Seducing the Myth

Djinn and Tonic
By Lexie Bay

Laura watched another flash car roll up the tree-lined drive of the house. Actually, house was a bit of a loose term – it was more of a stately home. It had been in her fiancé's family for generations, and his mother was now rattling around on her own since his father had died last year. Tim was expected to take over the running of it, so they were there to go through some important information and paperwork, and his mother was throwing a party for them. Stifling another yawn, Laura turned back to the room.

Standing by the fireplace, glass of Pimms in hand, Tim was talking to one of the guests. Laura watched her fiancé laughing at something the guy had said and frowned. He really shouldn't make that face when he laughed. His chin sort of disappeared – she stopped herself quickly. Christ, what a bitch she was being! So Tim wasn't the best-looking guy in the world, but he was kind and he loved her. She should be grateful that she'd found a nice man after all the bad boys.

Laura felt her skin flush as she remembered one in particular. His name was Fernando. It had been her first all-girl holiday, and he was a waiter in their hotel. God, he'd been so hot; she still flushed with embarrassment every time she thought about him. She'd almost been thrown out of the hotel and he'd nearly lost his job when they were discovered half-naked in the throes of passion on the bar after hours. It had been worth it, though. He'd known exactly what he was doing, and the incredible orgasm had been worth every second of teasing from the other girls.

She sighed. She really did love Tim, but the problem with marrying a man you didn't have the hots for was that the sex was – well, just kind of ordinary.

Tim wasn't awful in bed but he wasn't great, and to be honest, Laura had had some really great sex in her past – and not just with Fernando. She liked to experiment and play naughty games, and she'd always imagined that her knees would go weak every time she looked at the man she married. She was idly reminiscing about her embarrassingly hot waiter again when she realised that Tim's mother was talking to her.

"Laura, darling, have you met the Von Gastro-Marks?"

In front of her was a severe-looking blonde woman and her overweight, pale-faced husband. Laura forced a smile and shook their hands in turn.

"So lovely to meet you," she said, pulling her hand from the husband's limp grip and surreptitiously wiping it on her dress to get rid of the clammy wetness he'd left all over her.

"So you're Timmy's fiancée? We've heard so much about you." Laura tuned out, watching the rest of the guests, smiling and nodding.

"Laura, you haven't got a drink. Can I get you a gin and tonic, dear?"
Tim's mother was brandishing a large bottle of Gordon's. Laura was fairly certain she'd drunk nearly half of it herself, judging by the furtive glances Tim was shooting in his mother's direction.

"Thanks, Sylvia, but I'm more of a vodka girl. Don't worry," she added, as Sylvia started looking around wildly, "I'll just pop through to the kitchen and see if I can find myself something."

Sylvia started to protest, but Laura was too quick and shot out into the peace of the hall. A waiter swept past her, his tray loaded with empty glasses, and she started to follow him towards the noise of glasses and the smell of canapés coming from the kitchen.

She passed a huge window and stopped to admire the view. It was a glorious day and guests were out on the lawn, heels sinking in the grass still damp from the rain they'd had all week, and champagne glasses discarded on the ornamental walls. The enormity of her new-found responsibility overwhelmed her, and suddenly Laura couldn't bear to go back into the party; it was all too much to take in. There were so many people she needed to meet, and so much to learn. She turned abruptly away from the window and, seeing the back stairs, she sneaked up them, desperate to escape.

In the peace of the upstairs landing she felt she could breathe again. She'd never really had a look round the whole house before; Tim was always busy with paperwork when they visited. Walking past the room they shared she wandered down another corridor. The doors were all open and seemed to be guest bedrooms. Hardly the excitement she'd been looking for. The last door was almost hidden behind a large ornamental tree tucked right into the corner of the corridor. Turning the handle, Laura discovered it was locked. Why on earth would it be locked? There had to be a key somewhere. She looked around, then moved back the heavy drapes at the end of the hall and there it was. Sliding it into the lock and turning it, Laura half-expected it to be stiff but it turned first time, as though it was used often.

The door swung open, revealing a beautiful room with a huge four-poster bed and a vast bay window which provided a view out across the landscaped gardens below. The room was still and peaceful, so calm it was almost magical. She wondered why it was locked, and with a shiver of anticipation she started to look around.

She opened the wardrobe. Inside, the faint odour of mothballs wafted amongst a few old dresses and a floor-length fur coat which made Laura shudder, but as she pushed the dresses aside she gasped. Right at the back was a very old looking urn. Not just 'been in the family a while' old, either – this was positively ancient. It was covered in strange markings and Laura reached out, rubbing the dust to see if she could make out what they were.

The urn was rough and crumbly under her fingers, but as she buffed the coarse clay there was a flash and a puff of smoke which made her stagger backwards, temporarily blinded and coughing wildly. Oh shit, what had she done? Had she damaged something? Crap, was anything actually on fire?