In Absinthia Read online

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” the woman said.

  “It’s fine,” Cage muttered, pulling a large pillow from the bed and holding it in front of himself. “Can we help you?”

  “I’m Eleanor Pankenthorpe. My husband and I are your neighbors.”

  “Oh hi,” Phoe called. “So nice to meet you. We were just…”

  “Being young and in love.” Eleanor nodded. “I remember that.” She offered a warm smile that put Phoe at ease. “As I said, we’re your neighbors. We share a W.C. I think.”

  Phoe shook the lady’s outstretched, gloved hand. “I’m Phoebe Addison, or Phoe if you like. And this is my…”

  Cage stepped forward, pulling a shirt around himself. “Husband. Macijah St. John.” He clasped Eleanor’s hand between his and kissed the back gently. “So nice to meet you. You’ll have to forgive Phoe. She isn’t quite used to using her new surname yet.”

  Phoe stared up at Cage as if he’d lost his mind. Did he really tell this woman that they were married? Her heart gave a small flutter at the thought. She’d made no secret that she wanted to marry him, but every time she brought it up he changed the subject.

  “Yes, I’m…” Phoe laughed nervously and shook Eleanor’s hand. “Sorry. We’re here on our honeymoon.”

  “No worries, dear,” Eleanor said with a wink. “I was a young bride once. But I’m afraid that Alfie was never quite so…” She gave Cage a lingering once over with those owlish eyes. “Fit.”

  Phoe smiled. “He is indeed…fit.”

  “I won’t keep you lovebirds from your nesting,” Eleanor gave them a sly wink, “But I do hope you’ll sit with us at dinner. That is, if you make it down.”

  “Ca—I mean, Macijah, was saying he thought if we didn’t show up that Miss Abecrombie would come looking.”

  “Dreadful, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. We had to escape before the end of her ‘tour.’”

  “And I must tell you that I’m so glad there are some people here who aren’t using that ridiculous port card. Everyone sounds like a Sherlock Holmes movie.” Eleanor smiled and swept out of the room with a rustle of her bright red, starched petticoat.

  Phoe thought she was going to like Eleanor Pankenthorpe.

  Five

  It turned out that Eleanor Pankenthorpe was right about the ridiculousness of the other guests at the Alice & Ludwig. The last time Cage had seen so many ill-fitting clothes and heard so many terrible accents, it was an amateur production of The Importance of Being Earnest. But he was behaving himself, making small talk and not correcting anyone when they asked where he’d gotten his language card. “You sound so authentic,” they all said.

  Phoe seemed fascinated by everything and approached their evening dinner with the excitement of a child at a theme park. Her lust for life was such an adorable trait, and it evidently charmed the interesting cast of characters at the table.

  “Mrs. Pankenthorpe tells us that you and Mr. St. John are in Absinthia on a honeymoon,” said Mrs. Brown, a woman with a long neck and pointed features. “That must be exciting.”

  “So far, yes,” Phoe replied. “We’ve only arrived today, but the colony seems to be bursting with things to do.”

  “Agreed,” said Mrs. Brown. “We’re from a little town in Pennsylvania with one stoplight, so if they have a movie theater we’ll be pleased.”

  “God, Mom. Of course they don’t have a movie theater.” Mrs. Brown’s teenaged daughter Lisa leaned over her soup looking nonplussed. She would have been a beautiful girl, Cage thought, if she’d bothered to comb the long black hair that hung in her face. “This place is supposed to be a historical simulation of Victorian London. They didn’t exactly have movie theaters then.”

  “On the contrary, Miss.” The vicar, Mr. Sockersby, spoke up. “The cinematograph was all the rage in the 1890s.” He was a pale man with hunted eyes that darted everywhere. Cage thought that if one muttered so much as a hello, the little man would drop from fright. “True that those movies were nothing compared to the elaborate holofilms we have today, but they were quite popular in their time.”

  “Whatever,” Lisa grumped, slouching back down in her seat.

  Cage turned, pouring Phoe and Eleanor another glass of wine. “So tell us, Professor Pankenthorpe. What is it that you’re a professor of?”

  Eleanor’s husband seemed surprised and somewhat pleased that someone was actually speaking to him. “Biology. Well, biophysics, anyway. I worked for the Interplanetary Union a while back, but we parted ways.”

  “I can understand that,” Cage said. “I have a rocky relationship with the IU myself.”

  “Oh?” Eleanor asked, looking intrigued. “It sounds like there’s a story there.”

  “You have no idea,” Phoe murmured.

  “It’s nothing really. I’m a journalist for the London Times and we broke the story about the Others and their subsequent cover-up by the IU.”

  Mr. Brown, who had been silent until this point, cleared his throat a bit more forcefully than necessary. “Cover-ups by the government? Sounds like more sensationalist, liberal media to me.”

  “Which part do you deny?” Cage asked. “The cover-up or the Others themselves?” Phoe placed a hand on Cage’s knee and gripped gently.

  “All of it,” Brown insisted, helping himself to more asparagus. “One person sees a ‘monster’ in a trailer park in Idaho and suddenly the whole damn country goes to shit.”

  “Mr. Brown, I think it was a few more than one,” Phoe remarked.

  “Mass hysteria,” Brown added, ignoring Phoe’s attempt at reason. “The liberal media latches on to some fake news and reports it all over the place and suddenly we’re building off-world planets and pouring money into relief funds. It’s ridiculous.”

  “God, Dad,” Lisa whined, heaving a sigh. “Just because you deny that the Others exist doesn’t make them not exist.”

  “Then why have I never seen one? Has anyone at this table ever seen one?” He laughed and shook his head, shoveling more food into his mouth. “It’s all a bunch of rubbish to me.”

  “I didn’t see the sun come up in China this morning, but I’m fairly certain it did,” Eleanor replied, offering a wink to Lisa Brown.

  Mr. Brown shook his head, his mouth still full of roasted chicken. “All I’m saying is that if the people in these trailer parks in Idaho were more careful with their money, they wouldn’t need the government to bail them out whenever a stiff breeze blows their house over.”

  “Jesus, Dad.”

  Mrs. Brown patted her husband’s hand gently. “Everyone here is on holiday, dear. Let’s not bring up problems in the world at large,” she encouraged with a nervous chuckle.

  “I’m not trying to cause an argument,” Mr. Brown stated. “But I don’t understand why we’re expected to help people who don’t help themselves.”

  Cage turned a cool gaze on Brown. Phoe gave his knee a squeeze again and he managed to force a smile. “If you don’t understand why you should help others, I don’t think I can explain it.”

  Phoe kicked Cage in the shin under the table and laughed loudly. “So what sorts of nighttime things are people considering? I know I’ve always been a tremendous lover of the arts.”

  “Me too,” Eleanor said. “There are several wonderful theaters in operation on the colony. One of them does a production of An Ideal Husband that I hear is quite extraordinary.”

  “Do they use organic actors or is it all cyborgs?” Professor Pankenthorpe asked, a slight tone of disdain in his voice.

  “The flyer didn’t say,” Eleanor replied. “I don’t imagine it matters too much. They’re so good with those things now. You can hardly tell the difference.”

  “I can certainly tell,” the professor huffed.

  “I agree,” Mr. Brown grumbled. “It’s disgraceful how we’ve decided to treat those machines as people. Pretty soon we’ll be giving them the right to vote.”

  “A word of caution,” the vicar inter
rupted in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “There’s been some unpleasantness of late. Do be careful when venturing out at night.”

  “Yes,” Cage agreed. “I heard something about that at Babbage’s earlier. Something about some murders?”

  Eleanor gasped, but her expression told a different story. Cage got the distinct impression Mrs. Pankenthorpe was enchanted. “Oh, my goodness. Murders? Are they sure?”

  “The two ladies in the shop seemed fairly certain,” Cage replied.

  Lisa sat up, looking interested for the first time since they sat down. “Like the Jack the Ripper murders,” she said. “They found these women torn up from stem to stern, their insides splattered all over the street like they’d been butchered.”

  “Lisa.” Mrs. Brown pinched her daughter’s arm. “That isn’t appropriate dinner conversation.”

  “Some even say that the bodies were completely drained of blood,” Lisa went on.

  “Vampires?” Eleanor gulped down a swallow of the table wine. “Here in Absinthia?”

  “Maybe.” Lisa was animated and smiling. “Maybe some crazed serial killer that got turned into a vampire by one of the Others.”

  “Don’t be uncouth, Lisa,” her mother scolded. “We don’t even know if these Ripper murders are real. Perhaps it’s all just a bit of theatre.”

  “Boring.” Lisa drew out the word.

  “I don’t think it’s vampires,” Cage stated. “Vampires are theatrical, yes, but they wouldn’t leave that much blood behind. They are calculated killers who don’t want to attract that much attention by committing brutal, serial murders. With victims who are no doubt connected.”

  “Can we please stop talking about vampires and ripped-open bodies?” Eleanor asked, holding her handkerchief over her mouth. “I already fear I won’t sleep tonight.”

  “I can assure you, Mrs. Pankenthorpe,” Cage cooed, taking her hand and kissing it gently. “A lovely creature, such as yourself, while surely a delicious meal, will have nothing to fear as long as myself and your fellow lodgers are nearby.”

  “Oooh, what a charmer you are, Mr. St. John.” Eleanor offered Phoe a sly wink. “Best keep an eye on this one, love.”

  “Two eyes. As often as I can spare them.”

  “Mr. St. John mentioned that he was a journalist,” the professor started. “What about you, Mrs. St. John? What business are you in?”

  “I…I’m uh…” Phoe stammered. Evidently, she hadn’t been prepared to make up a backstory. Over the last year with B.E.A.S.T., it had been determined that lying was not Phoe’s forte as a spy.

  “Phoebe is a librarian. Or was. She’s between jobs right now.”

  Phoe nodded. “I had to leave my job at the archives in New Orleans when Macijah and I were married. London to New Orleans is quite a commute.”

  Everyone laughed at Phoe’s joke and the mood around the table seemed to lighten somewhat. The couples engaged in polite conversation about their jobs on Earth, save for Mr. Sockersby who lived in Absinthia full time as the resident vicar. Phoe couldn’t stop beaming. Completely adorable how much she was enjoying herself—Cage thought that was probably why he loved her so much. Phoe got such a kick out of living. She approached every new experience with the wonder of a child.

  “I’m here doing research for my next book,” Eleanor shared. “It’s the next in my series of mysteries starring Agnes Shrewsbury.”

  Phoe whipped around, staring toward Eleanor, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Oh my God. You’re Ellie Thorpe, the novelist?”

  Eleanor laughed. “Indeed, I am, clever girl. I’m really fooling no one with my ridiculous vacation name, am I?”

  “No. I love your work,” Phoe gushed unabashedly. “Agnes Shrewsbury is a scream.” She squeezed Cage’s arm, overflowing with excitement.

  “I don’t believe I’m familiar with these books,” Mrs. Brown huffed, her mouth full of roast chicken.

  “Agnes is an old maid schoolteacher who solves crimes in the little village where she lives in the English countryside,” Phoe explained. “She has a mysterious past, and everyone thinks she’s this nice old lady, when really she’s running around in the middle of the night stalking murderers.”

  “Oh, I love a heroine with a mysterious past,” Mrs. Brown said. “She sounds rather like the lady in those Agatha Christie novels. Miss Marple.”

  “You’re all too kind.” Eleanor beamed, her cheeks blushing in a way that revealed the pretty young woman she must have been. “Some people think my little stories with Agnes are ridiculous and silly, but I’ve always felt that people read books to escape. They should be a little farfetched and silly.”

  Phoe turned to Mrs. Brown. “I’ll be glad to lend you the first one. I always carry it with me in case I can’t find anything to read.”

  “It seems Phoebe can’t leave the library behind no matter where we go.” Cage smiled. “She always carries it with her in the suitcase. Much to the chagrin of my lower back.”

  “Don’t be such a grouch,” Phoe teased, kissing his cheek. “I can vouch that your back can take quite a bit of punishment.” Phoe winked and Cage could feel his desire rush to the root of his sex. He reached over and slid a hand along her upper thigh. She returned his glance. Her eyes had taken on a fiery darkness that sparkled in the candlelight.

  Dinner couldn’t be over fast enough.

  Six

  Phoe gazed at herself in the tall bathroom mirror. The long linen and lace nightgown Cage had bought for her at Babbage’s fit perfectly. From a strictly historical point of view, the gown wasn’t exactly accurate. The lace was a little sheer and the cut fit her form a little too well for modesty, but there was no doubt it was exquisite. Phoe couldn’t stop staring at herself. She had never thought of herself as an extraordinarily beautiful woman—far from it—but as she had suspected all along, she was meant for the Victorian Age.

  “Are you ever coming out of there?” Cage shouted from the bedroom. “I’m getting lonely.”

  She opened the door with a dramatic push and posed in the doorway. “Beauty takes time, lover.”

  “Not for you,” he admired. “There is little you could have packed in that suitcase that would make you more beautiful than you already are.”

  “Ah, so you admit there is something?”

  Cage chuckled and beckoned her over to where he sat on the bed, gloriously naked. “There is one thing that would look absolutely ravishing on you.”

  “Oh?” When she came near, he grabbed her around the waist and swept her into his arms and down to the bed.

  “Me.”

  Phoe relaxed into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and thought she couldn’t possibly be happier than she was right now in this moment.

  “Cage, I do love you so very much,” she whispered when he pulled back.

  “You mentioned that.”

  “But I really mean it. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I didn’t think it was possible.”

  “Perhaps you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

  She chuckled and shrugged. “Maybe. But you know, I used to hide myself in books because I was afraid of everything.”

  Cage lay beside her, propped on an elbow. His fingers toyed with the ends of her hair that fell from the messy bun at her crown. “What have you got to be afraid of?”

  “So many things. Not being pretty enough or smart enough. Never living up to what to others expected of me because of Jess. But I don’t have to be afraid anymore. You made me realize that no matter what, I’m enough. And if I can survive some of the scrapes we’ve been in, then what else is there to be afraid of?”

  Cage drew his fingers along her cheek, cupping her jaw gently. He stared into her eyes for several moments before pressing his lips to hers. It was a kiss so sweet, so chaste, so unlike his usual fevered kisses that stole her breath and made her warm and wet. “You flatter me, Miss Addison. Surely, I do not deserve you.”

  Phoe giggled. “Of course you do, y
a big moose.”

  “No. You don’t understand. I met you at a time in my life when I assumed that I was a monster. I’m ashamed to tell you about some of the things I’d done before we met. When Corinne and Lily died, I didn’t feel like my life was worth living anymore. It didn’t matter what I did, or if I was killed because the only good things in my life were gone. Then I met you, and suddenly I wanted to be a better person. All that anger and lust for revenge dissipated. I never thanked you for that.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. You saved my life, love. So bringing you here and giving you the time of your life is barely a drop in the bucket of a lifetime repayment.”

  Phoe threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Her heart swelled to breaking. No one had ever said anything to her so raw yet so sweet.

  She threw herself against him. Suddenly, her need for his kiss was all consuming. She needed him like oxygen. She crushed her mouth to his and forced her way inside. They kissed until neither could hardly breathe, but who cared about that anyway? Breathing was boring. Her mouth never left his as she climbed astride his lap. His mouth tasted of the wine from dinner and the soft bitterness of tobacco. She lapped it from his lips like a thirsty animal, and he responded in kind.

  His fingers were clumsy as he slid them under the hem of her nightgown and caressed the backs of her thighs. She was thankful she’d had the forethought to leave her knickers crumpled in the corner of the room. She didn’t want anything to come between his hands and her skin. Slowly, they wandered along her ribcage, tracing each one as he expertly relieved her of the exquisite nightgown.

  She laughed as he pulled the flimsy fabric over her head and tossed it aside. “Well, I didn’t get to wear that one long.”

  He winked and shook his head. His hands were rough as they palmed her breasts, weighing each of them in turn and squeezing them gently until the nipples beaded under his touch. He leaned in and nipped at one and then the other, going back and forth between them and growing more forceful each time until Phoe moaned.