The Silver Thread (36 page)

“Aha, that must have been where he met the Spanish princess.”

“He told you about her?”

“Yep. I’ve been learning all sorts of juicy gossip about you Marinossian boys,” she said, smiling primly as she pushed the mask to the top of her head. “I found out who sent Talvi to the samodivi of the East to return some borrowed books. I know you’re not as much of a gentleman as you’d like everyone to believe, Finn Marinossian.”

He stopped looking at the pipe and stared directly into her blue eyes. A mischievous light had brightened his face.

“Do you, now?”

“Oh yeah. I guess that’s why you knew those samodivi of the East that Talvi found at the troll’s house. You were on a first-name basis with them, and I think I know why. I’ll bet you weren’t much of a gentleman when you first met them, were you?”

“Now that is not a very ladylike question to ask, Annika.”

“No, it’s not, but I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I’ll let you draw your own conclusions, but let’s keep my ungentlemanly conduct just between us, shall we?” he said, blushing brightly, grinning wide. He glanced at the long pipe one more time, and then passed the mouthpiece of it to Annika, leaving the base resting over the brass lantern. “Ladies first.”

She inhaled the smoky vapors, letting the sweet, heavy smell fill her lungs. When she exhaled, a thick, bluish-tinted smoke rose above their heads. She passed the mouthpiece to him and he took a long pull, holding it in his mouth for a moment. Then he parted his lips, drawing the smoke out of his mouth and into his nose in a perfect French inhale.

“Oh, do that again,” she said, but he passed the pipe back to her.

“It’s not very gentlemanly to go out of turn,” he said, snuggling into his pillow while she took another puff. They passed the pipe back and forth, and he repeated his trick for her a few more times.

It was understandable to Annika why there were so many cushions, why the room was so dim and cozy. Their dark little den was far, far away from the sunshine and merry weather up above. It made sense to her why animals burrowed into the ground, safe from the harsh elements. In the den, all was safe and secure. Even her ability to overhear others’ thoughts and conversations seemed to deaden and dull into a quiet calmness. All the agitation seemed to drift up and away with the blue smoke. It caught on the star-shaped lamplight, leaving her feeling comfortably numb, protected and at peace. She couldn’t even feel the nose on her face, let alone the ring on her finger, but she felt safe in this nest with Finn watching over her.

“All I smell is opium,” she said, putting up her hand when her next turn came. Finn took one more long draw of smoke before retiring the pipe.

“All I smell is you,” he said quietly, rolling onto his back as he exhaled and closed his eyes. “It’s going to be a long, long night.”

“So this isn’t helping at all? I really thought it would.”

“It’s taken the edge off,” he admitted. “But that’s about all it has done.”

“What does it feel like?”

He was quiet for a long time, and for a moment Annika was sure he’d fallen asleep. Then he moistened his lips and said, “It feels as though I’ve been crawling through a desert for weeks on my hands and knees, chasing a cup of water that is forever dancing out of my reach. The ground is hot and dry, and all I want, more than anything in the world, is a drink of that water. Just a taste of that fresh, clean, cool water. It keeps dripping and spilling in front of me, and I try to lick it off the ground, but I end up with a mouth full of sand every time. It’s making me want to scream. I’m so bloody warm.”

Annika moved the tray out of her way and sat up, then pushed Finn’ curls up to rest her hand on his damp forehead.

“Maybe we need to open that box. Your skin’s on fire.”

She reached behind his pillows, searching until she felt the lid under her fingers. The box was wedged securely in place; she couldn’t pull it out. She wiggled two fingers under the lid, touching some sort of wrapper, before she was yanked away and found herself sitting to his left at arm’s length. His dark eyes burned in frustration.

“I told you, I didn’t want to open that,” he said through his teeth, gripping her arms tightly against her waist.

“Then why did you get it?” she asked again. She tried to wiggle free, but his strong arms wouldn’t let her budge.

“It’s a last resort, and I’m not ready to resort to it yet.”

Annika grinned to herself, imagining that there weren’t too many things that came in wrappers that would fit inside Pandora’s box if she was as fertile as Finn claimed.

“I’ll bet I know what’s in there,” she taunted, swinging her left leg over him and settling onto his hips while she gazed in his beautiful eyes. Images of him lifting her dress and doing despicable things to her in that private little doorway off the Champs-Élysées played in her mind like a dirty filmstrip. It was followed by a double feature of her covered in melting ice cubes, being dug frantically out of a bathtub by him, while she counted to thirty.

“Annika, please…don’t do that,” he said, looking as if he were in great pain as his breathing grew heavier. He let his grip on her arms loosen and took her by the waist, intending to push her off of him. “You’re only making it worse.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she said innocently, all the while rocking her hips gently against the hard swell in his chinos.

“Well, those weren’t
my
thoughts, you
kotka diva
,” he hissed while his skin broke out in another round of sweat. “Damn you…they are now. You must be starting to peak.”

He tried feebly to push her off of him, or pull her off of him, only to realize that he was not accomplishing either. Instead, his hands stayed in place, feeling her body moving with his. A soft moan escaped his lips, and Annika felt a rush of excitement to see how much control she had over this strong, intelligent creature nearly twice her size beneath her. He was covered in sweat and his face was contorted in a strange blend of pleasure and agony. She’d never seen him tortured like this, but it didn’t last long.

With a louder groan, he flung her off of him and sat up on his knees. He took off his shirt, wiping his damp face with it before taking it to his glistening skin. The high from the opium and the scent of his clean sweat mixed with his birchwood aftershave pushed Annika further into her delirium. She curled her fingers under his jaw, then reached out toward the living Roman god in front of her and gently took a handful of his curls in each fist, pulling him closer, inhaling from above his pointed ear down to his shoulder. He smelled so good, so clean and pure, just like the water he said he thirsted so desperately for.

“Why should my lying, cheating husband be the only one to have room for certain allowances?” she sighed into his neck.

“That’s not how I meant that remark at all. You twisted my words, you twisted creature,” Finn said, and despite himself, he tossed his shirt aside and took her by the waist once more, caressing her lovely ilium with his thumbs, humming in approval.

“Let’s open the box, Finn. You said that whatever happens here stays here, right?” she whispered, running her nose along his cheekbone until it was touching his. “Or did I get that twisted too?” She tried to kiss him, but he pulled back just as her lips brushed against his.

“No, you’re right. It stays here. All of this will stay right here, and we shall never speak of it again.”

His hands slid up her waist, up her bodice, then slipped her cardigan off her shoulders and free of her arms. He leaned back to pull the mysterious box out from under his pillows, setting it beside him, easily within his reach. Then he took her arms in his warm hands, letting them wander from her inner elbows up to her shoulders, before sliding down again. Her skin prickled in response to his touch.

“What are you going to do?”

He unbuckled his belt, and pulled it completely free of his chinos.

“What are you going to do?” she asked a second time, wide-eyed. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest as her pulse raced. “Talk to me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, but what I’m about to do is not gentlemanly in the slightest,” he replied, opening the lid of the box. “Now close your eyes…and count to thirty.”

She couldn’t see what was inside, but she nodded because she wanted that more than anything else at that moment. She closed her eyes, and began to count. A wrapper was torn open and then she felt him take her tightly by the arm. She had only made it to nineteen.

The sensation that filled her was like the first crack of thunder rolling through her body after a season of drought. Where the earth had been scorched dry by countless days of relentless sun, there was now soft, warm rain soaking the sand, soaking into her spirit. She could feel the thrill of running naked in the rainstorm, smelling the fresh wet drops on her bare skin, on her neck, in her hair. The wind rushed in her ears until it was replaced with pulses of white noise and otherworldly notes. She gasped and shuddered as she fell back into a blue pool that had appeared beneath her, clinging to Finn for dear life as the warm waves of bliss washed over her again and again. She became an underwater thing, wet and slick like the skin and scales of a mermaid. She could imagine her long hair swirling all around her, all around him, surrounding them both in rhythm to the thunder, in rhythm to her breath, in rhythm to her heartbeat, and his heartbeat.

“Keep your mask on,
slunchitse
. You know the rules,” he murmured in her ear. His hands pulled her mask back down into place every time she tried to push it off of her face. His mouth was so close to hers, his skin was so warm against hers, and his mind filled hers with images of racing through infinite oceans of space. Together they traveled, until they arrived at a source of incredible warmth and light. It was the most beautiful thing Annika had ever seen or felt. It was the origin of that source of comfort, that cocoon of solace that only existed between her and Finn. He cradled her in his arms, lying there together in the cool rainstorm. And then, the storm relented to a long, quiet, calm drizzle. And then, the rain stopped.

Annika opened her heavy eyes and looked around the dim room. The starry lamplight was absent, contributing further to that dream state. The only light in the room was coming from a black and white film playing on the television; an evening scene of a man walking with a woman toward a telescope under a starry sky. The volume was turned completely down, and the only thing Annika heard was an occasional soft puff on the opium pipe.

She realized her head and right arm were resting on Finn’s chest, and she could feel his right arm curled around her back, with his hand resting in the groove of her waist. Her entire body was stiff and sore, and her head was pounding as it rose and fell with each shallow breath he took. She wished she could shut her eyes and fall back asleep in that cozy, dark little nest, but the room was spinning and her stomach was extremely angry about something. She sat up slowly, covering her bare chest with the blanket, and turned to look at Finn. His curls were swept aside, and even though his eyes were closed, she still tried to read his expression. When he lifted his long lashes and their eyes met, there was no guilt, no remorse. There was only a sleepy and serene tranquility glowing about him.

She looked around the dark room, letting his arm slide gently down her bare body and fall onto the cushions beside her. Her white dress lay in a wrinkled heap not far from her. A few feet from that lay her white jeweled mask and her teal cardigan. Her shoes seemed to be missing, along with her protective amulet.

Hesitantly, nervously, she crawled out of the blankets and pillows. Finn set the pipe down and watched her gather the bodice of the dress. She yelped as it unfurled in front of her. All over the skirt were swirls and streaks of yellow, red, and orange.

“What happened to my dress?” she asked, bewildered.

“Your waiter and his friends,” Finn answered quietly.

“When did that happen?”

“Tuesday evening, I believe,”

“What day is it today,
sludoor
?” she asked, filling with anxiety.

“I don’t know,
slunchitse
,” he yawned as he turned to look at the television. Annika kept waiting for him to elaborate more, as he was always keen to do, but he seemed content to watch the movie in peace. Her stomach gurgled again and she hurried to slip on her panties, dress, cardigan, and mask, taking the overnight bag with her.

“I’m going to the bathroom. Do you need to lock the door or can I just close it and come right back?” she asked, but Finn appeared to have fallen asleep.

She shut the door and wandered down the row of rooms, fighting the nausea and dizziness, realizing precisely how cold the stone floor was under her bare feet. It all seemed new to her, yet she found her way to the bathroom as if she knew it by heart. She stared at the masked woman in the full length mirror, examining her under the artificial light. She had been wearing the mask so long that it felt like it was part of her; an alter ego. It seemed to have its own personality, and she was just the body schlepping it around. She realized there was yellow, orange, and red paint on her neck, intermingled with streaks of blue. There was also blue paint on her calves. Gathering her skirt in her arms, she followed the blue trail up her legs and over her knees. She lifted the dress even higher. The paint had been applied heavier along the backs of her thighs, across her rear, around her hips, and over her waist and lower back. It was even in her hair.

What the hell did we do?
she wondered, looking at her mask, as if it could confess all that it had seen.

You couldn’t look and not touch, but could you touch and not taste?
it seemed to ask. Another current of uneasiness ripped through her, and she let go of her dress and rushed over to the sink.

She got out the toothpaste and began to brush her teeth. Her upset stomach finally lurched and she threw up, then rinsed the basin and brushed her teeth again. She swished some water in her mouth and spit it out, trying to determine what day it was, trying to retrace her steps to her last memory, but the harder she tried to remember, the more her head pounded. There were only snippets here and there; red, yellow and orange flames crawling across her skin, blue rain drops quenching her thirst, Finn’s deep voice reminding her over and over to keep on her mask, counting to nineteen, and his warm hands on her waist, her hips, her thighs. So many masks…so much paint.

Her hand trembled as she rested it the same place where Finn’s had rested in the doorway off the Champs-Élysées, where Talvi’s had rested in her bedroom so long ago. The warm, fuzzy feeling was gone, which might have been a good thing, but then again, it might be a bad thing. A very,
very
bad thing.

“Is there anybody in there?” she asked out loud, searching for any sensation that might resemble this so-called ray of light.

“Just me,” a woman’s voice answered, and a toilet flushed. Nicolette came out from one of the stalls and walked up to Annika, standing beside her as she washed her hands. She reached for a hand towel, and leaned against the counter, eyeing Annika through her mask with a little smile as she carefully dried her hands. “Did you change your mind about the shower?” she asked. “I did
très bien
with your lover, no? He had more paint on him than you.”

“I think I’m good, but thanks,” Annika stammered, blushing at the offer. That certainly explained why Finn was so clean, and why he was glowing.

She came back to the room and locked the door, dropping her mask on the ground by where Finn’s shoes and socks still sat neatly where he left them. She sat next to him, watching him sleep. His breathing was so slow and quiet, she was afraid he wouldn’t hear her ask her painful question.

“Please tell me I didn’t get it on with the waiter and all his friends,” she whispered, trying to ignore her aching body. “I kinda feel like I did.” He mumbled something she couldn’t understand.

“What?”

He opened his eyes and repeated, “
Kukaan ei sa koskettaa sinua paits
i itse
.”

“I don’t have a friggin’ clue what you’re saying, Finn,” she said, looking at him with concern.

“I
said
, no one but myself was allowed to lay a hand on you,” he replied somewhat impatiently.

“No, you didn’t. You were saying something else. It sounded like
coo-con coss
ketta
.”

“Ah…I was answering you in Karsikko,” he sighed, yawning again. “Occasionally I become confused on what language to use.”

“You never get confused,” she frowned. “That’s not like you at all.”

“It is when I’ve been lying so deep amongst the poppies,” he said, closing his eyes and resting his head in her lap. “Come lay with me in the field again,
slun
chitse
.”

“I think we’ve both had enough of those flowers,” she said, brushing his curls out of his eyes. She wanted to remember what lying in the field with him had consisted of, but it was all still a blurry spot in her memory. The more she tried to remember, the more her head ached. Finn handed her the remote control in a languid motion, and she caught sight of his fingertips. They were stained with blue paint.

“Would you prefer to have volume? This is the film you wanted to see…
It
Came From Outer Space
.” Annika nodded, and took the remote.

They sat together in silence for the entire length of the film, but Annika couldn’t lose herself in the story. She was lost in her head, searching for her missing memories of what they had done, and however long they had been there doing it. Had it been days, or even longer? She had no clue, but it didn’t matter. What was done was done. The red paint on her dress was the ultimate scarlet letter, but she only felt bad that she didn’t feel more guilty for what they had likely done. Her anxiety and restlessness were getting worse, and she was relieved when the movie was over.

“Finn?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think we can leave soon?”

“Mmm hmm,” he hummed, but he didn’t budge from where he still rested on her lap.

“I meant
really
soon. I don’t feel good.”

He nodded his head, and propped himself up as if he were physically exhausted. Then he tilted his head backward as far as it would go, and slowly arched his back, cracking it a half dozen times. When he finally sat upright, he yawned so hard that he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

Annika gathered his shirt and pants from the opposite side of the room and brought them over, since he seemed so tired and stiff. It seemed to take him forever to fasten his buttons and buckle his belt. Annika didn’t remember him being so sluggish when they had first smoked the opium, but then, who knew how long he’d been awake, or how much he’d smoked. He slipped Pandora’s box into their overnight bag and blundered his way to the door, sitting down to put on his shoes.

Annika started looking for her own shoes, finding one under the couch. It was spattered in the same blue paint that was on Finn’s hands, and when she went to put it on, she noticed that the bottom of her foot was the same color too. She glanced over at the opium pipe, and sighed.

This is why you can’t have nice things
, she could just imagine James yelling at her. She started to shake her head, but then she stopped. It still throbbed mercilessly. She stumbled through the sea of cushions and tried not to throw up again as she leaned down to blow out the cricket lantern. Together, she and Finn walked to the elevator, leaving their nest of pillows, and hopefully all memory and evidence of what that room had been privy to.

They were greeted by the thin older woman, who let them out of the elevator and took their masks, and led them to her desk. She had Finn leave his email address in case Annika’s amulet turned up, and then took his cards out of a locked drawer, handing them back after he signed the bill, no questions asked.

Annika’s eyes were grateful that it was a cloudy day. The ominous sky was dark gunmetal grey, and it looked like it was thinking about raining, but hadn’t made up its mind yet. Annika couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought a pack of cigarettes, but now seemed like the right time. They stopped at a magazine stand, where Finn snagged a few scientific journals and she picked up a pack of smokes and a new lighter. While Finn paid, she noticed that the calendar was marked as the last Friday of June.

As soon as she could get outside, she ripped open a pack and was inhaling that calming nicotine, chasing away her anxiety with every desperate puff. Finn shook his head in dreamy disapproval, helping himself to one of her cigarettes, lighting it in slow motion and bringing it to his amused lips with blue stained fingers. The world raced around them, commuters, students, and tourists, as they meandered block after block to their hotel. There was no rush. There was no need. There was no schedule. Time didn’t matter. Nothing mattered at that moment except a steady supply of nicotine, a light breeze, and Finn walking on the outside as he always did.

Annika caught a reflection of them in a storefront window and stopped to look at herself again, this time without her mask. Her partner in crime stood next to her, watching their reflection as well. Among the morning crowd on their way to another day of work, they remained untouched in a bubble all their own…him looking as content as a cat with a canary, and her, stained from head to toe by their misdeeds. She held her head high and smoked, looking at this strange colored version of herself; her unmasked alter ego. The dress, like her, may have been ruined…but it was still a Chanel.

“I just realized something,” she said, holding her cigarette in one hand, and draping her brown hair over her shoulder with her other hand.

“And what is that,
slun
chitse
?”

“Every book you own belongs to me now.”

“However did you arrive at that preposterous observation?” he asked, taking a leisurely drag from his own cigarette.

“You bet me every single one of your books that I’d complain if something dripped in my hair at
la Société d’
Art
Souterraine
. Well, look at all this paint in my hair. I haven’t said one word about it.” She ran her hand down her long locks and looked up at him. It was splattered in primary colors.

“No, I distinctly heard you complain about the paint.”

“I complained about it getting on my dress, but I didn’t say anything about it getting in my hair,” she said, looking at her reflection and grinning smugly.

“Either way, I wasn’t serious.”

“You made the bet and I accepted. I won fair and square. But I don’t have room for all of my new books, so I’m going to let you keep them at your house. Does that sound fair to you?”

“Not at all, but I suppose that will teach me to make wagers I can ill-afford, even in jest. Perhaps I should consider myself lucky that I lost to you and not the Casino de Monte Carlo,” he grinned. He draped his arm around her, still watching her in the reflection. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“That I now own ninety-nine percent of your most prized possessions?”