“Do you like what you see?”
“I love it! I’m not supposed to admit that, am I?” She feigned an innocence long since lost.
“Something like this should have that effect on you.”
She could not resist reaching for the bowl. “Daisy Makeig-Jones?”
“Not this one, something else entirely.” He took the bowl, returning it to the plinth.
The bowl sparked with the gold light of a wing. Opulently painted foliage made her mouth water.
“Stop teasing and tell me all about it,” she flirted.
“Ah, but if I tell you -”
They both laughed.
“Go on,” she said.
“The bowl was created for a connoisseur. When the angels revolted the gates of heaven were closed,” he paused.
She could have sworn she saw one of the wings on the rim beat.
“Those in heaven remained angels, those in hell became demons. The angels in-between were trapped on earth and they became fairies. The scene is depicted here.”
“Too good for hell, too wicked for heaven,” she quipped.
They laughed.
“How much do you want for it?”
“What price are you willing to pay?”
“Name it,” she demanded, her patience all but gone.
He reached out and lifted a lock of her hair, “I never could resist temptation,” he sighed.
The wings on the bowl fanned.
She blinked at him from behind the glaze. “Let me out!” she shrieked.
He covered the bowl with a veil of black velvet and switched off the light.
First published in Bunbury Magazine: Issue 15.
Shirley-Anne Kennedy 