§ § § -- December 22, 2001
Roarke deliberately sent Leslie to the hotel to handle a couple of minor dustups there before admitting Mephistopheles and Count LiSciola. The count, who had never been to Fantasy Island before, was staring around him with a surprisingly lively interest. "A very lovely place, Roarke," he remarked. "You've done very well for yourself. A shame your father and grandfather couldn't have known."
Roarke smiled slightly. "Thank you, Count. It has been untold years since your clan and mine had any contact, as I am sure you're aware…and it seems you are keeping some quite unsavory company nowadays."
Mephistopheles clucked his tongue. "For shame, Roarke…and you have such a reputation for unstinting hospitality, too. Don't you realize that the count has a modest little fantasy? I'm merely here to help him."
"Oh?" said Roarke. "Do you suddenly think me incapable of granting his fantasy on my own, or is this only another excuse for you to attempt to take my immortal soul?"
Count LiSciola gave him a curious look. "I wouldn't know anything about that, Roarke. Whatever lies between you and Mephistopheles is your affair. No, I have someone else in mind entirely. I've made a deal with my friend here, and since the soul in question resides on your island, it was necessary for us to come here to get it. Surely you won't miss the one, out of all the people who live here in your little kingdom?"
"I would," Roarke said. "Every soul on this island is my responsibility. Whose are you after in particular?"
"You haven't guessed?" the count asked mockingly. "Have you grown slow in your dotage, Roarke? I've promised Mephistopheles the immortal soul of Prince Christian. He committed a serious breach of contract when his brother ended my daughter's marriage to him, and I want him punished for it. My child was well off and in good hands, and now she's married to a stripling who can barely feed himself, never mind her."
Roarke stared at him. "You can do nothing about it now. Both your daughter's and my daughter's marriages are valid and legal, and there are no grounds on which you can instigate a divorce in either case. What basis can you possibly have for selling my son-in-law's soul? Not only that, how legal is it for you to do such a thing?"
Mephistopheles sighed tolerantly. "There are definitely some legal questions here," he agreed, "which was why I was initially reluctant…but then the good count here mentioned your name, and of course I just had to get in on the deal. I'm willing to overlook some of the dicier aspects of the thing if I can get a crack at you." He smirked.
"Indeed," Roarke said. "It appears that the item at the heart of all this is a marriage contract drawn up under secrecy; that, if I am not mistaken, is what is really under dispute, and you may both rest assured that the contract will undergo the most rigorous scrutiny before I allow either of you to even see Christian. And since Leslie is involved, you may also rest assured that you will be battling her as much as you will me."
Mephistopheles looked slightly apprehensive, shooting the count a sidelong look. "I think I should have listened to my instincts," he muttered, then caught Roarke's expression and glared. "But I'm in too deep now, Roarke, sorry. If there's even the smallest chance that somehow I can get your soul, I'll go for it. So don't think you'll squirm out of this so easily."
"There's nothing your daughter can do either, Roarke," the count said. "You can both fight until you drop from exhaustion, but that prince forfeits his soul, even if it's the very last event I ever witness in my long life." He turned to Mephistopheles. "I don't know what you have in mind for accommodations, but I intend to retreat to a bungalow and have a proper rest so that I can be fresh for the fight. Roarke, do you happen to know a lawyer around here who can examine the contract?"
"There is only one on the island," Roarke said guardedly. "I shall get in touch with him and explain the situation, and he can decide for himself what he will do." He gave them both a chilly nod. "If you will excuse me…" he hinted.
Mephistopheles shrugged and wandered out the French shutters into the trees; the count nodded back, a surprisingly amiable mien about him in the face of Roarke's glacial treatment, and consented to be driven to his bungalow by one of Roarke's employees. Roarke stood behind the desk, waiting to be sure the man was well and truly out of his sight; then he drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and closed his eyes just for a moment before punching out a three-digit number on the phone.
"Grady Harding," a voice answered.
"Good morning, Mr. Harding, this is Mr. Roarke," Roarke began.
Grady's voice warmed. "Good morning, Mr. Roarke, what can I do for you?"
"You may prefer not to do anything when you hear the details," Roarke said. "I have a guest here who has asked for your services in examining a contract that he claims has been breached. There is…apparently some legal question in regard to it…and he is trying to ascertain that it's watertight. However, before you agree, you should be aware that you may be too close to some of those involved in the situation. The contract is the one that bound Christian in marriage to the daughter of my guest."
There was a moment's silence on the other end. "I see," Grady mused finally. "I admit I don't have the whole story. My wife knows more than I do, but I'm not sure just how much. But let me tell you what I do know, Mr. Roarke, and you can advise me as to how correct, or incorrect, I am. This contract was drawn up sometime after Christian's first wife died, and it's my understanding that it was done without his knowledge and that he was forced to honor the thing when the young woman came of age. Is this right?"
"Yes," said Roarke. "What else are you aware of?"
"That somehow Rogan Callaghan superseded it with his own contract," Grady said, "though I don't know quite how. I'm not versed in Lilla Jordsö's laws, and I have to assume that whatever King Arnulf did to release Christian from the arranged marriage, it was legal in that country. Without having seen the contract, I really can't speculate any further."
"Understandable," Roarke said. "My question to you now is, do you feel that you can examine the contract and advise as to its validity, without bias toward one side or the other? If not, I certainly won't hold it against you; in fact, I might be relieved."
Grady laughed. "I see what you mean, Mr. Roarke. As much as I'd like to get a look at the thing, I think you'd better call in someone else. I consider Christian a friend, and I really don't think I could give this the impartiality it deserves."
Roarke nodded, at just the moment Leslie walked in the door. "Of course, Mr. Harding. I thank you for your honesty—that's always been a quality I could count on from you. Thank you for your time."
"Not at all, Mr. Roarke. Good luck," Grady said, and they bid each other goodbye and hung up. Leslie approached the desk with surprise on her face.
"Some reason you were talking to Grady?" she asked, sitting in one of the chairs.
Roarke nodded and settled himself more comfortably in his chair, taking another deep breath and regarding his daughter with a grave look. "Leslie, I must ask you to try to remain calm," he said. "You were correct about Mephistopheles having come here to try once again for my soul; but his companion has no interest in that. He is here for a reason, however." He paused, wondering if there were any way to say this without sending her into hysterics. Wryly he doubted it, and decided the only thing to do was just to tell her straight out and let the chips fall where they would. "Count LiSciola is Marina's father, and he has recruited Mephistopheles in an attempt to prove that Christian committed breach of contract by ending his marriage to her and then marrying you. He wants Christian punished, his idea of which is to sell Christian's immortal soul to the devil."
Leslie sat up ramrod-straight and gaped at him, her eyes huge, her mouth open. "He's trying to do what?" she breathed.
Roarke nodded slightly once or twice. "I'm sorry, child."
But it wasn't fury that exploded from her: it was stark terror. "No," she cried, leaping to her feet. "This can't be happening. Father, I've got to bring Christian here. If he's anywhere else, Mephistopheles could just as easily wander off with him, as long as he thinks he has even a tiny claim on him."
"Leslie…" Roarke began.
"He's not getting my husband without the worst fight he's ever faced!" Leslie shouted and raced out of the house without waiting for a response. Roarke sighed deeply and let himself sag in the chair. Perhaps she was right; as often as not, instinctive reactions were the wisest ones. Christian's business would survive without him for a couple of days; he was better off here, under whatever protection they could offer him.
The office of Enstad Computer Services had been very quiet all morning; it was just before Christmas, and over the years Christian had learned to expect a lull during this part of the holiday season. One of his busiest periods tended to occur afterward, when people who had received new computers for Christmas decided to indulge themselves with all sorts of internet treats, including their own personal websites. Others might receive gifts of hardware upgrades; new gimcracks such as CD burners, web cameras, extra hard drives, fancy game hardware; and other such things. Most of them had no idea how to install all this, and that was another service Christian provided. This, too, was waiting for the post-Christmas rush. He had given Jonathan the day off in addition to Mateo's regularly scheduled free day, so that Julianne and Anton were the only others in the office.
Julianne looked up. "You and Miss Leslie doing anything special for Christmas, Boss Prince?" she asked curiously.
Christian laughed. "Nothing much, no. It's our first Christmas together, and we're just going to spend our time alone with each other." He leaned back in his chair and stretched both arms over his head. "I've been through pre-Christmas lulls before, but this is the worst I've ever known. I've been thinking—"
It was at exactly that moment that a figure streaked past the window, clattered to a halt and threw open the door so that the holiday bells Julianne had hung on it jangled loudly. Christian stood up in astonishment even as Leslie flew at him and seized his arm. "You've got to come with me now," she cried out.
"What? Why?" Christian exclaimed. "Leslie, what's wrong?"
"You can't stay here," she babbled, frenetic with panic. "It's not safe for you to be out in the open like this—he could show up and grab you anytime. Please!" Leslie's voice was a near shriek. Julianne and Anton stared at her; neither they nor Christian had ever seen her in such a state, and it unnerved them all. She began to pull him after her, trying to get him out the door; but he resisted, bewildered and slightly annoyed.
"Leslie, calm down," Christian said sternly, bracing himself against her attempts to tow him along. He reached out and brought her around to face him, searching her face and registering some alarm at sight of the sheer panic gleaming in her eyes. "Does Mr. Roarke know you're in this state? Why don't you tell me what's going on?"
"Mephistopheles is after you!" she cried. "Christian, my love, please, don't argue with me! Come on, come on!" Once more Leslie attempted to pull him out with her.
"Oh, you can't possibly be serious," Christian exclaimed in disbelief.
"I'm telling you, it's true!" Leslie insisted, on the fine edge of hysteria. He gaped at her in amazement, some vestige of her fear beginning to transfer itself to him in spite of his better judgment. "Christian, I'm begging you, just come with me!" He could see the tears that had filled her eyes, and as always, they undid him. He sighed heavily and gave in.
"All right, my Rose, all right—just give me a chance to get my things here." He pulled loose from her and opened a desk drawer while she watched his every move; as he took out a set of keys, he addressed his employees. "Anton, I figured we might as well close up shop in any case. It's so slow this weekend, there's not much point. We can open again on Wednesday, all right? You two go on home, and Anton, you can lock up behind you. It seems I have other business to attend to." Christian cast Leslie a wry, bewildered, yet affectionate smile. "Before my wife loses what little is left of her wits, I'd better go on with her. Enjoy your time off, and Merry Christmas to you both."
"Merry Christmas, Christian," Anton said faintly.
"Thanks, Boss Prince," Julianne added, blinking. "I sure hope everything's okay."
"Christian!" Leslie persisted frantically.
Losing some of his patience, Christian slammed the desk drawer shut and grabbed the thermal coffee mug he took to work every day. "Damn it, Leslie, will you please calm down? I'm coming, all right?" He muttered something in jordiska and shook his head, then tossed an apologetic smile at Julianne and Anton. "See you two Wednesday." They nodded as he came out from behind the desk, only to have Leslie seize his arm again and start for the door. The last thing Anton and Julianne heard was their boss' startled curse as she yanked him out the door and towed him along to the waiting car parked nearby.
"What was that all about?" Anton asked. "Never have I seen Miss Leslie quite so hysterical. Does this happen often?"
"No, it doesn't happen at all," Julianne said, giving him a worried stare. "Miss Leslie isn't the type to go that ballistic. It must be something really serious for her to drag Boss Prince out the door like that. Y'know, maybe we better get out of here before whatever it is that's got her so nutty decides to come after us too." Anton rolled his eyes at that and they both laughed, but their laughter bore an uneasy quality and they wasted little time straightening up, locking the office and leaving for home.
Leslie hit the gas the moment she'd backed out of her space and sent the car careening out of town and down the Ring Road; Christian grabbed the dashboard and gawked at her. "What in hell is going on around here, Leslie?" he demanded, beginning to get really upset now. "Why aren't you explaining anything to me? It would be nice if you'd get some control over yourself and tell me precisely what justifies your coming in and making such a scene back there. Do you have any idea what you looked like? Leslie, damn it, are you even listening to me?" Instead of responding she slammed on the brakes enough to make the sharp turn into the lane, throwing up such a cloud of dust that they almost couldn't see around them. Giving up, Christian braced himself and squeezed his eyes shut till she'd come to a skidding stop beside the fountain; then he looked around and shook his head hard.
"Come on, Christian, now!" Leslie wailed, still frantic, flying around the front of the car and trying to tug him out of the seat. It was the last straw for Christian; he yanked his arm out of her grasp, finally losing his temper.
"Do you mind?" he barked at her. "I'm quite capable of moving on my own, thank you! For the last time, will you please explain what in hell you think you're doing?" He swung out of the car and glared at her; she wasn't accustomed to having his wrath directed at her, but she was in such a state that even this didn't snap her out of it.
"Just get in here with me," she insisted and fled out ahead of him, scaling the steps in two jumps before Christian had even rounded the fountain. He cursed in frustration and broke into a run of his own. They both burst into the study, surprising the two occupants thereof; and Leslie stopped short at the top of the steps, inevitably causing Christian to collide with her. Again he cursed, then belatedly noticed Roarke and his guest and froze, just as his wife had done.
"In a hurry, are we?" Mephistopheles asked, amused.
"Don't you even come near my husband," Leslie lashed out, her whole body trembling with rage and fear. "You have no right and no claim on him!"
Mephistopheles stared at her, his amusement increasing. "My dear girl, do calm down. This hysteria really doesn't become you at all."
"I'll agree with that," Christian said disgustedly, throwing Leslie a look of pure annoyance. "I have no idea what's causing all this, and she's so beyond rationality that no amount of demanding will get her to tell me. Maybe you'll do me the favor, Mr. Roarke." He stepped around Leslie and into the study, ignoring her when she lunged down the steps after him and seized his hand.
Roarke had taken all this in with mute surprise. Gauging the level of Leslie's fright and Christian's irritation, he said, "Why don't you have a seat, Christian. And Leslie, please, calm yourself. Have you explained this to him?"
"No, she hasn't," Christian snapped, pinning Leslie with another glare. She looked faintly betrayed, and there was still hysteria glinting in her eyes; her wits were too scattered yet for her to speak. "Exactly what is the reason for all this?"
Mephistopheles had been watching him; now he leaned casually on Roarke's desk and said, "I am, my dear prince. Since your wife here seems incapable of enlightening you, let me do the honor. Someone has promised me your soul, and I decided to come and see just what it is I'll be getting." He smiled.
Christian stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"Christian," Roarke said quietly, "may I present Mephistopheles."
That made Christian go still for a moment and peer at Roarke with some caution, as if trying to decide whether all this was one very strange joke. Then he studied the slim, spare-featured man in the black suit, a distinctly skeptical look on his face. "You're kidding, of course, aren't you? All of you?"
Behind him Leslie gasped aloud; Roarke looked alarmed, and Mephistopheles let out a chuckle. "Ah, I see…another unbeliever. You know, Roarke, maybe this human guise of mine is just too good. Should I show him the horns, do you think? Or no…better yet, I have another way of convincing you, young man."
"Don't touch him!" Leslie shrieked, panicking again. Roarke glared warningly at her.
"Leslie Susan, be silent!" he commanded urgently, his dark eyes blazing. "Christian—"
"Oh, Roarke, come on now, don't tell me you want to spoil my fun," Mephistopheles complained lightly. "Let's see…ah, I have it. Young man, why don't you go out to the terrace there and bring back one of those lovely blossoms on the bushes, hm?"
More puzzled than ever, Christian shrugged. "All right, if you like." He started across the room, tossing Mephistopheles one uncertain glance over his shoulder before going out and picking a flower at random off the hedge that bordered the terrace. He came back in, studying the bright red petals and the glossy green leaves. "Will this do?"
"Very nicely," Mephistopheles said. "Just hand it to me, if you would." Christian gave it to him, then watched in slack-jawed astonishment as the flower promptly shriveled up in Mephistopheles' hand and became little more than a dead gray stem.
"Herregud," Christian whispered, eyes enormous. "Why…?"
"Dainty little thing, wasn't it? And as your father-in-law here can surely tell you, nothing delicate can live in my presence. Fortunately for you, young man, you look rather less than delicate…but no matter. In the end, you still belong to me." He smirked. "I look forward to it. Roarke, why don't you tell him the rest." With that, Mephistopheles walked casually out across the terrace and disappeared again.
"Well, Christian?" Roarke said quietly. Both he and Leslie had been watching, Roarke in a grim silence, Leslie on the edge of completely losing it. She stood now gripping the edge of the desk, her whole body still shaking, even to the point where her jaw rattled with the force of her combined fear for Christian and her relief that Mephistopheles hadn't done anything directly to him.
"It…it was Mephistopheles, wasn't it," Christian breathed. It was clear to Roarke that he had finally been convinced beyond all doubt; even a magician couldn't have pulled off the little trick Mephistopheles had. Roarke nodded, and he blew out his breath and collapsed into a chair. "Well, all right then, what is this all about? What does he mean, I belong to him? That makes no sense to me. I couldn't get Leslie to explain, in the middle of her very vocal madness…"
"Why didn't you just listen to me?" Leslie cried out at him. "Don't you know me well enough by now to know that I don't make a habit out of that kind of thing? My God, Christian, I was trying to save you!"
"Save me from what?" Christian exploded, his frustration surging up again. "I still don't understand what's happening here, or what that man wants with me! Frankly, Leslie, you struck me as decidedly certifiable, stumbling in as you did and screaming hysterically and trying to drag me away with you. And this in front of my employees as well!"
Leslie slammed her fist on the desk, making Roarke wince faintly on her behalf and then quietly brace himself. "Damn you, Christian Enstad, he wants your immortal soul!" she screamed, boiling over. "Don't you understand? How much more plainly can either Father or I make the statement? What would it have taken to get you to take me seriously? After five years of knowing me…after I warned you, for God's sake, the day after we were married and you all but sold him your own soul, never mind having someone else do it for you…after I learned of his threat today and came after you in the hope of putting you under some sort of protection—and you still think I'm just a raving lunatic?" She raked both hands through her hair and turned to Roarke. "Father, please, before I throw something expensive in here, would you explain it to him? Maybe if it comes from you, it'll finally sink through that thick skull of his! I'm going out to make some rounds, if you don't mind." Before Roarke could give either assent or denial, she wheeled around and slammed out of the house.
The utter silence that followed her infuriated departure seemed louder somehow than her voice. Christian was still gaping at the spot where she had been standing, stunned into complete speechlessness. Slowly, in a daze, he turned his shocked stare on Roarke, who nodded and let out his breath. "She is correct, Christian," he said quietly. "Leslie's apparent hysteria stems from her incredible fear for you, and it's not misplaced. You are in far more danger than you seem to realize, and I think it's best that you remain here in the house. You'll stay here overnight along with Leslie, and remain on the premises until such time as we are required to meet Mephistopheles."
Christian fell back in the chair, real fear glinting from his eyes for the first time. "I understand, Mr. Roarke," he said softly. "As you say."
"As I say?" Roarke echoed, just as softly, his tone gentle but reproachful. "Christian, Leslie has been my assistant for well over ten years—more than long enough for any warning she gives you to be taken with equal gravity to my own." He watched Christian swallow hard and close his eyes, and drew himself up straight before speaking again, more kindly. "Feel free to help yourself to any reading material or any of the audio or video media we have upstairs, or even play on the computer here to pass the time. I will be back for lunch." He waited long enough for Christian's slight nod before excusing himself and leaving.
In the silent study, Christian slowly wilted forward, rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands, wondering bleakly what he had done to gain the attention of Mephistopheles in the first place. If my father ever hoped while he was alive that the devil would take me, he thought with black humor, then he would be thrilled by what's happening to me now. Some peculiar need drove him upstairs to Leslie's old room, where he settled uncertainly into the window seat and stared blankly through a haze of sudden tears at her weekend duffel sitting on the bed. "I'm sorry, my Rose," he whispered at last. "I'm so sorry…please, believe me, my darling…please, come back and let me say it to you…"