by Eva Alton
“I will, Mrs. Andersson,” he said, bowing theatrically. “Gladly.”
He snapped his fingers quietly, and the clicking sound reverberated on the stone walls.
For a couple of seconds, he just glared into my eyes with an amused look, but nothing else happened. I was about to clap my hands and turn to the exit when a gray cloud enveloped him, becoming thicker and denser, then started to contract into a small ball of black steam. As the vapor retreated, no traces of the cloaked man remained. Once the mist was gone, a black raven darted out of it and flew in circles over my head, soaring toward the top of the stairs as I looked at it with sheer astonishment.
“That was a really good trick,” I gasped, scanning the space and wondering where the man had gone. But there were no nooks, no corners. Just straight stone walls and a flight of stairs which led to the outside world. “Hello? Mr. Auberon, where are you? You can come out now.”
The raven glided expertly, then perched on my arm, which was extended against the railing. I flinched, expecting to feel the sharp claws sinking into my skin, but the bird landed softly, with utmost care. Finally, with a graceful skip, the raven jumped into the air and disappeared in yet another black cloud, out of which came back Clarence, smirking proudly and smoothing his suit.
I gave out a shocked yelp, as my jaw fell open in disbelief.
“Do you believe me now?” he said, and took an impossible vertical leap, which catapulted him to the middle of the stairs like a rocket.
I gulped. I tried to speak, but my mouth opened and closed, and nothing came out. The shock lasted for a couple of minutes, until the man, or whatever that creature was, walked up to me and started to study my pupils with worry.
“No way,” I managed to croak.
“Are you alright?” he asked, sniffing the air around me. “You seem a bit distraught.”
Again, my throat became dry, and my vocal chords disconnected from my brain. After an eternity, a deep sigh left my lungs, and a hysterical giggle started to rock my body. I cackled like a madwoman, and he stood next to me patiently until the attack eventually subsided. Then he handed me an expensive-looking lace handkerchief and helped me wipe my eyes with it.
“So?” he said, nodding.
“I’m not really sure of anything anymore,” I said, eyeing the man and the exit alternatively.
“You are fascinated. Confess it.”
“Maybe?”
“Stay,” he said firmly. “Stay and listen to Elizabeth’s offer till the end. It will be advantageous for all of us. I promise.”
“I really can’t think straight right now.”
“That’s fine. Take your time. I understand.”
Clarence sat down on the stairs and joined the tips of his fingers together. After a while, my brain started to function normally again, and a myriad of questions started to flood me, the first of them connected to sheer survival.
“How do I know for sure you are not trying to kill me, or kidnap me, or use me for whatever satanic cult is going on here?”
“No satanic anything, rest assured.” He put his palm out solemnly, like taking an oath. “If I wanted to kill you, or kidnap you, or any of those things you just named―trust me, I would have done it already. But you are too valuable of an asset for The Cloister, Mrs. Andersson, so we’re not going to cause you any harm. We are just a bunch of eternally cursed individuals seeking a discreet way to maintain the cash-flow in a human-ruled world.”
I swallowed slowly, trying to clear my mind. A secret part of me was utterly fascinated by what I had just witnessed. My grandma had often talked about the supernatural world with ease, and I had listened to her stories with delight. All of a sudden, a baffling―and possibly deadly―bout of curiosity overwhelmed me.
“Okay,” I said, taking a hesitant step back toward the corridor we had come from and sticking the key in my handbag. “Take me back to that room, and I’ll talk to Mrs. Swamp.”
“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he said, standing up with a sigh of relief and following me. “Because Elizabeth wouldn’t allow a human to get out of here with memories of The Cloister.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, as my chest tightened with consternation.
“It means forget what I said,” he answered with a snicker, like he had just told a great inside joke. He took my elbow courteously, and we started to walk back down the dimly lit halls.
Chapter 7
Alba
Once I finished talking to Elizabeth, they allowed me to go home. The raven disappeared behind a black marble mausoleum in Saint Anne’s cemetery after seeing me to the exit.
Finally alone and free, I made an effort to put my thoughts in order.
I was still alive. I had both shoes on, and I was holding a yellowed visit card with a hand-drawn emblem of a crow, a sword and a rose, which included just a name and a postal address on its back side:
Mr. Clarence Auberon
13th Westside Avenue
Emberbury, MA, 05545
No telephone, no email. Seemingly, the only way to contact these people was by sending them letters.
The second part of our conversation had gone slightly better than the first. These people, who claimed to be vampires, had apparently built a Victorian palace of sorts in a secret catacomb under Saint Anne’s cemetery, and they claimed to actually live there. They were offering me an impressive sum of money and accommodations at their place for me and my daughters, in exchange for some simple administrative help. The only catch was that everything must be conducted in complete secrecy.
For the first ten minutes after leaving, I had entertained the idea of accepting the job.
But then, common sense sank in, and I realized that no sane mother would drag her daughters into such a place. The Cloister and its inhabitants had unquestionably piqued my curiosity―it wasn’t every day that I saw a man turn into a raven or take a ten feet leap without batting an eyelid―but everything about this business seemed shady and risky, and I wasn’t going to take unnecessary chances when my children were involved.
No, I needed to behave sensibly. In an impulse, I drew Clarence Auberon’s visit card out of my handbag and threw it into the nearest trash can. That would keep me from doing something I might regret later.
If I can't see it, it doesn't exist.
Perfect. With the card gone, the temptation would be non-existent, too.
I stopped at the bank to get some money from an ATM. I had run out of cash, and I needed to pay for a taxi. Standing in front of the machine, I punched in my PIN number and waited for the usual greeting screen. Instead of that, I got an error message:
Wrong PIN.
Attempts left: 2
I told myself that forgetting a PIN was nothing out of the ordinary, and absolutely reasonable for someone going through a divorce and a frantic job search. I took out my wallet and searched for the little piece of paper where I kept all my passwords―a foolhardy thing to carry around, but I was more scared of being stranded cashless with the kids than of the rare possibility that someone would steal my bag and manage to decipher my handwriting. Emberbury was a relatively safe, middle-sized town, where nothing news-worthy had happened since the closure of the red amber mines in the 1800s.
Looking at my list in confusion, I typed the numbers twice more, very slowly. I kept getting the same error message. The third time I tried, the ATM swallowed my card and the screen became locked.
Cursing like a sailor, I started to rummage in my purse and found a couple of coins, just enough for a bus ride. I hated riding the bus, but it would have to do.
When I got off at my stop, a cold shiver crept up my back. Sure enough, as soon as I turned around, I caught sight of two familiar black figures disappearing stealthily into a side road. They were the same two men I had seen from the engineering office window. Once they were gone, I kept walking and tried to shrug it off.
My neighbor May waved at me from her porch. She was smoking on the sly again, which me
ant her husband wasn’t home yet.
“Hi, May!” I said with a forced smile. None of my neighbors knew about my trouble with Mark. He had requested to keep things as quiet as possible, and I didn’t feel like feeding the rumor mill, anyway.
“Coming to the gym later?” May asked, lighting yet another cigarette like the world would end tomorrow.
Going to the gym was a suburban mom euphemism for gossiping in the fitness café wearing sweatpants. Nobody ever expected you to lift any weights, apart from your screaming children. It had other advantages, too, including a soft foam indoor playground where toddlers could bump their heads safely when not crying or clinging to your tracksuit with chocolate-stained fingers.
“I’m not sure. I’m a bit tired,” I answered, leaning over the porch railing and shouting so she could hear me across the lawn.
“Shopping is exhausting, huh?” She probably thought I had been to the mall and illustrated her excitement with a little happy dance. Her enviable mane of alabaster Asian hair shook behind her, sending my way a waft of frankincense shampoo.
“Sure,” I said. Well, shopping was exhausting to me, at any rate. And I was positively drained after all that had happened in that catacomb.
May seemed satisfied with my answer and went back to browsing her tablet with happy abandon, then lifted her head and added, “If you change your mind, we’ll stay in the café a little longer this evening―we’re celebrating my birthday. Tell Mark it’s his turn to make dinner and watch the kids!”
I nodded, implying that Mark knew how to cook anything apart from a takeaway pizza, then went inside.
“You’re two hours late,” the babysitter complained as soon as she saw me.
I was always late, but this might have been my record so far. Feeling self-conscious, I gave her an all-teeth apologizing smile and found some spare change to pay for her services. After she left, I sat on the couch with Katie and Iris and opened my laptop to figure out what might have gone wrong with my credit card. When I tried to log into my online banking, I got yet another error message.
Someone had changed that password, too.
And I suspected who that someone might be.
Feeling a sudden wave of apprehension, I searched the whole house for valuables. As I expected, everything was gone, including the family’s backup cash stash hidden in a pickle jar and all jewelry, together with my wedding tiara and the few things I had inherited from my grandmother. The only thing which had escaped Mark’s looting was an Art Nouveau rose-shaped brooch of my grandma’s, which I had left by the bathroom sink. It was made of brass and studded with dozens of tiny cherry-amber beads molded like flower petals. Gloomily, I picked it up and stuck it in my hair.
Mark was out for blood, and sadly for me, he played with the advantage of experience.
WHEN MARK FINALLY CAME home, it was past ten in the evening, and the children had already fallen asleep. The sound of his steps in the hall made my hands shake, and I dropped a plate into the sink. Soapy water splashed into my eyes, and I wiped them off with a towel.
“You missed the girls,” I said from the kitchen. “They were expecting to watch cartoons with daddy tonight.”
Mark left his black leather briefcase on the floor and took off his tailored jacket without even glancing at me.
“And how was I supposed to know that?” he said edgily. “It’s the first time you tell me about it.”
Or the tenth one, but never mind. I hadn’t expected him to do it, anyway.
“How was your day?” I asked, more out of habit than courtesy. We were still living together until we decided who kept the house and how, and minimizing conflicts was a matter of survival for me. At least we had a spare room, so I didn’t have to sleep in the same bed as him.
“Is there any food?” he asked, ignoring my question and scanning the kitchen like a hungry wolf.
“I can make you a sandwich. I would have made some more soup if you had told me you were eating here, but you said you would grab something with Robert on the way home.”
“No, I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I wish you’d stop making things up I never said. I haven’t been home for even ten minutes, and you are already striving to piss me off.”
Piss him off? I remembered about my blocked credit cards, and I slammed a cupboard door slightly too hard.
“Did you know that someone removed my access to our bank account today?” I said, as I started to rub the counter with tenacity.
Mark snorted, pouring himself a beer from the fridge. “No way,” he said, looking entertained.
“Yes way. It was you, wasn’t it?”
“I’m innocent until proven guilty,” he drank a big gulp of beer and burped viciously. I wished I could record that and send the video to his office’s email. Mark Andersson was considered the epitome of poise and elegance in Emberbury’s legal circles. If only they knew about his secret Mr. Hyde side. If only I had known about that side of him ten years earlier―but he had been so good at hiding it.
“You can’t just take all our money and leave me empty-handed. How am I supposed to survive until the divorce is official?”
“I don’t know,” he sneered. “Ask your lawyer?”
He wasn’t even looking at me, but browsing his phone as if I were a bothersome mosquito he just wanted to get rid of as soon as possible. Of course, I didn’t have a lawyer yet, and he knew it perfectly. Come to think of it, it was going to be hard to get one without any money.
A sour stench reached my nose, and I realized he had probably been drinking after work, which made him even more insufferable than just regular, hateful Mark.
“You can be a real jerk,” I muttered, restraining myself from strangling him with the blender cord.
“Three words: separate property state. Have you been working much lately? No? I thought so. Such a shame the house is in my name, too. But don’t worry, I’m not kicking you out just yet. I need to find someone to watch the kids first. Because they’re staying with me, did I tell you?”
That was probably when I lost it. I snarled and charged at him with my fists, crashing against his chest of steel and feeling like I had just hit a wall. Surprisingly, he didn’t charge back, but instead scoffed, blocked all my movements with one arm and took a selfie where it looked like I was hitting him in the guts.
“Thanks for this, darling,” he said, waving the phone at me. “Domestic violence against spouses sells well at court, too.”
I growled at his shamelessness and barreled out of the kitchen before I got tempted by the knife block.
“Mommy?” Little Katie was standing in the middle of the room, wearing her pajamas. Who knew what she might have heard? “I’m not sleepy.” She then noticed Mark behind me and ran to him. “Daddy! You’re home!”
“Her pajamas are inside out,” Mark said sternly, ignoring the little girl’s open arms and pointing at the label under her chin.
“Daddy, can you read me a story? I can’t sleep,” Katie said, as I receded to a corner and watched their exchange in silence.
“Sorry, Katie. I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow,” Mark answered in an emotionless tone.
“But daddy...” Katie started to cry and clung to his spotless trousers. “Just a short one, okay?”
“I said no,” he replied in an irate voice.
“But I want a story now!” Katie wailed and wiped her runny nose on his pants.
“You just ruined my best suit trousers, you spoiled brat!” he snapped, pushing the girl away and clearing the snot off his clothes without noticing that his blow had sent the poor child flying to the carpet.
Mark stormed upstairs in a rage, concerned about his pants and nothing else, and I heard the door of the master bedroom close with a loud slam. Katie lay crying on the floor, where her father had left her, and I rushed to hold her in my arms. I rocked her softly, hating myself for not having stepped in faster.
“Shh, baby, mommy will read you a story
. Just tell me which one you’d like, okay?”
It took me a long while to calm down my daughter, and when she finally fell asleep in her bed, the emptiness inside my heart was about to smother me. I could foresee a whole night of lying awake for hours and staring at the ceiling until dawn, waiting for the alarm to go off. It wasn’t a very tempting prospect.
I grabbed my purse and went out the main door and into the night.
“May?” I dialed my neighbor’s number as I left the house. She answered after the first ring, her voice tipsy and cheerful.
“Hey, Albs! Coming? We’re waiting for you! Come, come, tonight the drinks are on me!”
“Yeah, where are you?”
“Saturn Fitness, as usual. But they’re closing in one hour. You’ll have to quench your thirst fast!”
“Don’t worry, May. I’m going to shine at it.”
Chapter 8
Clarence
Everyone except for Francesca and I had left The Cloister to hunt. A heated argument had ensued following Alba Andersson’s departure, with half of the members voting to dispense her oblivion immediately and the other half willing to wait for her decision. Elizabeth, whose secluded existence had detached her from the passage of time and the changes in customs, was aghast that Mrs. Andersson had behaved in what she saw as a very ungrateful and insolent manner. Especially taking into account the money and advantages she was offering her. She had urged me to follow Andersson and wipe her memory straightaway for safety reasons; but somehow, I had managed to earn the witch a brief truce.
It had taken me years to find an available stray witch, and I wasn’t going to get rid of this one without resistance. I had argued we should give her at least a few days to answer. In the end, Elizabeth had accepted reluctantly, under the condition of keeping the witch under close watch. For someone who had experienced slavery in her own flesh, Elizabeth had a peculiar tendency to be overly strict and impatient with her personnel.
Following the sound of the music, I reached the piano room, where Francesca was playing Bach’s Goldberg Variations. A heavy-bottomed glass full of a golden liquid stood over the keyboard. She was the only one in The Cloister who refused to feed on humans, but she compensated it nicely with gallons of rare whiskey and mysterious trips into the forest. As much as I admired her commitment, I had never been able to follow in her footsteps.