Dinah's Night

The Suite looked the same, but Andy felt the difference immediately: the edge was off, the lines slightly blurred, like a memory replayed with one too many layers of nostalgia. He closed the elevator door behind him and just stood there for a moment, not moving. There was something about the hush—the way it held itself, expectant but not quite comfortable—that made the Suite feel as empty as a soundstage after the lights go out.

He made himself move. The clock read 7:38, the seconds blinking, smug. The air was faintly chilled, the usual scent of lemon and powder replaced by a clean, unbranded nothing, as if the place was holding its breath. Andy walked into the lounge area and dropped onto the couch, his body going boneless all at once.

He was past expecting answers; all he wanted, suddenly, was for someone else to be in the room. He sat, watching the little run of dustless light slide across the floor, and tried to empty his mind.

The elevator pinged—soft, not the usual self-important chime. Andy flinched, then **** himself to relax. He waited for Arabella to step out in full pageant: evening dress, diamonds, maybe an orchid in her hair. He braced for that brittle, game-show voice.

Instead, she appeared in slacks and a dark green turtleneck, her feet bare, a half-empty bottle of rum and two glasses balanced in one hand. She wore no makeup, her hair a tangled red spill down her back, and the only thing Host-like about her was the directness of her gaze.

"Thought I'd find you here," she said, voice neutral. She walked straight to the bar, set the bottle down, and started hunting for ice.

Andy blinked twice, his brain struggling to reconcile this version of Arabella with the one he'd grown accustomed to. "This is the third time I see you without the cocktail dress and heels before," he said. "And I still almost didn't recognize you."

Arabella's eyes glittered as she turned to him, the corner of her mouth lifting. "The pageantry is for the cameras, for the contestants. If you meant what you said at the beach party about us being friends…" She let the thought hang as she opened the freezer. "Friends don't need to impress each other." Arabella shrugged with a smile. "Besides, I thought you could use a drink." She extracted a tray and knocked three perfect cubes into a pair of lowballs.

She poured the rum in silence, then handed him a glass. Their fingers touched, a static snap in the cold air.

Andy drank first, too fast, and grimaced as the **** burned down. Arabella watched him, her lips twitching. “You really don’t like rum, do you?”

He coughed. “Not since college.”

“Then why do you always drink what I offer?” she asked, with a trace of challenge.

Andy considered it. “Habit,” he said. “Or maybe I just want to be polite.”

She smiled, this time for real, and took the chair across from him. “So. Are you ready for tonight?”

“Not even a little.”

She sipped, her posture a little more relaxed than usual. “It’s not as strange as it sounds,” she said. “You’ll have three guests, three conversations. Each one is real, each one is isolated. At the end of each night, you’ll wake up and have the next one. No cross-talk, no weird time dilation. Just you and them.”

“Like three consecutive date nights, without the days in between,” Andy said, the phrase falling flat even as he said it.

Arabella’s eyes flicked up. “Not quite. They’re not date nights unless you want them to be. You can spend the evening however you like. No obligation.” She held his gaze. “I want you to know what you’re choosing, Andy. If you bring one of them up, you’re responsible. It’s permanent, even after the game ends.”

He nodded, letting the words settle. “Like a new bond, then. Like the others.”

She sipped, not looking away. “Worse, in a way. They don’t just become yours. They lose their own exit. If you change your mind later, they don’t go home. They stay with you, or they go back to the Garden. No third option.”

Andy blinked, the ethical edge of it cutting deeper than he’d expected. “Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

Arabella's laugh was low, a rumble. "No. I just want you to be sure. Most Masters would have signed the paperwork and started the orgy by now. But you… you think too much. It's a good thing, even if it's a rare thing."

He toyed with the glass, thumb circling the rim. "This feels like another test."

"It is." Arabella's eyes met his, unblinking. "Everything is."

"You told me that before. That everyone gets tested, not just the contestants."

"And you remembered." She nodded, something like pride flickering across her face. "The difference is, you're aware of yours. Most people sleepwalk through their tests, then wonder why they failed."

"What happens if I don't choose any of them?"

"They stay where they are. No harm, no foul. You go back to your harem, the game goes on." Arabella took another slow sip, her hands steady. "They all volunteered, Andy. They want a chance. I wouldn't have even asked if I didn't believe it was what's best for at least one of them."

He looked up. “Did you tell them what it meant?”

A smile, thinner now. “They know. They’re adults, even if the world stopped treating them like it.”

He nodded, suddenly and fiercely grateful that Sam or Marissa wasn’t here to see how hard he was fighting not to fidget. “You said there’s no obligation,” he said. “But it kind of feels like there is.”

Arabella’s lips pursed, thoughtful. “That’s because you’re not like the others. Most of them pick the girl who looks the most fuckable and go from there. You… you want to save them. That’s what makes this hard.” She set her glass down, the clink barely audible. “It’s okay to want to save them. But you can’t save everyone.”

Andy found himself wanting to argue. “I just want to do the right thing.”

She gave him a look that was more teacher than Host. “There is no right thing. Only the best you can do.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own maze of possibilities. Andy drank again, slower this time, and let the warmth spread.

Arabella broke the stillness. “You can have as long as you need with each,” she said. “You don’t have to sleep with them. In fact, I’d recommend against it—first nights are always awkward.” She grinned, a flicker of the old Host. “But if you do, no one’s judging.”

He laughed, soft. “You’re judging, but thank you for pretending not to.”

She didn’t deny it. “I’m just proud of you, Andy. I’ve seen a lot of Masters—too many, probably. But you’re different. Even after everything so far, you haven’t lost yourself.” She hesitated. “In many ways, when the harem is fractious, it helps the Master not lose himself. A harem that comes together early becomes almost an… invitation to excess. Those few harems that bonded early became playthings for Masters who lost perspective, and saw only what they stood to gain. But you… your harem is as close to each other, with an exception, as most harems are towards the end of the show. And yet, you do not take advantage of it.”

He looked at her, searching for the angle. “Is this your way of saying you want me to choose?”

Arabella held his gaze, the mask slipping just a little. “No. I want you to be happy. And I want you to do what you think is right.”

Andy sat back, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled. "I just hope I can get some sleep between these nights."

"You will," Arabella assured him, her voice softening. "The transitions are seamless. You'll rest."

"Good." He traced the rim of his glass with his thumb. "I'll need it. Haven't had a full night since Riley showed up." The admission hung in the air between them, heavier than he'd intended.

Arabella’s eyes sharpened. “Nightmares?”

He nodded, embarrassed. "Same ones as before. About Laura, and the day she died." He rubbed his eyes. "Even sleeping on Erin's chest doesn't help. Her transformation should be making this easier—that's what it's for, right? Easing troubled hearts? But the nightmares just… push through it somehow."

Arabella leaned forward, her brow furrowing. "That's not normal. Her ability should at least dull the edges." She tapped her fingers against her glass. "Do you want help? I can give you something—magical, or chemical, whatever works. I don't want you to suffer if you don't have to."

He smiled, grateful but unwilling. "No, thank you. I think I have to see it through. Even if it sucks."

"If they don't stop on their own, tell me," she said, her voice softer than usual. "There's one thing I could do—as a last resort. It's not something I offer lightly."

Andy met her eyes, surprised by the sincerity there. "I will. Thank you."

Arabella considered him, then nodded, respect written plainly on her face. "You're stubborn. I like that."

He set his glass down, thinking. “Can I ask you something? Why did you bring Riley into the contest?”

Arabella didn’t answer right away. She stared into her drink, rolling the glass between her palms. “Because she deserves it. And because I think she’s more than her anger.” She looked up. “You see that, don’t you?”

Andy nodded, his own feelings a confused knot. “She’s hurting. It’s all she knows.”

Arabella’s expression softened. “Yes. But you’re the only one who can get her to see past it. Or at least, understand it. That’s why I brought her in.”

He watched her for a long time. “Is her husband dead?” The question came out colder than he meant it, but Arabella didn’t flinch.

“It’s not my story to tell, Andy.” She tipped the glass, the ice clicking softly. “You’ll have to ask her yourself.”

Andy laughed, dry. “You really are a Host, aren’t you? Always a twist.”

Arabella grinned, just a little. “I never said I wasn’t.”

He looked at the clock. “Who’s first?”

“Dinah,” she said, and for a second, the old pain flickered in her eyes. “She’s nervous, but she won’t show it. You two have a lot in common, even if it doesn’t look that way.”

He nodded. “Do I have to dress up, or…”

Arabella waved it off. “She hates that stuff. Be yourself.”

He ran a hand through his hair, then stood. “Thank you, Arabella. For being honest.”

She looked at him, and this time there was no mask at all. “Isn’t that what friends do? Thank you for listening,” she said. She rose, stretched, and padded barefoot to the elevator.

“Good luck, Andy. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The elevator hissed shut behind her, and the Suite was empty again.

He poured another drink and waited for the next chapter to begin.

He had just enough time to freshen his drink and change into a clean shirt before the elevator pinged again, louder this time, as if the whole Suite had drawn in a breath. Andy was standing by the bar when Dinah stepped out.

She looked exactly as she had in the Hollow Garden: 5'7", angular and lean, her lynx ears perked up and forward, the bob of brown hair barely moving as she scanned the room. The doctor’s coat was gone, replaced by a cashmere cardigan and tidy gray slacks. He could see her six breasts protruding through the cardigan - the original, larger ones, and the four smaller ones from her transformation. In her arms, she carried a little satchel and a pair of blue suede house slippers.

“Evening,” she said, voice all brisk confidence. “I come bearing no gifts, but I do have a one-point-two liter bladder and a lot of questions.” She grinned, showing just enough fang to be cute but not alarming. “Am I late for rounds?”

Andy set his glass down, smile growing. “Right on time. Welcome to the Suite.”

She eyed the drink. “You’re already started. Should I catch up?”

He shrugged. “Arabella insisted. House policy, apparently.”

Dinah padded in, eyes darting from window to ceiling, studying the room with the clinical focus of someone who’d grown up in white corridors. She crossed to the bar, shrugged off her shoes, and accepted the offered drink. Her tail flicked once as she climbed onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her with effortless feline grace.

“Wow,” she said, surveying the room, “so this is where the magic happens. I always thought it would smell more like musk and desperation. Not at all like Harper’s digs.” She leaned in, mock-conspiratorial. “Is it as awkward as everyone says?”

Andy laughed, the tension in his chest loosening a little. “Depends on the night,” he said. “Mostly it smells like coffee and fresh laundry.”

Dinah raised her glass, sipped, and nodded approval. “That’s not bad,” she said. Then: “You look less haunted than I remember from either the beach or the Garden. Is this one of those Host tricks, or are you just good at compartmentalizing?”

He glanced at his hands, then looked up. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

She took him in, ears flicking, green eyes sharp. “You want the truth?” she asked, all at once.

Andy nodded. “Always.”

She sat up straighter. “It’s weird being here. Not scary, not painful, but weird. I haven’t been in the Master’s Suite since the clusterfuck. And I haven’t been in a room with a man in…” She paused, calculating. “Over a year, from my frame of reference, since…” She bit her lip, then added, “You’re less messed up than he was.”

Andy managed a smile. “That’s a first.”

Dinah snorted, her whole face softening. “No, really. You’re… gentle. In a way that’s almost disconcerting.” She sipped again, then glanced around the Suite. “So. Do you want me to do the whole interview thing, or are we just vibing until the cameras turn off?”

Andy considered it. “Let’s just talk. We can figure out the script later.”

She leaned back, hands behind her head, the purr in her voice now unmistakable. “Great. Because I’m not sure how I’d explain this on a survey.” She looked at him, head tilted. “How are you, Andy? No, really. Not the version you give the harem, or the one you give Arabella. The one you give yourself.”

He found himself hesitating. “I don’t know,” he said, and it was the truth. “I feel like I’m supposed to be saving everyone, but I’m barely keeping my head above water. The days blur together. The only thing that makes sense is trying to do right by them.” He paused, then added, “And by you three, I guess.”

Dinah nodded, accepting this with a calm Andy found both reassuring and slightly unnerving. “It’s a shit job, isn’t it? Being the one everyone expects to have answers.” She glanced out at the volcano, its dark outline visible through the glass. “I used to think I’d be able to keep my head above water, when I was in the harem. I thought I could help the others, too. They called me the ‘team mom’. I wanted to make it better for the next round. But the system eats you alive, and if you’re lucky, you crawl out with something left over.” She set her drink down, her hands folding into each other. “Arabella says you have a choice to make.”

Dinah sat with her ankles crossed, the slippers barely clinging to her toes, and surveyed the Suite like an epidemiologist assessing an outbreak. The effect was less “first date” and more “dorm counselor at midnight,” and Andy found himself relaxing almost instantly.

He let out a breath. “Yeah. I guess she told you?”

“She told all of us,” Dinah said, one ear flicking. “You think I’d show up here without doing my homework?” She set the glass down and folded her hands in her lap, the gesture precise, almost prim. “You want to talk about it?”

He wasn’t sure if it was a question or an order. Either way, he said, “Please.”

Dinah smiled, a flash of fang, but with no threat behind it. “So. You get one of us. Three options, one slot. It’s like picking the last team captain in dodgeball, except this time nobody’s going to get pegged in the face.”

He snorted. “That’s one way to look at it.”

Her eyes narrowed, amused. “You thought I’d be offended?”

“No,” he admitted, “but I’m not used to people being this… direct.”

Dinah shrugged. “You should have met my mother. She made me look like a nun.” She stretched, her arms behind her head, and the movement made her look even more at home. “So. Which one of us are you leaning toward?”

Andy stared at the glass. “I don’t know. I just met Emily and Eden for the first time tonight. I like both of them, but I don’t know what’s right.” He hesitated. “And you—”

“—are a wild card,” Dinah finished for him. “That’s fair.”

He felt himself flush. “It’s just… you seem happy down there. In the Garden. Like you found your place.”

She looked at him for a long, searching moment, then said, “You want to hear a theory?”

“Sure.”

“I think the best thing you could do,” Dinah said, “is not pick at all. But you won’t do that, because you’re built for responsibility. You’d feel guilty forever if you left one of us in the basement.” She studied him. “I can see it in your eyes. You want to save us, even if it means making yourself miserable in the process.”

Andy tried to protest, but she held up a finger.

“But you’re also not a monster,” she went on, her voice softening. “So you’re going to pick the one you think can handle it best. Or the one you think needs you most. Am I wrong?”

He shook his head. “No. You’re not.”

Dinah nodded, satisfied. “So. Here’s my advice. Don’t pick for guilt. Pick for survival.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What do you mean?”

Dinah’s expression grew serious. “Most of the time, the harem eats itself. I’ve seen the old seasons. Even the best Masters often end up surrounded by people who hate each other, or hate themselves, or both. And even if they don’t, the Master changes, corrupted by power. Or the Host drives a wedge among the contestants, for drama and ratings. It’s rare to see a harem coalescing around the Master seamlessly. You… you have a shot at something different. You could have a real family. Maybe not a perfect one, but better than any I’ve seen. Less sex-crazed orgy group, more supportive web of affections.” She smiled, a little wistful. “You’re not here to collect women. You’re here to build something. That’s a rare gift, Andy. Don’t fuck it up.”

He laughed, the tension draining. “No pressure.”

“None at all,” Dinah agreed, but her mouth twisted in a way that suggested she didn’t much believe in a universe free of pressure or cost. She reached for her glass, then paused, her ears flattening to half-mast, as if bracing for a blow from an unseen quarter. “So. Want to ask the question?”

Andy almost choked on his own prepared script. He’d thought he was supposed to be the one in control here—the Master, after all, even if he had no stomach for the title—but Dinah’s presence had a way of flipping the world sideways. In another life, he supposed, she could have run a hospital, or a submarine, or maybe a small nation. He realized, belatedly, that she was waiting for him to speak.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate. “Okay. Here’s what I need to know: why did you want to come up? If you’re happy down there, in the Garden, what’s the point in risking all this?” He gestured at the glass, the view, the entire suffocating splendor of the Suite.

Dinah pursed her lips, her face suddenly unreadable. "I didn't want to come up here," she said, flat and simple. "I like my job. I like my people—a lot more than I thought I would, actually. I even like the Mildreds, or Mildred, or… whatever it is." She took a slow sip, ice clinking against glass. "But I needed to see for myself what was happening up here. The girls who come down… they bring stories. Fragments. And I have lived through a shitty season, but believe it or not, it isn’t even the worst one out there. I can't help them if I don't understand what they've been through." Her fingers tightened around the glass. "And I need to know if you're worth it."

The weight of that hung between them for several heartbeats, as heavy as the night air just before a storm. Andy swallowed, then said, "Worth what?"

Dinah's laugh was brittle but not bitter. "Worth believing in. Worth fighting for. And worth the sacrifice, for Eden or Emily." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her hands wrapped around the glass. "But I have one rule. I'm not going to be anybody's experiment again. Not Harper's, not the Host's, not yours, not anybody's. I'm here to observe, not to stay."

He nodded, the words settling over him like a weighted blanket. “I wouldn’t ask you to be,” he said, and meant it.

Dinah’s smile was brief, a glint of white fang and then gone. “Good. That’s the only reason I let myself up here. I figured you’d get it, more than the rest.”

“Why?”

She snorted, setting the glass down. “Because you’re scared shitless, same as me. You hide it better, but it’s there.” She tapped the side of her head. “They call it trauma bonding. Welcome to the club.”

He wanted to say something clever, but all he could manage was, “Does the club have a newsletter?”

“We’re working on it,” Dinah deadpanned, and for a moment the air lightened.

She relaxed again, the tension in her shoulders melting. “Now. Tell me about your harem,” Dinah said, voice resuming its brisk, practical cadence.

He blinked. “That’s… a big question. What do you want to know?”

She grinned, a little sharper this time. “The real story. Not the TV version. Are they happy? Are they good to each other? Or is it all for the cameras?”

He took a slow drink, giving himself time to think it through. There was a temptation to default to the surface answers: They try their best. It’s more challenging than it looks. Some days are better than others. But Dinah’s gaze was too direct for that, so he tried to answer the way he would if he was being honest with himself, not just with her.

“They’re… loyal,” he said, at last. “Not just to me, actually. To each other. They defend each other as much as they defend me. Even the ones who fight, or wind up on opposite sides. They’re all trying to protect someone.” He looked down at the glass, swirling the last of its contents. “They want it to be real.”

Dinah's grin faded, replaced by a softer look. "That's all you can really hope for in a place like this," she said quietly. "You ever been in love, Andy?"

The question landed with the **** of a thrown brick. His throat tightened as Laura's face flickered in his mind—thirteen forever, laughing by the river before everything went wrong. He glanced down at his hands.

"Every day," he said finally. "With all of them. Even though it’s insane, it’s selfish, and I shouldn't." He looked up, meeting Dinah's eyes. "But the first one… she's still the ghost I measure everyone against."

Dinah nodded, not rushing him, just letting the silence do its work. Then she said, "It's hard, isn't it? Carrying that much for so many people at once?"

He nodded, surprised at how much it hurt, even now.

She glanced out at the window, where the volcano’s outline glowed dully against the sky. “You know why I like the Garden?” she asked, voice soft and far away. “It’s the only place I’ve ever lived where nobody expects you to be normal. Everyone’s weird, fucked up, or both. Nobody pretends it isn’t hard.” She turned back to him. “But up here? You have to keep the illusion going. You have to play the role, every minute of the day. That’s why the girls go crazy. It’s not the transformations or the rules or the Host. It’s the expectation that they’re supposed to be happy all the time, even when everything inside them is screaming.” She paused. “You want my professional opinion?” Dinah asked, and this time there was a warmth in her voice that made the question feel like an inside joke.

He managed a smile. “Lay it on me, Doc.”

Dinah scooted a little closer, careful not to crowd him, but near enough that he could smell the faint, clean scent of her shampoo. “You’re not broken,” she said, her tone shifting to something almost maternal. “You’re just wired to help. That’s not a flaw, unless you use it as an excuse to hurt yourself.” She waited for it to land, then continued. “People like us, we like to think we can absorb other people’s pain. Maybe even neutralize it. But pain doesn’t work that way. It just moves around until you forget whose it is.”

He let out a laugh, shaky but genuine. “I think I knew that, but it helps to hear it.”

Dinah nodded, then settled back, tucking her tail around her ankles. “Tell me about Sam,” she said, out of nowhere.

Andy blinked. “What?”

“Sam,” Dinah said, eyes bright. “The blue-haired one. I saw her on the screens. She’s a lesbian, right?”

He laughed, surprised. “Yeah. Why?”

Dinah shrugged. “She just seems cool. I could see us getting along.”

He watched her, a slow realization dawning. “You’re… you’re gay?”

Dinah rolled her eyes. “You didn’t notice?” She gestured at herself. “I thought you knew, but our first meeting was… well, ‘chaotic’ is an understatement. Doesn't help that Harper was a guy called Francis before, I guess. I mean, I’m not a banner-waving type, but—yeah. Women only, please.” She grinned. “You’re cute, but you’re not my type.”

Andy felt the tension in his gut dissolve, replaced by something close to relief. “That… actually makes things easier.”

Dinah raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

He searched for the words. “I don’t want to **** anyone. I don’t want to be like the others. If you’re happy where you are, and you want to help the women in the Garden—”

She finished for him, “Then that’s where I belong.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Dinah reached over and squeezed his shoulder, her grip strong and grounding. “I knew you’d get it,” she said, her voice soft. “You’re not a collector. You’re a shepherd.” She patted his arm. “And that’s the best job in the world, if you don’t let the wolves eat you.”

He smiled, the warmth in his chest a new thing. “Thank you.”

Dinah grinned, the edge of mischief back. “You’re welcome. And if you ever need a consult, you know where to find me.”

He leaned back, letting the words settle. “I will.”

They sat in easy silence for a while, the only sound the faint hum of the Suite’s air system and the gentle clink of ice melting in their glasses. Then Dinah stretched, spine arching in a way that looked both graceful and faintly absurd. “The beds in the Garden are fine, but sometimes you need a real chair.” She patted the armrest. “This is a damn fine chair.”

He smiled, and the feeling in his chest was warm, not heavy. “Stay as long as you want.”

She nodded, then closed her eyes again. "I mean it, Andy," she murmured, already half asleep. "You're doing the right thing. Trust yourself. And if you ever want to bring Marissa down to see the place—" she yawned, "—just ask. I bet she'd love it. She and Eden could talk psychology all night. Bring Sam too."

He almost laughed. "Maybe I will." He watched her eyelids flutter, then said, "Hey, you should take the bed. I can sleep out here."

Dinah's eyes opened just enough to show a sliver of gold. "Nah. I'll head back to the Garden when I wake up. No sense in displacing you." She shifted, curling deeper into the chair. "Besides, this is more comfortable than it looks."

"You sure?"

"Positive. I'd just end up sneaking out at 3 AM anyway. Better not to mess up your sheets."

Dinah rolled her head, eyes half-open, looking at him from the deep end of exhaustion. "And don't let Arabella bully you into picking too soon. Try Emily. Try Eden. Smell the roses. Or, in Eden's case, the jasmine."

He was tempted to make a joke, but instead said, "Thank you. For tonight. For being honest."

Dinah purred—a real, vibrating sound—and tucked her chin to her chest. "Anytime," she said. "And for the record, if you ever want a friend, not a harem member, I'm your girl."

He grinned and let the room go quiet, the only sound her low, steady breathing.

When he finally made it to bed, the dreams were different: not empty, not haunted, but filled with a gentle, impossible hope.

When he woke up, after another night of nightmares, Dinah was gone, but there was a note on the kitchen island, written in neat, straight script.

Come visit. Next time, bring Sam. I want to see if she’s as cool as she looks on TV.

Underneath, her signature, and a postscript: Don’t worry, the right choice will be obvious when you meet her.

He laughed, alone in the big, empty Suite, and waited for the next guest.