Castle Spellbound Read Online Free Page A

beach.
    “I'm going to turn in early,” Linda said, picking up her shoes. “I'm bushed."
    She gave Gene a long look.
    He met her gaze. The matter was somewhere very high up in the air. “Good night,” he said.
    Linda walked back through the trees. Gene looked after her a long time. He was vexed, puzzled, and unsure.
    Presently he turned toward the intruders. Clothes already lay in piles on the beach. The two couples were wading out into the breakers, backlit by the huge moon.
    He got a fifth-wheel feeling and began to follow in Linda's footsteps, then halted.
    He didn't quite know what he wanted to do.
    He struck off down the beach in search of solitude and quiet. And darkness. He had some thinking to do. Some very important thinking.
    Why now, he wondered, after all this time?
     

 

 
     
    Cellar
     
    The musty old crypt had gotten somewhat bigger, and in the process had acquired some interesting attributes. Completely transformed, it was now a plush seraglio fit for a sultan, padded with carpets, tapestries, pillows, and rugs. Standing braziers threw off the smoke of fragrant incense. Scented oils burned in dozens of polished silver lamps.
    There were two recliners, and on them reclined Thorsby and Fetchen. Attending each were no less than eight houris.
    “Peel us a grape, love,” Thorsby commanded.
    A bare, milky arm reached out, a purple morsel ‘twixt thumb and index finger.
    “Ye gods, that is a peeled grape."
    “It is yours but to wish, O Great One,” said the houri nearest him.
    His hand idly roving across smooth bare female flesh, Thorsby accepted the bit of skinned fruit. It was sweet, melting on his tongue. A burst of flavor filled his mouth, flavor unlike any he had ever experienced.
    “Gods, if that's a bloody grape, what's the real food like?"
    “Who's hungry?” Fetchen said after ungluing his lips from those of the houri nearest him—one of them, anyway. This said, he attached his mouth to a salient portion of the other's anatomy.
    “Yes,” Thorsby agreed. “Greater appetites gnaw."
    “Why do you delay, Great One?” asked the honey-blond houri.
    “Yes, why?” asked the flaxen-haired houri. “Take me again, master!"
    “No, take me!” said the one dark of hair and eyes.
    “No, me!"
    “Me!"
    “Ladies, please!” Thorsby sighed. “Demand is greater than supply at the moment. Besides, we don't want to achieve satiety too quickly, now, do we? This way, the expectation is deliciously prolonged."
    “You will never achieve satiety, Great One,” the brown-haired, green-eyed beauty told him. “Your capacity for pleasure is infinite."
    “I was wondering why I was feeling a return of energy so soon after,” Thorsby marveled. “You mean—?"
    “Yes, Great One. You may indulge every desire, taste every variety of the fruits of passion, and not feel any sapping of strength."
    “Bloody wonderful. Well, then..."
    Thorsby fortified himself from the wine bottle—which, it should be noted, never emptied.
    “The same applies to any sense you wish to engage,” the redhead informed him. “Taste, touch, hearing, smell—"
    “Well, let's see,” Thorsby said. “We've got touch pretty well covered. Taste? Yes, let's have some food, finally."
    A huge table appeared, laden with a feast fit for the shah of shahs. Dishes were fetched and offered.
    “Taste this, Great One."
    “This too, Great Sultan!"
    “And this!"
    “One at time.” He nibbled on bread dipped in something. He chewed and swallowed.
    “Gods!"
    “Does it meet with your approval, Great One? If not, you may order the cook to be boiled in his own oil."
    “Ye gods! Fetchen, taste the food!"
    Fetchen emptied his mouth. “Wha?"
    “Taste this stuff! It's unbelievable."
    “Quiet, can't you see I'm feeding?"
    “More, O Wonderful Master?"
    Thorsby's gaze swiveled back and forth. “I'll try a bit of ... this. Yes ... well..."
    Thorsby ate a cube of spiced meat.
    “Merciful gods! That is good! Oh, my heavens. I could eat that all