Page 11 of Bluebeard’s Key

“Well!” Hoyle said with a wink. “That never gets old. Sorry for springing it on you with no warning, but I’m really not. There’s nothing like your first time.”

“It’s your fault I’m here!” Tom accused, pointing a finger at him.

“Guilty as charged,” Hoyle said, looking very pleased with himself. “The Mage wanted something that would clinch the deal and entice you, so I suggested this.”

“What…how…?” Tom stuttered, with a boatload of questions and no idea where to start.

“It’s all rather sordid, so prepare yourself. These Nepenthes have evolved a unique commensal relationship with the local primates. As you can see, the pitchers aren’t the normal insect traps. Instead, they’ve evolved the ideal size and texture to be pleasurable to, um, any males in the area.”

“So they, er…” Tom started, not quite willing to say it out loud.

“Yes. When the plant is in bloom, the males do little else. As you can imagine, this provides abundant nutrients to the plants.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. If you can imagine it, Nature has already evolved it somewhere.”

“Just so. I’m afraid I can’t give you much information about the scent—I’m more of a compost and irrigation guy, not a chemist, and the Mage hasn’t felt comfortable sharing the extract with anybody else until we know more. But that, of course, is why you’re here. So, would you like a tour of the greenhouse?”

A tour was exactly what Tom wanted, and he soon found that Hoyle had vastly undersold himself. He was a fanatical botanist with encyclopedic knowledge, well versed in every aspect of the plants under his care. They toured the entire greenhouse, and for each new plant, he had detailed stories of where he had collected them, the trials and tribulations of keeping them alive in the local island climate, and evocative aspects of their ethnobotanical uses.

“...and because of that, the seeds have always been taken as a sign of good fortune. Which reminds me! I need to get back to the flowers for the wedding.”

“Thierry mentioned you might need some help. Do you need another pair of hands?”

“Always! Grab those orchids and let’s get to work.”

The sun was setting lower in the sky when they finished an elaborate bouquet and six orchid boutonnieres. Hoyle said, “Thanks for the help. We have a few minutes to spare, and I think your colleague is scheduled to arrive about now. Let’s head out and meet him.”

Hoyle led him back around the outer wards and to the front of the castle. Thierry was already waiting at the entrance, so they must have timed it perfectly. A cloud of dust announced their arrival as Zayan and Charlie came galloping up the road, laughing and yelling. They reined in their horses at the portcullis, and Zayan leapt from his mount, grinning ear-to-ear and patting down his glossy black stallion with confidence and shared experience. Charlie handed him a carrot, and he proffered the treat, much to the enjoyment of his steed.

If anything, Thierry looked even more disapproving than when Tom arrived, but this did nothing to dampen the mood. Charlie looked very pleased with herself, and Zayan was radiant.

“Thank you, truly,” Zayan said to Charlie. When his horse had finished the treat, he added, “And thank you, Stormfire. You are a treasure.”

He turned from Stormfire to survey the scene, eyes glittering with excitement. When he spotted Tom, his smile went fractionally brighter, and he gave a friendly wave. Truly, the man was stunning. Tom was struck with the thought he always had around athletic men: If only I could be that comfortable with my own body.

Thierry waited patiently as Zayan approached, and said, “Mage Bluebeard sends his regrets. He is currently indisposed.” Before entering, Thierry waved Tom over and said to them, “A word about this evening. The Mage has requested your presence at his nuptials. I have laid out appropriate attire in your rooms, and the ceremony is at seven. I advise you not to be late.”

CHAPTER 8

It took a lot to knock Zayan off his game, but Bluebeard had succeeded. Mage Bluebeard…what did that even mean? Did he style himself as a magician? And he lived in a castle. Those spas must be raking in bucketloads of cash. And what about that boat ride? Something strange happened, and the island appeared out of nowhere. He needed to watch his step with this gig, whatever it turned out to be. Bluebeard had vaguely mentioned chemistry, but he also offered him a truly exorbitant amount of money to lavish his attentions on Thomas Dalton. That he could do with no problem—he was well experienced with the ways of the heart and, as a bonus, Tom was easy on the eyes.

As he pondered the ridiculous costume laid out on the extravagant bed—in his lavish room in an actual castle—Zayan heard a gentle tap at his door. Surely not yet! It was barely 6:00, and he was still trying to catch his breath after a full day of travel and revelations. That couldn’t be Thierry, already here to collect him for the ceremony. He hadn’t even started dressing.

When he opened the door, Tom stood in the common room, looking frantic, fully dressed in his ridiculous costume. It was an old-style Victorian waistcoat and slim trousers, done in warm browns and tans that accented his sandy blond hair, quite different from the darker, cooler suit laid out on Zayan’s bed.

Tom held his tie in an outstretched hand. “Do you know how to do this?” he asked, beseeching with puppy-dog eyes. “I haven’t ever tied a formal tie. I never imagined it would be an important part of our employment, or I would have practiced.”

“Come on in,” Zayan offered in his most calming voice. “Let’s see what we can manage.”

This was going to be even easier than he thought. The man was practically seducing himself. On top of that, he was completely adorable, so he’d probably pursue him even if Bluebeard hadn’t charged him to do so. Tom was appealing in a boyish way, decidedly taller and bulkier than himself but obviously not someone tied to a gym, and exuding an openness, almost naïveté, that charmed. And those green eyes…entrancing. But this wasn’t time for infatuation—it was time for action. He must keep his wits about him.

“Normally, I would have looked for a site on the web, something about tying fancy ties, but the internet is a bust here.” Tom fished his phone out of his pocket, holding it in Zayan’s face as if he needed to prove the assertion. “I can’t get any service. I tried everywhere, upstairs and downstairs, on the front drive and out back at the greenhouse. Nothing, nada, anywhere. We’re completely isolated, with zero connectivity.”

“Don’t worry. We can do a simple four-in-hand knot,” Zayan said, and then he teased, “Or we could call Thierry and ask him to do it?”

“I don’t think so,” Tom said, frowning. “I’m afraid I got off on the wrong foot with him, and I’m sure he’s up to his ears with other duties, so I wouldn’t want to impose on him any further. Honestly, he scares me.”

“I think that’s his manner,” Zayan said, laughing and taking the tie, pausing to touch Tom’s hand. “Time will tell—after all, we both just arrived. Let’s see. How should we do this?”