by Eva Alton
“Let’s leave those petty statistical details for later.” Jean-Pierre chuckled. “I’m about to dig in. Poking the snake in three, two, one―”
The white-haired vampire started to shake wildly, making the whole ladder wobble. His body contorted, and his head tilted back. He started to grind his teeth so loudly that I worried he might crush them into dust.
When he finally stopped trembling, his voice sounded like he was standing on a rickety train.
“Job done!” he cheered, as the darkly comical tremor in his voice slowly faded away, and he started to clap his hands. “We are officially connected to the grid!”
I NEVER REALLY FOUND out how Jean-Pierre managed to make the connection possible without causing the worst short-circuit in the history of Emberbury, but when I tested the wires, they were live, which allowed us to continue with the distribution necessary to bring power and lighting to the main spaces of The Cloister. The three of us worked as a team, drilling and measuring and bolting things to the stone walls. The whole system went up quickly and relatively effortlessly. During those delightful, exciting days, I found myself smiling more often than usual. They might have been the best ones I had seen in many, many years.
One day, after breakfast, when we had almost finished installing power points and light fixtures, and the last boxes of bulbs had been delivered, I left my girls sewing witch hats with Francesca and went to meet Clarence in the conference room.
I found Clarence standing in the middle of the corridor, with a yellow screwdriver in his hand. He looked like he was about to use it as a magic wand to pull a rabbit out of his hat.
“Why on earth do you need to wear a top hat to bolt plugs into the walls?” I asked, studying his unsuitable choice of attire with disapproval.
“Because today's the big day!” he stated merrily. He had even put on a cravat, but strangely enough, had missed a button at the top of his shirt. “Aren’t we testing the installation today?”
“Good idea,” I said, shaking my shoulders to stop thinking about that disturbing undone button, which showed part of his perfectly sculpted chest and hindered my thought processes. “Where should we start?”
“The main switch, don’t you think?” he said.
Of course, where else.
We had installed the main switch in the conference room, behind a painting of Samson and Delilah. When we entered, the place was silent and empty. Jean-Pierre had gone out hunting and still hadn’t returned, and there were no traces of the other vampires, who must have retired into their rooms to let us work in peace.
Elizabeth had allowed me to splurge on a gigantic chandelier for that space: a hand-crafted crystal wonder with eight arms and hundreds of faceted beads, which hung in elegant cascades over the conference table. We still hadn’t managed to test it, though. At present, it looked like a sad black spider on the ceiling, projecting dim shadows over our humble candlesticks.
I put my hand over the light switch and Clarence signaled for me to wait. He came to my side, squeezed my hand fondly and blew off our candles, leaving us in total darkness.
“Will you do the honors, Isolde?” he said quietly, as his arm found my waist and pressed me against him in the pitch blackness.
Jittery, I breathed in and pressed the button.
And, of course, nothing happened.
“It doesn’t work,” I sighed with disappointment. “Story of my life.”
“I think you forgot to switch on the main fuse,” Clarence said, clearing his throat. I heard him walk over to the other side of the room and fiddle with the fuse box. He must be taking advantage of his night vision, which was much better than mine. “Try again now,” he said, coming back to where I was and putting a hand on my shoulder.
A loud click startled me, and all the bulbs in the chandelier started to glow at the same time, buzzing with a delicious electric sound.
“Yes!” I cheered, and hugged him in celebration, dancing happily around the room while the crystal beads showered the walls with hundreds of rainbows. His hat flew off, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Let there be light,” Clarence said, glancing at me with his eyes full of pride.
“And there was light,” I finished, beaming with happiness.
“And it was just like magic,” he added, kissing the top of my head. “You are so talented, my dear.”
“Thank you,” I answered, sinking my chin in his chest and holding our merry embrace for a little too long. Hesitant, I waited for him to break the bond. But instead of letting me go, he made our hips come together, gently pushing me closer with a skilled move of his knee. By then, my whole body was buzzing due to his proximity.
My hands drifted to the nape of his neck, as though led by an outer force, and raked urgently through his silver-sprinkled raven hair. I got lost in his scent of rust, pine trees and blood cherries. He breathed in just once, and his back swelled, hard and strong under my arms, so wide that I could hardly join my fingertips around him. Our legs intertwined, like two branches of ivy growing together. Each part of our bodies seemed to have a perfectly matching nook to fit in the other, and my lips finally closed over his.
Clarence lifted me into his arms effortlessly, and I gasped as my feet lost contact with the floor. It felt like flying.
“My charming Isolde, I think the potion worked,” he whispered in a rough voice, raining kisses on my neck.
My body swayed in acknowledgment, too light-headed to speak. He tilted his head and sought out my eyes, breathing heavily as the kisses became soft nibbles. “Come to my suite,” he muttered huskily. “Let me make love to you. Will you?”
Suddenly drowsy, I nodded eagerly, keeping my eyes closed.
My flared skirt billowed out like a ballerina’s as we twirled out of the room, and I wasn’t sure which of us said, “I thought I’d never see the light again.”
WE SAILED DOWN THE halls, Clarence holding me in his sturdy arms as he kissed me. He leaned sideways, as he tried to open the door of his room just with an elbow. He ended up banging my head against the doorframe by accident.
“Ouch!” I complained, rubbing the crown of my head. “This doesn’t happen in the movies,” I mumbled with a grin.
He arched his eyebrows with concern and kissed my hair, his brick red eyes ablaze with passion. “I’m so sorry. I’m out of practice.”
“Are you, really?” I asked with incredulity, gasping for air, and his gaze hardened for just one second. Then, he caressed my neck with reverence, using his free hand, and distracted me once again with his avid kisses.
I had never been to Clarence’s suite, and what I saw in there took me aback. The space was ample, mysterious, and disturbingly sinister. Dozens of candles burned in vintage brass sconces on the walls and most of the surfaces were covered in black walnut shelves with hundreds of books―so many that he must have run out of space and started to stack them in rows, horizontal and vertical, in a sort of artistic chaos, only accentuated by the many oil paintings on the walls. These were dark and disturbing, although not as much as the ones I had seen in the art gallery. A drafting table occupied the furthest corner of the room, concealed under stained sheets of vellum and poster board, half-finished sketches of skulls and screaming faces and dispersed drawing utensils of all kinds, including watercolors, gouaches and pastels.
And then, there was the bed.
A colossal ebony bed with a canopy of black velvet curtains and black silken bedding, all rimmed with lace woven of pure golden thread and flanked by disturbingly graphic paintings of the souls suffering in hell.
I swallowed, trying to stay in the moment. He lay me gently on the soft silk sheets and covered my arms and legs in a trail of soft pecks. I sighed, melting into a shiver which was a mixture of pleasure and disquiet, and watched him through half-closed eyelids as he unbuttoned his shirt with urgency and loosened his scarlet cravat, staring at me with red-rimmed eyes full of lust.
“Who are you really?” I asked, grasping his waist with de
spair, trying to reconcile the grim space with the man I thought I knew.
The corners of his mouth lifted in an innocent smile, and he kneeled on the bed next to me. “I forgot a long time ago.” He sniffed my hair. “Will you remind me, Alba?”
I exhaled, a fog pervading my mind, and pulled him toward me to kiss his frozen lips. He swallowed hard as my tongue drew the outline of his sharp teeth.
Then, he remained still. His hands found the buttons of my blouse and started to undo them carefully, like they were made of rose petals and he was afraid to break them―to break me. He was gentle and desperate at the same time. He moved like a feline.
I swayed, as an invisible breeze pushed me left and right, like a boat adrift. I closed my eyes, trying to let go.
Clarence reached the last button and his lips paused over my belly button, tickling and licking and making my whole body bolt. His hands played with the elastic of my skirt, right where my C-section scar was.
I remembered how off-putting Mark had always found it.
And then, I froze on the spot.
Suddenly, I didn’t see Clarence anymore. Only a disturbing black space in the dim candlelight remained, where the echoes of the perfect maidens of his past still resounded. I couldn’t help wondering how many of them he must have brought there before me, to that same velvety bed, over the last two centuries: beautiful women, younger women, childless women. Flawless, porcelain creatures like Francesca, svelte women without scars, free of pitiful post-breastfeeding cleavages like mine; angelic beings who had only heard of stretch marks and overabundant hips in fairy tales.
And the fact that those hands caressing my body had produced the most infernal works of art the world would ever see wasn’t helping, either. As much as I wanted to ignore the surroundings, that room was frightening as hell.
Don't let his overly cheerful facade fool you... there’s a dark side to Clarence Auberon which very few people know.
Clarence Auberon will be your death.
Ask them about their previous witch. Do you know what happened to her?
All of a sudden I was numb. Blind. I couldn’t take it anymore, and despite the desperate need for his body, I pulled away, torn, miserable and scared.
“I can’t do this,” I said, covering my bare chest with the glossy black sheets and pressing them against my face. I wished I could teleport somewhere far, far away. “I’m sorry.”
Clarence stared at me with a mixture of surprise and sorrow, but nodded and backed off swiftly. He quickly started to put his shirt back on.
“Don’t be. Is everything alright?” he asked in confusion, brushing a finger against his teeth, which were back to their ordinary human semblance. “Did I scare you? Did I... hurt you?”
I stared at him blankly, too overwhelmed by my own flaws to utter any coherent answers.
“Please, forgive me,” he whispered with half-closed eyes, clearly unable to understand the thoughts which were haunting me. “For whatever I did wrong.”
I shook my head. “It’s not you,” I muttered. “But I need to leave. Now.” He stood up, as if to escort me out, but I extended my palm in front of me to keep him away, holding the sheet with my other free hand. “Alone.”
Clarence looked sullen, but he nodded and handed me my blouse in silence. He turned his back to me as I got dressed. For a second, I wished I could shift into a raven and fly away, just like he did sometimes.
I stood up and left the room, leaving him petrified, sitting on the bed with his elbows on his knees and a half-buttoned shirt over his hunched shoulders. He didn’t try to follow me.
As I closed the door behind me, I frantically tried to fix my hair and smooth the wrinkles of my skirt. I must look like someone who had just come out of a shipwreck.
But of course, I had to bump into Lillian and Alonso of all people, who were coming my way from their bedroom.
“What did I tell you?” Alonso snickered, pinching Lillian’s hip playfully.
“Another one bites the dust,” Lillian said, leaping away from Alonso’s grab with graceful elegance. She appeared miraculously on the other side of her partner and started to fondle his chest with exaggerated grimaces, in a successful effort to upset me.
“Poor little human,” Alonso added with disdain, as he offered his collarbone to Lillian, and she bit it with a contorted pout. “Just don’t expect him to be so nice anymore.”
“It’s not like she can compare to Francesca, can she?” Lillian sneered, leaning wickedly against Alonso, then turned toward me with a drop of blood on her lips. “So few people around here, and so much free time to burn...”
I covered my face and ran to my room, hoping the two nasty vampires couldn’t hear me when I started crying.
Chapter 25
Alba
Francesca gave me a sidelong glance when I stormed into my room, sniffing the air around me with judgmental sophistication. She squared off her delicate shoulders and twirled a black chess horse in her minute fingers, then used it to kill a little white pawn with an ominous thump.
“I see,” she said cryptically, in lieu of a formal greeting, removing a smug Iris from her lap.
“You see what?” I snapped, banging the door closed so hard that it made the flames of the candles flicker.
“That I’d better leave now,” she shrugged and stood up, patting my daughters’ heads, which she had adorned with long velvet bows. “It was nice to meet you, my darling children.”
“What the hell? We’re not going anywhere.”
Francesca blinked. “Of course you aren’t,” she added in a sweet, slightly offended voice; then eyed the children and added quietly, “And please. We don’t swear here, Alba.”
“Hell is not a swearword. It’s a place,” I blurted.
“I’d rather call it a state of consciousness, but that’s just me.” She shrugged and stepped outside, her skirt sweeping behind her. “Elizabeth will be back tomorrow, by the way.”
With an exasperated puff, I grabbed the kids by the wrists and dragged them outside.
We spent the rest of the day in the city, avoiding the courthouse area and its surroundings. We had pizza and ice-cream and watched a children’s movie at the cinema. The girls were ecstatic with the unexpected day out, and kept singing, asking questions and praising Francesca. I slapped on a smile and tried not to think about anything else but the two little sweethearts who skipped and bounced around me, unaware of the gray thoughts which plagued my mind.
We returned after sunset and were lucky enough to meet no vampires in the halls of The Cloister―I wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of them. Once the children collapsed in bed, sleepy and satisfied after all the fun, I settled in my plush armchair and ate pizza leftovers in silence as I browsed Julia’s diary, lulled by the soft breathing sounds of my two precious daughters.
I opened Julia’s notebook to my last read page, which was marked with the note Clarence had once sent me to invite me to dinner. I sighed and buried the bookmark in the last pages, concentrating on Julia’s elaborate handwriting. The following passage must have been written when Julia was in her thirties:
October 30th, 1960
The night of the witches is near, and I feel the power starting to run through my arms. I’m sure it’s not an ailment, because it doesn’t bother me in the least, and I felt it last year around this time, too. Just like that time with the green light, which I never managed to repeat after he left.
While everybody keeps talking about Kennedy and Nixon, I keep seeking refuge in Stan Sheen’s bookstore. He’s the only one who doesn’t talk about politics the whole day, and we had an interesting discussion about a Russian woman he had seen on TV, who is seemingly able to move objects without touching them. Telekinesis, they call it.
After he told me, I started to practice on my own, and I’m almost sure I managed to move a hair and a grain of rice just with my mind.
I must practice this some more to be sure. I will report about the results.
The following entries were rather dull, so I skimmed through the text without paying much attention to them. After a few pages, one of the records called my attention. The handwriting was oddly unsteady, and as I read the words, a sense of foreboding seized me:
January 1st, 1962
I wish I could leave this place.
Yesterday, the vampires invited me to their New Year’s Eve party, and for the first time in years, I didn’t decline. Lillian and Alonso kept teasing me to play drinking games with them. It was fun. All of them were oddly cheerful and attentive. Clarence, Jean-Pierre and Francesca joined us after a while, and even Elizabeth seemed to be enjoying herself.
But then I blacked out, and I can’t recall the second half of the night.
I woke up naked under the sheets, and Clarence was next to me. He was sitting in my bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed and his back against the headboard, and as soon as I opened my eyes, he left the room without saying a word.
All I know is that the pillow was covered in blood, and so was his shirt. I had bite marks on my neck and breasts, and they hadn’t even bothered to heal them. And I’m blue and sore everywhere. Literally everywhere.
I think he tampered with my memories, but of course, there’s no way to know for sure.
And now I just want to cry.
I feel humiliated, but I have no proof of anything. Not that anyone here would care.
Oh, Ludovic, I miss you so much. I wish you were here.
I dragged my fingers through my hair as I read the entry again and again.