

  “This is what you deserve and what you will receive if you join with me … us. I hope you will. I don’t wish to battle you.”

  “And why is that? Are you afraid you’ll lose?” It was pure bravado. She could sense the magic pulsing off him like a subsonic drone.

  “I would hate to hurt you. You are my daughter.”

  The brandy caught in the back of her throat and her gasp of shock carried the hot fumes into her lungs. Coughing, she leaned over the table. Now the pictures, the care that they represented, made sense. The man came around the table and patted her on the back, and something merged like twining tentacles piercing her mind and soul.

  And it didn’t flow in only one direction. She ate his memories and recognized the kinship. Eventually the waves of pure emotion settled into images. The human woman giving herself in lust and ending in terror. Her mother’s descent into drugs, drink and degradation, all of this feeding the embryo—her—inside. She tasted the wild flare of suffering and death that accompanied her birth. Then the human flesh had dulled and blunted the raw power bequeathed to her by her father.

  Minutes or hours passed in that communion. When Rhiana finally returned to her body and surroundings she saw the wait staff and the maître’d collapsed on the floor.

  “Are they … ?” she began.

  “Merely unconscious. We needed them to forge the bond,” Madoc replied—for she had consumed his name among many other bits of knowledge and experience.

  Some questions still remained and she asked one. “If I’m your child why did they … you try to kill me?”

  “The golems would not have harmed you. They accomplished their purpose, which was to put you into Kenntnis’s household.”

  “Why?”

  He ignored her and instead asked, “Do you want your birthright? I rule a vast kingdom both in this world and in others. You have only to reach out and take it.”

  “And what do I have to do in return?”

  Madoc smiled fondly at her. “You’re no fool. Yes, you are my child.” He paused to dab delicately at his mouth with his napkin. “But before we trust all our plans to you we must be a little more certain where your loyalties lie.”

  He stood and smiled down at her. “Now open a way for me. I need to go home.”

  “I’m not sure I can. I’m not sure how I did it before.”

  “Think of what you know of physics and combine it with your magic.”

  Rhiana considered all that she knew, particles versus waves, uncertainty principles, strong and weak forces, string theory. As her mind closed on the competing theories the walls of the restaurant seemed to waver, shift and flow. She pulled out a penny, and balanced it on the tip of her index finger.

  “I need power.”

  Madoc made an expansive gesture with his arm, indicating the restaurant and its prone employees. “Feed, by all means.”

  And she did, watching the electrical fields surrounding their bodies dim and fade as she sucked it in, hot and vibrant. The plump waitress lying by the kitchen door gave a gasp and her breath began coming in wheezing pants. The pain of her laboring lungs and shuddering heart smashed into Rhiana and for a wild instant she did feel as if she had burst through the confines of her body and was stretching out, massive and powerful, across the night sky.

  She was aware of Madoc’s mind linked to hers, guiding her through the complex designs of competing universes. She knew from his feeling of satisfaction when she had reached the correct thread.

  A rent appeared in the back wall. She had only a confused image of too-bright colors, some of which she couldn’t identify, and a blast of icy air, and he was gone.

  Stepping over the unconscious staff, she left the restaurant.

  Chapter TWENTY

  Fog shrouded the winding canyon road up to the Taos ski basin, floated in ghost tendrils around the white trunks of the bare aspens and swathed the blue-green needles of the towering ponderosa pines. Along the side of the road a mountain stream frothed and bubbled between its icy edges. Angela drove the snow-packed road with nonchalant ease. Since Richard was on administrative leave she had suggested this weekday outing.

  They had chatted on the long drive up from Albuquerque. The original plan had been the Santa Fe ski area, but when Angela learned he had never been to Taos the decision was made. She added with ghoulish glee that the Taos ski resort was where the U.S. Olympic ski team trained.

  Now, three hours later, they were approaching their destination. Richard gazed silently out the front window, wondering if they were going to drive back tonight or if Angela would insist on staying in Taos. And if they stayed they would have to discuss sleeping arrangements. He dreaded that conversation. Maybe she’d be okay with driving home, he thought.

  Richard sensed her gaze and looked over. Her eyes played slowly and languidly across his face, and came to rest on his crotch and thighs encased in the skin-tight ski pants, and he knew, with a sinking heart, that a return to Albuquerque was not likely. Blushing, he waved toward the road.

  “It’s pretty windy. Maybe it would be better if you watched the road?”

  “Am I scaring you?” she challenged and he knew she wasn’t talking about her driving.

  “Should I be worried?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Yes, they were going to have the conversation. Unless he could forestall it. And maybe he didn’t want to. Desire had reentered his life. In the past month he had found himself looking and noticing and reacting, without the touch of that icy fear that had gripped him for the past few years. He stole a glance at her profile. The short upper lip and the uptilted nose and the riot of dark curls. No, she wasn’t a raving beauty like Rhiana, but it wasn’t about physical looks. She was warm and funny and direct and honest. She was his friend. You could do far worse as a basis for intimacy, he reminded himself.

  Then there was his own self-confidence. Acceptance provided a sense of intense energy, and certainty informed his every action and reaction. He suspected that it sprang from the shooting incident, and that engendered a momentary flare of guilt. Had it really required a man’s death to give him this sense of comfort in his own skin? But he wasn’t willing to agonize too much over it. He was experiencing admiration, respect and friendship, and he liked it—a lot.

  Another curve and a steep climb and they broke through the fog bank. Sunlight glittered on the new snow. The needles of the pines were frosted white. Amazing views of distant snowcapped peaks distr
acted him from his self-congratulatory musings.

  He smiled at her. “I’m glad you suggested this.”

  “So am I. It gives me a chance to see you in ski pants.” She leered and then laughed at his expression. “It’s so much fun to make you blush.”

  “You’re a cold, hard woman,” Richard said.

  They pulled into the parking lot. Above them, nestled in the arms of the mountains, was a cluster of buildings. A couple of lodges, a beautiful condo and spa facility under construction, shops and restaurants, and above them all loomed the sheer white face of the mountain.

  “Holy hell,” Richard said.

  Angela grinned. “Oh, that’s one of the easier runs.”

  Two lifts were in view, the chairs trembling and swaying as they made their way up the mountain. There were a few hardy souls, dark silhouettes against the white mountain, riding the lift up to the runs, but it was a Tuesday and the crowds were thin.

  They plowed through the snow to the back doors of the SUV, the snow squeaking and crunching beneath their feet. Angela explained that there were four more lifts, and you had to walk up to the top of the hardest runs. Angela threw open the doors and Richard pulled out their skis and boots.

  Before long the shuttle came by, an open trailer pulled behind a snow cat, and they were driven up to the base of the lift. Soon they were booted and waiting for the chair to grind and whine toward them. It caught him behind the knees and with a swoop and a sway they were on their way up the mountain.

  Angela shifted on the narrow seat to face him. “Richard, we have to talk.” She drew in a quick, deep breath and he realized she was nervous. It was oddly calming for him. “Okay, here goes. I like you. I want to spend time with you, but you seem … elusive. Am I too old for you? Is that the problem?”

  “No, you’re not the problem. I am.” He stopped and amended the statement. “Have been.”

  “Does that mean the problem has been resolved?” she asked.

  “Yes … yes, I believe so.”

  “Good. God, I feel like I’m back in high school.”

  “What a terrible thought.”

  “Does anybody enjoy high school?” she asked, her words clipped and brittle and bright.

  “Only jocks and cheerleaders,” Richard replied.

  He hesitated for a moment, then pulled off his glove and laid his hand against the side of her face. Her skin was soft and warm beneath beneath his palm. It seemed that desire and embarrassment had trumped wind chill. He leaned in and pressed his lips on hers. It began very chastely, but four years of abstinence had taken its toll. Arousal shot straight down into his groin. Richard couldn’t control it, a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan escaped. Cupping her face between his hands, he kissed her long and deeply. She responded fiercely. She closed her teeth on his lower lip.

  Blackness danced before his eyes and his nostrils were filled with the smell of sweat and sperm, all overlaid with musty smell of Kouros aftershave. In memory he tasted blood from his brutally bitten lip. Fear swept away passion. Richard jerked back, his eyes snapped open and reality returned. Only the fact that the ground was thirty feet below kept him in the chairlift.

  “What?”

  His mind churned for some explanation, some plausible lie. “I … I was afraid we were getting close to the top.”

  “Yeah, I guess we are.” With her bright red cheeks, tumbled curls and crooked little grin, she looked like a particularly endearing and naughty elf. “So, hold that erection ’til later!” He gave her a wan smile in answer.

  She grabbed her poles, and they both made it off the chairlift without mishap. Angela grabbed his face and planted a hard kiss on him. She skied off, throwing over her shoulder, “See you at the bottom.”

  Richard watched her small form leaning into each turn as she flew down the mountain. Richard dug in his poles and pushed off in a spray of new powder. So much for confidence. He’d opened this particular Pandora’s box, and he couldn’t back out now. If he tried and failed she would never believe it had nothing to do with her. He couldn’t hurt her that way.

  But you were wrong! You can’t do this!

  He tucked his poles, bent low over his skis and raced down the mountain, trying to outrun the doubt and fear.

  The Adobe and Stars B & B stood in a curve of the road some eight miles from the ski valley. There was not a room to be had at any of the ski lodges higher up the canyon, and Angela was beginning to despair, but then she spotted the vacancy sign. The building formed a shallow arc, crowned with snow and electric luminarias. Smoke spiraled up from chimneys, blurring the stars and the sharp points of the crescent moon. The rich and spicy smell of piñon perfumed the brisk night air.

  The owner, a comfortably plump older woman with a muted Texan accent, had instructed them to park in back. Their room was up the stairs at the end of the building.

  “This is crazy,” Richard said, his words punctuated by his chattering teeth. “The room costs two hundred and fifty dollars a night! I haven’t even got a toothbrush.”

  Angela pulled his arm tighter against her side, and hustled him toward the back door. “Yeah, and you won’t be able to change your underwear either. And don’t worry about the money.”

  For an instant Richard hung back like a recalcitrant foal on the end of the lead line. “Look, shouldn’t we … well, plan this … a little?”

  “Sex should never be planned,” Angela responded.

  Angela hoped that the quip came across as light and confident. She felt anything but. Despite the age difference, and his shy reticence, she wanted this man, and the intensity of that want frightened her.

  Inside, the building smelled of fresh-baked cookies and coffee. The stairs were immediately evident on their right. Richard took a couple of steps toward the common room, but Angela reeled him back and marched him up the stairs. She shoved the key into the lock on the bright blue door and pulled him in.

  A queen-size bed dominated the room. In a corner there was a kiva fireplace with logs already laid in the hearth. Eastern-facing windows framed a section of the mountains. Through a door she could see a two-person Jacuzzi and a spectacular western view of mesas. A narrow line of orange and pink marked the recent passing of the sun.

  She was manic, bursting with energy. She could feel him trembling as she hugged him tight and rubbed her cold cheek against his. Excited that his passion matched hers, Angela reached down, unzipped his pants and reached for his crotch. He flinched, and she jerked back because she didn’t find the expected erection.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Nervous,” he said tightly. “How about we start with the coats?” Richard unzipped her parka and eased it off her shoulders. She was very aware of his slender hands with their long tapering fingers and perfect nails. There was no hair on them, nothing to blur the play of veins and tendons beneath the porcelain white skin. He removed his own jacket, opened the wardrobe and carefully hung them both side by side.

  Angela released a pent-up breath and held up a hand. “Okay, so we slow down a little.” She moved to the fireplace, snatched the book of matches off the mantel and struck a flame.

  The fat wood ignited with a burst of green and orange and licked eagerly up the length of the tented logs. Within moments the dried piñon was snapping and crackling. She heard Richard draw in a long, shuddering breath, and the overhead light went out. That seemed an encouraging sign, so she stood and crossed to him.

  Shadows ballooned and swayed across the whitewashed plaster walls. He looked down at her and she drank in the play of firelight across his chiseled features. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his hair. It was soft and fine. She pulled off her sweater and silk undershirt and turned around, offering him the bra clasp. After a few seconds she felt his fingers across her back. They were icy cold. The clasp sprung free and she shrugged out of her bra. She pirouetted to face him, looking forward to his reaction. Angela knew she fell into the cute rather than beautiful category, but s
he also knew that her tits were dynamite and their effect on men electrifying.

  She found Richard staring over her head at the far wall, his eyes wide and dark, sweat beading his forehead.

  She laid a hand on his cheek. Unlike his hand, it was burning hot. “What’s wrong?”

  “I haven’t done this … well, for awhile … a long while.” He brought his focus back to her and forced a smile. “Just bear with me, okay?”

  “Okay. And by the way I’m half naked and freezing, and you’re still dressed. Could you get with the program!”

  His teeth caught at his lower lip. Then with a jerky nod, like an inexpertly controlled puppet, he stripped off his sweater and silks and began to unlace his boots. Angela quickly stripped off the rest of her clothes. The floor felt like it had been tiled with ice cubes rather than Saltillo. She hustled over to the bed, ripped back the down comforter, and plunged between the sheets. They were colder than shit too.

  “Brrrrr. Hey, body warmth helps,” she said, because Richard was still standing in the middle of the small room holding his pants in front of him. “And by the way, I’ve seen a few penises in my time,” and then added, “and no, they haven’t all been on dead guys.”

  He carefully folded the ski pants over the arm of a wicker chair and stepped out of his jockey shorts. She watched the play of long flat muscles across his shoulders, and the way his back tapered down to his narrow hips. He straightened and turned to her, and all breath stopped in her chest.

  The firelight played across his white, white skin. The cuts and bruises had faded. In the firelight they could only be guessed at, rather than seen. She folded her arms behind her head and drank in his body. He had only the faintest feathering of golden hair on his chest and the brush in his groin was a darker gold than the white gold on his head. A Greek statue given life and breath, and indeed his chest was rising and falling in quick panting breaths. Desire roiled warm and heavy in her belly, but judging from his flaccid penis he still wasn’t sharing her need.