by N. M. Brown
The last room on the ground floor on the left of the Entrance Hall was the Drawing Room. Long and thin it was the length of the house and not only had the stunning windows out the front, but a large bay window to the side. Comfortable chairs and tables dotted the room, as well as love seats and box seating around the windows. It was a calm room, but boring, which waswhy Echo wasn’t fond of it.The experiences down here were a joke compared to what went on one, or two floors above. Downstairs was low key and uncomplicated, while upstairs required a gut of steel and something that made you stand out one way or another. If nothing made you stand out, you can be sure you’d never be invited.
Scanning the room, she rolled a small straw between her teeth and cocked a smiled when she saw Sarah still watching her from across the room. A dappled blush was still visible across her cheeks and Echo wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Her clingy boyfriend, the charmer, was keeping an eye on both of them, so when Echo blew Sarah a kiss, he yanked her closer again like she was a misbehaving puppy. Echo just laughed as his death glare rolled off of her harmlessly. She wasn’t even getting started yet, and she already had him wound up.
“Do you think the Detectives will come again?” Sydney asked, mopping up a spillage on a coffee table. “I mean, I don’t mean because someone else died, but you know-, I think I could help some more. I’ve been remembering everything I can about both the victims.” Sydney quickly tucked away the rag and continued to smile at the customers.
Echo rolled her eyes, “Why would that matter to you Sydney? It’s not like you know anything that would be of any help.” She gestured to the rest of the room. “And besides, you’re busy anyway.” Standing, pulling the top of her dress up to show a higher cleavage and more leg, Echo downed her glass. “I’m going up stairs. Try not to fuck up.” Echo ordered with a patronizing smile.
Making sure to sway her hips, Echo brushed past Sarah on her way out. She allowed her fingers to slip slightly higher than the navy-blue hemline, dragging her nails across the soft skin of her thigh. A soft gasp was all Sarah let out, but it was enough. Echo knew she hadn’t seen the last of that girl.
✽ ✽ ✽
Upstairs was for VIP’s only. In short, that meant anyone who was anyone - who were only people who could keep their mouth closed - were invited. It was a don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t mention or discuss type of policy. Many a politician, celebrity and CEO’s could be found here, each discovering the finer desires of life. Walking up the curved staircase, the carpet beneath Echo’s feet was soft; welcoming. Gentle music played across the ground floor but as Echo rose to the higher levels, it faded out leaving a soothing quiet… well, quiet for the most part. More than entertainment, the music hid the sounds coming from above, so no one would be too interested. Along the walls of the first floor, antique and priceless art hung dating back as far as Michael Angelo and Van Gough. Bris had a soft spot for anguished artists, so it wasn’t surprising the House was littered with their work.
Moving across the landing Echo faced the front of the house, a slim balcony in front of her that hung over the front door. To the right, built over the Drawing room, was the Summer Annex. Echo could already hear screams of pleasure from behind the closed door and the stench of sweat, lust and heat could be tasted in the air. To the right was the Midnight Suite, The Winter Wing and a bathroom which was only kept functioning for the guests. Mara’s domain was the Midnight Suite - currently closed sadly - as Echo found she was in the mood for some blood and guts. Alas, Mara was travelling; feeding in far off, war-torn countries. People could get so angry when someone blew up their house, enslaved their people or raped and pillaged their family. Echo missed Mara when she was gone. She always had the best stories. But, for now it was a good thing. They hadn’t stocked up Mara’s cages of fresh meat yet: broken, helpless people, who wanted to disappear or wouldn’t be missed. Why beat your wife when you could beat a lookalike and not have to deal with the mess afterwards? Anyway, restocking wasn’t Echo’s problem anymore; hadn’t been for years.
Moving past the Suite longingly, Echo considered going into the Winter Wing, but she wasn’t feeling up to being clever and coy. She’d play a good dick game any day, fighting with the heavy weights, but tonight stealing millions from poor shmucks didn’t sound fun enough. Only once had Archer lost at his own game, the fallout being The Great Depression of nineteen-twenty. When Archer lost, he took it out in the best way. Echo admired him for his skill at manipulation. She wanted to push and pull, tangle and tame, overpower and oppress just like him. She felt her heart race at the thought but continued to the second set of stairs.
She’d just reached the bottom step of the next floor when a low, melancholy voice called from above drew her head up. “Darling Echo. Just who I wanted to see.” Nic droned. He had a passive voice, hum-drum and flat. He never showed any emotion and spent a lot of time with himself. Echo had never found him to be very interesting. Adin had loved the Sin of Sloth but would never tell Echo why. She eventually passed it off as a favourite’s thing. Nic never asked for her help with clients and he barely spoke to her. If Nic couldn’t see her potential it was his loss. Walking down the stairs he wore a plain grey t-shirt on his skeleton frame, while baggy sweat pants pooled over his bare feet. “How are you?”
“Just fine Nic.” Echo replied, not moving from the bottom step to meet him. She wanted this over with quickly. “Got to dash, Archer’s expecting me.” She smiled apologetically and turned to go back down stairs. She could look for a fun distraction on the upper floors later.
“Ah, but I wanted to request your… finite skills.” Nic pressed the tips of his fingers together, creating a cage. “Sam has spoken so highly of your little – creations. I thought it was about time I tried one or two.” Echo groaned internally while her traitorous fingers itched.
Since she completed high school, much to the relief of her teachers, Echo had dabbled in culinary science, mostly working in herbology and mixology. She found that she enjoyed experimenting with herbs and spices to get the right mix. She’d quickly moved away from food and other such boring things, to alcoholic drinks. She found people were much more eager to digest strange, drugged concoctions if they were with alcohol.
Adding just enough of one plant, one flower bud or a pinch of spice did so much. It could create lax judgments, sexual desire, a talkative mouth, or even just simply put them in a hypnotic daze for an hour or two. On a busy night, Echo would make trays full of Luxuria Febri for Sam: a pinch of wormwood to get their blood pumping, hawthorn to increase stamina and just a drop of mandrake for entertaining hallucinations. It was one of Echo’s greatest creation. But that had been years ago, and she’d only experimented slightly since then, mixing powered roots with stone dust but nothing that she could be bothered to make on a grand scale. The reactions of each creation could range from nothing, to violent and deadly.
Archer didn’t need her skills often. He only asked for opium shots to influence erratic behaviour, but that was easy going. Sam always asked for the same Luxuria cocktails which was tried, tested and true. The rest of the family… well they were hardly here. It had been an age since she had some real creative exploration.
Looking Nic over, Echo thought of the all the coma inducing supplies she’d just topped up. She wondered what the right amount would be to put someone in a dream-like state or would give them a lethargic mind. “You’d try anything I give you?” She asked, not wanting to show her excitement.
“Anything.” Nic inclined his head as if to say, she knew best.
“I could rustle up a few things.” Drinks flew through her head, spirits and mixers. To add a chaser or make it a solid shot? How decorative should she make it? “How many?” She asked.
“Oh, I have but four friends at the moment.” Nic shrugged. He never put on a show like the others did. Sam would have customers lining out the door for her every night, while Archer would conference call around the world, feeding them with lies and promises. Nic on the other ha
nd, had one or two regulars. They slumped through the door, collars pulled high or hoodies pulled low. Shoes would patter across the soft carpets and keys would jingle in pockets. They never said anything or asked for drinks. They just wandered to Nic’s Dream Chamber and disappeared for the evening. “They would be pleased with anything you could conger up.”
All right.” Echo agreed relaxing trying not to show her excitement. “I’ll guess I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Nic smiled and watched her move back down the
stairs.
✽ ✽ ✽
Echo felt the internal buzz of excitement as she walked steadily down the flight of stairs, heads turning as they had done the first time. This time however, Echo paid them no heed as she stepped off the stairs and turned towards the back of the Drawing room. Unwilling to shuffle through the crowds, Echo chose to walk under the stairs into the Grand Hall and then took a left to the back of the Drawing Room and to her kitchen. It was hers because she as the only one who used it and she had a particular order to everything. However, she didn’t quite make it.
She was so in her own mind she was caught by surprise when a hand reached out and grasped her arm tightly. Pulled sharply in one direction, Echo found herself squashed tightly under the stairs while a large body blocked her in.
“You little bitch!” A masculine voice growled making Echo sigh into the hand covering her mouth. Daddy-trust-fund breathed down her face, the harsh swirl of whiskey on his breath. “Do you think you were funny? Or just clever?” He spat. “Did you really think you could do that to my girlfriend?” Echo waited patiently while he ranted, hand still stopping her from speaking. “Sarah is mine. Understand? She plays with me. She doesn’t go to anyone else unless I say so.” His hand slipped from Echo’s mouth to her throat, his grip tightening. “She goes where I tell her, with who I tell her to go with. When I tell her to come, she comes?”
Sure, that her lipstick was smudged down her chin, Echo could only imagine what Hell sporn she looked like. But then, the wicked smiled probably didn’t help. “Want to make a bet, sweetie? Because I bet, if I told her to cum, she’d cum for me too just fine.”
His gripped tightened, his hand clenching in rage. Echo felt her head bang against the wall behind her and stars danced in her eyes. “You. Won’t. Touch. Her.” He growled.
Echo just laughed. “I could make her cum without touching her too.” Feeling the hazy darkness cloud her vision; she was about thirty seconds from passing out.
“I should kill you.” His fingers twitched, allowing a thread of air to slide down Echo’s throat. “No one take’s what’s mine.”
“Well then,” Echo smiled, eyes linking with his, “What would you offer?”
“What?” his fingers released a little more in shock, but Echo knew the anger was still there.
“What would you offer me to stay away? Talk wealth to me?” Echo ran her fingers up his arm slowly prizing his hand away. Instead of letting go though, she rubbed the pad of her thumb on his wrist in slow continuous circles. “What is your darling little pet worth?”
“You harpy.” He scoffed. “I’m not giving you anything. Not a penny.”
“Then I guess I’ll go enjoy myself.” Looking passed his muscled arm, Echo saw the twirl of a navy dress in the hallway. Sarah. “Does she like it when you pull on her breasts when you enjoy her body? Or is she a one-area-at-a-time-girl?”
“Dean?” Sarah had spotted them and was now walking over. A look of confusion swept her brown, her high heels clicking faster as she approached her boyfriend having a private moment with another woman.
“One hundred bucks and you stay away from her.” Daddy-trust-fund Dean spat, ripping his hand away, trying to distance himself.
“Make it a grand sweetie and I’ll crush her infatuation.”
“Done.” Spinning, Dean was suddenly all charm. His body relaxed, and his smile was just enough it didn’t look forced. “Hay babe.” He ran a hand across her back, curling his arm around her back and pulled her in tight. She stumbled when she tried to continue onto Echo, but smiled tightly nonetheless. “I thought I said to wait for me in the bar?”
“I- I did, but you were gone for so long.” She turned to face Echo, arms going around her waist hugging herself securely. “Are you ok? Your neck…?”
Echo gave Sarah a long look over, from head to foot. She didn’t smile, or wink; if anything, she looked bored. Finally, she turned back to Dean, ignoring Sarah’s pleading eyes completely. “You can pay for your purchase at the back of the Drawing Room?” Echo shoved pass the couple, feet moving swiftly to the till and her trusty card machine.
With the per-agreed amount entered, and a tip for good measure, Echo smiled pleasantly at both of them, while ignoring Sarah completely as he reluctantly pulled out his shiny card. Wrath rolled of Dean in waves; his teeth clenched behind his perfect smile and his body taunt with coiled pressure as he swiped. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Echo ripped the receipt off and handed back his platinum members card.
“Yes. A pleasure.” Dean growled out, but Echo didn’t wait to see any more. She walked to the till and made sure to mark the receipt as her personal wage. A girls gotta eat.
✽ ✽ ✽
Running on that high, Echo felt a renewed buzz of energy zap through her system to create these drinks for Nic. What to call them? Dream Tea’s? or Lucid Night? She’d have to see what the effects were. The reactions and eventual outcome would be key in getting the name correct.
She moved over to a blank, very unexciting wall at the back of the Drawing Room. With a closer look however, you could see beneath the silk wallpaper and crown moulding was a door. Slipping through, Echo stepped into her own private kitchen that connected to the servant’s staircase. The creaky stairwell in the back corner lead up to each floor and to her own apartment. It made for easier deliveries and sneaking about.
Kitchen counters skirted the room as well as a bulky farm house sink and a large pantry. A large, wide wooden table sat in the middle that was covered in old scratches and stains. You could smell the herbs in the air and the sweet fragrance of perfume floating from the plants growing in the window. Hanging over the table were some herbs drying to become powders, but everything on display was safe as houses. The nasty stuffthat was wickedly deadly was tucked under the sink behind a leaky pipe in a steel box charmed with wards. Drawing it out, she quickly paced to her brass scales and pestles and mortar. Shiny clean glasses lined the walls and each one was designs beautifully with crystal cut. This was where she worked best.
First, she thought, she’d try a rose tea mixed with Devils Eyes, or Henbane. It might have the side effect of dry mouth and dizziness, but the levels could be controlled. She also wanted to try some Dature flowers. Bright white with a heart of purple, the Dature flower looked like a trumpet. Some of the flower, dried and turned into powder would work well enough, but Echo wasn’t just a bartender, she was a show woman. The drink had to look appealing, so floating a flower on the surface instead should do the trick. Echo smiled at the design.
Bending down, she kicked aside an old bar rag, and went for the only modern thing she’d insisted on needing. Archer had reluctantly bought it for her, so it was Echo’s prized possession. The dry ice freezer was where she kept a number of pristine flowers for such an occasion. Opening it she frowned. All the flowers were gone.
“What the fuck?” Spinning in circles she checked the floor in case they’d magically moved, or Sydney had been snooping but there was none to be found. Huffing in annoyance, Echo knew she’d had some delivered and had restocked. They should be there. Whipping out of the servant’s quarters back to the Drawing Room, Echo scanned over all the guests and was even more annoyed to discover Sydney was nowhere in sight.
“Hay, can we get a drink here?” A drunk girl asked, slumped against the wall and fidgeted with her dress straps. She was probably no older than fifteen from the amount of make-up she had plastered on her face. Her d
ress had ridden down showing her grotesque neon bra and her hair looked like rat tails. What common muck was this? She’d have to have a word about the standards Jacob let in!
Echo just sneered in disgust, before storming back into her kitchen and taking a left turn towards the servants’ stairs. Underneath these stairs they had an rusty old door which she expected to see open, leading down to the basement and where they kept extra drinks and wines. Then at least, Sydney would have been restocking drinks which was somewhat helpful. Yet, when Echo turned the handle, the basement was dark and empty.
Echo could feel her eye twitch. Where was that blasted girl when you needed her? She and her family didn’t use the basement. That was what the staff were for. But it was where all extra supplies were kept, and she wanted something, she was clearly having to go and get it herself.
Echo fumed as she stomped down in her heels, cursing everyone that came to mind. The only thing that softened her anger was that she was a grand-plus richer. Remembering the look on Daddy-trust-funds face Echo smiled. Envy, pride and greed were so volatile when mixed together.
✽ ✽ ✽
The basement was cold. Made from rough bricks that crumbled under her touch Echo wondered how it kept the house standing. Low beams danced above her head and cobwebs collected in every corner. There were cardboard boxes stacked in a pile next to the door, each one brand of drink they served upstairs. Empty metal shelving stood along in rows, coated in cobwebs and dust. A single bulb hung from the ceiling along with some old, rusty rings screwed into the beams. Cliché, but Echo liked to think it freaked Sydney out every time.