'But why now, after all this time?' Gene wanted to know afterward.
'I don't know, Gene. Maybe I never realized how much I like you. Maybe it's about time I stopped waiting for…'
'Waiting for Mr. Right?'
'I hate that expression.'
'So do I. Maybe it'll take a bit more time.'
'I'm tired of waiting.'
'But… '
She nodded 'I know, Gene, I know. Sorry.'
'Don't be. I'm not. I think… Linda, I think you're carrying a torch for somebody.'
'It shows, eh?'
'Yeah. I won't ask who.'
'Don't, please.' She scooped up some sand. 'Oh, hell. I want to tell somebody. But I really can't.'
'Then don't.'
'But I want to. He's married.'
'That's tough.'
'Yeah.' She tilted her hand to let sand cascade back onto the white beach.
Gene fiddled with a shell some time before asking, 'Someone in the castle?'
'Yep.'
'Oh. Guest or staff?'
'This is like Twenty Questions. Neither.'
'Neither?' Gene was mildly puzzled.
'Oh, forget it. It's hopeless. Never happen. Took me years to realize I was in love with him. Then suddenly I did. I had a dream… But as I said, it's hopeless. I should forget. I should get on with my life.'
'Such as it is, inside a magical fairy fantasy castle.'
Linda giggled. 'Magical fantasy fairy castle?'
'Fairly fantastical magic castle.'
'Magical fantastical-'
'Faerie castle.'
'What?'
'F-a-e-r-i-e castle.'
'Oh. How did you pronounce that?' Gene made a sneering face. 'Faeh.'
'Faeh?' Linda laughed.
'Faeh-r-r-rie. Faeeeeeerr-r-r-rie.'
Linda laughed and fell back onto the sand, stretching her long legs out.
Gene regarded her lithe body. He had never realized what nice legs she had, and her short black cocktail dress made them appear all the more shapely. He had always liked the way she was put together. Why hadn't he ever…?
'Gene?'
'Yes?'
'When I said I was horny I meant it. Don't think you would be second fiddle. I've always thought you were very attractive. You're bright, witty-'
'Gosh and shucks. I like you, too, Linda.'
'Don't think… Oh, shit. You probably think-everyone probably thinks of me as a cold fish. Asexual.'
'Nah.'
'Yeah. I know. But it's not that way. I have sexual needs, too.'
'Never said you didn't.'
'Gene, could we… should we have an affair?'
'You know what they say about sex busting up a good friendship.'
'Is that what will happen? It doesn't have to, Gene. I won't hold you to anything. Really.'
'That's not the issue, Linda. That's not-'
He thought better of saying what he was going to say. He decided to kiss her instead, and bent to the task.
The kiss was interrupted by approaching footsteps. 'Here's a jolly spot!' a man's voice said. 'Oh, rotten luck. Seems we're intruding on something momentous.'
Gene and Linda rolled away from each other and got up. It was Lord Peter and Cleve Dalton, each with a saronged chambermaid in tow. The women were dark and lovely and smiling.
'Sorry, old chaps,' Lord Peter said, waving a bottle apologetically. 'Just in search of a good spot for a moonlight swim.'
'No, come ahead,' Gene said, with instant regret.
Cleve Dalton began, 'We don't-want to-'
'Oh, it's only Gene and Linda,' Lord Peter scoffed, leading his lady friend out onto the beach.
'I'm going to turn in early,' Linda said, picking up her shoes. 'I'm bushed.'
She gave Gene a long look. He met her gaze. The matter was somewhere very high up in the air.
'Good night,' he said.
Linda walked back through the trees. Gene looked after her a long time. He was vexed, puzzled, and unsure. Presently he turned toward the intruders. Clothes already lay in piles on the beach. The two couples were wading out into the breakers, backlit by the huge moon.
He got a fifth-wheel feeling and began to follow in Linda's footsteps, then halted.
He didn't quite know what he wanted to do.
He struck off down the beach in search of solitude and quiet. And darkness. He had some thinking to do. Some very important thinking.
Why now, he wondered, after all this time?
CELLAR
The musty old crypt had gotten somewhat bigger, and in the process had acquired some interesting attributes. Completely transformed, it was now a plush seraglio fit for a sultan, padded with carpets, tapestries, pillows, and rugs. Standing braziers threw off the smoke of fragrant incense. Scented oils burned in dozens of polished silver lamps.
There were two recliners, and on them reclined Thorsby and Fetchen. Attending each were no less than eight houris. 'Peel us a grape, love,' Thorsby commanded..
A bare, milky arm reached out, a purple morsel 'twixt thumb and index finger.
'Ye gods, that is a peeled grape.'
'It is yours but to wish, O Great One,' said the houri nearest him.
His hand idly roving across smooth bare female flesh, Thorsby accepted the bit of skinned fruit. It was sweet, melting on his tongue. A burst of flavor filled his mouth, flavor unlike any he had ever experienced.
'Gods, if that's a bloody grape, what's the real food like?'
'Who's hungry?' Fetchen said after ungluing his lips from those of the houri nearest him-one of them, anyway. This said, he attached his mouth to a salient portion of the other's anatomy.
'Yes,' Thorsby agreed. 'Greater appetites gnaw.'
'Why do you delay, Great One?' asked the honey-blond houri.
'Yes, why?' asked the flaxen-haired houri. 'Take me again, master!'
'No, take me!' said the one dark of hair and eyes.
'No, me!'
'Me!'
'Ladies, please!' Thorsby sighed. 'Demand is greater than supply at the moment. Besides, we don't want to
