3.3 The Abyss of WonderLand
I’d heard that seats were crowded and uncomfortable on airplanes, but when we arrived at ours, I found them to be fancy and plush. I sat down in my designated seat, the one next to the window and admired everything around me. I was puzzling over the roominess and the elegance of everything, which seemed so contradictory to all I’d heard, when I discovered that we were flying first class. Terry and Bob had seats directly behind us. I learned their names only after we were already seated. We didn’t shake hands because we were buckled in by then, but I twisted my neck and smiled at them. I was pleased when they smiled back. No grouches were accompanying us. Big plus. Terry was the one with hair so fair it was almost white. He resembled a picture I’d seen of a Viking warrior. Bob had black hair and looked like he might have Japanese heritage. Both were in their thirties, tall and well-muscled, and they were each attractive enough that I’d seen women eyeing them out in the waiting area. Our seating arrangement was two seats next to each other, although I saw that the section on Timothy’s other side were single seats with screens around them. I liked our configuration better and was thrilled that Timothy had given me the window seat. It seemed more secure than being out in the open, which I realize is a completely irrational thought. (But, I’d once heard that people liked the front seat of a plane because they figured they’d get to their destination first, which was an equally bizarre idea.) Anyway, I’d be able look out the window and see the ground. I hoped I’d be brave enough to do so. When my friends and I rode amusement rides, I always kept my eyes tightly shut until the ride was over. Seeing the speed and angle our little car was going seemed only to make the ride scarier. I suddenly heard a loud bang. I gasped, thinking that the plane was already collapsing, even though we hadn’t gotten off the ground yet. Timothy reassured me that it was a sign that the cargo had been loaded, and the bin doors were being shut. Explanations really helped to steady nerves, I decided.
3.2 The Abyss of WonderLand
The two guys nodded to him and then to me. Both men had backpacks over their suits and acted like they’d done all this before. My legs were shaking, and I didn’t have a passport. I tried to tell Timothy that, but he was walking too fast. I tugged on his arm. “I don’t have a passport,” I said, trying to stop his forward propulsion. Timothy smiled. “Yes, you do, darling. I ordered one for you the moment I met you. It’s always wise to stay ahead of necessity.” That was impossible. Peggy, one of the secretaries at the office, had been filling out forms, getting her pictures, and setting up an appointment to get her passport for her upcoming vacation in Paris. She’d complained daily about how difficult and time consuming the process was. I started to say something, but Timothy pulled out a passport from his breast pocket and handed it to me. “Here, you go. This one will work until we change your name to mine, which I hope happens soon.” I halted completely to give myself time to study the passport. It had a picture of me and all the right information. How could that be? “I don’t have a driver’s license either,” I added, regretting the fact as I always did. Timothy pulled an envelope out of the same pocket. “Here. You’re a lot of work, my darling girl, but you’re worth it.” We boarded at the end of a big mob. Timothy showed his phone, which seemed to hold all four of our tickets, then, holding my elbow, he guided me forward after I’d flashed my two very new and very fake ID’s. (Yes, I was half expecting the alarms to go off, or for a stewardess to say, “Definitely not. These are counterfeits.”) It was only later that I realized how many laws I’d broken. How many years in jail would they sentence me to? Would Timothy hire an attorney for me? Would Mr. Sanders rue the day he hired me? We were walking through a long tunnel while I was doing all my worrying about what could have happened if . . . so I hardly noticed our approach to the big plane we were about to fly on, not that I could have seen it, actually, since the airline seemed very secretive, keeping the jet veiled from us. Our passage along the path was very noisy and kind of creepy. I kept wondering what the airline was hiding, and why we couldn’t just walk out on the runway and climb up into the plane. When we finally reached the plane, with the metal monster’s gaping open door, two stewardesses greeted us, rechecked Timothy’s phone for a peek at our tickets, then waved us inside. A young male flight attendant escorted us to our seats. We walked down another passageway, except this time, there were people sitting in seats on each side, some of them staring at us as if already bored with their surroundings.
3.1 The Abyss of WonderLand
The two males made a couple of phone calls, then Timothy took my hand and hurried me out the door, once more carrying my satchel. “I canceled our earlier flight and made a new one. It means that we won’t have time to do much when we get to San Diego today, but we can take a couple more days to see the city properly. No worries.” We climbed into the usual limo, but Andrew wasn’t driving. Instead, we had a new guy named Ricardo. He had a nice smile, but was otherwise, unnoticeable: fair hair, dullish eyes, an overly pronounced nose, and a body that looked like he really needed a good meal. “Thanks for driving us,” I said, and he grunted, also lacking Andrew’s personality and renown sense of humor. “Sit back, darling. Ricardo is new and needs to concentrate on the roads. I think we may be hitting some traffic soon. It’s a little before peak time, but San Jose traffic starts early.” I relaxed back on the soft leather, admiring it as I always did. The smell of saddlery and whatever they used to clean it stroked my nose pleasantly. I inhaled and smiled at Timothy. “That golf man isn’t going to follow us on our trip to the airport, right?” Timothy squeezed my hand. “I don’t know, Penelope, but if he does, it will be taken care of. Ricardo has had training for that. He knows how to avoid someone who decides to invade our privacy.” I was getting really excited about our trip. The number of times I’d been on an airplane: zero. I mentioned that to Timothy, and he shook his head and made a noise with an unidentifiable meaning. “What?” I laughed. “I’m sure there’s lots of people who’ve never flown before.” “I know of only one,” Timothy said, dotting a kiss on my forehead. “Will you be afraid?” “No. I know that theoretically, planes are safer in the air than cars are on the freeway. It’s only the take-off and landing that rank as dangerous. Except, even though I know a little bit about aerodynamics, a plane is so much heavier than a bird. It makes no sense that it could open its doors for a hundred people and then lift both its metal body and all those people into the air.” “If something happened to our plane, my darling, I’d shape change and fly you down to the ground. You have nothing to fear.” The idea of Timothy shape changing into some gigantic bird with me in his claws didn’t ease my anxiety. It probably just added to it. But I didn’t say anything. Despite the traffic, Ricardo oozed us along faster than I would have expected. We’d arrived at the San Jose Airport in less than half an hour. As we walked in, two burly guys stepped forward. “I have the QR codes for all four of us,” Timothy told them. “You have your passports and driver’s licenses?”
2.28 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Yes, I’d already figured on that, even before this man reared his intrusive head,” Timothy said. “They’re seated right behind us.” As if that was some kind of signal, I immediately glanced behind us, but there was no one there. I felt silly, realizing that Timothy must mean on the plane, but wouldn’t anyone have turned to look? “If he follows you, we’ll know who it is he suspects. If he stays here, it’s me he’s investigating,” Andrew said, his attention suddenly on me, as if to determine why I’d gotten so fidgety. “I thought we were safe here,” I said, worrying that the media had traced me here and that I might be the cause of Timothy and Andrew’s fresh trouble. “We have protectors, Penelope. Stop distressing. I won’t risk something happening to you. Not after that incident at the club.” The nightclub? I’d already forgotten about that. “That was just a drug addict wanting money. We shouldn’t have been walking that way, I guess. Although we handled ourselves well.” “Yes. Andrew, that reminds me. Set up a karate instructor for Penelope a week from today. She has some skills, but I want her black belted.” “Whoa, that’s . . .” A kiss sealed my lips. I breathed in deeply when that ended, once again fighting speedy heart-thumps, but this time, not from fear. My first thought was to object to Timothy’s dictatorship over the lesson, then my mind rebelled at the fact that he’d thought I’d still be here in a week. Two lovely arguments, but instead I demanded, “Who is Lillea?” I hadn’t meant to blurt that out, discretion should be something that came with age, but this time it was actually Timothy’s fault for robbing me of my inhibitions with his latest kiss. “That’s Andrew’s latest girlfriend,” Timothy said with a big grin. “Is she Fae?” I probed, eyeing Andrew like that would provide clues. “Not my secret,” Andrew supplied with a curious half-smile that was sexy as heck — if I’d been interested, that is.
2.27 The Abyss of WonderLand
“The guy we talked about, the golfing one who kept straying too close to your property, has journalist credentials. He isn’t employed by any of the big sites, but he’s a freelance agent who is currently writing a book called The Supernaturals Walking Among Us.” I gasped. “How do you know that? I mean how do you know about the name of his book?” Andrew smiled at me. “Penelope, you will soon learn that there is little that money cannot ferret out of the cosmos.” “What?” I laughed, then realized he was absolutely serious. “Buy, how could this man have found out about you, about both of you? It’s not like you go around announcing it to the public, right?” “Calm down, my darling. We have dealt with such problems before. There are always people who hunt for oddities. Mistakes happen. Even the most convoluted machinations can be unraveled with the skills of an expert.” Timothy looked over at Andrew. “Is this man an expert or just a lucky amateur?” Andrew sighed loudly. “I think he’s the real deal. He has exposed certain dealings of the drug world. It’s amazing he’s still alive after that, but it proves that he’s not only wily, but that his investigation skills are really good. I think he’s a problem.” I hadn’t liked being told to calm down, but Timothy was correct in that my voice had raised an octave, and I was feeling a bit faint. I concentrated on breathing in deeply and letting go of some of the tension. But my heart was doing the tom-tom beat of a drum player on speed again. What would happen if Timothy and Andrew were revealed? Would NASA come for them, or scientists in white coats, or . . . But they said they’d dealt with problems like this before. How? Would they kill someone who threatened their existence? “One moment, Andrew,” Timothy said, then he pulled me closer and whispered into my ear. “You have nothing to fear, my darling. We have people who deal with this sort of thing. They don’t practice murder, unless turning someone into a vampire is considered such.” I jerked away to look at his face. “You’re joking, right?” “No. Vampires do exist, but there are other solutions we will try first. Now, relax. We can still go to San Diego.” “I’ll stay here,” Andrew said. “Lillea might be endangered. I’ll send Terry and Bob with you. Grant and Steve will patrol the property.”
2.26 The Abyss of WonderLand
“There, now this has been dealt with, what shall we do next?” I put my elbows on the table and dived into another inquisition. “Wait a minute. Tell me about the Fae. Andrew said he thought that pookas were part Fae. So can you warm up my coffee when it gets cold?” Timothy groaned. “I love you a hundred thousand levels of fervency, but it is time to change the subject, my darling, and visit the waterfall, the cake decorating room, or the horse barn . . . or we could fly down to San Diego to see the zoo. You said you wanted to do that. Another possibility is that we could go get the cat you keep talking about but haven’t made the move to get yet. Which one of those?” I considered for a moment. “If we got the cat, then we couldn’t go to the zoo. We’d be sitting around oohing and aahing about how cute the kitten was.” “Probably true. So, is it to be the San Diego Zoo?” That still seemed extravagant to me, but I nodded my head in agreement. “Okay, let’s do it. We’ll go for a couple of days. I’ll see about getting tickets out of San Jose.” “But if we fly, how will we get around? Are we going to use buses?” “Scoot,” Timothy said, “or I’ll take you to San Diego without a single change of clothing, and then we’ll have to buy everything new.” I saw that he meant it. Me, with a whole room full of Simone approved outfits. I scurried up the stairs without another word. It wasn’t twenty minutes later when Timothy stood at my door, tapping the watch on his wrist. “We need to fly so we can fly,” he said, teasingly. I picked up my bag, which he immediately took from me, and we headed downstairs, only to be met by Andrew. “There’s a problem,” Andrew told us with a poker faced-wry look, but his stance looked rigid, and his hands were clenched like he was ready to either wring someone’s neck or punch him out. We continued down the stairs. Timothy swung his arm around me and then motioned for Andrew to enter the living room. We all sat down stiffly, Timothy beside me on the dark brown, leather couch. I hadn’t been in this room much. My eyes drifted about, even though I should have been studying Andrew to understand what the problem he’d mentioned was. The patterned Oriental rug with shades exactly matching the couch plus with some delightful cranberry highlights, looked classy and expensive. I wondered if it had ever been shampooed. Could someone shampoo an expensive rug?
2.25 The Abyss of WonderLand
Funny? No, nothing is funny in the face of cancer. It’s a black hooded demon that raises up like the boogieman monster of childhood. Except, cancer is real, and pulling the blankets over your head doesn’t protect you from its invasion into the bodies of people you love. “Sorry. Chef Stevens, everything is fine. I’m just having trouble processing the weird,” I finally said, sighing from the sadness of my sudden dark memories. The chef nodded his head. “I am Fae, Miss Penelope. Is that what this outburst is about? Timothy is very secretive about his employees, but I know that you’re going to be part of his life. It’s one of my powers, so to speak. I can read into your heart.” I slammed my butt back into the chair and heaved a great, big breath. “Ff.. . . fae?” I stuttered. I reached for my mug of coffee, planning to take a big gulp of it. “May I?” the chef asked, but he was already striding towards my mug. He touched it, then backed away. “It will now be at exactly the right temperature,” he said, giving me another brief head nod. He turned and was about to go back to the kitchen when I called out. “But why do you stay with Timothy, or whatever his real name is? Does he force you to do so?” The chef turned and glanced at Timothy, who shrugged, and said, “You will find that Penelope is strong-willed and extremely inquisitive, Ben. Give her a bite of information, and she wants a volume.” I opened my mouth to argue with him, but Timothy was probably right. I did have a tendency to dig. I wanted the whole picture, not just the pretty outer shell. Chef Ben turned back to examine me. “Those of us who live in the human world tend to stick now marked as supernatural, although ignorant still of our ways. I imagine that your husband-to-be will acquaint you with all that you wish to know as you are ready. “Now if you will forgive me, I have things in the kitchen that need to be completed. I plan to serve a cherry and dark chocolate crostata for dinner, and it requires some preparation.” I had no idea what a crostata was, but the fact that it had dark chocolate in it seemed drool worthy. I might have asked the chef about the recipe, but the door had already swung closed behind him.
2.24 The Abyss of WonderLand
I sipped at my iced tea and thought about that. Timothy was holding something back, acting secretive again. I stared at the mug for a moment, pondering that. “How long has Ben worked for you?” “I’ve only been here a short time, Penelope,” Timothy said “Evasiveness! I knew it. Tell me. Did he follow you from your last place of residence?” Timothy eyed me worriedly. “You’re going to gnaw on this, aren’t you? Are you going to marry me? Because that’s what it will take before I offer up any secrets concerning my employees, and that, only with their permission.” “So, if I went into the kitchen and asked Chef Stevens, would he answer me truthfully?” “Are you going to marry me?” Timothy asked again. “URGH,” I shouted, which brought the person we’d been discussing back into the room. “Is there a problem, young miss?” the chef asked, the lines of concern a definite pattern across his rather handsome face. I stood up, pushing my chair back in a very unladylike manner that my grandmother would have scolded me for. “Yes, I abhor secrets, and when people tell me half-truths, it irritates the heck out of me. How long have you worked for Timothy, Chef Stevens?” The man shot a glance at Timothy, who irritatingly shook his head with a single, very subdued gesture, but one I picked up on. I glared at the pooka. The chef sighed softly, then smiled. “I have worked for the man you call Timothy for only a few months,” he told me. His robin’s egg blue eyes displayed a hint of laughter. “The man I call Timothy?” I That means, you’ve used different aliases, right,” I asked, glowering down at the pooka I’d just spent such a lovely interlude with upstairs in his bedroom, the man I’d showered with, and kissed, and . . . I stamped my foot, something I’d only done as a rebellious teenager ONCE. My grandmother had quickly put an end to such rebelliousness. She’d been invaded with cancer. Funny how defiant teenager uprisings pale under serious issues.
2.23 The Abyss of WonderLand
“It will not cause you pain,” Timothy promised. “My saliva will deaden the injection site before I puncture your skin.” Even scarier. I shivered, and he tossed a blanket over my body, then held me for a while until my fears eased. Eventually, we showered (together) and preceded downstairs to eat a very late lunch. The cook had made a kind of Indian vegetarian stew. He told me what it was called, but all I cared about was that it was delicious, and I was famished. Apparently, lovemaking qualifies as exercise. We had Naan, also, which was a flatbread. I could have consumed an entire meal of it because it was scrumptious. Bread enthusiast, here. The stew was great for ladling into the Naan. The stew contained chickpeas, sweet potatoes, peas, cauliflower, spinach, and zucchini in a sauce made with turmeric, tomatoes. and coconut milk. The chef, Ben Stevens, also, had sprinkled cashew nuts over the top. Since I raved over our meal, he explained so much about the recipe that Timothy finally cleared his throat meaningfully, which Chef Ben immediately noted. “Why did you do that?” I fumed, after the poor guy scurried back to the kitchen. “I liked hearing about how Chef Ben fixed our lunch. Timothy fidgeted, which was so unlike him that I almost forgot my irritation. He sighed, then placed his hand on his forehead, shaking his head as he did so. “Sorry, Penelope. I guess you could say, one part jealousy, one part because he was wasting our togetherness time, and lastly, because I wanted to talk to you about our plans for the rest of the day. Do you want me to call Ben back to apologize?” I relented, shook my head, and babbled, “But why is everyone afraid of you? I mean, you clear your throat, and people practically cower and run off like whipped dogs, tails between their legs.” Timothy laughed. “No. It’s not like that, my love,” he said, shaking his head. “No one’s scared of me. Not in the way you mean. Nervous that I might terminate their employment, I suppose, although I would never do so for a non-reason. Especially not when the food is this excellent. “Of course, if I thought someone endangered you, or if you requested that I give them notice for some reason, then I would do it in an instant. But, rest assured, Ben is not afraid of me.”
2.22 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Perhaps, it is like a spider’s web that weaves us close. No, I see that image frightens you. I know, a pinball machine where the balls zing about, being flipped and slingshot from place to place.” He sat up and looked down at me. “I’m not explaining this well, am I?” I laughed, but I was feeling slightly sick. The sex had been great, and we were still lying on his bed, naked and slightly sweaty. My body felt tingly. My head had swelled as if I were high on a drug or from drinking alcohol — well, what I thought being high must feel like. I was still panting slightly, and my heart was pumping madly, like I’d run a marathon. But spider webs, pinging balls, and ricochets? Timothy picked up my hand, turned it over and kissed the soft parts. A thrill ran through me. Wasn’t my body saturated yet? How could I once more be full of desire? “Yes, it will be like that for a while, until the bond is complete,” Timothy said, smiling at me and nodding his head slightly. “You’re reading my mind again?” I gushed, hardly angry at the moment, since he was suddenly traveling up my arm, blowing hot puffs and kissing the suddenly sensitive pores of my arm. “Emotions,” he said, “Being eager for what we just experienced is an easy sentiment to read, like a neon sign,” he said, rubbing his hand along my upper arm, which shouldn’t have created the incredible vibrations of lust that were suddenly dancing up and down my spine. “Do you wish to talk or shall we engage in . . .” he asked, giving me that knockout smile of his. I cut him off. “Despite what neon signs you’re picking up, I think we should get up, dress, and do something with the day. I mean, something else.” His grin widened. His startling white teeth flashed. “Yes, I suppose so,” he said, caressing my face, then bending down to kiss my neck. Okay, I was wrong. The next time we cleaved, it was every bit as good as the former times. Maybe even better. It was only after that, when my brain finally kicked into gear that I finally asked the questions I should have asked before we’d jiggled the bed so thrillingly. No, he had no diseases, couldn’t get diseases, and no, I couldn’t get pregnant with him, unless he gave me the bite which would make me completely his. That was a relieving discussion, although the bite thing was rather worrisome.