Inn on the Edge Read Free Page B

“Be careful.”
    But he wasn’t. With a theatrical flourish, he signed the
paper. Then he twirled the quill around in his fingers as if it were a drum
stick, showing off. “A prop,” he said, “that’s all this is! I don’t believe for
a moment it’s real.” He rapped the quill on the edge of the lectern, ignoring
the old man’s stifled intake of breath. Winking at me, Josh tapped the
feathered part against his cheek. Then he turned it around and examined the
tip, looking for the loose end of the splinter, running the pad of his finger
over the rough spot. And then…and then, somehow,he managed to jab
himself with it.
    I gasped.
    Josh stared at his index finger, at the splinter stuck in
the precise same place mine had been. Laughing, incredulous, he showed the
finger to me, then waved his hand in front of the old man.
    The old man clutched the edge of the lectern. His knuckles
turned white.
    “Holy shit,” said Josh, “I have no idea how that happened!”
    I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cringe. Surely my
husband’s show of idiocy was testing the old man’s patience. I hoped the gourmet
chocolates would still make an appearance in the North Tower.
    “Oh dear,” breathed the old man.
    “Watch.” Josh held his finger over the paper he’d just
signed. Taking the injured finger in his other hand, he squeezed it, milking it
until a drop of blood formed. It wasn’t a nice, fat drop like mine—it trembled
and hung for a moment, clinging, before falling onto the paper. He grinned in
triumph. “See! Now we have matching signatures, Angie!”
    I saw.
    So did the old man. He took Josh’s hand in his own. Gently,
he stroked it. “Thank you, Joshua Taylor. Thank you. You have no idea how much
this means to me.” He lifted my husband’s hand, then brushed it against his
papery lips, leaving a thin red smear of blood. Josh tried to pull his hand
away but the old man clutched it tightly. “Joshua. Joshua,” he said softly,
“Now may we speak of perks?”
    Josh looked at his hand, frowning. “Perks. Uh. Yes. Sure.”
    The old man licked his lips. The blood disappeared. He took
a breath so deep it caused him to sway on his feet. Josh, to my dismay, swayed
also.
    Wedding dress rustling, I stepped in front of Josh. I put my
hand on his arm and pulled it away from the old man’s lips, doing for him what
he couldn’t do for himself. Performance art, indeed. This was unlike any
performance art I’d ever seen, and I’d seen a lot. What was going on here was
not performance art, it was something else entirely. What more proof did I
need? The bewildering man in front of us had just licked my husband’s blood
off his lips !
    I shuddered. Looked at my stunned husband. Made up my mind.
Tomorrow, after my night in the North Tower—I had to have my night in the
tower, I just had to, and I had to have my gourmet chocolates too—we’d leave
this place. Josh was right. It was too weird. I was starting to get that “off”
feeling that Josh described before we’d even left the car. One night. One
night, and we’d get the hell out of there. One night, and this place would be a
weird memory that one day we’d laugh about.
    “Perks?” said Josh. “You were going to tell us about perks?”
    The old man seemed to come back from wherever he’d been. A
vein throbbed in his wrinkled forehead. He looked from me to Josh, then back
again. “Oh yes! Perks such as only I can offer. Nowhere in the world will you
find such…value. Indeed, what I intend to give you is worth far more than
money. I have signed you up for the special package. The Lesson package.”
    “Lessons?” I asked, “What kind of lessons?”
    “The first will be tomorrow. At two o’clock. Be sure to eat
plenty at breakfast—you’ll need the sustenance. Now, to the North Tower with
you! Gather up your belongings! Gird your loins! My lovelies, you must be simply
dying to begin your honeymoon!”
    Gird our loins?
    Josh and I shared a look, trying