a woman in stocks. Her head and hands were enclosed in wooden yokes that were secured to low posts, forcing her to bend at the waist. A man stood just behind her, and—
Tess ventured closer. Was she naked? At first, Tess thought they were statues. Neither seemed to be moving, but then she caught the rhythmic motion of the man’s hips, and the look of utter ecstasy on the woman’s face.
Tess jumped back. They were both naked, and he was either having carnal knowledge of her from behind, or doing a very good job of simulating it.
Was that legal in the state of New York? Tess didn’t look at Danny. She must be as red as the glow from the spotlight.
Another scene lit up the path to their right. Tess could see a man kneeling in a pool of soft fuchsia light. He was holding on to the thong of a bullwhip, the end of which was wrapped around his neck. He wore a tattered T-shirt and jeans, but the woman who wielded the whip was nude, except for her tightly laced stiletto boots and the snake bracelets coiling up her arms. Clearly, she was the dominant of the two, a fuchsia goddess as she gripped the whip handle in one hand and a branding iron in the other.
“This is all playacting, right?” Tess resisted the tug of Danny’s hand. “Tell me it is, or I’m leaving.”
“Sure, play-acting.”
Tess allowed herself to be nudged along, until a howl of anguish brought her to a dead stop. Not the branded love slave. It hadn’t come from his direction, but it was nearby. “What was that?”
“A sound track, obviously. It’s all playacting.”
“Thanks.” It was a sad state of affairs when a smart-ass like Danny Gabriel was your only ally in a hellhole like this. Tess had no desire to see what came next, but the path kept lighting up as they walked, and it was nearly impossible not to look. To their left, a sinuous female creature in black body paint writhed over the supine body of a naked man, who, except for the twitching, looked nearly comatose. And deliriously happy. Maybe he was the one who’d howled.
“She’s a succubus,” Danny explained.
“And a succubus is…?”
“A nasty little she-devil who preys on sleeping males, drains all their precious vital fluids and leaves them for dead.”
“Maybe I could help her pick her next victim.” Tess locked her gaze on the path ahead and kept it there. These places were not designed for women who’d sworn off sex, especially if they were in the throes of PMS, which for Tess was the hormonal equivalent of a Siamese cat in heat. Possibly she should have wrestled the whip from the fuchsia goddess and laid claim to the love slave, although the comatose guy was probably more her speed.
More spotlights came on, creating a vibrant rainbow in the red-to-purple spectrum. Since Tess was reluctant to look, Danny was kind enough to describe the new scenes, one being a contortionist who could pleasure herself while doing back bends, the other a female magician who was making the clothing disappear, one piece at a time, of a restrained man whom Danny referred to as unnaturally well endowed.
It was too dark to check her watch, but Tess was certain her fifteen minutes must be up. “Well, it’s been fun,” she said, “but I have to be going.”
“Not quite yet.” With a flick of his wrist, Danny drew her in front of him, as if he were partnering her in a dance move.
“Is this where I get sold into white slavery?” she joked nervously.
Before he could answer, another spotlight came on. It threw an eerie blue glow directly in front of them. Tess watched it cover her feet like a poisonous mist and creep up her legs. Her denim jeans seemed to absorb the color, but it was turning her oatmeal turtleneck a ghastly shade of red. Bloodred.
Danny had a death grip on her arms. She wasn’t going anywhere.
“Heads up,” he whispered. “It’s our host, the Marquis.”
Silhouetted in blue, the Marquis was a towering figure. But as he stepped forward, Tess realized that he wasn’t the personification of evil she expected. He was tall and lean enough to be wraithlike, but with his classically sculpted face and slicked-back hair he could have been any haughty maître d’ in a tux at a fancy restaurant. Maybe she should have been relieved.
“Welcome,” he said in a hypnotic voice that barely rose above a whisper. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Ignoring Danny, the Marquis approached Tess with studied elegance, took her hand and kissed it. His lips were warm, human. That was a relief. She wasn’t dealing with the living dead, at least not yet. Something rough scratched the inside of her palm, and she felt a mild stinging sensation, but she didn’t pull away. That would have been rude, wouldn’t it? Who knew about the rules of etiquette in an S&M club?
As he released her hand, the walls opened up behind him, revealing a dark fairy-tale world of red velvet draperies and sparkling crystal chandeliers. He beckoned for Tess and Danny to follow him, and Tess did so automatically, feeling almost as if a spell had been cast over her. She was barely aware of the small voice in her head suggesting that she should have known better than to do it again—pass through doors that magically opened.
They stepped into a hall that could have been a lavish period movie set. It resembled the lobby of a Victorian opera house, but done on a very grand scale. Ebony and gold carpeting covered the floor and staircases. Crushed-velvet drapes the color of garnets set off antique chaises and settees, and richly woven wall hangings added to the opulence.
If it was a movie, it was The Age of Innocence, Edith Wharton’s turn-of-the-century novel about social mores. But far from innocent, Tess realized as she got a closer look at the wall hangings. Garden of Eden-like scenes were laced with furtive couplings and erotic dalliances of all kinds. Men, women, and fairy-tale beasts copulated with abandon and in all manner of combinations.
Tess glanced overhead and saw that the vaulted ceilings were painted with landscapes, mostly forests and glens teaming with magical animals, horned satyrs and swooning virgins. Women being carried off by Minotaurs was a popular theme, but there were plenty of helpless men getting roughed up by lustful nymphs, and even a princess being ravished by a god in the form of a black swan.
Several dramatic chords of music sounded, and the chandeliers dimmed. Tess turned to find out what was going on—and got the shock of her life. The Marquis had transformed in the seconds she’d turned away. His hair was now long and silvery-white. His eyes were yellow with black slits—serpent’s eyes—and the hiss in his throat was a death rattle.
Tess jumped back, bewildered. Was this some kind of joke? The sounds of high-pitched chatter assailed her. Suddenly the empty hall was filled with laughing, costumed people in various states of undress. A lion on a leash was actually a man on all fours, his handler a young woman in snakeskin with a riding crop between her teeth. A magnificently muscled black man in a turban and a diaper-like garment nuzzled with a cobra that was wound around his neck like lethal jewelry.
Where was Danny? Tess spun around, frantically searching the room, only to discover that now the Marquis was gone, too. She found herself in the direct path of a knot of men and women wearing the garish paint and powder of the French court. The men’s tight breeches cupped obscene bulges, and the women’s empire gowns were cut to expose their jiggling, rosy-tipped breasts.
As they neared Tess, one of the women drew a long, hot-pink feather from
