A Nest of Nightmares

Outside, the darkness and heat disoriented Sheila, who remembered the cool, blue Los Angeles evening she had so recently left. She knew nothing about this place, she thought as Victoria steered the big car away from the lights and out into the unrelieved blackness of the vast country night. There was nothing on which she could focus but the stars winking in the distance, or the bright, white line down the centre of the highway.

‘Now tell us about your new book,’ said Grace from behind her. ‘Is it a sequel to Moonlight Under the Mountain? I loved that book so much!’

‘No, how could it be? Kayli escapes at the end – she’s found the secret of the grenofen and can travel. She’s free at last. How could there be a sequel?’

‘Well, she might have to go back. Maybe there could be a friend she wants to rescue. Or she could be kidnapped . . . most of the grenofen are still under the mountain.’

‘It would just be boring to send her back,’ said Sheila. ‘The new book will be something completely different.’

‘Grace writes too,’ said Victoria. ‘Maybe you would be kind enough, while you are visiting here, to read something of hers and critique it.’

Sheila stared into the blackness, wondering what sort of landscape the night concealed. Suddenly the headlights swept across a small herd of jackrabbits by the side of the road. One of them was sitting up on his haunches and gazing, with dazzled eyes, directly at her. A thrill of strangeness made her smile. Here was something to tell Damon!

‘Of course I will, if Grace wants me to. How about you Victoria – do you write, too?’

‘Oh, no. My talents lie in another direction,’ said Victoria primly. ‘In my own small way I am something of an artist. My interests are in painting, sketching, and in fashion and costume design. You’ll see my latest efforts at the convention.’

‘Wait’ll you see!’ cried Grace, bouncing hard on the back seat.

‘Sit still!’

Grace subsided as if bludgeoned. Sheila felt sorry for her, and yet contemptuous, for she invited such treatment by allowing it. As mile after dark mile passed and Sheila felt civilization – even if only represented by the Campbell County airport – growing more distant, she realised that she was even more dependent upon Victoria’s goodwill than Grace was. She could be trapped here in this strange desert, with no car, no money, no friends, no knowledge of her surroundings if Victoria decided Sheila wasn’t deserving of her attention. It was a crazy notion, sheer paranoia, and yet she knew nothing about these people. Why had they invited her? Why had she come?

Out of the darkness came the familiar, cheery glow of a Ramada Inn sign, and Sheila felt a rush of relief that made her smile. Whatever was out there in the darkness, whoever these two people were, she knew, now, where she was.

The clock above the registration desk showed nearly midnight, and Sheila yawned reflexively, reminding herself that it was an hour earlier in Los Angeles, and wondering what Damon was doing. Was he thinking of her?

Victoria’s melodramatic shriek sliced into her thoughts.

‘I did,’ said Grace in a high, terrified voice. ‘I did reserve a room, honestly I did!’

‘Yes, I know,’ said the desk clerk. ‘And I’m really sorry. But we couldn’t keep it for you. Our check-in time is seven p.m. It’s the same all over the country. You can request us to hold the room for as many hours after that as you like, but unless the request is made, after seven p.m. we assume the registered guest is a no-show, and we give the room to someone else. And all our rooms are taken tonight.’

‘But I didn’t know,’ Grace wailed. ‘It’s not my fault that I didn’t know.’

‘It is your fault,’ said Victoria in arctic tones. ‘I gave you the responsibility of reserving the room, and that includes finding out check-in times.’

Sheila had the feeling that they would go on arguing whose fault it was all night, and she would still be without a place to sleep. ‘Isn’t there some other hotel?’ she asked.

‘Are you kidding?’ said Victoria.

‘There’s one over by Taylor,’ said the desk clerk. ‘It’s a Holiday Inn, but I’d be happy to make a phone call to check if they’ve got a room for you.’

‘No,’ said Victoria sharply. ‘Taylor’s thirty miles from here. I’m not driving all that way there and back. You can stay with me tonight. Luckily, I have two beds in my room. I know it won’t be as nice for you, and I’m sorry about this. I apologize for Grace’s stupidity – shut up, Grace. You won’t mind sharing a room with me, will you?’

‘Well, I don’t think I really have a choice, do I?’ said Sheila. She knew she was being ungracious and forced herself to sound grateful. ‘It’s very nice of you to offer. Thank you.’

The town of Byzantium was four miles farther down the highway, and in the darkness Sheila received no clear impression of it. A yellow bug-light on the porch revealed Victoria’s house as an ordinary, one-story, white-painted frame house of the sort she’d often seen elsewhere. There was nothing special or unusual about it.