Blurb

I can see right through her good girl charade.

I’m an actor, after all.

I do what I want, and I don’t do anything unless it excites me.

And she excites me…

There’s something dark about her. Something magical, chaotic and beautiful.

I could stay away.

I should stay away.

But I won’t…

Prologue

All around me, the lights dimmed and flickered out. I was in the dark belly of the castle, sealed in the bedchamber of the beast, kneeling on an immense four-poster bed, in a long white heirloom night dress… and now, the time had come.

He had admired my skill on the piano, and my long slender neck. He had given me rubies and diamond choker necklaces to wear when I danced for him. I had made such a pretty bride. They all said so. I had danced so sweetly and smiled and nodded and charmed the family that had travelled for miles to see me. I had held their heavy gifts in my hands and eaten petit fours and… and now, the time had finally come.

I would consummate my marriage and become lady of this great manor. This part would hurt, that much I knew, but I tried not to think about it too much. These were ugly things. But necessary things.

My husband of one day stood before me, undershirt rolled up at the sleeves to reveal thick, hairy forearms. In this light, you could barely tell that his beard was ever so slightly blue. Indigo colored. Like it had been dipped in ink. The kind of blue that could be rounded down to black if you weren’t paying too much attention.

I hadn’t been paying much attention.

The look in his eyes frightened me. But the chamber was so beautiful. And my nightgown was antique, and the fine lace so exquisite. So I lay back and spread my legs when he told me to. I turned my head to the side and tried not to let him see the tear roll from my eye.

He flung off his heavy trousers and stood before me, each thigh a tree trunk. His lips curled into a cruel smile as he looked at my bare, white thighs under the thin night dress. The bed dipped and creaked under his weight as he climbed onto me, caged me in with a rough arm on either side of my neck. He was like an animal. The kind of animal that bends and hulks over its kill, sinking its teeth into the flesh it fought for, fair and square.

He pulled the night dress up and bunched it around my neck. His cock, a dangerous shade of red, and thick, thumped heavy onto my bare belly, and without any finesse he stuffed it inside me, guiding the heft of it in deep with a brutal flick of his strong, punishing hips.

I yelped.

His lips curled again as he peered down at me.

The room around me disappeared into blackness.

Once a great castle, the interior walls of this place had long since crumbled. The floor had lost its gleam, and it no longer had the shine it undoubtedly did so many lifetimes ago, when my husband’s ancestors had conceived and birthed long, zigzagging lines of their aristocratic progeny, right here on this very bed. The Persian carpets had been here for centuries, their pile ground flat and their bright colors blurred into dreams now and only the distant memory of glory. The silver candle holders still had a little sadness in them, too, evidence from when they were looted from ancient churches, long ago in a time well before anyone even cared to remember any more.

I was alone in this great room with only the obscene sound of air rushing into and out of his body. I tried not to think about it. I was a virtuous woman. I focused on the tiny carved cherub on the cupboard handle of the dresser. On the little folded cleft made by the crinkle of the sheet right beside my head. On the oval freckle on his meaty bicep. He shivered and growled, and exploded wet inside me. I squeezed my eyes shut as he pulled out and rolled over beside me, the mattress groaning. It stung.

The light around me changed to a brilliant red. Like thrumming, transparent paint. It dripped down over me and my white nightdress, turning everything scarlet. Eerie music played, louder and louder. I gazed out into the darkness and staring back at me were the wet eyes of dozens of expectant faces, watching closely.

The time had come.

I had been wed to the beast.

I looked down at my stained nightdress and touched it with a shaking hand. My husband, now sated and bored, swiftly fell asleep beside me. On a picnic once he had given me a tiny porcelain tortoise, and told me I could have a fine white pony to ride, and furs, and tiny china cups painted with orchids, and whatever I wanted.

I clamped shut my legs to dull the ache there, and hung my head.

Chapter 1

September 14, 2013

“Oh my god, you’re such a slag,” she said, and laughed. “It looks like a Jackson Pollock painting.”

I looked down at the dried white splatters on the front of my red velvet skirt. Though my head was fuzzy and the light in the room was dark, I could see it too. It did look like a painting.

“Funny thing is, I think his name actually was Jack,” I giggled, and turned my hips from side to side to admire the stains.

“Bitch, are you still high?” She took a swig of her beer. “His name was John.”

“John? Are you sure?”

“Oh my God, Nyx.”

“No, I’m serious though. Wasn’t it Jack?” I reached out and took her beer from her, and drained the bottle. Of its own accord, my arm flexed outward and I threw it hard against the concrete floor, smashing the amber glass into tiny pieces and leaving a wet spill on the floor of the same shape as the one on my skirt.

“Well, fuck, maybe it was a John and a Jack,” she laughed, “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

The beanbag I was curled up inside held me like an embrace, like a big soft leather hand cradling me. I looked down again at the cum stains on my skirt as though I was peering into a crystal ball, trying to decipher which boy had been responsible. I was pretty sure I hadn’t met a John that evening. Or had I?

“Whatever. Jizz is jizz, right?” I said, and she snickered again, this time, her pretty face going red.

Leah was, as she loved telling everyone, half Nigerian, half Swedish and 100% bad bitch. She had scary looking red dreadlocks, a pair of tits that started conversations with strangers in clubs, and a baby face I never saw without layers of fearsome makeup. She was also my best friend, and had called me ‘slag’ roughly once a minute over the entire course of our friendship.

My head spun. The music was still thumping but it was probably close to 3am and I was coming down now, the wobbly edges of my vision settling down and the rubbery feeling in my limbs slowly disappearing.

“Oh no, no, no, don’t fade on me now, Nyx, go on then, get us another beer?” she said and looked me up and down.

“Beer? I’m a bit skint just now, Leah, Jesus.”

I vaguely became aware of a tall figure approaching us on our beanbags.

“Ladies, what’s this? Making a mess are we?” said a deep male voice.

Leah giggled, the glitter on her chocolatey cheekbones making her seem for a moment like a very jolly Christmas ornament. I lifted my head and tried to make out whom it was, but the strobe lights behind him turned him into nothing more than a black silhouette, a crown of yellow and pink beams shooting out from behind him.

“You wouldn’t happen to be called Jack, would you, love?” I asked, hearing myself slur the words. Leah giggled and covered her face.

The guy said nothing and kept staring down at us.

“Or John, are you John perhaps, hm?”

Leah burst out laughing.

“Neither, I’m afraid,” said the voice. I was having a hard time deciding on his tone of voice. Suddenly, the tall figure dropped down onto his haunches and in the darkness I started to make out the features on his face.

“Oh shit! Leah, you daft cow, it’s Matt!” I squealed and clapped my hands on my thighs. All at once I remembered. We had come here with him. He had stared at my fishnets all on the Tube ride here and we had laughed and he had bought us all a round. That had seemed to be a whole lifetime ago.

“Matt, I’m going to smack you if you start talking about going home,” Leah said, and was all of a sudden squinting down at her phone, trying to make sense of the string of text bubbles on the screen.

“Leah,” he said, still crouching down, “sweetie, I think it’s time to go home.” Leah reached over and slapped his arm, and he pretended to wince in pain.

“No, seriously,” he said. “It’s winding down here, shall we clear off?” I marveled at how clear and calm he seemed. Good old Matt. Strong, sober, stable Matt.

“But we were just wondering about getting another round…” I said and played at twirling my hair at him. He looked down at the smashed bottle on the concrete floor and lifted his eyebrows.

“Well look and what you’ve gone and done with the last one you had,” he said. I suddenly felt indescribably sad. His gaze lingered on my skirt and he frowned quickly.

“What’s… what’s that?” he asked, and I heard Leah break out into giggles again.

“It’s like this, yeah? You know that movie Memento? Where the guy can’t, like, remember who he is or nufink? So he leaves himself clues and things, yeah? Well, Nyx and I were trying to figure out who jizzed on her skirt, seeing as she can’t remember what happened two minutes ago…”

“Shut up, Leah, that doesn’t even make sense,” I said and tried to stand up, staggering like Bambi in heels.

Matt scowled at me and wiped his face, then grabbed me round my middle and hoisted me up in one swift movement, throwing me over his shoulder. My hair hung long down his back and my legs dangled down the front of his chest, each of my shoes hanging limply off my feet.

“Oh my God, Matt, that is like, so hot,” Leah said and gawped. “You’re like a fireman or sumfink.”

“Get your coat, Leah, we’re leaving.”

I don’t remember everything that happened to get us out of that warehouse party and out into the street. I don’t remember how we made our way back to the street and caught a taxi, or figured out how to get home again, although I know we must have done it somehow.

What I can remember is being bunched up in the back seat, draped over Matt’s lap as I bawled about how sorry I was for smashing the beer bottle, and how I swore I’d never do it again. Leah sat opposite us tapping away on her phone and some other guy sat in the front seat, a guy I didn’t recognize. John? Jack? I was beyond caring.

Matt stroked my hair and told me to calm down, and soon I remember telling him how beautiful the light was. That the streetlights were trapped in the water droplets on the taxi window, and why wouldn’t he just look and see how beautiful they were?

When they dropped me off at my flat, Matt seemed irritated and told me to message everyone in the morning. The taxi sped off and I stood alone in the street for a while, looking at the lights reflected in the puddles.

I wobbled inside, clutching my sequined bag under my arm and wondering if there was something sticky in my hair. The house was deathly quiet. I walked slowly down the hallway and tried to get my eyes adjusted to the light. Mom and dad may still be out, but My aunt Lila had been staying with us for a while in the spare bedroom. Her marriage had gone tits up and she had come to live with us for a while. It certainly made these late nights a little harder to pull off quietly.

I removed my heels and one by one, I took the stairs, stockinged feet on the carpet. I reached the top of the landing, threw down my coat and bag and turned on the bathroom light.

Fuck, did I look a fright.

My makeup had smeared. My skin looked pasty and flushed. My hair was flat in the middle and fuzzing at the tips. And there it was, plain as day on my skirt: Jackson Pollock. The mystery cum. A gift of liquid DNA from a shadowy suitor in the night. Had I sucked him off? My lipstick still looked pretty good. God, I really was a slag.

The thought of peeling off all my clothes, having a shower, removing my makeup and detangling my hair seemed Herculean. I sighed and turned around. I’d sort it all out tomorrow. I just wanted to sleep. As I turned and made for my bedroom I saw aunt Lila standing in the doorway of the guest room, in yoga pants and a Snoopy sleep shirt, her blank face staring hard at me.

I didn’t know what to say. Her eyes travelled down and up my body, and got caught on the red skirt with the white. I was little red riding hood after the wolf had gotten hold of her. A sticky lace shape, in Valentine colors. It was a cum nebula in a deep red, velvety sky. Kind of, almost, very nearly pretty.

Aunt Lila just looked at me with horror. I watched her chest rise and fall as she took a breath and tried to gather herself.

“It’s late, Nyx,” she said, as though it took all the patience in the world to muster those words. “This is the last time. The last time. For God’s sake clean yourself up.”

I looked down at myself. She was right of course. It wasn’t a nebula. It wasn’t lace, and I wasn’t red riding hood. It was cum and I was a disobedient 18-year-old who made too much noise when she crawled in on a Friday night, reeking of booze. Of course.

Shame washed over me. A new feeling.

She turned and closed the door. I wished she had at least slammed it. I stood there, in the harsh bathroom light, trying to think. Mum and dad had never cared that I was a little …exuberant. Hell, they were frequently out themselves until all hours. I thought of peeking into their room and seeing if they were still awake, but thought better of it. I could just see them tomorrow. We’d have a late morning and dad would make us coffee and Nutella toast with sliced bananas.

I clicked off the light and skulked back to my room. I couldn’t know it at the time, but it was, in fact, ‘the last time’.

I lay in bed that night till dawn, my head buzzing even though I felt raw and nauseas and tired beyond belief. Though my head was still spinning and my limbs ached, I was seeing something with painful clarity. I didn’t know it at the time, but the spell broke for me that day, in the stairwell.

Chapter 2

September 1, 2015

Two Years Later

Fast forward two years and I had cleaned myself up, so to speak.

Really.

The green tips of my hair grew further and further from my scalp until one day I chopped them off cleanly and went with a short, natural brown bob that felt like it didn’t belong on me for a whole week afterwards. I started wearing my nails short and buffed them in the shower till they went pink and hurt. I cleaned out my closet, threw away three quarters of everything I owned and sat patiently in session after session of group therapy, talking about my transgressions as though only a younger, stupider version of myself had done them, and not me.

“My mom and dad died instantly in a serious car crash two years ago,” was enough to shut people up. People assumed that this is why I was ‘acting up’, and for a while I was happy to let them. Wasn’t it true? How the fuck should I know. They were just there, and then they weren’t. I didn’t feel sad. In fact, I spent many blank hours in the bathtub, sucking water into my belly button, pushing it out again, wishing I could feel sad. Or anything. But I just took a step away from life. Life simply went two-dimensional and lost its color. The way you zoom out of a flashback in a movie, like everything you’ve just watched was just a memory, just a dream in the past.

Now it was just me and aunt Lila. Guilty survivors, as it were.

“Now don’t go all ridiculous on me,” she said, “this is a very intensive course, Nyx. You’ll actually be working, it’s not a big picnic.”

My aunt Lila was a woman who looked as though she might have been a real knockout once, but long ago in the past, and maybe when men had different tastes in women. She wore expensive but boring looking organic cotton print slacks and tasteful shirts. I had seen those shirts on the washing line, and wondered at the point of printing an extravagant band of yellow or blue, but on the inside of the hem, where nobody would ever see it.

Aunt Lila smelt like antibacterial soap and menopause, and though I was supposed to be thanking her for being my savior these last few months, I felt anything but.

Her husband had passed and left her with a convenient fortune, and she was dutifully and painfully lording it over everyone. I could imagine her at church, making the fat Sunday school ladies beg and plead for a donation, and wringing her hands at how much of a burden it was to suddenly be the one in charge of who was and wasn’t allowed to pursue their dreams that day.

Death had formed a sort of psychic bond between me and aunt Lila. Her brother, my father, had died and then soon afterwards her husband had followed. There were no other nieces or nephews. Nobody but me. And so she wrung her hands and decided that I was her cross in life to bear, and that she ought to fork out for a proper education for me.

“It’ll be real lectures and real tutorials, not just fannying about every day,” she carried on. I knew for aunt Lila ‘Fannying about’ could mean anything from turning up ten minutes late to doing coke in back alleys on a school night. To be fair, I had been guilty of both at some point. I knew what she was saying. She knew I knew what she was saying. There was money available. A lot of money. I could go to the school of my dreams. But there were …conditions.

“I know, auntie Lila. I’m ready. It’s going to be great.”

“It’s not going to be great, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “It’s going to be hard work. Are you even listening to me?”

She sat opposite me, and we both looked down at the pamphlets and brochures on the table in front of us. Shiny, happy drama students printed on high glass cardboard. One of the most prestigious programs in the country. A veritable field from which the big names would come and pluck out the talent they saw.

“Melissa Craig, you know Melissa?” she said. “She graduated Blackworth’s two years ago and she’s already had offers to work on a Broadway musical over the summer.”

My aunt Lila knew all the theatre people, all the actors and actresses and playwrights in England and where they had gone to school and whether their parents were decent or not. My whole family was a theatre family. Or at least, it had been, once. Now it was just my thrice-rehabbed self and aunt Lila, a manager slash professional busy body to the stars.

“Now I’ve set up a direct debit for you, and you’ll have a hundred pounds a week. I think that’s pretty generous, given the rent is sorted and that I’ll take care of the tuition. If you have other expenses, you just say so, obviously.”

Obviously. She waited for me to protest, but I knew better. It was a generous offer. One I should be thrilled to have. One even might say I should grovel a little.

“I’m sure a hundred pounds a week is more than enough. It’s not like I’ll be doing anything other than studying, right?” I flashed her a playful smile.

She sighed and gave me a weary look.

“You always had a free spirit,” she said and smiled gently.

These last few months, I had taken to imagining that when she looked at me, she was seeing my father somehow. It made things better, imagining that she was kind to me because I reminded her of dad.

“Free? No such thing as a free lunch!” I said, doing my best imitate her and her favorite saying.

“No, and don’t you forget it,” she laughed.

I idly thumbed through the pamphlets. Blackworth’s Art College. I would complete an exclusive set design course, after which my aunt would be able to send me off to any of her well-connected friends and secure me a respectable position that would make my father proud. That was the plan, at least. It didn’t hurt that people usually recognized my name. Nyx Westling, daughter of Sir Norman Westling, knighted by the queen for his contributions to Britain’s cultural landscape and for that one time he won all those awards for his performance as Cesar.

Little Nyx Westling. My parents had graciously put up with my deviance for a little while – they were ‘creatives’ themselves, weren’t they? – but now aunt Lila entered stage left and was ushering in a new act; one in which my character redeems her sorry self and grows up already.

It was all laid out. All agreed on. All signed and ordered and direct debited. My future lay ahead of me like some colorful pamphlets on a coffee table. It didn’t feel like the most exciting thing in the world, but I guess that’s cold hard reality for you.

“Dear, I know it’s been hard,” she said, her voice changing all of a sudden.

No. Not now. I didn’t want another talk like this.

“I’m fine, aunt Lila, really.”

“I know you are. You’re strong. I know that. But you’re a very lucky girl. I know you can’t see that right now, but you’re actually in a very fortunate position.”

Sure, but fortune that came with strings attached.

“You’re mourning now. We all are. But this new course is going to be a good thing for you. I can just feel it.” She leaned over to squeeze my knee.

I tried to smile. Tried to play the part of a Very Fortunate Girl.

“I won’t let you down,” I said quietly, looking down at her hand on my leg. She gave me a friendly pat.

“There’s a good girl.” she said, and stood up to leave.

I had come a long way. Less than two years ago, I was partying around London like there was no tomorrow, and if there was a substance out there, Leah and I had tried it. But with mom and dad gone, all of that lost its shine. Lost its glitter. I hated what aunt Lila was saying. But in my heart I couldn’t find a way to disagree with her. It was time to sober up, be a mature adult and face reality head on.

Chapter 3

What better way to face reality than in a tasteful grey skater dress with little silver earrings and ballet flats?

It was the third day of my new course and I was meeting with the people I’d liaise with over the course of the semester, and we’d bring to life our very first production. I had responsibly drawn fifty pounds at the start of the week for incidental expenses, and had come to the meeting with a civilized looking folder, a click pen and a can-do attitude.

“Where the hell is Adam?” said a wiry looking blond girl. “He swore up and down he’d be here today.”

Tamara Keane was the head producer and had summoned us all here for our first meeting. We were a small company, and the college theatre group typically only managed around thirty people or so. But each and every last one of us was invited, at this first meeting of the new season.

“Let’s just go on without him?” said the guy beside her.

I tried to remember if he’d been introduced to me as the choreographer, but to be honest, I had been introduced to dozens of people over the last few days.

Nevermind.

Tamara squeezed her eyes shut and drew a deep breath, then threw open a folder and started talking us through a detailed series of notes she’d given us for this semester’s production, a reworking of a classic folk tale. Bluebeard.

“The story is a reimagined fairytale,” she said, “and so takes place in a time and space parallel to our own. This is not your standard hokey Sherwood forest vibe, and we’re not doing Game of Thrones either; this is something like a formalized collective unconscious, like a dream, but only more precise.”

I was struck by how well-spoken she was. While I knew that most people on this project were already second or third year students, I suddenly felt a flash of intimidation. A brand new copy of Myth and Archetype in Theatre sat on my bedside table, still in its Amazon Packaging. Shit.

“This term we’re thinking about creating a real sense of intimacy on stage,” she continued, “and so everything is geared to reflect that. The dialogue should be tight. The set comfortable. The lighting close and evocative. We had some trouble last year getting that really organic feeling, so we kept it small this term, and I really want to see you guys coming through with that. It has to just flow…”

I nodded along with everyone else in the hall, circled loosely round a small table, finger sandwiches waiting in the wings. This was it. I was finally doing it. Grown up stuff. Serious stuff.

I flicked through my copy of the outline and found the set design tab. I’d be meeting with Tamara once a week to explain my concepts, and once every day for rehearsals, but other than that, I was on my own. My ballet flats began to pinch.

Bluebeard was an all right story, I guess. A beautiful but stupid peasant girl is lured by a wealthy aristocrat who woos her and ask her to be his wife. Even though his beard is an eerie blue color, and he’s big and scary looking, she goes for it. He takes her to his massive castle, they consummate the marriage, but in the morning he tells her he has to go away to do something or other, but will return. In the meantime, she can access any room in the castle – and he hands her a set of keys.

The problem is that she is forbidden from opening just one door. He leaves, she invites her sisters round, and they all get curious and start to try to open the forbidden door. When they do, they discover something too awful for words: the room is filled to bursting with the bloody corpses of all Bluebeard’s previous wives. They’ve been chopped and mutilated and stashed there in secret. The girl shuts the door and locks it, but a small drop of blood falls onto the key.

She is shaken. And she can’t clean the drop off the key. Bluebeard returns, and she knows the drop of blood will let him know that she disobeyed him. He comes home. He sees the drop. He tells her that now she will be beheaded and go into the room along with all the other women. But, just in time, the peasant girl’s father and brothers comes to her rescue, kill Bluebeard and save her. Seemed like a bit of a simple story to base a whole play around, but whatever.

“If there are no questions, well, there are lots of new faces so we’ll just be get to know each other today, and I’ll come around and schedule some meetups with people individually, OK?”

Everyone nodded and stood up to mingle or head for the refreshments. And that was that. It had all seemed easy enough. Maybe being a stuck-up adult wasn’t nearly as hard as aunt Lila had made it out to be.

Not quite knowing what to do with myself next, I flicked through the script, slightly alarmed at how many scene changes there were. I’d have my work cut out for me. Just as I was turning the page, the doors banged and someone flew in, scarf tails flapping and hair windswept.

“Sorry, sorry I’m late, I’m here now!” he said, and every head in the room turned to look. My eyes shot to Tamara, who was scowling and looking him up and down.

“Congratulations Mr. Morgan, that’s really quite the feat …managing to turn up a full,” she looked at her watch, “a full 40 minutes late. Lovely. At least you’re here now, though.” The sarcasm was overwhelming.

The guy broke into a goofy grin and walked over into the crowd, the people there loosely stepping aside to make room for him as he walked over to her.

“Tamara, my apologies, I was …held up this morning, really I was. Couldn’t be helped,” he said breezily, and as he unwound his long scarf from his neck I could see that he was quite the imposing figure; tall, muscular, his strong limbs moving with a kind of energy and menace that I’ve only ever noticed in those who choose, shall I say, the dramatic life. I couldn’t help but stare. And it seemed like I wasn’t alone – everyone else in the room fell silent and just …watched him. He was mesmerizing, and I couldn’t tell why.

“Here’s the outline. Let’s not have a repeat of last time, if you can manage it,” Tamara said in clipped tones.

She handed him a folder and he took it carefully from her, then made a show of curtseying as she turned to carry on her conversation. The crowd tittered. This must be the notorious Adam Morgan, an actor known on campus for being just as likely to earn the college accolades as he was to need an emergency fundraiser to bail him out of jail on opening night.

I had heard a few rumors about him, even from aunt Lila, but nobody had mentioned …well, nobody said how absolutely hypnotic his eyes were. They had their own gravitational field. Something about them just trapped you. His eyes caught mine and I blushed hard.

Shit.

“Hey, do I know you?” he asked, waltzing right up to me. My face instantly felt on fire.

I cleared my throat. “Um, I don’t think so?”

I was alarmed at how close he was suddenly standing to me, how swiftly he had glided across the floor and landed right there in front of me, his eyes on me like a laser, like I was his next meal. Tamara ogled him out the side of her eye as she carried on talking to another woman.

“That’s Nyx Westling, she’ll be doing our set design for Bluebeard,” she said, not turning to face us.

Adam’s face lit up and he tilted his head. “Westling? Huh. Are you related t--?”

“Norman Westling. Yes, he was my father.”

He jumped back and grinned at me. “That must be it!” he said. “That must be why I recognize you!”

He was so incredibly animated. Not larger than life, exactly …but sparklier somehow.

“I don’t think we’ve met, though,” I said. If I had known such a hot guy would be giving me the third degree like this I wouldn’t have worn such a somber dress, that’s for sure.

Then, he did something so unexpected my heart nearly burst out of my chest. He reached out, easy as you please, took my chin in his hands and turned my head side to side, as though I was a race horse he was examining or a vase he was checking for cracks.

I gulped. He was so close I could smell him. Like rain. If rain was sexy. God, I don’t know, my brain was in a total scramble.

“I never said anything about meeting before…” he said in a low growl, and I suddenly felt glued to the spot, like he had frozen me there with a spell. He was over six foot tall, dark-haired and with eyes that felt indecent to look into too long.

“What I meant was that I recognize these features… you take after your father, I think. But only as he was in that Cesar play, of course,” he said, and released me again. I think I had stopped breathing.

“Well, um, that’s…” I bumbled, but he was speaking again.

“Tell me why you aren’t performing in this feature? It’s a sin not to act. You have the most glorious cheekbones I’ve ever seen and you’re hiding away doing costume design.”

“Set design,” Tamara corrected, somewhere behind him. I felt I was going to die blushing.

Did that ever happen? Did people die of massive blood flow to the cheeks? Probably. ‘Glorious’ cheekbones? I didn’t know whether to laugh or run and hide under the refreshments table.

“Still, those are features built for the stage, anyone can see that,” he said. “You have acting in your blood, you have it in your face. I’m sure it kills your father to see such good genes squandered, no?” He smiled mischievously at me.

“Actually, my father’s already dead. He passed away in a car accident two years ago.”

Almost imperceptibly, the crowd hushed and though nobody turned to look, I could feel their ears swivel towards us like satellite dishes. The grin fell from his face.

“A car accident. Oh shit,” he said. He suddenly seemed to shrink by half.

“Oh don’t worry, you didn’t know, it’s nothing really …you didn’t know, so don’t worry about it…” I started blabbering, but before I knew it, the world in front of me went wet and wobbly and all of a sudden, great, hot tears were rolling down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them.

“Oh shit, oh God I’m sorry, I’m such an enormous twat,” he was saying, but through my tears he blurred away and I put my head in my cupped hands, trying to regain my composure. This was certainly not how I intended any of this to go. I heard Tamara’s voice as she chastised him in a loud whisper, and she was joined by the others in the crowd, also whispering loudly.

“Really, it’s no big deal, please don’t worry.”

But then his hands were on my shoulders. I did that ugly thing that people do when they cry, I heaved and snorted through my nose trying to stop my sobs, and ended up making them worse. I suddenly wished with all my heart that he never, ever peeled his hands off of me.

“Come, let’s go outside for some fresh air,” he said, and before I knew it a firm hand was on the small of my back and he was steering me out of the theatre.

I didn’t resist. I was still trying to quiet the jagged breaths in my chest, worried that my tears were washing away my good start to the term already, and that any second now I’d have a snot bubble on my nose, just precisely when I wanted to look put together for this irritatingly handsome guy.

Mercifully, I found a tissue and dabbed at my wet face, and then we were outside, and he closed the big doors behind us, thrust his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forward on his heels as he looked over at me.

“I’m sorry, that was very awkward,” I said.

The memory of my father was usually something that I only took out late at night, once I had thought of absolutely everything else and there was nothing else to do and still so many hours of night left to go. It was a secret. Crying about him was something I did when I was alone, in the dark, so in the morning I could half pretend it was only a dream. But now I had burst into tears in public. For the rest of the term, I would be remembered as the fragile girl who cried in the first term meeting.

He rocked back and forward on his feet, then peered up thoughtfully at the sky. When he looked back down at me, it nearly took my breath away.

“I’m kind of sad you’ve stopped crying,” he said.

“What?”

“Your face …you have the most exquisitely expressive face.”

I squirmed a little and tried to think of where to put my eyes. I could vaguely hear the people inside talking through the closed doors. I stood awkwardly, wondering what the hell was supposed to happen now.

“See! Look at that, beautiful,” he said, and leaned in closer.

“I don’t …what do you mean?”

He gave me a wild look, one I couldn’t decipher. He seemed permanently on the brink of jumping up into the air, or bursting into song. He was, I think, the most remarkable person I had ever met. Part magician, part acrobat. He was the very picture of ‘animal magnetism’ …but I hadn’t decided if the animal in question was a dangerous one or not.

He took a step towards me and examined my face.

“There, on your face. You have a strange openness in your features, a way of moving your eyes, it’s really …it’s really something. Just there, your face collapsed a little. You were the picture of doubt. Beautiful.”

Who the hell was this guy? He was so intense. Too much. My expressions were beautiful? Perhaps he just had some …colorful ways of hitting on people.

I cleared my throat and thanked him and made as if to go back into the theatre.

“Hey, I’m sorry about sticking my foot in it, with your dad…” he said. I turned around, fingers on the door handle.

“It’s OK.”

“Is it really?”

I looked at him. Yes, it was ‘OK’. Could anyone bring my parents back? Would being sad do anything at all? Then there was no use in crying. I had to be realistic now. There was work to do.

“Yes, really.”

“Really though …are you sure?”

“Yes…”

“Really?”

I flashed him an angry look.

“What the hell do you mean really?”

He clapped his hands and grinned.

“There! There it is again! Your face is a miracle, you know that? You’re almost better at angry than you are at sad. I could watch it forever.”

I blinked and looked at him, then smiled despite myself. All at once he was close up to me again, and I was pinned to my spot again, held fast to that patch of ground like his gaze was a kind of sorcery pinning me there. He dropped his voice, tilted his head to the side and looked at me. My face was hot.

“No, I changed my mind. That’s the best one yet,” he said, voice so quiet it almost felt like he was about to share a secret.

“Which one would that be…?” I asked, laughing at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

“Oh, the one you have right now. It’s too subtle to be embarrassment …but it’s getting there. It’s a subtle one. You’re very good at that, you know?”

I laughed. “Good at being embarrassed?”

“No, you’re good at looking embarrassed. You’re an artist. Your tool is your face.”

Without thinking, I laughed again and playfully slapped his arm.

“OK, OK, you can stop with the compliments now, I forgive you for mentioning my dad. We should probably get back inside and arrange our schedules with Tamara…”

His gaze was unrelenting.

“I want to see all your faces,” he said, as though he hadn’t heard me at all.

“What?”

The air between us was electric. My heart was beating loudly in my ears and my palms had started sweating. I had only known this guy for ten minutes and he had already thrown my world into a strange, hot chaos. I liked it. I liked him. Or at least, I couldn’t tear myself away. My hand was still on the door, but I was stuck. Spellbound and wondering what he would say next.

“You’re a natural performer. I’d like to see what you’re capable of,” he said, suddenly sounding very serious.

“Well, you’ve already made me cry, and then you made me angry, so can we tick those off the list?” I blurted, and he smiled at this.

“Deal. There’s one I haven’t seen, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s than then?”

“Pleasure.”

I swallowed hard. He was flirting with me. Was I going to flirt back? I laughed again and trilled my fingers on the door handle. His eyes were dark and penetrating and completely, utterly inappropriate. It was broad daylight. I had only just met him. We were humans and not animals – how could he give me a look like that?

“Maybe …uh, maybe later,” I mumbled and blushed furiously, then opened the door to go inside. I sensed him walking closely behind me as we went back into the theatre. My shoes were killing me. I felt him behind me, felt his presence prickling the hairs at the back of my neck, but I couldn’t turn around, couldn’t risk blushing and blubbering like an idiot again. I didn’t know what the hell had just happened but I was determined to get a finger sandwich and get on with my proper, organized, adult day. I wasn’t here to flirt.

“Don’t let him rattle you.”

I spun around to see Tamara standing behind me. With a pang of disappointment, I realized that Adam had already melted back into the crowd.

“Who? Adam? Oh, it’s all right. He didn’t mean anything. I usually don’t cry like this. To be honest, I must be a little stressed or something.”

She tightened her lips and her eyes lost their focus for a moment.

“Yes, well,” she said, ”Adam certainly has a way of bringing out the chaos wherever he goes.”

Chapter 4

Three thousand five hundred pounds.

Just thinking of that amount of money made me break out into a cold sweat. Three thousand five hundred pounds to build a set, from scratch, by little old me.

I sneezed and tried to look around in the dust.

The college theatre seemingly had millions of back rooms, store rooms, side rooms, under-rooms, trapdoors and little cupboards wherever you cared to look. The stage was where the magic happened, but it was all around the stage where the levers and pulleys of that magic were set up and managed by unseen hands. By my hands. And three thousand five hundred pounds.

“I’m pretty sure I saw loads and loads of chipboard in here from last term,” Nicky said for the hundredth time that afternoon. “Maybe look at the back …right at the back.”

I stifled another sneeze, stepped over some cardboard boxes and rolls of fabric, and tried to navigate to the back of the storeroom. She stood near the front, peeling some plastic wrappers off ball gowns and fancy dress and having a look.

Nicky was the costume designer and I was glad that we got to work closely together. She was relaxed and kind and didn’t think that ‘electric beige’ was a stupid way to describe anything. We liked each other. She was effortlessly artsy, unconventionally attractive and all-round full of good ideas. One of those good ideas was to come here first, to see if either of us could resurrect any old bits and pieces from last year’s production.

I rummaged through an old pile of dowel rods and spied some paint sitting in the corner. It was a dream come true, really. All this was here for our disposal. I picked up a knotted shopping bag filled with tinsel. Underneath it was a solid pile of painted chipboard, clearly some kind of background foliage for a play long finished.

“Ooh… this might work,” I said.

Nicky was busy rubbing the satin bodice of a nightdress between her fingers. “I told you they’d have good stuff here!” she said.

We hunted and poked around in silence for a moment. Three thousand five hundred pounds. A fair wad of cash. Enough money, in fact, that I wouldn’t have any excuse not to do well. An intimidating amount. If I failed, it would be down to me, and not because I didn’t have the money to do things properly. I ran my fingers over the dusty chipboard and tried to decide whether it was worth salvaging.

Nicky’s phone beeped.

“Ah crap, I have to go,” she said quickly. “Nyx, will you be all right here? I have to run.”

I smiled.

“Sure.”

Off she went and I returned my attention to a roll of plastic chicken wire. Somehow, by term end, I’d have to create the creepy castles and dreamscapes for Bluebeard. Out of chipboard and paint and gauze I’d have to construct a convincing new world, one that would transport the actors and audience alike.

I could do it. Of course I could do it. I mean, it’s not like I had a choice in the matter, anyway. I had been given a million second chances in life. Now, it was about proving to aunt Lila that I was worth it.

“Ah, the enchanted forest!”

I gasped and turned around to see a figure standing in the doorway.

It was him. Adam.

My mouth hung open.

He waltzed over and took one of the boards from my hands.

“Oh, lookie here,” he said, “I remember when we did this show. It’s hard to imagine it now, but this was once our enchanted forest, the background for when we did Pocahontas.”

He turned it over in his large hands, looking at the faded leaf shapes painted on in greens and blacks. I desperately wished I could think of something, anything to say.

“I’m …I’m trying to see if any of it can be reused. For our play,” I said, and put my fingers again on the rough surface of the boards. No sooner had I said this though, had he turned away and started looking around the room with interest. He took a heavy military jacket off a rack and held it out against his body, put it carelessly back on the rail and then flipped through the other outfits hanging there.

“You’re the set designer, right?” he said.

I straightened and watched him opening bags and looking around disinterestedly.

“Yup. Today I’m starting with the main bed chamber, since that’s where a lot of the play takes place.”

I suddenly felt stupid. Of course he knew that already. He was the main actor, Bluebeard himself for heaven’s sake.

I was beginning to get that feeling again. That feeling that in his presence, I could do nothing but watch him, nothing but wait to see what he would say next. Do next.

“Cool,” he said. “Any ideas so far?”

I smiled. “Well, yes, actually. I sketched out some ideas yesterday, wanna see?”

He put on a pork pie hat and adjusted it a little on his head. It was a ridiculous thing, truly, but it looked made for him. It was just a prop, but on his head, it somehow seemed the most real and natural thing in the world.

“Yeah, let’s have a look,” he said.

I reached for my satchel and pulled out my notebook. I had spent a good hour last night carefully outlining some stage layouts, even going so far as to put a little watercolor here and there to make it look more professional.

“So, this is the set from center front. This is Bluebeard’s bed – I wanted to make it a four-poster, but with a difference, you know? And here’s a space where that beginning of the third act will happen. I wanted it to all be primary colors. Since Nicky’s making everything Bluebeard wears a dark, inky blue, that leaves me with yellows – the fire – and lots of red all over the room. Mostly in this carpet, which functions a little like a stage within the stage, see?”

I pointed out different parts of the drawing as I spoke.

He looked on in silence and then said, “that’s it?”

I was crushed.

I quietly closed the notebook and stashed it back into my satchel. That’s it? That had taken me hours to brainstorm yesterday. Was it really that bad?

“What’s …don’t you like it?”

“No, that’s the problem, I like it,” he said and wandered over to the other corner of the room.

“It’s a likeable room. It looks …too warm. I mean, this is a terrifying story, Nyx. Bluebeard’s going to try and kill her, and it’s slowly dawning on her. Don’t you think the room should be, I don’t know, a little darker. A little more evil?”

My ears started to burn.

“Well, what do you mean? It’s not a pantomime; do you want me to paint skulls on the wall or something? It is supposed to be an actual room still,” I said, surprised at how defensive I sounded.

He was trying on more hats now.

“Sure, that’s not what I meant though. It’s just…” He had found a mirror and was examining his reflection in the glass, tilting his head side to side to admire a glossy purple turban with a stone in the center.

“It’s just so …Disney, you know? Kind of sanitized. Kind of boring.”

I stared at him, a little shocked. Did he just call my set design “Disney?”

“I’m sorry, what does that mean, Disney?” I said coldly. I couldn’t believe I had stayed up all night thinking embarrassing things about this guy. He was a total arse, clearly.

“Oh God, I don’t know,” he said. “The kind of thing where everyone’s good, even the bad guys. It’s just predictable. Bluebeard’s loaded. He’s an aristocrat. And he’s evil. Do you really think he’d have a natty looking carpet like that in his master bedroom, in his sinister chambers?”

I didn’t know what to say. In a way, I think he was right. Had I made something boring and predictable? I felt a little sick.

“I guess …I guess maybe it’s not terribly original,” I said, but I felt hurt. Where was the desperately flirty guy from before? Why wasn’t he telling me awesome things about my cheekbones today? I felt a flicker of irritation with him. What was he doing in here anyway?

He took off the turban and sauntered over to me, tall and ultra-confident, dressed from head to toe in black. He stood in front of me and looked like he was thinking.

“Maybe you need an animal’s head on the wall,” he said at last.

“A mounted head?”

He considered it.

“I think I’d like something that looks like a hunting lodge, although when you walk inside, you’re not entirely sure which animals are the prey…”

I laughed. “You’d like that?”

“Well yes, me. Bluebeard.”

“I see. And what else would you like?” I said a little sarcastically.

“The bed must resemble something like an altar. It must have the feel of the ritualistic about it.”

He was an idiot, but what he was saying sounded interesting.

“Bluebeard is a failed magician figure,” he continued, “so the bedroom needs to have that in it. Old candles. And I want a light shade that looks a bit like a wheel of torture. All made of metal. Know what I’m talking about?”

“I think I know what I’m doing,” I heard myself saying.

Instantly, those eyes were on me again. I felt it in the pit of my stomach. I felt it in the back of my throat. I couldn’t help but stare straight back at him. Look at any other person in this world and your eyes will bounce easily off theirs; it will be more comfortable to look away, to glance off and away from their gaze after a few seconds. With Adam, this seemed to be reversed. Once I caught his eye, it seemed impossible to look at anything else.

He smiled. A naughty, mischievous smile that came on slowly. I thought he was about to say something. About to reply with something witty. But to my amazement, he leaned in close. So close I could make out the dark grainlines in the brown of his iris, so close he could …oh God, is he about to kiss me?

My heart thumped wildly and something came over me. I leaned forward a little myself, parted my lips and tilted my head to kiss him. He cleared his throat, reached behind me for a hat and took a step back.

“I was, uh, getting this hat,” he said awkwardly, and held up a sailor hat in his hands.

Oh fuck. Kill me now.

Flustered, I quickly grabbed my bag and started fussing with the straps.

“I guess I better get going, it was nice bumping into you…” I said.

I wanted to smack that stupid smile off his face. Had he done that on purpose? And what the hell was I thinking? He was an arrogant prick who had nothing constructive to say about my set design and I was going to kiss him?

“Did you …did you think…?” he asked.

“Think what? No, of course not” I said angrily.

He laughed. “You weren’t thinking about…?”

“No. I mean…”

He laughed again.

“What are you even doing here then?” I asked. “Don’t you have some acting or something to do?” Despite myself, I felt my mouth twitching uncontrollably into a smile.

“Baby, there’s always acting to do,” he said, and placed the sailor hat on his head, then winked at me.

I was mortified.

“Joke’s aside, I actually came here to see Nicky and ask her some things, you haven’t seen her around have you?”

“No, sorry,” I said quickly.

“I need an outfit, you see. Big party I’m going to.”

“I can give you her number if you want--”

“Nah, I’ll just take this,” he said, removing the sailor hat and examining it closely.

“You really shouldn’t. Nicky and I have authorization to use what’s in this storeroom, but I don’t think you can just waltz in here and take stuff…”

I couldn’t believe he had called my work ‘Disney’. What the hell does that even mean?

“Oh, I can’t just waltz in here you say? Can I tango then? Maybe salsa?” he said, and started dancing around like an idiot, grinning at me and twirling his sailor hat in his hands.

I tried to suppress a giggle.

“I’m serious Adam, you shouldn’t just take it.”

He winked at me again and my legs turned to jelly.

“OK, miss prim,” he said. “Tell you what, if you don’t tell on me, I’ll let you come with me to the party tonight,” he said, and did a little twirl.

“But I--”

“And I think you should wear that,” he said and gestured behind me.

I turned to look and saw a pair of jet black bird wings on a hanger.

Chapter 5

My flat was small and cramped, but it was mine. Sure, aunt Lila was paying for it, and in a roundabout way, her deceased husband was paying for that, and so on, but when I sat on the beanbag and peered out the window, it was easy to think for a moment that this was my own private nest.

“And are you eating well, sweetheart?” came aunt Lila’s voice through the phone. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

This was the schedule she had set up for us. The direct debit arrived in my account on Saturday, and on Sunday mornings she’d call and see how I was doing. ‘Taking care of yourself’ was code, you see. It meant, are you doing drugs, Nyx? Are you staying up late into the night and being irresponsible? Are you whoring around and making a nuisance of yourself? As best as I could, I answered in code as well.

“I’m very well. Just had a nice relaxed day today. Just chilling. I might watch a movie later.”

‘Relaxed’ was code for I’m being obedient and proper and well-behaved and I haven’t used any of your money to party or mess around, promise. In truth I had no intention of watching a movie. I never even watched movies. But I didn’t think aunt Lila cared, really. I knew what was expected of me, she knew I knew, and she didn’t have to say much to get the message across.

“You all right for money, sweetheart?” she asked.

I sunk deeper into the beanbag and gazed outside, watching the tops of people’s heads bob outside as they walked past.

“Yes, auntie, no problems with money.”

“I hear there’s a good crop of students this year and that they’re going to go all out with this new production of yours.”

I stood up and paced the room. A pair of black feathered wings hung menacingly off the bathroom door, waiting to fly me off somewhere I wasn’t quite sure I should go yet. It was still early in the day, but I hadn’t been able to think of anything else for hours. Adam’s party.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to more outrageous parties in my time than even I can remember. I had lined my eyes black, untied my long brown hair and headed out into the night so often it had felt like a job to me. I had done it all. I could drink a rowdy stag night under the table, I could bet the shoes on my feet in a pool game and win, and I’d done more in the back alleys of London’s exclusive and outlandish clubs than most people could imagine.

And yet …something about Adam’s halfhearted invitation intrigued me. He had an irritating cool-kid vibe that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Everyone else seemed to pussy foot around him, and here I was, a belly full of butterflies all today at just the thought of what I’d wear, what I’d say, whether he’d approve of me or not…

“It’s been tricky, actually,” I said. “It’s such a strange story, and everyone seems to have really strong opinions about even the smallest details.”

“If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a million times before: theatre people are all a little narcissist, it’s just a fact of life. But nevermind about that kind of thing. You just keep your head down. You’re talented, Nyx. If you could just apply yourself…”

“I know, I know,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’m fine.”

I did not need to hear another lecture about how it was time for me to man up and make something of my life already. I heard her sigh loudly on the other end of the line.

“You should be glad you have someone to get on your case like this, sweetheart.”

“I know. Thank you, aunt Lila. Thanks for checking in on me.” I wondered darkly whether this was code for you can hang up now, you nosy bitch.

“I suppose I better get going then,” she said, “you’ve got a busy week ahead of you, I’m sure.”

“Yeah.” The black wings stared at me, poised, like they were spring-loaded to take off at any moment.

“What movie did you say you were going to watch?”

“Uh …oh, I’m not really sure yet,” I said. “Just something nice and relaxed.”

The line went quiet. It was probably a bad idea to head out for a big dress-up party on a weeknight. It was something the old Nyx would have done in a heartbeat, but truth be told, it didn’t sit well with the new leaf I had supposedly turned over.

It was no big deal. A bunch of theatre nerds weren’t anything to be scared of. How could it be an irresponsible thing to do? If anyone were going to be a bad influence at such a party, it would likely be me in any case, right? I’d go, have a drink or two and be back before bedtime, no problem.

“Ah, that’s good. A nice relaxed movie. I might have an early night myself.”

“Lovely,” I said.

“Yeah, all right then. Off you go. Let me know if you need a top up or anything.”

“I will. Love you aunt Lila.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

The wings gleamed black. I checked my watch. It was still early but I could start getting ready. I peeled off my clothing, then walked over to the full-length mirror, examined my naked body for a few moments and then stepped into the shower.

***

“Are you sure this is where you want to be, love? Doesn’t look like much, does it?”

I had spent the last two hours doing my hair and makeup, and I was now in the back seat of a taxi ride I couldn’t in all honesty afford, and yes, I had to admit he had a point. I had given him the exact postcode and address as Adam had given it to me. But we had arrived and it was nothing but a sooty back alley without any street lights and a Turkish grocer on the far corner.

I grabbed my phone and tried to call Adam.

No answer.

Damn.

I paid the taxi driver and hobbled out of the back seat in my heels.

“You gonna be all right, though?” he called out after me, rolling down his window to peer nervously at me walking into the dark alleyway.

“If I have any trouble, I’ll just fly away!” I said and made wings with my hands and flew them up into the night sky.

He frowned, shook his head, then drove off.

The night air was chill on my forearms, but I had chosen a fitted velvet dress that was surprisingly warm. For a moment, I fancied myself some villain in fantasy movie. A vampire. Or a dark witchy sort, walking down a creepy alleyway with plumes of smoke swirling at her feet.

The truth was that I was more like Cinderella: I probably shouldn’t stay out late, since tomorrow was a super early morning meeting with Tamara, and turning into a pumpkin would make aunt Lila mad and threaten my only lifeline: the weekly direct debit.

I’d just have a few drinks, introduce myself, twirl a little in my fancy wings and then go straight home. I’d return the wings before anyone noticed they had even been taken, and I’d still have time for a quick coffee to start my proper, well-behaved, new-leaf life in the morning. It would all be fine. Perfectly fine.

I took a deep breath and tried to find an entrance or any sign of life.

“Halt, who goes there?”

I spun around to find the source of the voice. The alleyway was empty as ever.

“Hello?”

“Nice wings,” the unfamiliar voice said.

I peered up and saw a shadowy figure sitting on some iron fire escape stairs. I could only make out the glowing tip of a cigarette and the puffs of thin white smoke rising up into the cold air.

“I’m a friend of Adam’s,” I said, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

“Oh you are? Poor girl,” he said and chuckled, then took a long drag on his cigarette, temporarily dimming the orange light in his fingers. “Just kidding, come inside then.”

I spied a door to my left and tried to open it but couldn’t.

“Nah, you’ll have to come up here,” he said.

I made my way to the staircase and he watched with amusement as I tried to climb up without snapping my ankles in half. The stairwell was bigger than my wingspan.

“Fuck me, you are right tarted up aren’t you?” he said and extended his hand to help me as I wobbled to the top platform. He snubbed out his cigarette on the brick wall and opened a narrow, glass paned door, and I turned my wings sideways and stepped inside.

It took me a while to understand what I was seeing. The room was so unnervingly dark. The only light was from candles – a lot of candles – but even they seemed to be struggling to ward of the heavy and all-encompassing blackness that fell like a blanket over the place.

And what a place it was.

The demolished kitchen sink to the left of me told me that the place I was standing in had once been a kitchen, but the interior was so expansive I guessed that all the walls inside had been pulled down at one point. The crumbling edges of those walls still remained, giving an indication of where each of the rooms had once been. Candles were buried into the exposed raw edges of the walls, and weird cascades of dripping wax laced over them. It was an old derelict building. A candlelit ruin.

I took a few steps forward and my eyes settled on a group of people sitting in the center of the building, like campers only it was the apocalypse. I heard the guy behind me shut the glass paned door and guide me towards them. The air was heavy with a smell I didn’t recognize, and it hung in a haze around the group. There were seven or eight of them, curled around a small fire made right there on the bare concrete, the fronts of their bodies lit up with an eerie glow.

A cool shiver flicked up the length of my spine.

“Just in time for the ritual sacrifice, love, I bet you’re glad you put on so much mascara for us, yeah?” laughed the guy behind me.

“Mickey, who’s that?”

“I found her outside. And she’s got wings,” he said and gave a playful tug on one of my feathers.

“Oy, leave her alone,” said a friendly voice, and I recognized Adam standing up from the group and coming over to me.

“Adam!” I cried.

“Don’t let this one scare you, being a dickhead is basically Mickey’s life’s calling,” he said, and gingerly hugged me.

“What? She does have wings, doesn’t she?” said the voice behind me.

I was led to the circle and I sat down, wing tips grazing the floor. Quiet music played somewhere far off, but nobody seemed to care much about it. The fire felt warm and I huddled round it, trying to understand what the hell kind of ‘party’ this was. Mortified, I discovered I was badly overdressed.

Adam settled down next to me and opened his broad hands to the fire. With something like irritation, I realized he wasn’t even wearing the sailor hat he has made such a big deal out of ‘borrowing’.

“So, who have we here, Adam? One of your conquests?” said a small girl sitting opposite us, the light catching on the hollows of her eyes and giving her the look of a prop in a haunted house ride.

“Enough with you lot. This mesmerizing young lady is Nyx Westling, and she’s the set designer for my play, but she’s actually an actress in disguise.”

Everyone nodded and looked me over.

“And she has wings,” giggled Mickey. Adam playfully flicked a burnt piece of wood in his direction and he ducked just in time.

“Nyx. That’s an interesting name,” said another girl.

“She’s the ancient Greek goddess of night,” I said.

The group was silent.

“Isn’t there a makeup brand with that name as well?” the same girl asked.

Adam flung another dead ember at her and she laughed cheekily.

“Let’s just agree that she can be the goddess of night and the goddess of heavy make up at the same time,” said Mickey.

The group was chatting loudly now, ignoring me and the temporary distraction my overdone makeup and black wings had brought. I tentatively cast a glance over to Adam and to my surprise found him staring right back at me.

“Is it… OK that I’m here?” I whispered.

“What? Are you joking? They mean no harm, don’t you worry. Sometimes our little get togethers can get out of hand…” he said, and something naughty twinkled in his eyes.

“I’m not worried!” I said, and shrugged. And I wasn’t. Sort of. I was certainly no stranger to wild nights myself, and took a little offense that everyone assumed I was …innocent? I couldn’t tell, but everything in here was very strange.

The evening wore on a little and the fire warmed us all. Our conversation was fragmented and strange, but flowed easily somehow, chunks of conversation starting up and stalling seemingly of their own accord. Soon, I had put away two beers and felt a pleasant buzz in my head. I wasn’t ‘innocent’ exactly …I had just made a deal with the devil in the form of my aunt Lila: my soul in exchange for a full ride at one of the country’s most prestigious theatre schools. Was it a fair deal or not? I hadn’t yet decided.

Adam cast sideways glances at me throughout, but I pretended not to notice. In this light, he looked almost painfully handsome. There was that same depth in his eyes I had seen the first time we met, but it seemed more at home tonight, warmer somehow. He was wearing a dark navy shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing forearms that looked veined as a thoroughbred racehorse’s.

All of a sudden, everyone jumped as a great clatter interrupted the conversation. We all turned to see a series of stones being thrown at the same window I had come through.

“Oh God, that’ll be your girlfriend, Adam,” said the small girl opposite us.

A hard lump formed in my throat. It was probably time for me to go home anyway.

Adam shot her a fierce look and then walked over to the door, opened it and released a woman who came blustering in with so much fury and noise it nearly took my breath away.

She was tall and blonde and buxom, great beaded necklaces and shawls struggling to keep up with her frantic movements as she ascended the stairs and stumbled inelegantly inside, laughing.

“Ah shit! I think I’ve dropped me …oh hello Adam, darling, is that you? You’re looking lovely tonight aren’t you?” she said in a loud, husky voice.

She seemed to take up all the space in the building, all at once, and she smelled like the outside air and of heavy, old fashioned perfume. And of cigarettes.

“Well, I know I keep saying, but sweet Christ, Andrew, you need to get a proper house one of these days, yeah? Make your guests climb up those shitty stairs, I swear one of these days it’ll be my death,” she said and wafted over, sitting herself down in the circle as two of the group obediently shifted place to open the circle up for her.

For a split second, I made eye contact with her, but she immediately snapped away her gaze and began giving people luxurious and extended hello kisses and hugs, her bangles and earrings clattering.

Suddenly, my black wings felt silly. Too small. Too …dare I say it… Disney. I cleared my throat and though of introducing myself but to my astonishment she slapped both flat palms down onto the concrete and took a deep, theatrical breath, closing her eyes.

“People, my lovely people, I do believe it’s time for a game.”

There were muted moans from the crowd. Adam leaned slightly over to me and whispered under his breath, “Laura likes ‘games’ …don’t freak out, just go with it,” and then he leaned away again.

“It’s a holy game, good people of Andrew’s shitty house. And here are the rules. Would you like to hear the rules?”

The small girl giggled. “Tell us the rules, Laura!”

“Very well! Then still your hearts and hear me well, for here come the rules!” she said, and now raised her hands up high. In the darkness, in the shadows and weirdness of the room, she suddenly became a mad priestess, a witch doctor, or at least a very convincing fake. I couldn’t help but smile. I looked over to Adam but he was watching her intently. Were they…? Was she…?

“This game is called Truth or Truth. Into the fire we’re committing our secrets. Tonight, we’ll take out all our lies and burn them in the fire until they become truths,” she said in a voice like a witch over a cauldron.

She had barely caught her breath from her ordeal with the iron staircase. What the hell was she doing? I had never seen anything like it in my life. “Don’t you think there’s altogether too much bullshit in the world, hm? Don’t you?” she said, hands still held high.

The people in the group nodded along. Was this just …a regular thing these people did?

I watched, enthralled.

“Too much bullshit altogether, that’s what I say. And friends, I am guilty of it too, God knows. That’s why we need to purge the bullshit every once in a while, get it out, am I right?”

“You’re right, Laura!”

“Of course I’m right! And what better place to cleanse our bullshit-weary souls than Andrew’s godawful house?”

“Shut up, Laura,” said Andrew, and everyone laughed good-naturedly.

“Ah, but sweet Andrew… I shan’t shut up! Oh no, the truth will out dear Andrew, we’ll sit here and rid ourselves of the bullshit, one by one, till we are purified by this fire in the middle of your shitty living room, so help me, I’ve had enough” she said and slapped her hands down onto the concrete again.

Her eyes were wild and serious but there was the most glorious little smile playing on her lips that I couldn’t quite tell if she was for real or not.

“Here’s me, my friends, look closely because I’m about to show you who I really am. This is my real self, are you ready?” She began to strip off her many scarves and shawls and fling them aside.

“Show us!”

She jumped to her haunches, a wild thing, her blonde hair swinging down from her head like ropes, and her eyes were fiery and pulsing with mischief. She took a deep, jagged breath, so deep it looked like it pained her to draw in that much air, and then she spoke quietly, directly to the fire, as it flickered on her face and made her skin glow.

“I’m terrified that even now, it’s already too late for me,” she said, dropping her voice right down to a sad whisper. The room went silent. The girl next to her nodded quietly in sympathy.

“I’m worried that I am already so far down the wrong path that I can never come back again. In short, I am afraid,” she breathed.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly fell, the temperature almost dropping a few degrees as her teasing expression disappeared and she spoke her serious confession. Then she reached for her shawls and put them back on again, came close to the fire, and spat into it.

I watched, wide eyed.

The girl next to her was already crouching down close to the fire. Her voice was nowhere near as strong and commanding as Laura’s had been, but it was clear and earnest.

“I hate being the fucking ugly girl all the time,” she said and spat in the fire. “I pretend like it doesn’t bother me. But it bothers me. A lot. Some days, it’s the only thing I can think about. I wish I could just take a knife and peel off all my skin and grow it back again, and start new”

She sat back again and looked satisfied.

“I don’t think incest is wrong,” the guy next to her said.

Everyone turned to look at him.

He looked into the fire.

“That’s all,” he said, and spat.

The fire dipped and roared back up again, eating up everyone’s confessions. I had partied in my youth, God knows, but I had never …done whatever it is that they were doing. My head buzzed. Soon, it would be my turn.

“I feel like I’ve lost who I am”. Spit.

“Yesterday, I said something very cruel to my mother, and I meant every word of it.” Spit.

“Sometimes I wish I had cancer or something so that at least I would have an excuse.” Spit.

Then it was my turn. My heart was pumping wildly. I had never met these people before in my life. I hardly even knew all of their names. And now I had to tell them some deep dark secret? This was ridiculous. What were they smoking, anyway?

“I …I don’t really have a secret,” I muttered.

Sounds of disapproval came from the circle. I looked down to see Adam’s hand on my knee, and nearly fainted from the distraction.

“No, really …I’ve been a bad girl in the past, I guess. But I’m different now. I don’t have anything to confess. I don’t have anything to say…”

Even the fire itself seemed angry with this answer.

Adam squeezed my leg and sent my heart fluttering.

“We’re all friends here, Nyx. We’re all in it together. We want to hear whatever you have to say…” he said, and I looked over to see his deep, imploring eyes on me. They did things to me, those eyes. I flashed a glance over to the fire.

How could I say anything to the people here? Could I tell them how many nights of my life I had woken up in a house I didn’t recognize, half my clothing missing and no memory of the night before? Could I tell them that I had messed up every good chance I had ever been given? Or that since my father and mother died, a part of me died with them and I didn’t think it would ever come back?

The fire felt hot against my eyes. The circle waited and waited for me to say something. My palms felt clammy. I opened my lips to speak but the words seemed stuck. Adam’s hand was firm on my leg. I wanted him to never, ever stop touching me.

“I’m afraid that there’s nothing left in the world that will make me happy,” I said at last. “Sometimes I’m scared that I’ve already done everything there is to do, and now what’s left is boring and soul-destroying. That’s what I feel. That’s my secret,” I said. Then I spat in the fire.

The group murmured their approval.

“Have you ever ridden an ostrich?” the small girl asked.

“What?”

“Well, that seems like something you haven’t done yet.”

“Have you eaten at Jaipur deli? The one near Adam’s house?” said Andrew.

I stammered to answer.

“Have you ever done calligraphy? Have you ever been to the Rio carnival? Have you ever gone skinny dipping at the beginning of spring in Finland?” said a girl who up until now had been rather quiet.

I laughed.

“No, I guess there are still technically some things in this world that could make me happy…” I said, and colored heavily. I turned to look at Adam, who was smiling strangely at me.

“Have you ever fallen in love?” he said.

The room went silent again. I stared hard at him, at those dark, treacly eyes and all the things they seemed to be saying.

“Have you ever loved someone so much,” he continued, “that you felt like the whole world only made sense the moment after you watched them sleeping? Have you ever loved someone with your whole self, your heart, your soul, your blood, your bones, all of it? Have you cried with them and laughed with them and stared into the abyss with them? Have you ever come so hard that you felt you’d almost die, orgasmed so much that it was as though you stared in the face of God himself?”

My heart was beating in my ears. My mouth hung open.

“I …well, I…”

“No? Then there’s still plenty in the world that will make you happy then,” he said quickly, squeezed my knee and turned to peer into the fire again.

I was gobsmacked. Where the hell had all of that come from?

“All right guys, jeez, enough with the group therapy, yeah?”

It was Andrew, laughing and clapping his hands together, releasing the strange tension that had gathered around Adam’s words.

“Now that we’ve all established we’re a bunch of fucking weirdos, can we get back to our regular programming please?” Andrew said in a cheerful voice, then pulled something out of his jacket pocket. “And speaking of have-you-ever, I’ve got here something I’m sure none of you freaks have ever tried,” he said, and waggled a small plastic baggie at us.

Thankfully, everyone tore their interest from me and my embarrassing confession and turned to look at the black capsules in the baggie.

“What’s that?” the small girl asked.

“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” he said and winked.

Everyone held out their hands and he carefully placed a single black capsule into each opened palm, one by one.

No. Not now. It must be getting close to 11. I had to get back home.

“And one for you, oh great Goddess of the eyeliner?” Andrew said playfully and held out a pill for me.

“I’m …not for me,” I said meekly.

He frowned.

I gave a pleading look to Adam. Aunt Lila would suffer a stroke if she knew I was up to my old tricks again, so soon after I had sworn blind that this time would be different. The capsule looked so sleek and glossy, held so carefully between his thumb and forefinger. There it was. Such a tiny thing, and yet I already knew that that was all it would take. I felt my stomach churn.

Adam tilted his head and looked at me strangely.

“You don’t want to, Nyx?” he said softly.

Oh, that wasn’t the question. I wanted to all right. More than anything in the world. In fact, at that moment, I was a hair’s breadth away from greedily swallowing that pill and seeing all the delicious things it held inside, the promise of painlessness, of something beautiful, of escape. Did I want it? I wanted it so bad it ached.

“I …I shouldn’t take it,” I said. That was the best answer I could come up with.

“Why not?” Adam said.

Everything, everyone in the room retreated a little and soon there was only the glossy black of the pill and the glossy black of Adam’s eyes. Fuck, he was hot. I bit my lips.

“Because …because ...”

Words stuck in my throat. Because I didn’t trust myself. Because I was aunt Lila’s slave. Because that was behind me now, and I had to be sober going ahead. Clear-headed. Good and decent and well-behaved.

Adam reached out and took the pill from Andrew and looked at it closely. I stopped breathing. He seemed like a magician to me, and I was spellbound. I felt it in my throat. In my spine. I felt it pulsing between my legs. Slowly, he lifted the pill to his own lips, gently stuck out the pink pad of his tongue and perched the capsule on it, just so. He closed his lips slightly around it again, and half-smiled.

Then I felt it. ‘Kiss me,’ his eyes said.

I leaned forward, drawn in by delicious threads. I placed soft, tentative lips against his. The pill passed into my mouth. I gasped; the pill went down into my throat. He held me there between his lips, a moment frozen in tenderness. I sighed. His hand went to the back of my neck and he kissed me more deeply. Electricity shot straight through my body. Though his lips were soft and warm, their effect on me was explosive.

He pulled back and looked at me again, the light of the fire glinting on the wetness on his lower lips. In spite of myself, I smiled, giddy.

“Aw, Adam, can I get a snog too, huh?” Andrew teased. It felt easy to laugh with everyone. The fire kept burning. I took off my black wings and …forgot.

Chapter 6

Pigeon legs. Grey pigeon legs, as scaly as a dinosaur’s, stalking up and down, right in front of me. I opened my eyes and watched in the broad daylight. The pigeon picked erratically at nothing on the floor, looked wide-eyed at me then flapped off, leaving a few feathers behind. I groaned and blinked hard. The air was so cold it almost smelt metallic.

I looked down: a hand draped over my waist. I was on a hard floor, resting on a nest of jackets and coats; Adam curled up behind me, his arm linked round my middle.

Slowly, I remembered.

The night had been long and strange. But I remembered it all. Every last smile. Every laugh and joke and …I remembered dancing around the fire, roaring with laughter and making shadows on the walls with everyone. I remember how Andrew had showed us some yoga poses, and then walked over the hot coals to show it wouldn’t hurt him. I remember that we had made a raucous song about it, and had part-sung part-laughed that song over and over, like dervishes in the night. We had all stretched out on the floor and talked about our life and how crazy it was and that this was special, this moment right now, in Andrew’s shitty house. And then we had hugged and cried and danced some more.

And I had gazed into Adam’s eyes. All night. For eons, really. We had kissed again and again, first strangely, then as old friends, then teasingly, then back to strange again, until we had tried out every kind of kiss with one another.

His handsome face came alive, in the flicker of that fire, as the night wore on. He had kissed me delicately, placing the tenderest fingertip on my lip as he explored me with his tongue. And he kissed me savagely, both hands gripping me close, devouring me one hungry caress after another.

I took in a deep, cold breath and held it in my lungs, feeling my body waking up on the inside. This was a strange feeling. It took me a while, lying there on our strange morning nest, to realize what the feeling was: peace.

I tilted my head and saw a few bodies strewn in sleep all over the floor, in a jumble of coats and scarves. The fire, filled with our darkest fears and burdens, was now cold and ash-white, finished and unnecessary in the clean morning light.

“Good morning, glory.”

His voice was deep and soft, like wet earth. I turned round and nuzzled into his chest, breathing in his scent. He was unlike any man I had ever met before. His skin was so warm, and I could smell him under the smoke-tinged fabric of his cotton shirt. He was the most delicious thing in the world to me at that moment. His hand rested on my hips.

I remembered more.

I had wanted him, all night. He had teased me and laughed. I squeezed my eyes shut and saw his gleaming face in my memory.

“Steady on, you’re trying to get into my pants, aren’t you?” I had laughed. It was bliss.

Another strange feeling: I didn’t need to sleep with him. Well, not yet at least.

I took in another deep breath and gently curled my hips against his. He groaned quietly and pulled me in close, nestling his lips against the top of my head.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed.

“You’re …mad” I said and laughed.

He kissed me again.

“Do we really have to wake up, do you think? Let’s just lie here until it’s night again,” he said.

Then I remembered.

Tamara.

The early morning meeting.

“Oh shit!”

I jumped up.

“What’s the time? Oh fuck, I have a thing with Tamara this morning!” I said. My frantic voice stirred someone in the corner, who mumbled something, rolled over and went back to sleep.

“Oh God, Adam this was so stupid. Do you know where my bag is?” I was scrambling through the great pile of scarves and coats, everything reeking of fire and ash.

“And the wings!” I exclaimed, noticing that they weren’t where I had left them.

Adam was quickly on his feet and rubbing his face. He yanked a phone out of his pocket and looked at it quizzically, then came over to me and gripped me by the arms.

“OK, just relax, OK? When is your meeting?” His features were cooling and hardening before my very eyes.

“It’s uh… oh God, I can’t even remember …it’s uh, at nine I think? Yes, at nine. What time is it now?”

“It’s 8:50.”

“Fuck!” I scrambled to find my shoes and flung on my coat. “Where are those goddam wings?”

Adam was hurrying behind me, shrugging on his own jumper and raking nervous fingers through his hair. When he opened the glass-paned kitchen door, a gust of cool air came rushing in.

“Come on, let’s go, I’ll drive you,” he said.

“You have a car? Oh thank God,” I mumbled, and tossed my bag over my shoulder. “I just have to find those wings…”

“Forget the wings, Nyx, you’re hopelessly late already. If we leave now, we’ll get there maybe 10 minutes late. We can still save this. Let’s just go.”

I scowled. Where could they have gotten to? I couldn’t have just lost them.

“But let me just…”

“Nyx, let’s go!”

He marched over, grabbed me round my waist and before I knew it, he had pitched me over his shoulder, cave-man style, my messy hair hanging long down his back. I squealed and laughed, but he was off, expertly picking his way down the iron staircase, crunching through a gravel parking lot and then flinging me down in the passenger seat of his car. I looked up at him, half-smiling, my hair tousled.

“Good grief you’re strong,” I said.

“I know,” he winked naughtily at me and shut the door, and soon we were whizzing through town, both of us praying we wouldn’t be caught by morning traffic.

I tapped nervously on my phone as he drove, perched all the way on the very edge of his car seat. I sent Tamara a message and then tried to call, but it went straight to voicemail. It was my first big meeting with Tamara. The one where I’d pitch my big ideas, and show her that although I might be one of the newest and youngest members on the team, that I would manage, that I’d show her and that she could trust me …except now I was going to be fucking late.

We finally pulled up at the college and parked. It was 9:16. Shit. I could make out tiny beads of sweat on Adam’s face; he had focused solely on driving, and I had just stared ahead at the road, trying to gather my thoughts.

We both slammed our car doors shut and took the stairs two at a time, and immediately saw Tamara standing outside the main hall, having a smoke break. She blew a plume of smoke, looked us both up and down and then dropped the cigarette onto the floor and twisted it out with her boot. Expressionless, she turned on her heel and headed back inside.

“OK, I have to go now,” I stammered. “thanks for the ride Adam.”

“No problem, we’ll chat later.”

How the hell could he be smiling at a time like this?

“Oh God…”

“What now?” he said.

“My notebook. I haven’t brought any of my work. I have nothing to show her,” I said. I felt the tears welling up in my throat. He looked at me with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“Hey, Nyx, can I tell you something quickly?”

“What?”

“Your drawings and stuff?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re not that great anyway.”

“What the fuck?”

“I’m saying, you can do without them. You don’t need them. Everything’s in here, right?” He placed his fingertip against my temple. I shook it away, a rash of anger coming over me.

“No, no it isn’t. I’m screwed. Oh God, I can’t believe I let this happen…”

I started to whine. My head began to feel like sandpaper. He grabbed me by the shoulders again and held me firmly.

“Nyx, listen to me …are you listening?”

“Yes, what?”

“You got this,” he said, and again pierced me with those eyes of his. “You have a gift. Go in there and have fun with it, OK?”

“OK,” I said quietly.

He gave my butt a playful slap as I scrambled the rest of the way up the stairs and went to find Tamara. I turned to wave him goodbye but he had already taken off. I took a deep breath, opened the door and made my way to Tamara’s office.

Chapter 7

I tried desperately to wipe the weird ash on my fingers off on the back of my clothing.

Turning up at an important meeting wearing a day-old velvet dress, heels, and stale make-up was definitely something that the old Nyx would have done. But now…?

I stood in Tamara’s office, unprepared and nearly shaking with nerves. My palms were sweating, and still the weird dirt on them from rummaging around in Andrew’s weird apartment looking for my wings was not coming off.

It had been a magical night. I dare say, the most fun I had had in …well, maybe ever. I had felt free. Happy. Accepted. Like a great burden had been lifted from me. And now Tamara was sitting in her faux-leather seat, mouth tight with irritation, hands clasped in front of her and waiting for me to explain myself.

I sat down and tried to smooth out the weird wrinkles in my lap. Have fun with it? Easy for him to say, he wasn’t sitting here, in the hot seat, his exclusive drama college dream basically over before it had even started.

“Unfortunately, it’s been a bit of a rush this morning for me and I’ve forgotten my folder at home,” I said quietly, trying a nervous smile.

She glared at me.

She had said on that first day, “don’t let him rattle you” and here I was anyway, thoroughly rattled. What I hadn’t been prepared for was the fact that being rattled by him would feel so, so good.

“We don’t have all day though, so just share with me what you’ve done,” she said coldly.

Tamara was a pretty woman, not terribly much older than me but far more put together, something of a fashionable viciousness in her demeanor that looked like it belonged on a Vogue model.

“Yes, well, OK then,” I said, and wrung my hands together. Just have fun with it. OK. Sure. Fun.

“So, to begin with, I wanted to base everything off of primary colors. Nicky is making everything Bluebeard wears some kind of blue, so I wanted the surrounds - especially his bed chambers, which are the most important – a blend of yellow and red. The yellow will mostly be the candle light, leaving most of the room red, which will foreshadow the bloody chamber nicely…”

She looked unimpressed, like she was waiting for the punchline of a joke that had gone on too long.

“There’ll be a carpet at the very center,” I continued, “serving as a sort of stage within a stage…”

Her face didn’t budge an inch.

I felt hot. Almost sick.

“Actually, can I be honest?” I said.

She raised an eyebrow at me.

I straightened in my seat and looked her full on. This was hopeless. I had messed it up completely, and there was no hope for me, not now. So, why not have fun with it then? What did I have to lose? I took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned forward in my chair.

“What I really want to do is try something a little less …Disney,” I said.

A small smile flickered on her lips.

“Go on.”

“Well, I could make Bluebeard’s bed chamber a ruin. Like, the little that’s left over of a room after a big tragedy happens to it,” I said, getting a tiny bit excited. “I’m thinking, all the walls inside his great manor are all torn down. I’m thinking, destroyed, derelict aristocracy, a crumbling grandeur and something seedy, something frightening visible under the surface.”

I started waving my hands around.

“Picture smashed through walls, but on each raw edge of the wall, there are tons of candles wedged into the open brickwork, all bleeding their wax down, and the floor is bare under this old, faded carpet. It used to be something noble and beautiful, but now…” I flashed mischievous eyes at her.

Was I having fun? Tamara followed my every word.

“I want it to be dark, Tamara. No skulls and crossbones. Bluebeard attracted his victim some way, didn’t he? He did it because he’s fucking hot,” I said under my breath.

The smile on her face was slow and surprised.

“So the squalor we see is sexy squalor. I’ll do broken beer bottles. It’s dirty. No fireplace – only a blackened circle right in the middle, where a fire once was,” I said, and traced a big, excited circle in the air with my arms.

She broke out into a grin.

“Yes I …I think I see that,” she said, and I could tell she was trying to picture what I was describing. In my smoky velvet dress and tousled hair, I chatted with her for a while longer, getting carried away with myself. She seemed less angry, and after a while even a little curious. Maybe Adam was right. Maybe I did have this.

She glanced at her watch and frowned.

“OK, let’s wrap this up, Nyx. I have to be honest; I like what you’re going for, and kudos to you for pushing the envelope a little. We like to see that here. Too many students don’t take risks,” she said, standing up. I stood up too, feeling infinitely lighter than when I had come in.

“Good work,” she said and shook my hand.

“Thank you,” I said and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Nyx?”

“Yes?”

“Your aunt has campaigned heavily for you in this course, you know that, right?”

I suddenly felt as cold and dead as the fire in Andrew’s shitty house.

“Yes, I know.”

“She’s a smart lady, and she’s gone to great lengths to try and convince everyone that you have a talent…”

Silence.

“I happen to agree with her. But don’t think for a second that talent is enough.”

I looked at her, my hand shaking on the doorknob.

“I mean it, Nyx. I don’t care how talented you are, it doesn’t mean you can waste my time.”

I swallowed hard. Stared at the floor. “I apologize, Tamara,” I said. I closed the door behind me and made my way outside, adrenaline coursing through me. I was alive. I wasn’t going to get thrown off campus or disowned by aunt Lila after all. In fact, Tamara had said I was talented. Talented.

I would never have been in this awkward mess were it not for Adam, and were it not for that evil black pill and were it not for the fire, and the wings …

But then again, maybe I would have stuck with my boring folder of boring ideas, pitching them to Tamara in clean, ironed clothes this morning, well behaved and predictable …and untalented.

I stood on the college steps and peered around, noticing how crisp the morning light was. I had an appointment with some carpenters later on that afternoon. But for now? Now I wanted to speak to Adam.

I ran down the steps, heels clacking on the concrete.

I hadn’t quite decided yet if I wanted to yell at him …or thank him. But being spontaneous was working well for me so far, wasn’t it? So, let’s just say I wasn’t trying too hard to decide.

Chapter 8

“Are you at home?” I texted him.

The reply was instant.

“Yes.”

“I’m coming over.”

The screen was still for a while then his reply popped up, simply his address and nothing more. He stayed only a few minutes’ walk from campus. My feet were beginning to hurt, but I walked quickly anyway, blood still full of adrenaline.

I buzzed at an unassuming block of flats and the door buzzed back at me and clicked open. My heels clacked over to his door and I buzzed again. When he opened it, it took me a few moments to take him all in again, just to look at him again. Nope, he wasn’t something I had dreamt. He wasn’t a drug-induced hallucination. And yup, his eyes really did look like that, even now in the ordinary light of day.

“Come in,” he said, and stood aside.

My body brushed against his as I walked in. He was wearing nothing but a super-comfy looking pair of track bottoms, chest bare, feet bare. Eyes bare.

I tossed down my bag and coat on a side table and watched him close and lock the door.

A few hours ago, I had been whirling around a fire with him, hands linked, peals of laughter echoing in a strange abandoned lot and the relentless, beautiful feeling of raw energy, of something new and wonderful happening… And now we were in an ordinary flat, with a regular carpet. The only memory of that weird night was my long-suffering velvet dress.

“Adam Morgan, you nearly got me into so much trouble,” I said at last.

He lifted an eyebrow at me and said nothing. I followed him into the living room.

“Only nearly?” he said, and settled down onto a sofa. I followed suit, folding my legs tightly underneath me.

“Yes, only nearly, and thank God.”

“What happened?”

“I had to wing it. I just rattled off whatever came to mind. I mean, I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards and I probably smell worse, and I just totally winged it and said whatever came to mind.”

“And she liked it, didn’t she?”

I frowned.

“Well, yes, she did actually. Thank goodness.”

He didn’t seem at all concerned. In fact, I was beginning to wonder why I myself was still so stressed.

“I guess you were right,” I said. “It was too Disney.”

His smile was broad and warm.

“Are you still sore about that?” he laughed.

“Well, you were right after all. My other ideas were very …dull. I don’t know why I didn’t …anyway, I’m going to try a new direction. You were right. Bluebeard’s a really frightening guy. He needs a truly frightening bed chamber. You were right…” I said again, and the more I said it, the more the tension seemed to be melting from my shoulders.

I peered at him and saw him watching my face intently, a distant smile on his lips.

“So, I guess I came over here to tell you thank you,” I breathed.

“Thank you for nearly getting you into so much trouble?” he said and reached out to poke my ribs. I squealed and darted away.

“Yes, thank you for nearly getting me into so much trouble” I said, teasing him, but suddenly the look on his face went deep and serious.

“Well, I hope I can do it again sometime.”

And boom, there it was. All at once, a bright spark popped right the way through me, landing square between my legs in one undeniable thump. I said nothing. My eyes tried to dart around the room, trying to settle on something, anything that wasn’t that burning black gaze of his.

“Can I make you some coffee?” he asked.

When he went off to the kitchen I had time to notice the little things around his apartment.

No sign of a feminine touch in here, that was for sure. The sofa was a fold-out futon. He had expensive speakers, but cheap furniture. Nothing really matched, but it all got along well enough. There were no plants, no scatter cushions, nothing on the walls. It seemed primarily a place to do things. I spied a door that looked as though it led to his bedroom. It was darkened, with a purple bedspread over a probably unmade bed…

“Here we go,” he said, and handed me a steaming cup.

It tasted good. Exactly what I needed.

We sipped silently for a moment.

“My mum and dad both died in a car accident two years ago,” I said.

He said nothing.

It was my usual preamble. The first line to any story I’d want to tell from here on out. It didn’t seem possible to talk about anything without first starting this way.

“Well, I’m sure they’d both be proud to see you …shall we say, living the creative life,” he said quietly. His voice made me feel funny inside.

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as ‘proud’…” I said. “My aunt is paying for me to do this course. She’s been very generous. My parents were …well, they obviously never expected to just wake up one morning and die in a car crash, you know? So they didn’t have anything set in place for me. No money. I’d be on my own if it weren’t for my aunt.”

I didn’t know why, but it was so easy to talk to him like this, his dark eyes and the black coffee soothing and invigorating at the same time.

“So you’re in a bit of a trap, aren’t you?” he said.

“A trap?”

“Well, you’re trying to learn how to create. But if you risk creating too much, or the wrong thing… then…”

“Then my aunt cuts me off.”

“Exactly. Sounds brutal.”

“It is when you put it that way.”

We sipped silently some more.

“It’s fine to play it safe for now, though, right? I won’t rely on my aunt for that long anyway, I’ll work eventually, I just need to be careful, that’s all.”

He gave me a quizzical look.

“Right? I can just complete this course and then go my own way, she’s been very generous you know, and if she cuts me off…”

“Then what? Who cares if she cuts you off?”

It was legitimately a thought I had never had. I had no idea what would happen. I didn’t like thinking about any of this.

“We can’t all be starving artists you know, gallivanting around taking drugs in weird broken houses or whatever,” I laughed.

“Oh shit, can’t we? That’s basically been my life plan all this time.”

He smiled mischievously.

I wanted to both smack and kiss him.

“Well, not all of us have to rely on an aunt Lila for their survival, so.”

“Nyx?”

“Yes?”

“I’m getting pretty tired of hearing you blather on about your aunt. I’m sure she’s a lovely woman and all, but do you think you might like to come over here and kiss me a little instead?”

I blushed hard.

Though my hands were shaking as I placed them down on the sofa and inched closer to him, my lips seemed to remember instantly, falling straight back into the easy rhythm we had found with one another the night before.

Kissing him was glorious. My body melted away and all that came into focus was his sweet, soft lips and all the delicious things they did to mine. He groaned quietly as his tongue caressed mine, and the sound alone was enough to set that little spark popping through me again.

Gently, his hands went to my hips and I shuddered. Soon, we had both tumbled down, down, down onto the sofa, crumpling sweetly into a kiss that I couldn’t bear to end. His hands were stroking over and over the flare where my hips met my thighs. I could let a boy like this get me in trouble, oh yes. If he kept kissing me like this, I could let him do anything at all…

I pulled back and looked at him.

“I’m …I’m feeling really gross and I think I need to freshen up,” I said, stopping our kiss dead in its tracks.

“Don’t worry, a little dirt suits you,” he said and leaned in for another kiss.

I reflexively pulled back.

It was all well and good throwing caution to the wind, but shit, it was a weekday morning and I was wearing my same clothes from yesterday. I placed a cautious hand on his chest, holding him off. He smiled and looked down at the folds of crumpled velvet.

“Are you telling me this nasty dress is the problem?” he said. I giggled.

“We’ll have to get it off then,” he said, fingers on his chin like he was some great philosopher who resolved one of life’s great mysteries.

I laughed and slapped his arm. “You’re terrible!”

“Nyx, you’re the one who’s all dirty and gross,” he said, and playfully stuck out his tongue at me. I leaned forward and pecked the tip of his tongue. Quickly. Without thinking.

“I’m sorry, I –”

He kissed me again.

“But really, I smell like smoke and my feet are probably all gross and…” before I could finish he had hoisted me up off the couch and threw me over, yes, threw me over, his shoulder. It was the second time in as many days. I could do nothing but laugh.

“Oh my God, Adam where are you taking me?”

“To get cleaned up of course.”

Upside down, I could see us heading for another door, which he kicked open and then plonked me down in the room it opened into.

The bathroom.

“Well, go on. If that dress is terrible and dirty, let’s get it off and put you in the shower.

Well, why not? I knew it was a weekday, and broad daylight to boot, and I should probably be saying fifty hail Mary’s and thanking my lucky stars my meeting this morning had gone as well as it did… but why not?

I unknotted the little belt tie at my waist and then crouched down to gather up the hem of the dress. Maybe I was glad to be rid of it. In one long movement, I stood back up and brought the hem with me, curling it up against my body and peeling it off and up over my shoulders. When I had shrugged it off and lowered my hands, I was naked except for my panties.

And except for his eyes. All over me.

I stood before him. He nodded, a slight frown on his face, and I couldn’t tell if the shiver up my spine was from the coldness of the bathroom or from the intensity of the way he looked at my stomach. At my breasts. Did he see all the little imperfections? Could he tell that I was excited to be there, no matter how violently my heart was pounding in my ears?

He reached behind the shower curtain and turned on the taps. Not taking his eyes off me, he slid off his own pants, and to my surprise, he had nothing else underneath. His body was …stronger than I had guessed.

His thighs seemed hard and knotted, tight like the haunches of some kind of predator. And his …I looked down to see his cock hanging half erect from a dark mass of curls. With a little thrill I realized that yes, that was certainly a sizeable cock indeed. No two ways about it.

He squared his shoulders and took a breath so deep it was like he was about to step out onto stage and project his voice for a crowd. He gestured to my flimsy knickers.

“Are those terrible and awful too?”

“I hate them with all my heart,” I giggled.

“Go on then, let’s get rid of them.”

He held out his hand.

I wriggled out of them and gingerly handed them over. Without skipping a beat, he balled them up and threw them angrily into the dustbin.

“Good riddance! Is there anything else we need to throw away before we continue?”

“No, I’m good,” I giggled.

He held out his hand and I took it, and like a gentleman escorting a lady into a carriage, he guided me into the wet steam of the shower, stepped in behind me, and closed the curtain around us.

Chapter 9

“What’s that?”

I turned to look at where he was pointing.

Ah, that.

His gaze fell on the tendrils of a faded and poorly inked tattoo snaking over my ribcage and onto my back. I hated it. A wrought iron key with ribbons laced around. At one point I had thought it was the best idea in the world.

“That? Oh that’s just my misspent youth,” I said and smiled at him.

He extended wet fingertips and stroked a long, thoughtful line over it, examining its shape.

“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

I gulped. My head felt dizzy in the hot steam of the shower. We stood there together, looking. The water had soaked us both, and his dark hair seemed even darker, slicked back in little spikes like a seal’s. We huddled together under the water stream, our bodies only an inch or so apart.

“You’re beautiful too,” I said, and when I did he leaned in again and kissed me, lips hot and wet and little parts of my body touching little parts of his. The top of his pecs, the poke of hips, all delicately grazing against my nakedness. I closed my eyes against the water dribbling over me and felt the most delicious pleasure washing down. A tight, almost painful ache throbbed at my clit.

He was the last thing I needed right now. He was a ‘bad influence’, reckless, a little wild, too much. But maybe that was just what I needed?

I squeezed my thighs together and brought my hips closer to him. I didn’t have to look to know that he was fully hard now, his cock pinned between both our bodies, the endless torrent of warm water rushing over us. He pressed against the slick flat of my belly, smooth and utterly naked.

“I can’t decide yet if you’re good for me or bad for me…” I mumbled against his partly opened lips, and his hands raked into my wet hair and guided my head back, revealing my vulnerable neck to more kissing.

“Ask your gut …ask …here,” he said and extended a hand to rest just beneath my navel. My knees almost buckled by how good it felt to have his hands so close to that desperate growing throb inside me.

I let my head fall back, my head swirling full of steam, nipples hardening despite the heat, and I tried to focus on the almost maddening sensation of his hand heavy on my abdomen.

“I want to be an artist, like you,” I said quietly. I traced my lips over his wet torso, kissing trails over onto his broad, well-developed biceps and shoulders.

He stood tall and strong, looking down with pleasure as I kissed him, feet spread wide apart.

“An artist? There’s no such thing. All you have to do is keep following your intuition, keep going after what really excites you. How else does anything new come into the world unless someone is brave enough to think of it, from scratch?”

Slowly, his hand slid down from my belly and went lower, one tentative finger gliding neatly into the hungry folds of my body. I could feel him shaking. The tip of his finger sunk into a pool of syrupy wetness there.

I moaned.

“We can do whatever we want,” he whispered into my ear. This time, the pulse that thumped through me lingered around his fingertip, and soon I felt him stirring gooey sensations through me. It felt so fucking good. Again his lips were on mine, till he was kissing and stroking in rhythm, my hips obediently swirling in time against his rock-hard body. The water pelted down over us, melting every tension. Though I could hear the weight of his breathing, could see him pull back to bite his lip before diving in again for more, he was still masterful, still guiding our tongues, still stroking delicious, tiny circles right where I wanted them, till I was sure my whole body itself was melting, wet and quivering over his insistent fingers.

“Anything we want…?” I breathed into his neck.

“Anything.”

His finger slid into my pussy. I gasped, bending a little at the knee and collapsing more deeply onto him. Fuck. That felt amazing. Here in broad daylight, on a school night, when I had groveling to do, when I hadn’t yet begun to redeem my sorry self, right here, right now, with this dark stranger’s fingers in me till the knuckle …I could do nothing but whimper and lean further into it.

He groaned approvingly. The finger worked inside me, and then became two. Very much taller than me, he had to crouch over to kiss me, and I found myself balancing up on my tiptoes to lift and lower myself off his caresses in time, the dirtiest sensation pooling up somewhere deep inside me. He made it feel so easy to open my mouth up to him. So easy to spread my legs and fall down onto his strong forearms. So easy to let go…

When I next opened my eyes he had a soapy sponge in his hands. He gently dragged it over my body. I held out my arms, and then he crouched down in front of me, his back muscles rolling and tight under his skin.

I watched with fascination as he soaped me down, a flat hand following after the sponge to swirl around the line of suds. He washed me thoroughly, guiding his hand and the sponge over every part of me. The bathroom filled with the touching smell of antibacterial soap. My skin squeaked under his smooth caresses.

He stood back up, then admired me as he sloshed water over me to rinse me down. It felt good. He took his time. He washed each bubble away, then finished by stroking the wet snakes of hair away from my breasts and smoothing everything flat behind me.

Before I knew it, the water stopped.

I blinked and looked up as a few long drops fell out of the showerhead. He smiled at me, then flicked his head a little and gestured for me to get out. I obeyed and stepped into the crisp air outside, found towels and bundled us both. The ache inside was at fever pitch. I didn’t want soap bubbles and manners. I wanted him. I wanted to feel what it would feel like to have him in me…

We toweled ourselves off roughly and then, naked, he took my hand and guided me to his bedroom. At the threshold, I let his hand drop and I stopped, cooling drops spiraling down my legs and to my feet. He went inside his bedroom, plunked down on the purple bed and looked up at me expectantly.

“Am I about to do something stupid, Adam?”

His face darkened.

“What I mean is, well, I’m trying to be sober these days. I have a habit of …getting carried away with things, you know? Maybe that stuff we took last night has clouded my mind, and I’m not seeing thing clearly now…” I started saying.

The ache inside was retreating. Going somewhere deeper in.

He exhaled loudly. “Or maybe what you took didn’t cloud your mind, but opened it…?”

I wanted to believe it.

He sat up and crossed his legs on the bed, and looked at me standing in the doorway.

“Nyx, I meant what I said back there. We can do whatever we want. If you like, we can both get dressed right now and we can head off for some lunch somewhere. Or…” He looked down at the fabric of the bed, and stroked it absentmindedly. “Or you could come in here, and trust yourself, and see what you’d really like to do…”

He flicked a heavy gaze at me and all at once, the ache was back again.

I looked down and played with stepping my toes just an inch into the room. Maybe he was right? Maybe I didn’t need to beat myself up forever. It wasn’t my fault they got into the car and went out that day, was it? I placed a foot down square inside the bounds of the bedroom.

“You’re the perfect actor to play Bluebeard, you know that? You’re so delightfully evil,” I said and laughed.

Slowly, I walked over to the bed and lay down beside him. He pretended to pout and be offended, but then we were kissing again, and soon his hand was again between my legs, again finding that sweet, sweet spot and stroking it into a frenzy.

I let him.

The more we kissed the more I let go. Screw it all. I liked it. All of it. And this is what I wanted, wasn’t it?

“Will you be Bluebeard for me?” I asked, before I realized what I was saying.

“What?”

He held my head in his hands, looking at me quizzically.

“In one of the scenes, the wedding night, you know, when Bluebeard consummates his marriage, I want you to be him. And I want to be the girl,” I gushed. It was a crazy idea. He’d laugh at me for sure. But I said it anyway. He did laugh.

“And I thought you weren’t an actress, huh?” he said and gave me a playful slap on the butt.

I nestled into his chest, trying to hide the fact that I was blushing hard. Again.

“It’s OK if you don’t want to, it’s a dumb idea I know, I’m sorry…” I said, but he lifted my face and stared hard at me, examining it the same way he had the first time we had met.

“What are you saying, dear?”

“I was just…

“That’s not a fitting way for the lady of the manor to speak. And as my wife I’d thank you to comport yourself with a little more equanimity.”

His face was stony as rock. My eyes went wide. My heart fluttered like a caged animal in my chest. I throbbed.

“I’m …I’m sorry, my lord.”

I felt the hairs, one by one, stand up straight on the back of my neck. He looked me slowly over, buried his fingers in the hair at the base of my neck and gently pulled. Though my eyes instinctively fell closed, I could feel the warmth of his breath as his lips passed over my neck and down onto my collarbone. Like he was testing me. Tasting me. I swallowed hard.

“Open your legs,” he said, and all at once he was upright, on his knees and peering down at me with a dark hunger in his eyes. I flopped over onto my back and let my legs fall open for him. The exposure sent a dirty thrill right through me. I turned my head into the nest of still damp hair on the pillow and played coy for a little as he eyed me dangerously, cock bouncing hard just above the pale skin of my thighs.

“I’m a virtuous woman, my lord…” I said meekly.

I had no idea where the fuck that had come from, but when I said, I meant it. And he looked at me as though he weren’t pretending either. I was the hapless girl, Boulotte, and yes, he was dark, menacing, dangerously sexy Bluebeard.

He wrapped both hands around my thighs and pulled me roughly towards him, lifting my hips off the bed. I arched up in anticipation.

“You were a virtuous woman, my dear…” he said, and pressed an urgent thumb against my clit.

I moaned.

None of this was in the script, anyway. We were just making it up. Could we really do anything we wanted?

He grabbed his shaft and teased the entrance to my body, making me ache for him. His hands were rough and insistent on my legs, and when he wedged his swollen tip into me, I felt little waves of pleasure bursting and popping all through me, as my body opened to take him. In another inch he slid, and then another, taking his sweet, delicious time about it, setting me on fire somewhere deep inside me.

I looked up at him and gasped. He was no longer Adam. Not really. He was … someone else. As his hips settled into that ancient, dominating rhythm inside me, his expert fingers still on my clit, I watched his entire body clench and tighten into something different, something …scary. With each thrust into me he drove in deeper, and deeper still, till his full length had loosened my trembling body completely, and we were knotted together in one hot, tight spot.

“Wider,” he growled, and pulled my knees up. I groaned as he sunk into new depths inside me.

“Oh fuck,” I whimpered. Something flickered over his face, and he froze.

“What filth is this on my lady’s lips? Do I need remind her again of her new station, of her duties as my wife?

His voice wasn’t his own. God he was a good actor. All that power and mischief I had seen in his eyes the first time I had met him… that brutal, wild spirit of raw energy in him that had made me blush and turn away before – well, now I stared straight at it, full on, the entire length of his cock buried in me and nowhere to go but deeper.

“My lord, did you not hear me? I shall speak again: fuck,” I said, but this time I said the word slowly and deliberately, biting down on my lower lip as I relished each and every syllable. He looked at me with lightning in his eyes. I could almost hear the breath rushing in and out of his broad chest. Without tearing his gaze from mine, he pulled back his hips and threw them back into me, driving his dick even deeper into me, shooting electricity through my whole body. I saw stars.

“I said, fuck, my lord…” I whispered, quiet but defiant as my eyes met his again.

Again came his powerful hips, pounding down hard into mine and flooding my poor body with the most intense waves of ecstasy. I was soon close to coming …but I wasn’t done just yet.

“You defy me, then?” he said darkly, his voice hard and rough as gravel.

“Yes, I defy you, husband,” I said, bright and clear, and braced for another violent thrust, and another, and another. I bit down on my own lip to stop from squealing. He was so incredibly deep. His hands gripping tightly round my hipbones, I was utterly his …but I wasn’t going to surrender without a bit of a fight. His lips curled a little as I watched him struggle with the waves of pleasure beating through his own hard body, and I realized with delight that he was just as close as I was.

“Fuck,” I said again, this time taunting, teasing, daring him to do his worst.

To my surprise he flopped down onto me, his eyebrows in a tormented kink on his gorgeous face. He kissed me. Kissed away the ‘filth’.

I giggled. He kissed me again. I could feel him hardening inside me, inching closer to the edge. Gone was the sexy rage and power. Now, I felt the full weight of him as he perched above me, moments from orgasm. We both froze together, bodies twitching and breathing hard. I looked into his eyes and he looked into mine. They were so bright, those black eyes of his. I smiled and squeezed.

“Oh fuck,” he said, and instantly his body was spasming and bucking on top of mine. It was almost too wonderful to watch. And I felt it – I felt him shooting wads of hot cum into my body, and the thought alone, the thought of him giving it to me so deep inside…

The cry in my throat caught and came out mangled. Around his gorgeous pulsing body, my own body reached a sweet, hot spot of bliss and then exploded, melting me with it and sending great heaving waves of bliss all through me. We held one another as we came, riding out the pleasure, one jagged breath at a time. Then he collapsed onto me, slick with sweat and raining down a torrent of kisses on my neck and shoulders. My body twitched and shuddered around him, but then gradually went quiet.

He buried his head in the crook of my neck. I wrapped exhausted hands round his back and clasped my fingers there, trying to anchor myself again, to come back to terra firma. Our hearts banged against one another in our chests, pressed up close. But soon, they went quiet too.

In my mind, a great red velvet curtain closed, and I heard the distant sound of applause.

Chapter 10

Piece by piece, it was coming together. With each chunk of shaped chipboard, each lick of paint, Bluebeard’s sinister castle was coming alive on the stage.

I had envisioned a massive DIY project – something that would have me donning dungarees and chopping and hammering the nitty gritty with woodworking tools, and hot glue, and a nailgun. But it was nothing like that. Instead, it felt more like …alchemy.

The elements were all unremarkable. The building blocks were ordinary and came from bulk discount hardware stores. The design elements were standard. But something …something was different about Bluebeard’s castle. It was so much more than the sum of its parts. The stage emerged before my eyes like something that existed already, and was merely being resurrected, like a strange beast hauled in parts from somewhere underground and pieced together on the topside world.

It felt magical.

Maybe a little dangerous.

One month had passed since I had stood blubbering in Tamara’s office, trying desperately to look as though I hadn’t spent the night curled in Adam’s arms, a head full of forbidden thoughts. One month since he had touched me. And looked hard into my eyes. And made me feel things I thought I had taught myself not to feel anymore.

But one month was more than enough time. As the stage came to life in front of me, I felt different too. The rest of the team had noticed. Tamara had noticed. And now I was coming to rehearsals more often, joining in on discussions that a set designer typically wouldn’t join in on. They were asking my opinion, asking questions. And, bizarrely, I was answering them.

We were rehearsing an early scene, the part where Bluebeard woos and seduces the young female lead, overriding her good sense and courting her to a doomed marriage. The setting was to be a forest. Bluebeard, groomed crisp like a gentleman aristocrat, takes the girl out in a gilded carriage and overwhelms her, and though her intuition warns her against him, she succumbs to his charms and agrees to marry him. The scene was meant to be a perfect balance between charming and creepy, joyful and yet foreboding. The trees in the forest were meant to stand aside in quiet celebration …although some trees were dark and ominous. I had painted each dark leaf, each sinister looking branch. I had to admit, it looked good. I was proud of myself.

“So this isn’t like a ballet, yeah? said Tamara. “You’re not prancing in as this pretty pair, you know what I mean?”

She was in her favorite place, center front in the audience, script in hand and her favorite bitchy expression as she looked at the scene unfolding on the stage in front of her. It was late, but we were on a role today. Everyone wanted to get it right.

“Should he not follow her, perhaps? I said. “A little stalker-ish maybe?”

Tamara thought about this and then waved her hands at Adam and the lead actress, Belinda, to get them to try again. They walked off and entered stage left again, but this time, Belinda wandered on, a perfect babe in the woods, looking sweetly at the Perspex flowers on the stage and doing a good job of looking like red riding hood in the forest before the wolf spies her. Adam – Bluebeard – paced slowly behind her, hands behind his back like a general, watching her intently, the eyes of a hunter.

“Nice… yes that works nicely,” Tamara said as she watched. Belinda launched into her lines – lines I had heard so many times I nearly knew them by heart – but I couldn’t pay attention.

All I could think about was the naughty ache I felt in my body. The incessant heat between my legs. It was ridiculous, but just the sight of him was torture.

He was wearing a tastefully holey green sweater and plain trousers, and bare feet (typical Adam) …but I knew what was underneath.

He was saying his lines perfectly, with emotion, delivering them flawlessly and with that energy I had grown to admire so much ...but I knew what else those lips could so. His hands were expressive and moved artfully as he paced the stage and carried along the story in the way that only he knew how. But I knew about those hands. Those fingers. I knew the other, secret things they were capable of…

“And scene!” said Tamara, and clapped her hands together. Her eyes were sparkling.

Belinda bounded off stage and came down to chat with us as the crew whisked the wheeled trees off the stage and lifted the gauzy backdrop. And voila, the scene was done and the magical forest was removed.

Belinda was beautiful. A classic actress. Ingrid Bergman, but with highlights and freckles. A smile broad as the Cheshire cat’s and a lithe figure that I envied.

“I have such a good feeling about this!” she said and plonked down on the seat beside Tamara and I as the stage crew conjured up the next scene, the wedding scene.

But even though my eyes were downcast, I felt him. Felt him watching me, sidling over to where we sat, taking his time with his strong, muscular body as he stepped off the stage like a god descending Olympus or something. He gave me goosebumps. I folded and unfolded the worn edge of the script in my hands, avoiding looking up at him.

“The wedding scene is going to be a challenge,” I said to Tamara.

We were planning something radical. The aisle would unfold down into the audience. Actors seated amongst the rows would spring up and participate. Confetti …in the shape of tiny skulls. A peachy glow from above on track lighting that would cost us a fortune and would be a complete first for the college.

“Sure, but you’ve got it sorted,” said Tamara quietly.

I looked up to see Adam smiling at me, a faint film of stage-sweat on his brow.

I smiled back.

It felt gloriously naughty to smile at him, after all the things he had done to me that night. Done to this same body, that I had cleaned and dressed and brought out into the world as though nothing had happened at all. One look into his face and I felt a wild little thrill: we would do it again. Wordlessly, I could see it in his eyes. Sense it, as though his body was communicating directly with mine. I wanted to fuck him. Again.

“Some water, my Lord?” I asked wryly and held out a bottle of water for him. Without breaking eye contact, he took it from me, threw back a long swig and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

God, he was handsome.

I managed to tear my eyes away and saw Belinda packing her backpack and putting on her coat. It was late. We’d have to pick up everything tomorrow morning.

“Nyx, you haven’t forgotten about this Friday?” Tamara asked.

“Nope, I’ll be there.”

She was having laser eye surgery on Thursday and needed me to drive her to Cambridge on Friday to chat to our lighting guy and pick up a few things. Tamara was a total hard arse. A total slave driver. But to my astonishment, I was somehow in her inner circle now. I wasn’t going to argue with her. In this industry, it’s all about relationships, and if she wanted to single me out and give me a chance for extra responsibility, I sure as hell wasn’t going to argue with her.

“Great,” she said and snapped closed her script.

Out the corner of my eye I saw Adam putting on his coat as well. I waved goodbye to some staff that were already heading out the main door. Maybe he would bend me over the couch and fuck me from behind. I packed the script into my satchel and stood to leave. It had been a good rehearsal. Maybe he’d yank back my head back with one hand and hold closed my mouth with his other hand, making me scream in pleasure and then laughing and whispering shhhhh in my ear as I couldn’t handle what he was doing to me anymore…

“Cheers, Nyx” Belinda said.

I said goodbye to everyone and watched them float off, one by one, the stage lights shutting off and the set going to sleep for the night. I said nothing to him. He folded up his collar against the cold and we walked out together in silence. We walked slowly towards his room, nothing but the sound of our feet on the tarmac and the roaring of the thoughts whirring in my head.

“I’m going to put you on the kitchen table,” he said at last, voice hushed.

“Oh?”

“Yes. And I’m going to spread your pretty little legs, and put my tongue inside you, and you’re going to come in my mouth.”

The night was quiet and strangely cool, for this time of year. I looked up at the curling arms of the trees above us. The leaves were green-black, eerie in the lamplight. I felt a delicious kick in my stomach.

“OK,” I said, and we walked on.