NINE TIME MACHINES: Do you want to undo your entire life on planet earth?

CHAPTER 67

I don't know whether it's because so much time has passed but his is an unexpected question.

"Yes," I say quickly. "So what did you want to show me that day?"

This sends him into salesman mode, ready to pour manna upon me from heaven. He dips into the infamous bag and pulls out a large bottle with some sort of liquid in it; then decides it is best to empty everything out on the chair.

"This is Oudh." He uncorks it and holds my wrist to give me a trial.

I draw back alarmed. He senses my shame yet releases the sample with a dropper cap anyway.

"You don't have to pretend with me, Mary. Around here we love our own skin."

Say something, Mary; anything to kick the awkwardness out of this moment.

"Smells good."

"Smells more than good," he corrects me. "Now you get to be more enchanting."

My face flushes. "What about the other stuff?"

The priest gives me a detailed explanation of each item like he expects I have money to buy something. I listen intently but offer no real responses, just nods and deep throated sounds that feign interest. All the while my eyes flit back and forth from his only window to the kitchen clock, hoping my body language won't sell me out. And it's almost as though his words freeze time. The one-sided conversation just goes on and on. Then he switches things up and starts talking about his goal to export a magic concoction from Leer Island, a cream that will make women think they found the fountain of youth. I almost laugh to his face then remember that it's still dark.

"Nobody believes in me right now," he says and swallows hard. "But I'll save enough money and show them. Good things can come out of this place too. Just you wait and see."

Well, at least he has a plan. He's not sitting around sulking at the world and simply waiting to die. This makes me want the sun to rise even quicker before he smothers me with his ambitions. Then it does and he slips a vial of his precious Oudh into my palm, and kisses it.

"Until we meet again."

"Right. Until then."

"Can I have a confirmation date on that?"

"Whenever you find me. You seem to be good at it."

"Promise me you won't run off again," he says, his tone growing more intense by the minute.

"I promise," I whisper and it proves to be the password. He unlocks the door and waves me outside. And why not make empty promises? He doesn't know I'll be dead in less than a week.