The host is riding from Knocknarea
And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;
Caolite tossing his burning hair,
And Niam calling
Away, come away �
From the poem The Hosting of the Sidhe by William Butler Yeats, 1899
"In the last months of 1100 a strange army appeared in Northern England �"
"King Henry's counsellors agreed that fairies were naturally wicked. They were lascivious, mendacious and thieving; they seduced young men and women, confused travellers, and stole children, cattle and corn".
From the prologue to The History and Practice of English Magic by Jonathan Strange,
Published by John Murray, 1816
I
Naturally wicked, lascivious and mendacious � Orlando puts down the book, smiling to himself. Bast would love that. And his customers will love it, too.
He closes the dog-eared volume, tenderly running his fingers over the leather. The frayed leather feels soft. One by one, he traces the intricate letters on the cover, faded gold upon dark red. With a small sigh he puts the tattered folio aside.
Spontaneously, he can think of at least two gentlemen who'll be willing to pay an almost obscene amount of money to purchase this work. And if his assumption proves to be correct, if his latest find actually turns out to be an authentic first edition of Jonathan Strange's book, one of the rare copies that didn't dissolve itself into air, the price will rise astronomically.
Lazily, he stretches on the wide bed. He lets his eyes wander over the marvellous trompe-l'loeil painting that covers the entire ceiling, a serene summer sky with puffy white clouds, peacefully sailing away. So easy to imagine being somewhere in the countryside, lying on a meadow, with birds singing, bumblebees humming and a soft breeze on his face.
He yawns. How is it that it's only 6 o'clock and he already feels tired? His day wasn't particularly exhausting. First, he rang Dominic who runs the shop in his absence to keep up to date with all current matters. Then, he phoned a few special customers to give them details on his latest purchases.
Most of the time, however, he spent researching magical and supernatural topics, fairies in particular and late occurrences of so-called 'practical magic' etc.. He must have spent hours on the computer, he realises now. Yes, that's why he feels so tired; he isn't used to staring at a computer screen for such a long time. Normally he spends his days differently, always on the move, paying visits to far-off country estates or small town flea markets, hunting for rare antiques.
Now he finds himself in this hotel. It's so quiet here. The thick, burgundy red, velvet curtains keep all street noises outside. Time seems to follow a somewhat irregular pattern in these rooms, like sand trickling down in an hour glass, sometimes fast, sometimes nearly in slow motion. Now and then he looks up from his books or from the computer and is surprised to notice that it's already afternoon. At other times, he can watch a wasp on one of the exquisite flower arrangements for what seems hours to him, while in reality only a few minutes have passed.
The late afternoon sun bathes the room in a warm twilight. All of a sudden he wonders what day of the week it is. Tuesday? Wednesday? He seems to have lost track, but somehow he doesn't care. He'll ring room service and order supper. It's about time, high time, as he completely forgot about lunch over his studies. And after that he'll keep on reading.
Soon the book will pass on to a new owner; he wants to make the most of it while it's still with him.
***
"Don�t go to the farmhouse that lies on the road to B.," they told her when she was a girl. "It's haunted. Old Miller hanged himself there after his wife died in childbed."
"And what about the baby? Did the baby survive?" she had asked, the idea of a newborn all alone in an empty house unsettling her.
Aunt Millicent shrugged her shoulders. "They never found a baby, neither living nor dead. Who knows what happened. Maybe the father himself killed the child in his grief and buried it afterwards, maybe someone took the little one away." She sighed. "Nobody ever found out. God bless the poor thing, perhaps it was better this way."
The next day, Liv went to the house nevertheless. She loved forbidden places.
She climbed the highest trees, never afraid of falling, and descended into the deep, dark cellars of deserted houses, not afraid of the darkness either.
When returning from her forays into the woods her knees were often bruised and her dresses soiled. Every time she showed up like this, and she was always too late, her mother would scold her. "This is too dangerous for a girl. I don't even want to think what could have happened to you. Livvie, you must promise me you won't do it again."
And Liv would nod in all honesty, with fingers crossed behind her back. And go off the next day, just like before.
***
It was a warm, drowsy summer afternoon when she went to the Miller's house, a long, low building, well-hidden behind high hedges. In the garden the grass had overgrown all paths. Pale-pink rambling roses had climbed up the front of the building and onto the roof. It was not a scary place at all.
Liv gave the door a gentle touch and instantly it swung open with a low, creaking sound. Quickly, she stepped inside. The house was empty apart from a moth-eaten sofa in front of the fireplace. On the adjacent wall there was a shelf with a handful of dust-covered books.
It surprised her that a man like Old Miller had owned books at all, but maybe they had belonged to his wife. Liv picked up a leather-bound book and wiped away the grime with the sleeve of her sweater. Intricate golden letters appeared on the cover.
***
Orlando rolls over and reaches for the wine glass he left on the tray next to the empty plates on the floor. Taking a sip, he stares into the fireplace and watches the flames as they spring up and slowly eat away the logs.
Meanwhile it's utterly dark outside the windows. All of a sudden Orlando's heart jumps. It's a completely irrational notion - yeah, perhaps he's a bit drunk - because suddenly he's under the impression that somebody else is in the room, watching him very closely.
Nervously, he turns left and right, looks in all corners and behind the curtains, shaking his head at himself and his sudden fit of uneasiness. Of course, there's nobody � how could it be otherwise? He must be imagining things.
Then he sees the portrait over the desk to the left of the fireplace. Why didn't he notice it before? He could have sworn that it wasn't there the day before.
It's relatively small, only about 12 x 10 in size. The frame's not too elaborate, most likely much younger than the painting itself which could be early 19th century, deducing from the style of painting, though one can't say for sure with this feeble light.
It's the portrait of a man in his early forties, though there's something ageless about him. Light brown, shoulder-length hair, prominent cheek bones, a chin cleft. A thin white scar runs across the man's upper lip.
The artist's devotion to details is amazing; even if the painting's not realistic in a modern sense, the face seems alive, especially � - Orlando's breath stops - especially the eyes, steel grey and inscrutable. It's as if the man was looking right back at him.
Orlando turns abruptly. Nonsense, I'm drunk and tired. I should go to bed now.
Liv spent the whole afternoon in the dusty twilight, reading. Yet, later she could never recall what she had read. Her memory was filled with shadows, just like the old farmhouse on that afternoon, living, breathing shadows. Nobody had spoken to her; nothing had actually happened during those hours. But there was this very distinct feeling that she hadn't been alone. There had been a presence in the room, but whatever or whoever it was, it hadn't frightened her. It was as if she had been held in a gentle embrace.
II
Orlando lies on his bed and watches the flames slowly going out. He feels dead tired, but somehow sleep won't come. Again and again, he looks back to the painting that hangs just opposite his bed.
"You're beautiful."
Orlando's eyes shoot open. He must have dozed off. What?
"I want to see you."
Orlando presses his hand hard to his forehead. He's still alone in the room. Is he going mad now that he's hearing voices coming from out of nowhere?
"Ah no, you're not mad."
Orlando sits up quickly; his heart almost beating in his throat.
"Who is this? Where are you?"
"You know where I am."
"No, that's impossible!"
"Nothing's impossible. D'you see the mirror in front of you? Each mirror is a door. You just have to know how to open it."
Orlando stares at the portrait, then up to the mirror and back at the painting again. His mouth suddenly feels very dry. This is not real. He's still sleeping. He'll wake up any minute.
"Light the candles left and right of the mirror, and I'll come to you. Don't say it's impossible. Just do it and see what happens."
Like in a trance � this is just a dream, this is not real - Orlando gets up, finds matches and, with slightly trembling fingers, he lights the candles.
"Hush, there's no need to be nervous."
"I'm not."
"Of course, you aren't. And you don't have to be. I want you to relax now. And prepare yourself for me."
Stepping back from the mirror, Orlando shakes his head slowly. "No. You are mad."
He hears a low, husky laughter. "Are you always this shy, Orlando?"
"Shy? What's got that do with it? Who are you to think you can order me around like your servant? But I don't care, I'm not in the mood for silly games, I'll walk out of this door and �"
He turns abruptly and walks towards the door, fists clenched tightly.
There's more amused laughter. "You're headstrong, that pleases me. But come down now, let's not quarrel. I could force you, if you must know." With a small sound the locks on the door click shut. "But I don't want to."
There's a soft wind blowing through the room as if someone had left open the windows, a gentle evening breeze that drapes itself around his neck like a soft shawl and suddenly Orlando feels his uneasiness sail away with that breeze. There's no reason to get worked up, so why be cross?
"Now lie down again."
Orlando hesitates. "And what will you do then?"
"I won't do anything that you don't want. I'll only come to you if you want me to come."
Orlando takes a deep breath and shakes his head, "This is ridiculous, I can't believe that I �"
"Shhhhh, lie down. Feel at ease. See, that's better. Now open your shirt. Don't make such a face; you said you aren't shy. Ah, these modern-day sensibilities �"
Slowly, Orlando starts to unfasten his shirt; fumbling with the reluctant buttons, as his mind feverishly tries to work out what's happening. "Why? Why me?"
"Because I fancy you like I haven't fancied someone for � well, for quite a long time."
"What are you � a ghost?" His voice drops to a whisper, but at the same time he notices that something has changed. The candles burn very brightly, the mirror's gilded frame sparkles and shines, just like the eyes of the man on the portrait.
"A ghost!" The room seems to reverberate with low chuckles. "I must say that I find you very entertaining. Have you ever heard of someone who has lain with shadows and mist or with a � ghost?"
"You want to sleep with me?"
"Ah, yes. Very much so. And I can feel that the idea excites you, too."
The soft breeze wraps itself around him again, skims over his skin. There is a shift in the air; the room seems to contract and then expand itself again, the candles flicker.
For a short moment he has the vision of the peaceful summer meadow, then he's back in this room. He sees himself on this bed. Naked. And on top of him, between his spread legs, lies a man. He holds Orlando's hands above his head while kissing his neck and collarbones.
The other man's not much taller than Orlando, but more muscular in build. Orlando feels his solid weight upon him as he holds him down. Orlando can't move. Maybe he could, but he doesn't even try to free himself.
The man's hard member brushes against Orlando's stomach and against the inside of his thighs. The man looks at him intently, as if he was waiting for an answer.
Orlando opens his mouth, gasping for air like a swimmer in a rough sea. There are so many things on his mind, but there is no language for what he wants to say. No words, only a drawn-out sigh comes from his lips. Then the man kisses him and Orlando's limbs grow heavy. There's nothing he can do, nothing � but to open himself up to the stranger.
Inhaling shakily, Orlando opens his eyes. He shifts his body on the mattress.
"You're getting hard."
Orlando swallows. "Yes."
"So?"
Finally, Orlando understands. He opens his trousers and, with his eyes fixed on the painting, begins to stroke himself.
***
Not much later Miller's property was sold and the farmhouse was torn down. On the place of the enchanted, overgrown garden, terraced houses were built. Neatly cut lawns and tulips in the front garden. Liv often wondered what had happened to the books. Most likely they had been destroyed along with the rest of the interior. What a shame.
Liv's love for mysteries, however, didn't die. Soon after graduating from the local university with a B.A. in criminology, she opened her private investigation agency. Her first case was recovering a stray cat, but as more and more clients came to appreciate Liv's sharp mind and her sixth sense for finding the essential clues to solve a case, she moved on to more and more challenging tasks.
Sometimes, if special medical expertise was needed, she teamed up with her cousin Billy, who had only recently moved down from Scotland with his young family.
At first Liv had set up small ads in the local newspaper, but soon her clients found her by word of mouth propaganda. And so it came that one morning she received a phone call.
***
"You know that you're mine now," says the man with the sandy hair.
Orlando doesn't hear him. Holding onto one of the bedposts he braces himself against another assault. But instead of continuing, the other man almost pulls out, an excruciatingly slow, slick slide, and then stops. Orlando's feels the sweat pooling between his shoulder blades; the blood is pounding in his ears. The other man's hands are on Orlando's hips, holding him firmly in place. Then the stranger withdraws completely.
Pressing his eyes shut, Orlando moans quietly. "Please, please."
But instead of giving him an answer, the man starts teasing him, rubbing his erection against the back of Orlando's thighs and his arse.
"You're still so loose. My come hasn't even dried on you�"
He inserts two fingers, deliberately brushing over Orlando's sweet spot, making him shiver. Then the man pulls out his fingers and starts to rub the creamy, white fluid over Orlando's hole and perineum. "And you still can't get enough of me?"
"Please, finish me," whimpers Orlando, his voice is hoarse now. All this time, he has been close, so very close.
"Aww, yes, come for me," says the man, grabs Orlando's hips with one hand and wraps his other hand around Orlando's swollen cock. And when the stranger starts pounding into him uncontrollably, Orlando comes and comes and comes.
***
"Why do the police refuse to look into this?" Liv asks, busily taking notes.
"They say there's no evidence of a crime. Nothing was stolen. The room showed no signs of a possible fight. But it's weird �" The man on the other end of the telephone line hesitates.
"What is it? If you want me to help you I need to know everything."
***
When Orlando opens his eyes, it's already dawn. A pale light steals itself inside the room from under the drawn curtains. The man with the sandy hair lies next to him, propped up on one elbow, watching him.
"You're still here?"
The man twirls a lock of Orlando's hair around his finger. "Did you think I'd go up in smoke with the first rays of light?"
"Yeah, maybe. Actually, I thought that I'd wake up to find that I only dreamed all this."
The stranger smiles, "Maybe you did."
"No, I didn't. You made sure I'd remember you in the morning."
"I just gave you what you wanted."
Orlando nods. "Yes, you did." He pulls the stranger in for a long, slow kiss. "Though I still don't understand, how you �"
The man places a finger over Orlando's mouth.
"Hush, very soon you will."
"What happens next?"
"But didn't you see that coming, Orlando? I'll take you with me. To the other side."
III
Over the phone Liv hears the man light a cigarette. He inhales deeply before he continues.
"The maids said he left his room less and less. They complained that every morning, they found burnt-down candles in the room, on the tables, on the bed stand, on the marble board above the fireplace. There were even some arranged around the tub in the bathroom. They had asked him repeatedly not to light candles anymore. Apparently, the furniture in this place is quite old, hardwood floors, lots of antiques. Naturally, they were afraid that everything would go up in flames. But Orlando always gave them nice tips. And Orlando could be, I mean, he can be so charming. Nobody can ever deny him anything."
"What else did they notice?"
"Well, like I mentioned before, they said he hardly left his room any more. After all, that's not forbidden. Moreover, the room was paid for another two weeks in advance. So there was no reason to � suspect anything. They assumed that he was just very busy. Whenever the room service entered, he was reading or looking up things on his computer."
"So when exactly did your cousin disappear?"
"The day before yesterday, last Thursday. Or maybe earlier."
"Could you try to be more precise?"
"He was last seen on Wednesday evening when room service brought him his supper. The next morning, the maid knocked several times, but nobody opened. Around 5 p.m. on Thursday, they decided to ignore the "Do not disturb" note on the doorknob. That was when they discovered that the room was empty. Yet all his personal belongings were still there. Clothes, books, laptop. But he was gone."
"Couldn't he have just gone out for, let's say, a walk?"
"Certainly, the only thing is that nobody saw him leave the hotel, neither the lady at the reception, nor the bellboy at the entrance."
"He might have sneaked out while nobody paid attention."
"But why? Why should he have checked out without informing anyone?"
"The hotel employees told me he wasn't in his room alone from Wednesday to Thursday night."
"You already talked to the people at the hotel?"
"Sure, I always do my homework, Mr. Copeland."
"Please call me Sebastian."
"Thank you, Sebastian. I'm Liv."
"So what, what did the hotel people tell you? Why do they believe that he wasn't alone that night?"
"They said the bed looked like someone had sex in it."
"That's a weird observation. Did they see someone with Orlando? Did someone come out of his room?"
"No, whoever it was � the person must have been very discreet."
Sebastian made a short sound of disagreement. "Crumpled sheets don�t really mean anything at all."
"I totally agree with you on that. Maybe he didn't have sex at all. But at least he had dinner with someone."
"What?"
"Quite simple, there were two used wine glasses, two plates with half-eaten sandwiches, used napkins, used cutlery etc."
"I see."
"Too bad I can't have the plates or the glasses examined. Or the sheets. This way, we could have positively established that there was another person with your cousin. We could have even identified the DNA of your cousin's guest."
"Actually, that would have been the police's job," Sebastian remarked dryly. He snorted in disgust. "A man's missing, but there's no corpse, nothing stolen - why should they look deeper into this? Stuff like that happens every day. Apropos stolen, what about the book?"
"Which book?"
"Orlando recently purchased an expensive first edition of what he thought was a 18th century work. He was expecting to make a big deal out of it. I'm wondering if the book was still in the room along with the rest of his possessions."
Liv made a circle around the word book she had scribbled down, followed by a few exclamation marks.
"It mustn't mean much, if the book's missing. He could have taken it with him. On the other hand, if someone knew about, and how valuable the book was � well, that could be a motive�"
"You mean to kill someone?" Sebastian's voice sounded strained.
***
Places can have a soul, a certain aura sensitive people can pick up easily. So when Liv enters the hotel lobby soon after, she concentrates not only on what she sees, but also on what she feels.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary, however; a quiet hotel, lavishly decorated, chandeliers and pseudo Baroque furniture. People from fashion and music love a place like that.
The manager quickly assures her that they'll do everything to cooperate. It goes without saying that they don't want to see the hotel's name in the headlines.
"Bad press can quickly ruin a place's reputation, you know? So provided you conduct your investigations with a certain amount of discretion, we'll do everything to assist you. Here, have the key to Mr.Bloom's room. Take all the time you need."
***
The sun rises. The sun sets again. And in between there are unknown stretches of time. How many days have passed since you brought me over? I don't know. And I don't want to know. The only thing that really matters is that I'm here. With you.
****
Liv checks the messages on her cell when the lift doors close on her.
Suddenly, the lift stops and the lights start to flicker. Liv groans. Noooo. Being trapped in a lift was the last thing she needs right now. She looks around for an emergency button. Nothing. The walls of the lift are covered with mirrors, almost like in hall of mirrors on a fairground. In the feeble light, her own reflection looks back at her from the twilight, a pale face and huge eyes.
"I know who you're looking for," says a man's voice.
Liv flinches. Where did that voice come from? Is there a loudspeaker somewhere? It's as if the voice has come from directly behind her, but there was no one there.
"And I know you. Do you remember me?"
Liv leans back, her hands searching for something to hold on to. The air in the lift's sticky. She presses a hand flat on her sternum, instructing herself to breathe calmly. Nevertheless, she suddenly feels uneasy. Shaky. There is something lurking at the back of her mind. Something she can't quite explain.
"Keep trying to remember," the voice says and it's as if something touches her face very gently.
"You were such a beautiful child �"
Liv's heart's beating madly. Where is the door in here? Where is the button to open it?
"You weren't afraid then."
Liv takes a deep breath. "I hate jokes like this. You're wrong if you think you can bully me to make me quit my investigations. Stop this and let me out."
"Liv, this may seem absurd to you. But it's no trick. Look into the mirror."
For a short moment it feels as if the ground was giving out from under her. She no longer looks at her own reflection; but instead a room seems to be opening in front of her. Stone floors and an old fireplace. Liv gasps. In front of the fireplace stands a man with shoulder-length, sandy hair. He's wearing contemporary clothes, black trousers and an immaculate white shirt, that's opened at the collar.
"Why are you staring?" the man asks, with a smile in his voice. "D'you think these clothes look ridiculous on me? Oh, I agree, fashion these days leaves a lot to be desired, but I thought you might like it."
Clutching at the railing behind her back, Liv slowly shakes her head. "Who are you?"
"Close your eyes, Liv, and think back in time."
And there it is again; behind closed eyelids Liv sees the empty room in the old cottage. The timber floorboards are warm under her feet and the quiet wraps itself around her like a soft blanket. The room lies half in darkness as the shutters are closed, but through a hole in the roof a ray of golden light comes down on her. Dust particles and small insects from the nearby woods are dancing upwards in this spiral of light.
"You were there," Liv whispers. "All the time you were there with me."
"Yes," answers the man quietly. "But you were only a child then. I'd never touch a child."
"The stranger's presence is looming in front of her now. A finger ghosts over the side of her face, runs down the side of her neck and down the neckline of her blouse.
"That was then, but this is now. And now I want to touch you."
Liv feels the stranger's breath on her face. She still has her eyes closed as if she could will him away this way. Desperately clutching onto the railing behind her back, she feels the panic rising. What is this? Why can she not move all of a sudden?
"Let me go," she says very quietly. "I don't want that."
"Look at me," says the man, stepping back. "Is it so dreadful what you see?"
He leans back against the mirrored wall with his arms crossed behind him, watching, waiting.
Liv feels her calm return, she lets go of the railing. "Let me go, now."
"I thought you came here to find someone?"
"What do you know about Orlando Bloom?"
A small smile curls around the man's lips. "I know everything about him."
"Where is he?"
The stranger shrugs his shoulders. "I'm afraid you'll never find out." He turns around to walk back into the imaginary room with the fireplace.
"Wait," she says quickly. "Don't go."
"Why should I stay? This would only be a waste of time. And while I have all the time in the world at my disposal, the same thing can't be said about you. Such a pity, my pretty Liv." He bows before her in a mock-formal way. "Though it was a pleasure to see you again."
"No, wait, please." Hastily, she reaches out, takes his hand and brings it up to her neck. "You said you wanted to touch me �"
The stranger looks at her intently. There is no warmth in his green-grey eyes. "Don't tempt me. You can't control me."
"But I am a woman."
Laughing, the man throws back his head. "That's the funniest argument I've ever heard. Forgive me my amusement, but I remember times when women were not even conceded to have a soul."
Smiling, Liv starts to open her blouse, one button after the other. "Whereas the times when men starting thinking with their brains have still to come."
The man shakes his head. "Who would have thought that you're so cunning?" Swiftly he grabs her around the hip and pulls her towards him.
"And who would have thought that you're so predictable," she says, her eyelids growing heavy again as he kisses her neck wetly.
"I'll make you pay for that," he replies heatedly. And then his hands are on her, cupping her breasts. Liv's breath speeds up as she presses herself against him, feeling his desire heavy between her thighs.
"You must be manipulating me somehow." Liv murmurs. "I can't want this."
"Manipulating � what kind of language is that? I remember people using terms like "enchanted" or "entranced" � doesn't that sound so much nicer?"
He pushes up her bra. "Just say no."
But instead of waiting for an answer he licks first one nipple, then the other, letting his tongue dance over and round and around the sensitive skin. Liv feels that she's growing weak.
"Damn you."
The man chuckles quietly as his hand sneaks under her skirt and into her panties. "You'd be surprised how predictable you are. You're getting wet already."
Liv moans when his fingers part her. It's only too true. Breathlessly, she rubs up to him, rides his fingers. Yes, she is wet.
"You need more now, don't you?"
Liv can only nod. "Yes."
"Turn around."
Although a tiny part of her mind can only wonder at how quickly this happens, she obeys. Like in a trance she steps out of her panties.
"Now lift your skirt for me."
Liv feels the blood rushing to her checks, as she slowly bends over. How can she be so shameless? Presenting herself like this to this � man or whatever he is.
She hears a zipper drawn and then his hands are on her arse, pulling her cheeks apart. Hotvelvetsilky steel between her thighs. His cock's brushing against her lips. Back and forth, back and forth, but not quite inside yet. She could come from this alone.
"Who would have thought that you are this eager?" the man taunts her. "But there's no need for hurry. We have so much time, my lovely. Yet for my taste you've still got too much clothing on you. Let's take this on to somewhere else."
He picks her up and carries her to another place, perhaps it's the room she's seen before. In here, the air smells different. His steps echo as if was walking over a stone floor.
She finds herself on a bed and in no time she's naked. And then he spreads her legs and parts her with his tongue, licks her until she's writhing on the bed. His hands are on her arse, lifting her up to him. Clenching onto the sheets, she feels as if she was melting away. But still it's not enough �
The emptiness between her legs feels unbearable. "I need �, she gasps.
"What do you need?" He crawls over her until his thick cock touches her trembling lips. But he doesn't let her suck him, instead he bends over and kisses her on the mouth fully. She tastes herself on his tongue, what a peculiar taste.
Then his weight is upon her again, and his cock brushes against her clit. Liv opens her eyes; she wants to see his face when he slides into her. And just then, for the tiny fraction of a second she looks over his shoulder and sees that they're not alone in the room.
IV
I've been watching them for quite a while now. I should be jealous, but it's not like that when I see them together.
Her hair is ebony and her skin's so pale, almost white. But as beautiful as she is, she doesn't turn me on. What turns me on is watching his thick, dark cock slide in and out of her.
They're both on a chaiselonge just opposite me. She's riding him now; his hands are on her hips to steady her. Each time he lowers her onto himself, a long-drawn out moan escapes her. When she throws back her head, the mass of black hair almost reaches down to the small of her back. She's bent over, leaning back into his embrace, so that I can see how he licks and sucks her nipples. She begins to shiver violently. Picking up the pace, she starts riding him again.
I wish I was her.
I can't recall how many times he already fucked me. But I can't get enough. Enough of him inside me.
Once he arranged me in front of a mirror so that I could see how he entered me from behind. The sight of him burying his thick flesh into my arse, again and again, made me come before he even touched my cock.
****
When Liv wakes up she�s lying on a bed, naked under the blankets. She blinks, disoriented. Judging from the clothes hanging over one of the chairs, the books and laptop on the drawer in front of the window she assumes she must be in Orlando's room. But she can't remember how she came there.
She stretches lazily, her limbs feel so heavy. All she wants is to fall asleep again. She's so tired. But that comes as no surprise.
It was around 2 pm when she arrived at the hotel, now it's almost dark outside and the street lights go on, one after the other. So it must be around seven.
That makes 5 hours, though it seems much longer. She still feels sore. From both of them.
What is she going to tell Sebastian when he calls her?
Don't worry about your cousin. He's well and alive. Very much so. Gay or not, it didn't stop him from fucking me. For the sake of fairness it has to be said however, that this other man made him do it.
***
At some point, she had woken up to them talking together quietly. When the man with the sandy hair noticed she was awake again he gently swept a strand of hair from her forehead.
"Now, look, you found him. That wasn't so difficult; or was it, darling?"
At first, she hadn't quite understood, as dizzy as she still was. But then she turned her head, remembering the photo Sebastian had emailed her. Yes, it was true. The same man was sitting on a chair opposite the bed. Dark curls and very dark, wide eyes.
"You're Orlando?"
He nodded, looking at her as if she was a strange creature.
"I wonder," said the man, sitting next to her on the bed "I wonder did you ever fuck a woman, Orlando?"
Orlando shook his head, but he didn't look away.
"Wouldn't you want to know how it is to fuck � someone?"
The young man's adam's apple went up and down as he swallowed hard.
"Wouldn't you want to know how it is for me when I'm fucking you?"
With a swift move he pulled away the blanket. "Look at her arse."
Liv remembers how he parted her checks and began to stroke her crease. Just thinking about it makes her shiver again.
"Come here, Orlando. I can see that you're hard. And she's still open from me. He deftly inserted a finger and involuntarily Liv pushed back onto it. "Look, that's my come trickling out of her arse and down her thighs. She's tight, perfectly tight and still so wet �"
Orlando had been very gentle at first, but that was alright as she had barely recovered from the time before. But then things got out of control and Orlando began to fuck her in earnest. When Liv looked over her shoulder she saw that the man with the sandy hair had positioned himself behind Orlando and was fucking him with his tongue.
This time, none of them lasted very long.
***
Liv realizes that her hand was between her thighs again. She's still so wound up that it won't take much, just a finger gently rubbing her clit and another parting her lips and she'll come again.
Suddenly, somewhere in the room a telephone rings. Liv doesn't move.
That must be Sebastian. What is she going to tell him?
I don't think you'll see your cousin ever again.
He wouldn't understand. She doesn't quite understand it herself. Yet it's all real. And the so-called reality feels pale in comparison.
***
"Don't you see? This is the land behind the mirrors. We came to live here after we were driven away by you, by your modern technology and your modern ways of living. We were sick of living in your loud, crowded cities and breathing your foul air. This place is infinitely better. Here, everything's possible, everything you can think of."
***
Her cell rings again. A bit shakily Liv gets up, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.
Her handbag lies on the marble sill above the fireplace. Just under the huge mirror with the gilded frame. Her heart stops as she sees that the book's there, too. The old dark-red leather-bound book with the intricate letters on the cover.
Actually, the book's not on the sill, it's on the other side of the mirror where a wide room opens up which is not the counterpart of the hotel room she is in. That other room has a stone floor and there are two wide chairs in front of the mirror.
Orlando and the man with the sandy hair are sitting on these chairs, looking at her. Smiling.
"Light the candles," says the man.
In this moment, the cell rings a third time, but Liv doesn't even look back. Her fingers don't tremble when she lights the candles left and right of the mirror.
The man with the sandy hair gets up and reaches out his hand for her.
And when she walks onto the other side it feels like coming home.
The End
