Fables & Other Lies

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, and his voice, a low, sexy growl, vibrated through me. It took me a second to realize what he’d just said.

“What’d you just say?” I took a step back, stricken.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” He arched a brow. “You are here to take photos of the house, aren’t you? The real estate company sent you?”

“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Sorry. I’ve been distracted since I got here.” I shot him a shaky smile. “So, are you going to let me in?”

“I’m actually indisposed at the moment.” He opened the gate wide enough to walk out of it and locked it behind him. “I need to meet someone in town.”

“Oh.” I frowned and looked in the direction of the house, or where the house was, miles down. “Can’t someone else show me around?”

“I’m afraid they can’t.”

“So, how exactly am I supposed to do my job?”

“That is a great question.” He pointed at me and turned away, walking toward town. I fumbled with my thoughts for a second before following behind him.

“Um . . . hey.” I rushed over to him and stopped short when he stopped walking. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“River.” He turned to face me. He was so much taller than me, even in my platformed boots, that I needed to tilt my head to look at his face. “River Caliban.”

“Caliban?” I blinked. “You’re a Caliban?”

“Last I checked.” His eyes danced. “Why don’t you come back after the gala? The fog will still be lifted then and the house will be in a better mood then.”

“In a better mood?” I felt myself frown.

“That is correct, Miss Guzman.”

“You know who I am.”

“Of course, I know who you are. You think I’d just let a stranger waltz into my house and take photographs?” The way his eyes burned into mine, I knew exactly what he was insinuating and because I had no way of defending the fact that I’d taken a picture of his house and published it and profited from it, I stayed quiet and bit my tongue.

“I guess I’ll come back then. The gala is tomorrow night?”

“It’s in two days. Carnival festivities begin tomorrow night.”

“Right. So, you want me to come back in three days?”

“Yes, that should be fine.” He gave a nod. “See you soon.”

“Yeah.” I nodded slowly, watching him go and watching the way every head turned in his direction as he walked. I wondered if they knew who he was or if they were just looking at him because he was impossible not to look at.

Closing my camera lens and putting it away in my bag, I turned around and started walking back to my Vespa. The fog was darker now, heavier. Though I could still hear tourists talking around me, I couldn’t see them. Suddenly, I heard a whisper. My heart slammed against my chest. Not again. Not a repeat of last night. I walked faster.

“Penelope,” the whisper said. “Penelope.”

It was a familiar voice. One I hadn’t heard in years and didn’t want to pause for now. I picked my pace up to a jog, and then a sprint until I reached my Vespa. I didn’t even get my helmet on before I started driving.

“Come back, Penelope.” The whisper was louder now, growled, angry.

I slammed on the brakes. My body shifted forward as the back of the Vespa lifted in the air from the force of it. I looked back. The fog was lowering, snaking onto the street, covering the cobbled street that was just visible to me a few seconds ago. I gripped the handlebars tighter and turned the Vespa around, shining the light in the direction the voice had come from, my heart speeding up as I waited for any sign of Esteban. He was dead. I knew there was no way he’d step out of the fog. There was no way. And yet, I heard his voice as clear as day, calling out my name.

Shouts behind me got louder and I glanced over my shoulder to see the festivities were now spilling onto Dreary Lane; people had cameras pointed in the direction of the Caliban Manor. The crowd rushed toward the gates, swarming around my Vespa as if this was the Pamplona Festival and not the Pan Island Carnival. I had one foot on the ground and the other on the footrest to maintain balance as the cobblestones beneath me shook. More and more people charged toward the gates as if they were on a witch hunt, but they were all smiling, laughing, dancing around in costume, and seemed to stop as soon as they reached it. I squeezed my eyes shut as the chaos continued.

“Penny.” I heard Esteban’s voice again.

I opened my eyes, half expecting to find him standing in front of me. He wasn’t. Still, my gaze remained fixed on the crowd in front of me, the ones in line waiting to take a picture on the Devil’s Chair. It was as if something was keeping me there, watching, waiting.