Fire and Fantasy: A Limited Edition Collection of Urban and Epic Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  “No, I’m not,” Tabita agreed. “Once he makes me human again, I’ll have to live like a human and I won’t be able to come here and help people like you. We’re on a mission.”

  “Oh yeah, what kind of mission?”

  “We help slaves like you to reclaim their native earth and be free. After that Father Simon helps them to be human again.”

  “How does he do that?”

  “He takes them into the church and forgives them.”

  “For what? For being taken as slaves? It’s not like we had any choice.”

  “That’s why he can save you. You haven’t really done anything wrong. It’s not like it is with a master vampire; they choose to do what they’re doing, but you were taken against your will. Father Simon just says the right words, and it’s all forgiven and forgotten and you’re human again.”

  Wally shook his head. “That’s a lie. There ain’t no way to make me human; ain’t no way to make any of us human. I don’t know what your game is, but I ain’t playing and I ain’t gonna give you my owner’s name. I’m in a much better position than I’ve ever been before, and I ain’t gonna take no risks. She treats me good, and it won’t be forever.”

  “Why not?”

  ‘Well,” Wally said, “it’s a bit embarrassing, but the truth is she’s human. I let myself get caught by a human, and it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. So I ain’t gonna do nothing to spoil things. I’m gonna get myself something to eat, and then I’m gonna go back to her apartment and put on some nice clean clothes and go with her to the symphony. So, thank you very much, but I don’t want to talk to no priest, and I don’t believe anyone who says I can be human again.”

  The priest spoke in soothing tones that only added to Wally’s irritation. “Restoring your humanity will restore your ability to die. It takes courage”.

  “Well, I don’t have no courage, and you don’t have no secret remedy,” Wally said. “So now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I smell a rabbit.”

  Father Simon lifted his right hand. Wally cut him off before he could speak. “Don’t you be blessing me. Don’t you be making no sign of the cross over me. You leave me alone. I’m fine the way I am.”

  He turned his back on the priest and the girl and ran as fast as his legs would carry him up the hill and out of the park. All he could think of were the white mice on Miss Phoebe’s balcony and the security of her apartment.

  He made the leap to the balcony and was surprised to find that the drapes were open. He wondered if she had been looking out of the window watching for his return. He would have to go inside and close the drapes before he dispatched his night’s meal. She didn’t like to see him eat. Well, he didn’t like doing it, but that was the way it was. She should be glad she didn’t have to watch the baron at work.

  He was pretty sure that the baron was still in Pittsburgh. The newspapers were still reporting murders and disappearances. Of course the baron wasn’t the only master vampire prowling the streets after dark, but the method of killing, the location of the bodies, even the sex of the victims, led Wally to believe that his master was still in town and growing more powerful every day. Perhaps he had found his bride.

  He should probably feel sorry for the baron’s chosen mate. He knew the poor woman would have a difficult life, but if the baron had what he wanted, he would surely want to move south with the . The days would soon be lengthening, nights would grow short, and the baron liked to move with the seasons to find long nights and short days.

  Wally slipped his key into the lock and slid the balcony door open. The moment he stepped inside he knew that something had happened. He felt a chill that had not come from the night air. His tuxedo was still hanging by the kitchen door along with Miss Phoebe’s red dress but the symphony tickets were no longer on the mantelshelf. He stepped into the kitchen. The contents of the kitchen cabinets were strewn on the floor. Rice, flour, packets of soup, cans of tuna were jumbled together as though someone had ransacked the cabinets looking for one particular item. The refrigerator was open, with the drawers pulled out.

  Why? He could see what Miss Phoebe had done but why? What had triggered this attack? She had turned the kitchen upside down looking for food; anything with sugar, fat, salt, chocolate. She did this when she was upset but her assaults on the food supplies had been less frequent since he had started to give her regular meals and to keep her company in the evenings.

  He could hear her. She was in her bedroom. The closed door muffled her sobs but he had ears that could pick out the delicate pitter patter of mouse feet from a hundred yards away, and he had no trouble hearing her mumble of sobs and curses. Colorful language, he thought, for a well brought up woman.

  He tapped on the bedroom door. “Miss Phoebe, can I come in?”

  A loud moan and a gulping sob.

  He opened the door.

  She was on the bed surrounded by a litter of food wrappers. Chocolate bars, potato crisps, a bowl of sugar. Was she seriously trying to kill herself? She had been lying on the bed but she flung herself on the floor as he entered.

  She scooted backward with surprising agility for a woman of her size and held up her crossed fingers. Wally’s heart sank. He could do nothing for her until she put her fingers down. Why was she doing this? What had made her so afraid?

  “Miss Phoebe.”

  A sob of fear. Her eyes were closed, mascara smudged across her cheeks.

  “It’s me! Wally!”

  Another sob.

  He spoke firmly. “Put your fingers down.”

  She opened her eyes and he waited until they stopped their panicked rolling and focused on his face. She let her hands drop to her sides.

  “What happened, Miss Phoebe?”

  A jumble of words spewed from her mouth followed by the instruction that he should look in his room. He didn’t need to. He knew what he would find. The floral bedspread would be on the floor and the box would be gone. He had known from the moment he had felt the chill in the air but he had hoped against hope that she would have found a way of repelling him.

  “Did you invite him in?” His tone was accusatory and he didn’t care.

  “No.”

  “You must have. He couldn’t come in unless you invited him.”

  “Give me a chocolate.”

  “Miss Phoebe —“

  “A chocolate.”

  Well, why not? She’d had so many already what difference would one more make? He found one lone chocolate nestled among the brown wrappings of what had once been a very large box of truffles.

  She shoveled the sweet into her mouth and chewed until runnels of chocolate leaked from the sides of her mouth.

  “How?” he asked. “How did he do it, Miss Phoebe?”

  “It was my sister. He has my sister. He didn’t have to come. He sent her.”

  Wally turned on his heel and walked back into the living room. He found the pink porcelain box where Phoebe kept her tissues. He took a handful, returned to the bedroom and handed them to her.

  “Wipe you mouth, Miss Phoebe and get up. I’m going to be leaving now.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “I have no choice. He has my native soil.”

  “But when are you coming back?”

  “I’m not.”

  “But I … I… own you.”

  “He has my native soil. I have to go to him.”

  “No.”

  Her wails followed him as he stepped out onto the balcony. He looked down at the white mice in their cage. They stared back at him with pink eyes and twitching noses. He set the cage inside the living room and opened the cage door.

  “Someone should be free,” he said.

  Six

  PHOEBE

  The intercom interrupted Phoebe’s plans for dinner. Wally had only been gone for three days and now she wondered how she had ever lived without him. He was the one who went to Whole Foods and came back with bags of groceries. He was the one who picked up after her, took her clo
thes down to the laundry room, and made sure the thermostat was set at the correct temperature. Now she was too hot, she had no clean underwear, and she could find none of the little treats that Wally used to buy for her.

  She stared morosely at a bag of frozen peas, boil-in-the-bag rice, and a foil package of tuna fish. This was dinner? No it was not. She would have to order out. She was wondering where Wally might have put the phone number of the Golden Pagoda when the intercom buzzed for the first time. She ignored it. Wally had tidied her desk and transcribed her phone numbers into a sequin encrusted address book, but she would be hard put to say what had happened to that book in the days since Wally had left.

  The intercom buzzed again.

  “Yes, who is it?”

  The doorman mumbled a name.

  “What?”

  “A man to see you.”

  “I don’t see men, what’s the matter with you?”

  “A delivery man.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Because he’s not delivering anything.”

  “Then how do you know he’s a delivery man?”

  “He’s wearing a uniform.”

  Phoebe heard a voice in the background and then the doorman came back on the line. “He says he’s the man who delivered the box you were so puzzled about. His name is Bill. He’s worried about you.”

  Phoebe clamped her hand over the mouthpiece. Bill, the delivery man, the ex-marine, the one who had been so kind. What was he doing here?”

  She uncovered the mouthpiece. “Is he bringing back my box?”

  Now the doorman sounded impatient. “No, Miss Ellis, I already told you he’s not delivering anything. Should I send him away?”

  “Yes! No! Wait!”

  Phoebe glanced at her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the dining table. She would have to put on her new wig, change her clothes, pick up some of the mess.

  “Tell him to come up in about five minutes.”

  “Will do.”

  Will do! Was that any way for a doorman to speak? The Atrium Apartments were not what they used to be.

  She opened her bedroom closet. Wally had done a fine job of organizing her possessions and, as she had not changed her clothes in the three days since he left, the closet was still in good shape. She put on a long floral printed hostess gown and pulled her new wig over her uncombed hair. She washed her face, first time in several days, and dabbed on some White Diamond.

  By the time Bill buzzed the doorbell she was able to glance at herself in the mirror and be reasonably satisfied with her appearance.

  She opened the door. There he was. She had no idea what to say. She couldn’t think of the last time that a man had come to see her just for the sake of seeing her. He was smiling.

  “I hope you remember me, if not I could show you my ID.”

  “No, no, I remember you.” She hadn’t intended to sound quite so breathless.

  “I was worried about you. You seemed very upset… about your box.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  He stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, waiting.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you like to see my photographs?” It was the only thing she could think to say.

  “Of course.”

  Oh, this was going to be easy. He wanted to see her pictures. He wanted her to talk about herself. She didn’t know that such a man could exist.

  She opened the albums on the coffee table and he leaned forward for a closer look

  “This is me with George Clooney.”

  He didn’t suggest that the man was not George Clooney. He took her statement at face value. The man in the picture was George Clooney. She leafed through the album. He was interested in everything she showed him. He wanted to know about the events she had attended, the famous people she had met. He even wanted to know about her acting career, short as it was, and her commercials. He never once asked her why she was no longer acting. He never once asked her why or when she had become fat and housebound.

  She made him a cup of tea, bustling around the kitchen like Harriet Housewife. She had no milk for the tea, but he didn’t take milk. He didn’t need lemon. He was perfectly happy with his tea.

  She set the tea cup on the table in front of him and sat down in the white velvet armchair. Her stash of chocolate no longer made a bulge in the cushion. The empty box was under her bed now.

  “So,” said Bill, sipping his tea, “I just stopped in to make sure you was okay. I was worried about you the other day. You didn't look well. You looked sort of scared.”

  “Yes, well, Bill, when you came the other day, there was something going on that I just can't begin to explain.”

  “You was having a fight with your sister.”

  Ungrammatical but true, Phoebe thought. She nodded her head. .”I wish I could tell you about it but I can't. It's all rather difficult to explain.”

  Bill waved a dismissive hand. “You don't have to explain it to me. I just wanted to make sure you was okay and I can see that you are.” He smiled. “More than okay.”

  Phoebe blushed. How many years had it been since she’d done that? She hoped that Bill had not noticed.

  He rose to his feet. “I have to go now. I have to finish my deliveries.”

  Phoebe looked at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. “You seem to be working very late.”

  “I am,” Bill agreed. “That’s because I'm on my own. Ted quit. Didn't give no notice or nothing. Not a word. No sense of responsibility, if you know what I mean.”

  Phoebe could not explain her feeling of disquiet, but it was there. “When did you last see him?”

  “When we took that big box away from here. I dropped him off at the bus stop on my way back to the depot. Last I saw him he was waiting for a bus. Ain't seen him since.”

  “Oh,” said Phoebe. “Oh, dear.”

  Bill was looking at her with grave concern. “Miss Ellis, are you alright? You’ve gone very pale.”

  She would never leave this apartment again. He couldn’t come in unless she invited him and she was not going to invite him. She would send out for everything she needed. She didn’t care if Bill had to deliver something every day. In fact, she would like it if Bill delivered something every day.

  She looked at Bill’s kind face and found the solution to another problem. “If you’re going downstairs, do you think you could take my garbage for me?”

  He looked a little taken aback but he rallied. “Of course, ma'am. It'll be a pleasure. I know how hard it must be for you, being on your own.

  “I’m not well you see.”

  “I understand, ma’am.”

  She closed the door behind him and set the chain. For a few minutes Bill had made her feel safe but now she was alone again. She picked up his teacup and carried it to the kitchen. She didn’t go so far as to load it into the dishwasher, a science with which she was not familiar, but she did take it to the sink. As she rinsed the cup she thought about how long it had been since she had made a cup of tea for a visitor. Catherine didn’t drink tea.

  She didn’t want to think about Catherine.

  As she returned to the living room to search for the phone number of the Golden Pagoda she heard a sound from the balcony. For a moment the sound comforted her. It was Wally returning from his nightly hunt for food and then she remembered; Wally was with the baron. Whoever was on the balcony, it was not Wally. She stood irresolute in the center of the living room. The drapes were only partially closed. She could see movement outside. Who?

  The tapping came again and then a familiar voice. “Miss Phoebe, let me in.”

  It was Wally. Oh thank heaven, now she wouldn’t need to find the address book. Wally could take care of everything.

  “Please Miss Phoebe, let me in.”

  She made a tentative approach to the window. “Are you alone?”

  He sounded irritated. “Of course I am. Who else do you
think can get up here?”

  “Don’t you have your key?”

  “No, I lost it.”

  “Lost it?”

  “On purpose, so the baron wouldn’t have it. Let me in, Miss Phoebe.”

  The sliding door was stiff and took some effort with muscles unaccustomed to any kind of lifting or pulling. At last Wally was inside. She stood back, wrinkling her nose. His clothes were soiled, his face was dirty, his hair was unwashed. He had really let himself go. Well, he was here now and she could clean him up again.

  She turned to her immediate problem. “Wally, I’m out of chocolates and I can’t find my address book. Find the book for me and then go and get the chocolates, and you can tidy up afterwards.”

  Wally was staring at her and the look on his face was not what she expected; not even a hint of a smile. “Is that all you can say, Miss Phoebe? I thought you might be pleased to see me. I thought you might have been worried about me.”

  “Well, yes, of course I was worried but I can see that you’re all right. Go and get the chocolates and then we’ll talk about it.”

  Wally shook his untidy head. “No, Miss Phoebe, I can't go running errands for you. That's not what I come for. I'm not your servant no more. That’s not why I came.”

  “I don’t understand. Why else would you come?”

  “I came to find out when you're going to rescue us.”

  “Rescue you?”

  “Yes, me and Miss Catherine. When are you going to rescue us?”

  Phoebe took a step backward realizing that the possibility of a meal from the Golden Pagoda was fading rapidly. This was ridiculous. Didn’t the boy understand her situation?

  She wagged an imperious finger in his face. “Don't be ridiculous, Wally. I can't rescue you. I can barely leave this apartment. Do you know how long it takes me to get dressed? And then there's my water pills, and my insulin injections, and I don't even know where you are and —“

  Wally interrupted her in a sad and sullen voice. “It's alright, Miss Phoebe, I understand. I didn't really think you'd come after me.” He paused and looked at her for a long moment. “I thought you might come after your sister. If I had a sister, I would want to rescue her. Don’t you care about Miss Catherine?”