Which they were doing now.
She thought, with fervour, that she just might hate her sister.
But then again, at that moment, she hated the entire world.
Most of all, she hated herself (and, of course, Colin Morgan).
And she couldn’t shift the feeling that something, far beyond the fact that she’d sold her body to a man she didn’t like, was terribly, terribly wrong.
She just thanked the goddess that she had a decent pedicure, complete with pale pink nail varnish. She’d hate to enter the World of Whoredom with chipped toenails.
And she thanked the goddess that her mother insisted she start taking birth control at the age of eighteen (regardless that it was unneeded at the time).
She’d chosen a scent of peony with a hint of grapefruit and put in the dangled amethyst earrings one of her ex-boyfriend’s had given her.
And now she decided she was definitely hysterical because she was standing in her dining room wondering if she should light candles and put on music. She didn’t exactly have to strike a mood, the seduction was a given.
Bran sauntered in, his tail twitching, then stopped and looked up at her.
Sibyl looked down at her pet and (undoubtedly hysterically) could have sworn her cat was watching her with grave judgement in his yellow feline eyes.
“What are you looking at?” she snapped.
Bran flicked his tail once then sat down and blinked his eyes.
“Yes, well, it’s only two months. That’s it. He’s young, all right looking…” Bran blinked again, this time in disbelief. “Okay, he’s quite good-looking. He also has all of his teeth and –”
A knock sounded at the door and Sibyl emitted a frightened, muted scream.
Then she whispered, “Oh my goddess.”
And the immediate feeling flooded through her that her whole life was going to change, not just the next two months. This thought bubbled up and nearly exploded into panic. Luckily, Sibyl had just enough strength left to tamp it down.
Bran got up and wisely ran up the stairs.
Mallory, on the other hand, was already up the stairs and after a clamorous descent, he skidded on his paws at the bottom to take the sharp turn towards the door. In the process, he slid across the braided rugs covering the wide-planked floors, bunching them in huge messes. She saw him stop (because he crashed into the door) and then he barked loudly over and over again.
She took a deep breath then exhaled and in doing so expelled some of her panic and walked forward.
You can do this, you can do this, you can do this, she repeated to herself over and over again, using her feet to right the rugs that Mallory had dishevelled.
“Mallory, out of the way. Go sit in the living room,” she commanded when she made it to the door (or nearly, as Mallory was in the way).
Mallory ignored her command and backed up enough for the door to be opened but his big dog body stayed where it was, his tongue lolling, his tail wagging fiercely.
Sibyl took another breath, thinking what a cruel world it was that her dog, who hated men since she got him as a puppy, absolutely adored Colin Morgan.
She threw back the bolt and opened the door.
Colin was standing on the threshold looking unfairly handsome wearing a dark suit and an electric blue shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck.
You cannot do this, you cannot do this, you cannot do this, her brain (or was it her conscience?) unbidden, repeated over and over again.
“Come in,” she invited, ignoring her brain, stepping wide and pleased her voice held no tremor.
Colin entered and Mallory went berserk, snuffling his hand (the way he normally only did to Sibyl’s), his whole body vibrating with glee.
Sibyl stared out the door and considered the very pleasant idea of running into the night (or simply begging him to leave and never return, unless it was to ask her out on a real date again after promising him she’d accept) but instead she shook off these happy notions, now completely lost to her, and closed the door behind her.