mushrooms.
Clay nodded. 'Absolutely. He was obsessed with food,' he said, trying not to be grotesque though he spoke with his mouth full. The mushroom caps were not the best he’d ever had, but far from the worst. That honor went to the Angry Boar, a restaurant not far from the highlands of Scotland, in the village of Poolewe, where the ultimate in fine cuisine was served from a fryolator. Clay shivered inwardly at the still disturbing memory of fried pizza.
Eve had sliced a small piece of stuffed mushroom and used the fork to bring it to her mouth. Now she swallowed before continuing. 'You expect me to believe that?' She smiled slyly. 'You hung out with Alexander the Great and ate mushrooms?'
Clay helped himself to another mushroom, this time showing some manners and bringing it to his plate where he broke it in half with his fork. He shrugged.
'Everybody has to eat.'
The expression on Eve’s face said she wasn’t certain whether or not to believe him. Clay was having some fun with her, but in truth he had known the Macedonian legend. Many of his memories were lost to him, shifting in his mind like a deck of cards, with far too many missing or obscured. But others were intact and crystalline in clarity. He had been many things in his eternity of life — warrior and monster, hero and assassin. Clay could alter his flesh, could become anyone or anything he wished. In the year 331 A.D. he had used that ability to help Alexander defeat the Persians. Those had been simpler times, violent times, and often it disturbed him how much he missed them.
'Why is that so hard to believe?' he asked, staring at his twin reflections in the lenses of her dark sunglasses. 'Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your past.'
Eve was a bit younger, give or take a millennium, and had lived a life equally fascinating, but he knew she had also experienced a fair amount of pain and anguish.
A waiter came over to refill their water glasses and inform them that their lunch would be brought out shortly, before excusing himself with a slight bow and a genial smile. Eve removed a packet of sugar from a container on the table and began to play with it.
'I remember quite a bit, actually. Some things I’ve let go of, but other things…' Her voice trailed off, and a look of heartbreaking sadness flickered across her face.
Clay wished he had never brought it up, never caused her to examine the memories she wished she could abandon. But as quickly as it had appeared, the telling look was gone and Eve managed to summon a smile as she changed the subject.
'So, tell me something else about him,' Eve said, taking a sip of water. 'Something we couldn’t pull from a history book. Or is his love of stuffed mushrooms the only thing worth knowing about the man who once conquered the entire civilized world?'
Clay set down his fork and pulled the white napkin up from his lap to wipe his mouth. 'He was a pretty good dancer,' he said with a straight face. 'Man, could that guy cut a rug.'
Eve burst out laughing, almost spilling her water. An ice cube had escaped over the rim of the glass and dropped onto the tabletop. She plucked it up with her gloved fingers and tossed it at him. 'Asshole,' she said, a lingering smile on her face.
He could probably have counted on one hand the number of times he’d seen this woman look genuinely happy. It’s nice to see her smile, he thought, brushing the cube from his lap to the ground.
'You don’t believe me,' he said, doing his best to stifle his amusement. 'Fine, be that way. I’ll just keep my candid recollections of history to myself, though I think you might have been very interested in Genghis Khan’s phallus-shaped vegetable collection.'
When Eve glared at him, Clay couldn’t hold it back any longer and burst out laughing himself. The life he led did not often give him the opportunity for laughter, and he held on to the moment with both hands, truly enjoying himself.
Eve grinned. 'Think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?' she said.
He nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes.
'We’ll see how funny you think it is when I stick you for this bill.'
Clay had regained most of his composure by the time their food arrived. Two waiters brought their entrees: his the linguine with clam sauce, and Eve’s a Caesar salad. They were silent through their meal, and he could see by the way her brow furrowed, that she was thinking hard about something. This happened too often when they were together, but for once they were in a situation that allowed him to inquire about it.
'Penny for your thoughts,' he said finally, spinning the last of the linguine onto his fork.
Eve shrugged, placing her napkin on top of the table, and pushed her salad plate away from her. 'Don’t know what it is, but every time I’m with you, I end up thinking about things I’d rather not.'
'Such as?'
She glanced away. 'It’s hard to explain.'
'Then let’s distract you,' Clay said, pushing away his own empty plate. 'How about some dessert?' he asked, removing a menu card from the side of the table. 'I hear they make an amazing brownie sundae, and I’d even be willing to share.'
There was a tinge of desperation in Eve’s gaze when she met his eyes.
'I can’t remember…' she said. 'I can’t remember what the garden… what Eden looked like.' Eve turned her head away to watch the shiny, happy people stroll down the crowded sidewalks of Newbury Street. 'I often wonder if this is another way that He intends to punish me, to take away the memories of the things I cherish, one by one, so only the bad stuff is left.'
Clay was at a loss. The Creator had a gift for punishment, there was no doubt about that. The punishment He had meted out to Eve had led to the horror that had made her what she was now. She had been raped and defiled and driven over the edge of madness by demons, and turned into a monster. Wasn’t that enough?
'We’re old, Eve,' he said. 'Time steals everything eventually, memories in particular. You forget. And, in truth, I’d like to think that God has more important things to do with his time than to keep fucking with you.'
For a moment, Clay thought he saw the slightest hint of anger bloom on her face, her canine teeth elongating to nasty points. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone.
'Do you remember?' she asked him.
He didn’t want to lie to her. 'Yes.'
'Not right now,' she said, 'but maybe sometime, we can talk about it… maybe jog my memory. It just seems… I mean, to be unable to erase the memories I wish I could forget, and not to be able to have even a glimpse of that in my mind… it just hurts.'
Clay reached out and laid his hand atop hers. He was not always comfortable with intimacy, but he could not ignore her pain. 'I remember that there were a lot of plants, if that helps you any.'
He gave her a wink, m and they both laughed softly.
'Thanks,' she said. 'That’s a big help.'
'Seriously. Any time. We’ll go somewhere humanity hasn’t completely destroyed nature, and we’ll talk about it. I’ll share everything I can recall.'
Eve took a long breath and let it out. 'That would be wonderful.' She fluttered one hand in the air. 'Meanwhile, though, back to ancient conquerors and penis-shaped vegetables.'
'Actually, we were moving on to dessert. Now, about that brownie sundae — '
He felt a sudden tug on the cuff of his pants and on reflex shifted the skin on his legs to resemble that of a prehistoric sea urchin, nasty spines rising up out of flesh as defense.
'Shit!' he heard a familiar voice hiss from beneath the table.
Eve heard it as well, rolling her eyes, and they both bent forward, carefully lifting the white linen cloth. From within a pool of shadow under the table, the gnarled, leathery features of the hobgoblin peered up at them. Squire was sucking on one of his sausage thick fingers, pricked by Clay’s defensive metamorphosis.
'What do you want, you little creep?' Eve asked.
'Nice to see you too, bitch,' he snarled, turning to address Clay. 'Sorry to cut into your lunch, but the boss wants you back at the house right away.' He scrutinized his finger, squeezing a bead of blood from the wound. 'Gave me a nasty prick there,' he said, placing the injured finger back into his mouth.
'How apropos,' Eve remarked, dropping her side of the tablecloth, finished with Doyle’s errand boy. 'A nasty prick for a nasty prick.'
