by Eva Alton
Mrs. Andersson let out a loud sigh. Beneath her fear, I caught a glimpse of anger when she said, in a faltering voice, “If I were a witch, I suppose I would know? This is... ridiculous.”
“The lady says she has two daughters.” Elizabeth tapped her finger against the dossier. “I’m starting to think this meeting was a ridiculous idea, too. Come to think of it, I think I agree with her. She can’t be a witch because she would have died in childbirth. No sensible witch would risk doing such a stupid thing as having a second child. Most imprudent if you ask me.”
At that moment, Mrs. Andersson became very quiet and seemed lost in her thoughts. Her head was tilted, her shirt not entirely tucked in at the back and chestnut waves of mussed hair fell over her left shoulder. She looked like someone who had just stood up from bed, and her dishevelment warmed my icy insides. She made a lovely sight, despite the disarray caused by the fall into the amber shaft. No, actually because of it. Surrounded by eternal perfection as I was, I couldn’t help but love the stray drop of paint fallen accidentally on a canvas. Or into a secluded vampire nest.
I shook my head, reminding myself what she was. I needed to get my feet on the ground, or Elizabeth would be displeased. Even more than she already was.
“Is there anything you’d like to share with us, Mrs. Andersson?” I told her as kindly as I could, hoping to reassure her. “Anything related to why you are still alive, despite having two daughters?”
At first, she seemed paralyzed by shock, but then, to my surprise, she started to speak, “Well, this is very strange...” Her voice wasn’t more than a whisper, like she were talking to herself. “Because I almost died giving birth to my second daughter. Actually, I’m alive thanks to science.”
I knew it. There had to be an explanation.
I let out a long-held breath. “You see?” I told Elizabeth. “Three cheers for science, then!” I clapped my hands and tried to dispel the suddenly gloomy atmosphere which had fallen over the room. “I told you, she's a witch's granddaughter. Now, can we proceed with the meeting?”
Elizabeth frowned. “Science is not something to cheer about, Clarence.” Elizabeth’s dislike of science was well known in The Cloister, and not entirely unfounded. “Still,” she continued, “I will assume that she does have witch’s blood, mostly because I can perceive her stench from here. Even if she had two children for the strangest reason.”
I could feel it, too. It wasn’t so much of a stench, but the smell was absolutely distinct from other humans. If normal warmbloods tasted syrupy, like strawberries and dates, witches usually smelled slightly bitter, or acid: a mixture of limes and ginger with a touch of cayenne pepper. Not something most vampires would gladly drink if given a choice―although we could if we had to.
“We have a proposal for you, Mrs. Andersson. One we hope you won’t decline.” Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed.
The witch frowned and leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips with suspicion and staring guardedly at each one of us.
I crossed my fingers and hoped she would say yes. I was sure all the others were doing exactly the same under the table.
“I suppose you went looking for a job today,” I said. I had followed her to that office building: if it was a job she wanted, we could provide that. And a much better one at that.
“A job?” she seemed puzzled by my question but lifted her head from her hands with interest.
“Yes. Didn’t you have an interview at an engineering firm?” I asked.
“How do you know that?” she sounded scandalized.
“I’m an outside scout,” I shrugged. “Part of my job was to find you... and bring you here, so we could talk about our proposal.”
“So, let’s cut this short.” Elizabeth said with exasperation. She was holding her favorite gold nib, and it had started to drip red ink on the dossier. “Just tell me what they’ll pay you there, please.”
Mrs. Andersson stared blankly at Elizabeth. “W-what?” she muttered. “Where?”
I had the feeling that Elizabeth wasn’t well acquainted with modern human resources recruiting. She probably thought Mrs. Andersson had closed the deal on her first visit to that company.
“Our dear Elizabeth here, would just like to know about the salary you’d expect to earn at MSTDA Engineering,” I explained.
Mrs. Andersson blinked a couple of times and finally spoke, like waking up from a dream, “Well. I was hoping four, maybe five thousand dollars per month.”
“Fine,” Elizabeth answered. “We’d like to hire you, and we’ll double their offer.”
Mrs. Andersson’s eyes widened. “Why would you offer me that? For what? What kind of job is this?” Instead of sounding happy, she was clearly terrified.
“We need an... assistant,” Elizabeth said. I nodded in agreement, and the rest of the clan followed suit. “Our curse doesn’t allow us to get outside in bright daylight. We can shift into ravens during the day, but it’s dangerous, and mostly unpractical. And this is where you, Mrs. Andersson, would come in quite handy.”
Chapter 6
Alba
This had to be a sect. Or a scam. Or maybe a bit of both. For some bizarre reason, these people thought MSTDA Engineering was going to hire me, and they wanted to offer me a job, too. Could that be true? The circumstances surrounding our meeting weren’t exactly reassuring. And why would they be willing to offer me such a high salary? That was probably more than Mark made in a month; and one thing experience had taught me―apart from the fact that marrying at twenty-one is a stupid life choice and that one should never believe in emails from outcast Russian heiresses―was that, if something looked too good to be true, it probably was.
Unless they expected me to kill someone. In that case, it might make sense. But I wasn’t that desperate for work just yet.
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and swallowing, “and what exactly would I have to do to earn this position?”
Six pairs of eyes followed my every move. These people reminded me of lions in a zoo. Only I wasn’t a visitor on the other side of the fence, but a mouse unwillingly thrown into their cage.
“Everything is very straightforward,” Clarence said. “You’d start with simple things, such as going to the bank, posting documents, purchasing goods, having meetings with our clients...” As he spoke, he extended one long finger for each task I was supposed to fulfill. His hands were wide but surprisingly delicate for such a tall man. The hands of a pianist or an artist. “As you can see, just ordinary administrative tasks one would expect from a...” he paused and licked his lips, “...from a regular vampire firm.”
I sighed in desperation at the recurring mention of the word vampire.
“Excuse me?” I lifted my head to scrutinize the man’s eyes, searching for clues of their real intentions. He blinked just once in all the time I stared at him. “All this talk about witches and vampires is baffling. But the idea that someone would pay me thousands of dollars for going to the post office...? That makes absolutely no sense. I’m really sorry, but I think I’ll have to refuse your kind... offer.”
Elizabeth flared her nostrils. “Incredible,” she muttered.
“I... Mrs. Swamp, please understand me. I need to go home. My family must be waiting for me.”
Tentatively, I stood up from the table and observed their reaction―would they try to stop me? I pushed the chair against the table, holding Clarence’s gaze. Of all those people, he seemed to be the least intimidating. They all remained still, and I took two slow steps back. Then, I waited for their response. I smoothed my white blouse and realized I had lost the middle button: it now sagged open in a very inelegant fashion, so I had to pull at the sides to hold it in place; all while I put on my shoes with as much dignity as I could muster. Walking backwards, I stopped by the entrance and lay a hand on the heavy handle. To my surprise, they all stayed seated, watching me like hawks.
Elizabeth squinted through her thick black eyelashes. “Fine,” she said, “if you insist,
we won’t keep you here against your will.” Then she snapped her fingers, and with a mysterious look aimed at the dark haired man, she added, “Clarence, will you please escort Mrs. Andersson outside?”
CLARENCE SEEMED LOST in his thoughts as he guided me through yet another labyrinth of underground corridors. At first, we walked along wider halls, lavishly decorated with paintings and candelabra on the walls; but as we advanced, the surfaces became plainer. All the corridors were dark, though, which made it hard not to trip on the deep cracks of the old stone floor.
After a while, a long flight of stone stairs appeared in front of us, and high above our heads, I glimpsed a reassuring slit of light.
The outside world. Hallelujah.
“This is the main exit,” Clarence said, showing me a key, which he hung on a hook on the wall at my reach. “I’m leaving the key here, where you can reach it. We won’t hold you hostage if you don’t want to stay. I’ll go out with you. Just give me a second so I can... shift.”
“So you can what?” Maybe he meant change his clothes into something more normal.
“I mean that I’m not interested in becoming vampire toast, and for some inexplicable reason, turning into a black bird helps against that.” He shrugged innocently. “But don’t worry, I’ll be right back. The only drawback is once I do it, I won’t be able to talk to you. Just... caw.”
I stared at him blankly.
Completely nuts.
Such a waste of an otherwise good-looking guy.
“You still don’t believe anything, do you?” Clarence said with a knowing smile. “You think vampires and witches only live in fairy tales. You think we are all insane.”
Something in the cordial way he spoke to me, together with the closeness of the exit, gave me enough courage to answer.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said slowly, “but the last time I checked, there were no castles on top of the beanstalks in my garden.”
“Of course.” He slapped his forehead theatrically. “You are an engineer, aren’t you? An interesting career choice for a witch’s granddaughter. One would have expected you to become an herbalist or a psychic. Maybe a midwife? But... an engineer? You are an interesting creature, Alba Andersson, if I may say so, and I figure life still has many surprises in store for you. But why can’t you have just a little faith?”
“Faith,” I repeated, holding his gaze, surprised by my startling desire to continue the conversation, “that’s something I lost a long time ago. Since then, I abide by the principle, ‘if I can't see it, it doesn't exist.’”
He sighed, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Can you see an atom?”
“I suppose I could, with a good microscope.” I crossed my arms, accepting the challenge.
“Can you see love?”
His unexpected question nearly made me choke. It was totally out of place.
“Are you seriously asking me that, Mr. Auberon?”
But he insisted, “Can you see whatever makes the difference between a living person and a dead one?”
I blinked, feeling personally attacked by the direction the discussion was heading. “Sorry, Mr. Auberon. I’m not in the mood to discuss the nature of love with someone I just met, let alone dead people. What are you trying to tell me?”
Outside, an ambulance passed by, and Clarence waited for the siren sounds to fade off before continuing.
“You can’t see a human soul, but you know it’s there―because you know when it’s gone, and someone is dead. Which proves that sometimes, there’s more than the eye can see. Sometimes, a leap of faith is necessary. And I’m asking you to consider the possibility, that’s it.”
His voice was warm and charming, and stirred a rebellious part of me which had lain dormant for many years.
“I’m not leaping anywhere except out of this hole you threw me into,” I protested, but my voice came out weaker than expected.
“Very well, Mrs. Andersson,” he smiled at my stubbornness. “In that case, there’s just one more thing, before you leave us for good.” He looked aside with hesitation. “If you are thinking about going to the police and telling them about this place, I beg you, please don't. I’m sorry you fell into that shaft, but understand that we strive for maximum discretion here in The Cloister.”
That was exactly the first thing I had intended to do. I wondered whether he was able to read my mind or if I was simply so predictable.
“Being uncovered would be very troublesome for us... privacy is the thing we vampires cherish the most. Apart from fresh blood, but that’s another story entirely.” He laughed at his own terrible joke. I winced, and he stopped.
“Look, I know I’m asking a lot of you,” he continued, leaning towards me and lowering his tone. “But it might take us ten years or more to find another witch descendant willing to work here. Our businesses won’t survive forever without basic housekeeping. Elizabeth needs you. We need you.”
I wasn’t used to people asking for things so kindly. The man was bizarre, but didn’t seem so menacing anymore. Pensively, I took the ancient-looking iron key and weighed it in my hand. It was cold and heavy, and holding it made me feel safe.
“Are you really sure you want to refuse this chance at a new life?” He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “Maybe there’s a way I can earn your trust and make you stay.”
“You need to understand that it’s hard to trust someone who keeps talking about drinking blood and knows slightly too much about me,” I said, surprising myself with my boldness. “How did you know about my daughters? About my grandmother’s surname, about my job interview? It’s almost like you were spying on me.”
“Nooo,” he drawled funnily, “that was not spying. Just professional research.” He leaned back against the stone wall and crossed one leg over the other. “We needed to make sure you were the right candidate for this job. You can imagine we can’t just put up an ad in the papers; can you picture that? Live-in vampire assistant needed for help with paperwork. Witch blood is a safety requirement. Experience with document forfeiting is a bonus.”
I almost laughed at the thought, but then... “Wait a second,” I said, lifting a finger, “did you just admit openly to snooping on me? And why is witch blood a safety requirement?”
Clarence scratched the back of his head, putting on a mask of childish innocence. “Witch blood is the least palatable on earth,” he said, and it almost sounded like an apology. “It will help keep you alive and healthy around us. And witches have other side advantages, too.”
“Oh?” I blinked. “Interesting. But what about the spying?”
He threw me yet another long, guilty glance and remained completely silent.
“What else do you know about me?” I asked, pressing the key against my chest as the unease started to crawl back. “Don’t tell me you know where I live.”
“Perhaps?”
“Jesus, you are creepy.”
“I was planning to knock on your door if everything else failed.”
“Good that you didn’t, because I wouldn’t have opened it. I hate talking to strangers.”
I took a step toward the stairs and squinted back at him.
“I have noticed,” he grinned.
“Hopefully, now that we have had this conversation, you and your friends will stop with the stalking?” I let out a deep breath and started to climb the stairs.
“My friends?” he said, lifting his head and gazing at me, confused. “What friends exactly?”
Still clutching the key, I leaned against the stone wall and faced him. As soon as I did it, the back of my blouse dampened, and I regretted it. “Two men have been following me around. I saw them from the window of the engineering firm this morning. I suppose you sent them to spy on me?”
Clarence frowned. “No, I didn’t do such a thing.”
“Strange. Okay, maybe I’ve been just imagining things. I have a lot on my plate at the moment.”
He didn’t answer, but kept glar
ing at me in an extremely disturbing way. It seemed like he wanted to add something, but he wasn’t sure whether to disclose it or not.
“Yes?” I asked, tilting my head.
“Mrs. Andersson, just trust that I know things about you that you don’t know yourself. And there’s so much we could do for you.”
“Excuse me, but that sounds a bit like bragging to me,” I said in frustration. “I think you just want to look mysterious.”
“I definitely do.” He beamed. “I enjoy bragging when I can. And missing this chance might be the worst mistake you’ll ever make. I can understand how hard it must be for you to believe what I’m saying; I didn’t believe in vampires when I was your age, either.”
“And when was that? Three years ago?”
Clarence laughed: a genuine, vibrant laugh. He looked exactly the way I would have devised a vampire: handsome, pale and enigmatic. But of course, he couldn’t be one. Vampires didn’t laugh like that, for a start; nor did they have a sense of humor at all. They were supposed to be broody and tragic, as far as I knew.
“You are not a vampire,” I said, crossing my arms. “You are just a geek in Victorian attire with weird extensible dentures.”
Oddly, he seemed to enjoy my remark.
“Let me see,” he said in a pensive tone. “I’m sure there’s a way to refute that. I could bite you, of course, but that’s against the rules of social etiquette, especially being our guest of honor. But still, I’m sure you know that geeks in Victorian attire, as you call me―” as he said that, he wiggled his eyebrows and flashed his fangs, which were now just slightly longer than any normal person’s, “can’t turn into majestic ravens at will.”
I remained silent. My head was spinning. If he was lying to me, there was a very quick way to make it evident.
“Okay. Prove it.”
Clarence tilted his head, a half smile leaving a dimple on one side of his chin.