“What?” My hand went to my face and felt a few-week-old stubble. More weirdness. I had a full beard on my birthday. Gemma had shaved it off—right before my meeting with the Shima—as part of the styling that made me look more like my father.
“Nice try, but it’s not nearly enough,” Lirala said. Her large bright eyes still flashed with anger.
“You have to understand. I never…” I trailed off.
For the first time I noticed that there was another woman there, standing shyly by the front door. She wasn’t as tall as Lirala, but she had a softer body, and dusky skin that almost glowed. She wore a designer suit with the latest ruffed collar, and her golden blonde hair was artfully twisted into Terpsichore curls that barely reached her jawline. Definitely a high-end look, but from her body language, I could tell she was uncomfortable in the clothes.
“You were saying?”
“I’m sorry, Lir. Really sorry.”
I fell to one knee. It wasn’t just for effect, either. In this weird timeline I really had tried to pimp my fiancée to settle a gambling debt.
Seeing me in a submissive position definitely rang Lir’s bell. That much was clear.
“Get up, you asshole. And fix us some drinks.”
As I stood, Lir glanced back at the woman who still hung back in the doorway. “For Dynark’s sake, Pretty, get your ass over here. Jannigan, you remember Pretty, don’t you? Or were you too fucked up?”
I nodded, finally recognizing her. “It’s actually Preity, isn’t it?”
Her face brightened as she approached. “Yes. Preity Kapoor.” Our gazes locked, but I didn’t really see much recognition in her big brown eyes.
“Well, I call her Pretty,” Lirala said, pulling the other girl close. “Because she’s delicious. Aren’t you?”
Preity blushed.
“Do you like her hair, Jannigan? It’s new. My design.”
“Yeah, sure.”
In my memory, Preity looked different. She had long dark hair which fit with her tawny complexion and she was adorned with all manner of gold jewelry. But I remembered Preity saying that Lirala didn’t approve and was going to take her for a makeover. I guess this was the result.
Lirala took Preity’s hand and pushed past me into the lounge. “Jannigan, I’m thinking I’m in the mood for some of that super expensive whisky you’ve been squirreling away.”
“Not the Reserve…”
“Yes. Doesn’t that seem like an appropriate drink to begin toasting your apologies with?”
I smiled to myself. Here we go. The punishment was beginning.
In a vault downstairs I had two bottles of Hinderwell Reserve ’87 single malt Scotch. They were over seventy years old and each one cost more than the annual income for an average middle-class family. Initially it was painful to think of actually drinking one of them, but it hit me. Why the hell not?
“Be right back,” I said.
“Do be quick,” Lirala said with a mock lightness. “We may get into some winkle dust as an appetizer.”
Oh great. If Lirala started with winkle dust, no amount of alcohol would tame her. I had better hurry.
On the lower level of my place was another parlor and a wine cellar, because—why not? And in the back of the wine cellar was a hidden door that led to a small two-meter by two-meter vault. I didn’t have a lot of valuables other than the Hinderwell, which was a gift from my uncle Wallace.
He had bestowed three bottles upon me for my eighteenth birthday. I was supposed to drink one on my twentieth birthday (which I did), my thirtieth birthday (which I didn’t, because I was too messed up), and my fortieth birthday.
One time when Lirala and I were having sex in the vault, I made the mistake of showing her the bottles. Of course, she wanted to get into them then and there, and it took a tremendous amount of effort (and the promise of a diamond anklet) for me to distract her.
Oh well. Easy come, easy go.
I took of one of the boxes which contained a bottle and opened it up to admire the label. The label was old school paper, not the tacky animaphics you see on every package of every product made since 2325. The letters were embossed into the paper with a deep, rich ink. But when I read the name on the label I almost dropped the bottle.
It read Cinderwell Reserve ’87. Not Hinderwell.
What the—?
I quickly checked the other bottle. Same thing.
This couldn’t be.
The back label featured a hand-lettered code and also mentioned Cinderwell: This exquisite Single Highland Malt Scotch Whisky was distilled in 2287 (Cask No. 263) and bottled in 2330 by the Cinderwell Distillery, Isle of Arran, Scotland, UK, Earth.
What the hell was going on? Had someone switched bottles as a prank?
I quickly checked the contents of the vault, but everything else seemed to be in order.
“Jannigan!” I heard Lir’s voice from right outside the wine cellar. “We’re getting really wired. Where the hell is that booze?”
I grabbed the bottle and headed out, sealing the vault behind me.
Lirala and Preity had wandered downstairs. From the wild look in their eyes, it was obvious that they had both partaken of the winkle dust.
I steered them back out towards the stairs up to the parlor.
“Wow, you have a pool!” Preity escaped from me and skipped over to the edge of the narrow hyaline bridge spanning my narrow lap pool. “Can we go swimming?”
Lirala joined Preity on the bridge. “Maybe later, if you behave. Or misbehave.” She slapped Preity on her behind, and Preity playfully shoved her back.
I could see where this was going. One or both of them would end up falling over the rail and tumbling into the water below. It was way too early in the evening for those kinds of shenanigans.
“Let’s go back upstairs, ladies.” I hooked my arms in theirs and steered them back towards the parlor and then, grabbing the bottle of whisky, I headed back upstairs.
“Your place is amazing,” Preity said. “You have so much artwork.”
“Art’s boring,” Lirala scoffed. “Whisky is not. Let’s get that bottle open, darling.”
I fetched us a trio of
