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I traced the rim of my Vesper martini with lacquered ruby nails, smirking as I watched my target prowl — he looked for something, someone. My employers wanted him marked, mapped, and gone before solstice. He seemed aloof, like the world was beneath him and he interacted with us only out of need.&nbsp; 	As he made his third circle of the Library, an off-campus bar, I caught his eyes with a salute of my glass. He altered course and ventured closer. I winked, leaned in to tell him a secret, “You won’t find Little Red Riding Hood in these parts.” 	He chuckled and bowed, tilting his head in recognition of a kindred spirit. “Touché.” 	“You are looking for someone, as well, n’est-ce pas?” 	I sipped my drink. “You have no idea, Mister —.” I let the pause hang like bait. 	“Please,” offering to take my hand, “You should call friends by their names. Je m’appelle Andre.” 	I smiled, bared my neck a little with a subtle swish of my long, raven hair. “Call me Csilla.” 	He kissed my fingers, “The taste of your skin — familiar. That is a rare thing.” His eyes lingered, not on the polish — the flesh beneath. 	I blinked, wordless. I let my eyes follow a passing waiter with feigned disinterest. 	He followed my gaze, appreciatively, "Csilla. I love how your name tastes. What is a beautiful thing like you doing at the Library, tonight, lesson plans, no?” 	“Je suis désolée, petite. I tease. How goes your studies? Your professor gives you too much to do.” 	Statement, not a question. I raised an eyebrow. That detail hadn’t made it into the dossier. 	“There’s a fair bit of work, true, but most of it, I enjoy. It is quieter here than at home.” I lied, shifting in my chair leaning forward, keeping my voice quiet. “The books are good company.” 	Truth. Classics and a plethora of leather-bound assorted titles lined the walls, creating the desired ambience. No one came here for the books. 	He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners and took a step closer in conspiracy. His streak of silver through dark hair caught my attention, like an exotic accent, but for my fingers. “The books, they speak”, he shrugged, and continued, “I have the happy luck to listen. I have a question for you, if I may.” 	I raised an eyebrow and took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the question. I nodded, waiting for what he might ask. My fingers played with a tress of my jet black hair; not breathing. 	“Mes amis”, he began. He leaned on my table sharing an intimate moment with me, “my friends and I have decided on a, how do you say? A contract for a meal? No. C’est le mauvais mot. A dinner party.” He shifted a bit, looking off across the bar, thinking. “Perhaps, you would care to join us for dinner. It will be a small gathering, nothing fancy.” 	I bit my lower lip, calculating. A small hitch in the plan. The friends would leave eventually. I smiled and, sounding just bored enough, asked the appropriate questions: “What’s the dress code, and when should I be ready?”&nbsp; 	He shook his head, frowning and thinking, “I have no idea. Soon. I am still waiting to hear from several of my friends.” He reached for my hand then, strength in his fingers, confident. “I’m sure they will savor you. Is that the word? Enjoy?” He licked his lips, just briefly — a gesture I might have called charming if it hadn’t chilled me a little.&nbsp; 	My pulse quickened as he stroked the inside of my wrist. His gentle gravelly voice, like smoky scotch soothed as he thought out loud, “Maybe you will want to wear something easy to remove, no?” 	Something simple for easier cleanup, I thought. 	I’m sure my heart skipped several beats while my imagination ran away with me, trying to imagine what he had in mind versus what I expected would happen over dinner, or after. I had no illusions; Andre had to be 10 or 15 years my senior. The file noted he liked them even younger. 	My mouth moved, no sound coming out. Andre saved me from the silence, his tone light and playful, “There is a jacuzzi, how you say — an hot tub? Oui. I think you might enjoy.” 	With that, I felt a bit more at ease, but wondered to myself whether a swimsuit was expected. I did a mental shrug and smiled. “Sure, I could be okay with relaxing in the hot tub.” 	“Bien,” and he smiled, those green eyes inviting me where words could not. I nodded and scribbled a number on the coaster. I handed it to him, fingers trembling. He took it, grinned again, winking. “I will let you know when. Do not forget.” 	Forget? As if I could. I cleared my throat, finishing the last of my martini. He raised his glass in salute, drank with me and left the way he had come; nonchalant and aloof. 	I reached for my phone and sent a quick text to my employers: HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER. JOB IS NEARLY DONE. &nbsp;	He disappeared and the weeks passed. I neither heard from the man, nor saw him in the Library. It’s possible he traveled or had out-of-town business.&nbsp; 	Friday afternoon, I lounged on the deck in the summer sun, my iced tea had gone warm from the heat. My smartphone chirped and I opened my eyes and checked the screen. Unknown Caller. I almost dismissed the call when I remembered Andre. I answered on the third ring, sounding harried. 	“Hello?” 	“Csilla, cher, you remember me, Andre?” 	“Yes, of course!” I let excitement show in my voice as I sat up, attentive. 	I continued, making idle noise while I moved inside to my laptop. “I haven’t seen you at the library for some time. I thought you had moved.” My fingers tapped out a quick message. HE’S BACK 	No reply. Typical. 	“Mes excuses. I have been away, helping someone.” I nodded while he spoke, listening to the rhythm of his voice, more than the words. Then, with a light touch: “You are free this evening, for dinner, yes?” 	Dinner? Tonight? The question hung heavy in my chest. My mind raced, calculating. 	“Csilla?” 	“Yes, I’m still here. Just multi-tasking and forgot to talk. I have nothing going on this evening. I would love to.” A blatant lie. 	“Bien! I will send a car around for you, say deux heures?” 	Two hours? Again, trying to plan wardrobe and tools for the evening’s work, another deceit. 	 “Sure. Umm, wait. I’m on campus still. I need to go home. Your car won’t find me here.” He hasn’t been stalking me? I chewed my lip, worried. 	“Qu’est-ce que je pensais? I am sorry, cher. I did not think. Where would you like me to send the car?” I could almost see him bowing, begging forgiveness. 	 I gave him my address as I unlocked the safe in the walk-in closet and chose my working jewelery. I polished the pair of silver chopsticks for my hair and picked out a matching silver ring for each hand. 	Andre’s place turned out to be a spacious loft, overlooking the bay, wall-sized plate glass windows, soft music; instrumental and relaxing, not the Barry White I had imagined in the shower. The lights were low, not quite candlelight, but creating an intimate ambience all the same. Andre looked like an elegant devil in a black ensemble with burgundy undertones, his Nehru jacket fastened with a rakish diagonal of silver buttons. I felt under-dressed in my avocado sarong, a simple black bikini underneath. I patted myself on the back, mentally, silver accents had been a good choice. 	He sighed, something smoldering in his eyes. “Incroyablement délicieux!” 	For a short moment, my knees trembled, caught between his accent and tone. I curtsied, thankful for the ballet as a child. A waiter passed near and Andre plucked two flutes of champagne, passing one to me. “Très magnifique!” 	I sipped the champagne, taking a deep breath and willing myself to be more composed. I smiled and raised an eyebrow, “You know I don’t speak a word of French, yes?” 	“Convenu, I have moments when the English word escapes me. This is one such. Come, join us. You are going to be … mmm.” And for a moment my eyes glazed, and my knees almost gave out. 	Careful! I warned myself. 	He continued talking, quiet and close, as he led me about on his arm, introducing me to his friends, the names escaped me almost as soon as I heard them. They moved like wolves in silk. 	“She looks so tender,” someone mentioned as we mingled. 	We passed near the balcony and Andre directed me to the jacuzzi. I blushed, the champagne taking effect as he motioned me to settle in and relax. I slipped through the glass doors and into the pool, trying to remain demure. 	I glanced back over my shoulder at Andre. I hoped he might join me once his duties as host allowed a bit of respite. 	Patience 	He smiled, a flash of white as he raised his glass to me before turning away to talk to one of his guests. I pulled the knot loose behind my neck and folded my sarong, neat and tidy, before sinking into the steaming water. Scents of lavender and geranium wafted around me. I sipped more champagne and luxuriated in the jets, the bubbles. For a while I floated, eyes closed, listening to the muted music inside, the hum of the tub. The traffic many floors below felt like a universe away. A quiet movement near my shoulder pulled me out of my reverie. A small platter of yogurt, fresh vegetables and fresh sliced fruit had been brought along with more champagne. I purred to myself, feeling spoiled and decadent as I sampled the snacks. 	I wondered when the others planned on joining me as I turned to watch the party inside. Andre noticed me and slid the paneled glass aside, and came to chat. He settled in the wicker chair and played with my sarong. His smile and crinkles made me feel warmer and exposed. I’m sure I blushed while trying to hide behind my glass of champagne. 	“Csilla, ma petite. You look so relaxed, ravishing. I have not forgotten about you. You are comfortable?” 	He reached and played with a strand of hair, tucking it behind my ear. I leaned into his touch and sighed. 	“I feel wonderful, Andre, thank you!” 	Absolute truth. I played with a strawberry and pushed it into his mouth, watching his lips move. 	I continued, “I feel lonely out here. Won’t you join me?” 	“Soon, cher. You are missing nothing at all. We talk of —.” 	He paused a second, feeding me a luscious green grape smothered in yogurt, “Inconsequentials; contracts, affairs of state, land titles. These things will bore you.” 	I tried to argue, but I didn’t have the energy or inclination. Instead, I asked, “How long until dinner?” 	Andre took my free hand and massaged it, his green eyes studying my reaction. I winced for a moment and trembled with anticipation only half listening when he answered. “I feel dinner is almost ready. You will have a place of honour, yes.” 	I smiled, imagining his hands, his mouth. I could be his dessert. Or the main course. 	Then, I remembered my rings, the chopsticks. Just desserts. 	He kissed my fingers and stood. “I will return.” 	I closed my eyes and drifted, feeling fuzzy and desired. That hunger — not longing.&nbsp;Appetite! I leaned back in the water and dreamed of Andre when his guests eventually left. In my mind I unbuttoned his shirt and ran my fingers along his chest. 	Something’s wrong. 	The water pressed in heavy — like velvet. I opened my eyes, the tub gone. The sky with its stars had been replaced with a chandelier, too close. I had laid down at some point. No water. No towel. 	Andre spoke, conversational and relaxed, a lecture, but more like a friendly discussion. I felt a bit blurred as I listened, disoriented but comfortable. “Vous savez –” he addressed the assembled friends at the dining table. “You know that we give ourselves away by the way we eat, yes? The way you cut your meat reflects … quels sont les mots ... the way you live.”&nbsp;	“For instance,” he indicated someone out of my vision, “Bjorn, here, likes to ravenously devour his food, a viking through and through. He ignores the petty things like utensils. If you ask, he will tell you about the wild days when no one needed such things. While he spoke, I felt a tug on my ankle, and the dullest sensation of something on my calf. 	From my vantage, Andre loomed above, looking down at me, smiling, sipping more champagne. “Louisa, your preferred cut?” 	The woman with the deep purple hair I remembered meeting earlier answered by caressing my ribs. I heard Andre again, “Oui, not as much to chew on as one might think, non?” She pulled. A dull ache bloomed in my side — not sharp enough to scream — yet. “She speaks only a little. She likes to appreciate meat in silence, sucking it from the bones like … watch, you will see.” To my eyes it looked like she was nibbling and sucking marrow from a long rib. I tried to shake the fuzziness from my head. My mouth worked, I could feel it, but no sound came. I raised my head but my vantage never changed. For a moment, I wondered why I was staring at the chandelier — why it was beneath me.&nbsp; 	Andre glanced to his left a moment before a cacophonous rumble destroyed the peace of the table. “Maru, here, likes to wreak his way through his meal, he has no patience for subtle or gentle. Careful, and quiet, please?” My elbow felt like someone struck it, a shearing buzz, and I caught a spray of red across the lowest part of my peripheral. What the hell, that hurt! “Pour moi,” Andre caught my eye before bending near and kissing me gently, “I think all should be consumed like a lover, savoring in small bites those magnificent morsels made for us. Silver glinted above my brow — Andre leaning closer, his eyes hungry. 	He parted my skin with tender efficiency as if I were a delicacy. He stared, licking his lips as he cut with a surgeon’s skill along the curve of my breast. With delicate precision he used my silver chopsticks as if he were enjoying a bit of sushi. 	No. My contract—oh God. Scream, you idiot. Scream!&nbsp; 	“We are all of us happy you came for dinner. Merci.” 	While I stared, unbelieving, my brain cleared enough for things to register. Naked, barely able to move, registering glances and gestures from the others. The angle skewed. I opened my mouth to scream — or speak — but only silence answered.&nbsp;My arms and legs felt like lead, but worse, I could sense, gaping parts where someone had feasted. 	“Friends. Mes chers amis. I give you — Csilla.” 	They raised their glasses. 	“Salut.” 	Andre smiled, eyes gleaming. 	“Bon Appetit!”

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Appetites

EronKaye

eron kaye

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