“Do you have any threes?” Maxwell asked, suppressing a yawn. He would much rather be watching Kate Beckinsale in the middle of an improbable war between vampires and Lycans, but Becky seemed to be enjoying herself.
“Go fish!” Becky said, giggling. “Sorry! I’d help you if I could.”
Maxwell managed to smile, taking a much-needed sip of whiskey.
“Um, do you have any jacks?” Becky asked, looking at him coyly from beneath her veil.
“Sure do,” Maxwell said, handing her two cards.
“Ooh, sorry!” Becky said. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise!”
“You don’t have to apologise,” Maxwell said. “That’s just how the game works.” Trying to be discrete, he looked up at the screen that showed that it was still nine hours before they landed in Sydney. Was time actually going backwards, he wondered? Had they entered some kind of black hole, and he would spend all of eternity playing Go Fish with Becky? That was definitely his idea of hell. While numerous and creative, his sins didn’t seem sufficient for that kind of torment.
“Are you bored?” Becky sat up straighter. Clearly, Maxwell hadn’t been as discrete as he had hoped. “I’m sure I could do something else to keep you busy if you are. Even if it wasn’t something strictly part of the Arcane Air Travel service.” Becky licked her lips and undid one of the buttons of her form-fitting black dress. “I’d do anything to make such a special customer happy.”
For a moment, Maxwell was tempted. He didn’t find Becky especially attractive, but it would pass the time. Still, he knew it would be a bad idea. He couldn’t blame her for trying, though. He was a handsome guy – no point pretending he didn’t know it.
“I’m plenty happy with my whiskey,” Maxwell looked away from where a red and lacy bra was peeking out from behind the black fabric. “I might try to get some rest. I’ve got a long drive when I get to Sydney.”
“Oh,” Becky was clearly disappointed. “Well, if you’re sure.” She was about to stand up, and Maxwell felt a tiny flicker of relief, but then— “You’re not staying in Sydney?”
“No,” Maxwell said, reluctantly accepting that he was going to get drawn into yet more small talk with Becky. “I’m actually going to a little town in the mountains.”
“Really?” Becky’s mouth was open in surprise. “I would have thought a guy like you would want to be somewhere with plenty of nightlife and fun.”
“Trust me, I like the nightlife,” Maxwell said. “But I need a break from all that.” He certainly wasn’t going to tell Becky he didn’t want to be drawn into any of his usual enjoyments until he had dealt with this irritating curse. “So Crowley Lake it is.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that place!” Becky’s eyes lit up. “My friend went backpacking in Australia, and she did this great hike there!” Becky fumbled in her pocket, and Maxwell hoped he wasn’t about to be shown pictures of some strange woman grinning on top of a mountain.
“Right,” Maxwell said, wishing that he really could turn into a bat, as pop culture would have people believe. Bats didn’t have to carry on with small talk. “Well, that’s where I’m going. I’ve got some friends there.” That was a complete lie. Maxwell didn’t know a soul – or otherwise – in Crowley Lake. But he did know that the small town had an unusually large paranormal population. He was guaranteed to find a steady supply of his preferred sustenance and someone who could help him with this curse business. Besides, Australia was about as far away as he could get from that goddamn witch unless Arcane Air Travel started doing flights to the International Space Station.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Becky nodded. “It’s good to have friends.”
And what was he supposed to say to that?
“Sure,” he said finally. It wasn’t like he disagreed. He had thoroughly enjoyed himself with his friends for decades. Maxwell just wished that they weren’t the sort of friends who dropped him at the first sign of trouble.
“I hear Crowley Lake’s a nice town, anyway. Lots of Art Deco architecture, with the arches and columns and—” He stopped because he could see that Becky’s eyes had glazed over at the word “architecture”. Clearly, that wasn’t of much interest to her.
But Maxwell had a soft spot for Art Deco, not least because he had been turned in the movement’s heyday. Maybe he was getting nostalgic now that he was in his third century on the planet.
“I should let you rest,” Becky said, standing up and nodding. If Maxwell had realised all he had to do to get rid of Becky was bring up architecture, he would have done it sooner. “Is there anything else I can get you, Mr Davidson?”
Maxwell didn’t bother correcting her this time. “No, thank you,” he said, reclining his seat and closing his eyes for good measure.
Eight and a half hours until they landed. It couldn’t come quickly enough.
While Maxwell’s nostalgia made him keen to see just what Crowley Lake had to offer, it did not extend to his choice of vehicle. Arcane Air Travel had offered him a range of vintage cars on his arrival; a navy Rolls Royce Dawn Drophead, a silver Aston Martin DB5, even a glossy black Jaguar E-Type.
But Maxwell had disappointed the salesman when he insisted that what he really wanted was a modern four-wheel drive with plenty of storage space.
And the bright red Range Rover that he was driving up the freeway towards the mountains certainly delivered. His carefully packed trunks took up the considerable boot space and all of the back seat. With Ella Fitzgerald crooning through the sound system, Maxwell supposed Australia wasn’t too bad, so far.
Even if people did drive on the wrong side of the road.
Still, he supposed he hadn’t met any actual Australians yet, just the discrete staff employed by Arcane Air Travel. He’d have to wait until he reached Crowley Lake for that.