вЂњGREETINGS, LAYLA EL-FAOULY,вЂќ said the skull. Layla opened her eyes while grinding against Marc saw a floating bird skull grin over his shoulder and screamed in a very non-orgasmic way.

Still, she reflected, at least things couldnвЂ™t get any more awkward than this. She loved them both, but moving from a mind-set compatible with one to that appropriate for the other needed more work than she could manage in a couple of seconds on the way to climax. She loved the sweat on MarcвЂ™s mouth when they grappled she loved the Alexandrines that StevenвЂ™s lips whispered in her ear. In the course of sorting out that mess with Ammit, she had realized that she loved Steven, as well. Layla couldnвЂ™t deny that it was a problem. вЂњWell, if we all liked the same thing, thereвЂ™d be no point in those big cartons of Quality Street.вЂќДЄfter this, it kept happening. вЂњI put Marc into an arm bar before he pinned me.вЂќ вЂњLike I said,вЂќ Layla propped herself on her elbow, вЂњitвЂ™s fine.вЂќ This isnвЂ™t a case of tit for taвЂ¦вЂќ Steven tore his gaze away from LaylaвЂ™s still moderately heaving chest, and blushed, вЂњвЂ¦ of getting even.вЂќ Marc told me that he didnвЂ™t know why that happened. вЂњI didnвЂ™t do that to him and you just because he barged in on you and me. Layla wondered whether it was irrational to be less bothered that one of the two loves of her life intermittently mangled cars with his bare hands dressed like Psycho Colonel Sanders than that he was the sort of person who said вЂњarse-biscuitsвЂќ. Did I just butt in when you and Marc wereвЂ¦ erвЂ¦?вЂќ But Steven was much more familiar with the specific phenomenon of waking suddenly to the discovery that his other self had just put him in a position where he was warm and wet from someone else. Steven couldnвЂ™t compete with Marc when it came to range of life experience. Steven took the surprise with more equanimity than Marc. The second time, it happened the other way around. вЂњThen why would I beвЂ¦вЂќ He looked down at himself and crimsoned. Beyond the window, Montmartre continued its sardonic bustle. вЂњHuh?вЂќ Marc took in the rest of his surroundings: the bed, the lamp, the detritus of the room service, the spent bottle of Dom Perignon. вЂњWhy did Steven tag me in?вЂќ Marc looked down at Layla. Layla was reminded of how the sudden shadow of a sunset desert could etch grimness on a pharaohвЂ™s face. The soft lines of the museum shop-keeperвЂ™s face hardened with intent. Steven was holding his body poised above the recumbent Layla.

The first time it happened was the most disconcerting, largely because it was so unexpected.

The glimpses of the moon