Love in Fantasy (Skeleton Key) (3 page)

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’? Seriously, Simon? Please tell me you aren’t about to suggest we go out and find ourselves a gypsy.” My voice drips with sarcasm.

“Oliver,” he says hesitantly, “we are out of resources. So, open your mind a little and don’t discount it until I’m done explaining.” He stares at me archly. “Unless you’re ready to give up on having Pippa,” he adds.

The thought of a life without my sassy, little temptress leaves me cold and the desperation from a few minutes ago comes rushing back. It might be far-fetched and ridiculous, but as I said before, I’ll do anything to have her. I gesture for him to continue and prepare myself to keep from laughing at what I’m sure will be an entertaining suggestion. He sits in the chair on the opposite side of my desk, sprawling his legs out and getting comfortable. I roll my eyes and grunt, “Get on with it, asshole.”

He glares at my attitude, and I shrug. Whatever. “When I was sifting through all of the old papers in the palace library,” he begins, “I came across a page that looked as though it might have been from a journal of some sort. It referenced a key—a skeleton key—one that supposedly ‘unlocks’ love.”

I start to scoff, but swallow it down at the annoyed frown he shoots my way. “Anyway,” he snaps. “There wasn’t much information, and I don’t know how it works, but, in desperation to turn you back into a human being instead of this fire-breathing dragon you’ve become, I looked into it.” His eyes shoot daggers at me, daring me to comment and I dutifully stifle my remark. “I couldn’t find any more information but, there was a box in their attic, of all places, with the design of a key carved in the wood. Um. . .” He clears his throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “I could have sworn it wasn’t in the box of old documents the last several times I dug through it.” He shrugs. “I went back to get it this morning, but it was gone. I couldn’t open it anyway, but maybe you’d have better luck.”

Finally, it appears he is finished, and I’m allowed to speak. “If it’s not there anymore, why are we even having this discussion?” I query with a mock scowl.

“I thought, um,” he mutters and shifts again, seemingly struggling to find his words. “Um, I thought maybe it was a, you know,
Sword in the Stone
kind of situation. If you go looking, it might show up again, and you’ll be able to open it.”

That does it. I roar with laughter, holding my stomach and gasping for air, tears leaking from my eyes. “
Sword in the Stone
?”

Simon leans back in his chair and watches me with an air of mild irritation. “It’s worth a shot, man. What other avenues do we have?”

The thought sobers me somewhat, though I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of a magical key that will help me convince Pippa to admit she loves me. I rub a finger lightly against one of my temples, trying to relieve the constant ache I’ve felt since I learned about the fucking edict. Is it worth a shot? I do a mental face plant onto my desk, the rational side of me wanting to kick my ass for even considering it. However, there is a louder voice, the one from my heart and . . . other parts of my body. This is the voice that claimed Pippa and is desperate to make her mine. Voice number two wins out. What could it hurt to take a leap of faith?

“Where was it?” I ask suspiciously.

Simon perks up, clearly happy I’ve decided to give this a shot. “Just in case, with the king’s permission, I had the box brought over from the palace.” He points to a set of wooden double doors on the wall to my left. I rarely use the closet, so I often forget the gleaming, dark, cherry wood doors are there for more than aesthetics. They match the rest of the furniture in the room, setting off the lighter, beige walls, and cream accents in the curtains and seat cushions. It’s definitely a male space and I vaguely wonder if I should set up an office for Pippa or let her redecorate this one and share. The idea of being separated from her for a significant length of time, even by the walls of our home, is abhorrent to me.

The sound of three sharp claps brings me back from my musings. Simon raises his brows, his expression a little daring. Did he think I would back out? I snort. He knows me better than that. I jerk my chin towards the door. “Out,” I deadpan. His incredulous face almost breaks my façade as I fight not to laugh. It feels good to find some amusement after so many days of aggravation and ire. He stands slowly, exaggerating the movement, obviously hoping I’ll change my mind. Unfortunately for him, I have to do this alone. I have no desire to have an audience, even Simon, who had this ludicrous idea, when I’m confronted with my gullibility because the key is useless.

The door shuts with a click, and I open the closet to find the cardboard box sitting on the floor. Squatting down, I heft the box into my arms and take it over to my desk. I stare down at it and sigh, regretting my decision already. Then a picture of Pippa floats into my vision, and I wrench the top of the box off. I dig through the mess of papers until I find a small wooden box, about six by six inches, with the carving of a key on the top. It’s an unusual design, a skeleton key of some kind.

Taking it with me, I round my desk and sit in my chair, then place it on the desktop and stare at it. Here goes nothing. There is a small metal catch on the front, and I’m surprised when it lifts with ease. However, the top stays tightly sealed when I try to open it.
Sword in the Stone my ass.
Leaning back in my chair, I continue watching it as I brood until I realize I’m squinting through the darkness. The sun had set and I didn’t notice, leaving all of the lights off.

My chair squeaks as I roll it away and stand up, gathering some papers to read over in bed.
My fucking cold and lonely bed.
I open the door and step into the hall, but before I can continue, I stop and think. Overthink and analyze, until I tell myself to shut the fuck up before I get a headache. Pivoting, I stalk back into the room and grab the small box, taking it with me to my bedroom. I set it on the dresser and go about getting ready, my eyes involuntarily drawn to it over and over. Finally, I move to stand in front of it and glare at the stupid thing. This is ridiculous. I roll my eyes and turn to get into bed, but freeze suddenly when the room is dimly lit by a blue light. Whipping around, I’m taken aback by the sight of the box and brightness that seems as though it’s trying to escape through the cracks. I fight the need to glance at the clock on my nightstand, because if it’s midnight, that would mean I’ve lost my mind. There would be no other explanation than I’ve succumbed to some sort of fairytale insanity.

I lose the fight and peer at the clock from the corner of my eye. It’s official, Monsieur D’Arque should be here any time now to haul me off to the asylum for loons. The box vibrates, drawing my full attention to it once again. When I just stand here, it trembles again, a little more erratically. It calms and I take a step back, only to see it repeat the shaking, with even more force. I move closer and unlike before, when I stop, the pulsating is very faint.
What the fuck?
It’s like the box was getting annoyed that I wasn’t opening it. At this thought, the box practically jumps from the heavy vibration. “Ok, ok,” I grumble.
Great, talking to a box.
I shake my head at this whole foolish business and attempt to open the lid. This time, it whooshes open smoothly, standing up straight to reveal the source of the blue light. It’s a key, one that matches the carving on the top of the box. I figure I might as well go all in and release my hold on any rational thought. The light dies down when I pick up the key. It weighs, perhaps a pound, is about four inches long, and it’s cool against my skin. It’s made of a blue tinted, thick glass, a skeleton head, and two teeth.

What now?
I’m standing here like an idiot, waiting for who the hell knows what, and talking to an inanimate object. Fantastic. A sudden bolt of electricity shoots through my arm and I stare disbelievingly at the key. “Did you just shock me?” The key glows a little. Great, a smartass, magical key. The sound of crinkling paper breaks my stare down with the cocky little object. I look up and see a note attached to the inside of the lid, fluttering as though it were in a breeze. Taking the note, I read the words and though a part of me still wants to attribute this whole episode to being a figment of my imagination, the other part is smiling in triumph.

Apparently, Simon was right; the purpose of the key is to help one find their love. For a brief moment, I worry it won’t be of any help because I’ve already found her. But, as I read the instructions, it dawns on me that this was a solution for the predicament my little temptress had stuck me in. The key will unlock each of their fantasies and they’ll discover who their true love is. It’s corny, I know, but it’s not like I wrote it, so stop judging.

I can only imagine her reaction when she realizes I’ve plowed through her eleven barriers. Knowing my Pippa, it ought to be entertaining, and mutually satisfying when it ends with her screaming as she falls apart in my arms.

“All right, Wilhelm,” I address the key, christening it with the name of one of the Brothers Grimm (it seemed appropriate). “We’ll start tomorrow night with Willow.” I groan. I need to stop talking to the key; it can’t be good for my level of sanity.

A motherfucking fairy godmother.

M
y eyes blink open as sunlight fills my bedroom. I laugh to myself over the ridiculous dream I had.
If only
, I think. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a magical way to fix this predicament? After dreaming about the key, I had a vivid dream about Pippa’s oldest sister and the guy she dated in high school, James Pierce. He was the same year as me (one year ahead of Willow). We were friends, though not close ones. I vaguely remember the rumors. When he graduated, his parents had decided to sell the farm he grew up on and travel the world. Since he had a scholarship in the United States, in a prestigious pre-med program, it made sense for him to take it. I don’t know what kept them apart, but it seems she’s been single ever since. She went to college at Oxford and is a chemical engineer. As it happens, she currently works for my company. She must have been on my mind and that was the reason I dreamt about her and James.

Flinging the covers off of my body, I hop up and walk to my dresser to grab clothes on my way to the shower. Lost in thought, I open drawers and take the things I need then come to a sudden stop. I blink a few times, but every time my eyes adjust, I see the same thing. The small, wooden box is sitting open on the top of the bureau, the odd key nestled in black velvet. It must have sprung open in the night. The moment I turn away, I hear a familiar humming, the sound of vibrations. My head twists and I stare at the key, beginning to accept that, apparently, it wasn’t a dream. What to do with this knowledge, I’m not sure. I wander to the bathroom and take a hot shower, fully waking myself up. Once I’m ready for work, I make my way to the kitchen where my housekeeper has left me a steaming pot of coffee. Reading the morning paper, I drink the hot liquid and try not to think about the thing . . . in the box . . . in my room.

I finish and put my cup in the sink before retrieving my briefcase from my office, ready to leave for work. At the door to the garage, I once again find myself pausing. I’ve done nothing but run through scenarios this morning, no matter how much I tried not to, and I keep coming up with the same conclusion: what have I got to lose? As long as I keep this whole magic and fantasy stuff to myself, of course. I jog back up to my room and take the key from the case, receiving a little zap as I pick it up. Something tells me it’s protesting almost being left behind. Oh, right. Wilhelm has an attitude. I drop the key into the breast pocket of my suit coat, then dash back downstairs and out to my car. I arrive just in time for a meeting, which leads to another and another, until the day is almost done. As my employees clock out, I take the opportunity to work uninterrupted for a while.

A knock on my door startles me and I look up to see . . . James? Wilhelm hums in my pocket. Interesting. “James,” I greet. “Come on in.” I gesture for him to take a seat.

“Thanks. I apologize for interrupting.” He settles in the frame in a leather, high-backed chair, facing me and stretching his long legs out in front of him. He is about my height, but I notice he seems much leaner, almost as though he is smaller boned than he used to be. He runs his hands through his dark-blond hair, another change, his hair was several shades lighter when we were teenagers.