by James Moore
“Have you been there?”
“No, but I talked to a werewolf once who said he had. Lying bastard, but it was an interesting enough tale — not that I’d ever be able to see the truth of it, mind. He said the
Summer Country would only admit those of the blood, and I didn’t have it, so I’d have to take his word for both.” He cocked his head, smiling. “So is this like that?”
Use bit her lip. Quick, so very quick. Just like Paul. “Yes," she said and nodded slowly. “Only those of the blood of House Tremere can enter the Midnight Palace.” She paused. “At least I think so. That’s the way the Rite of the Iron Key works, and it’s the only way I know."
Carl laughed. “Bloodlines. Always seemed a sloppy place to me to keep keys. Wait a couple generations, and any bastard can get one.”
“So you knew you were of House Tremere?"
“Knew it? Listen, love, that’s why they kicked me out of the Order. Nice neat little Hermetic types didn’t like the thought of staining their lily-whites with vampire blood, even if it came by way of living folk ten times removed. So they tossed me out on my ear, just because they didn't like who I had for kith and kin, and I think, eh wot, might as well look up my old relatives, they were the ones who got me into this fix in the first place. So here I am, one way or t’other. Lad from Lancashire goes to London, then ends up with vampires in another world by way of L.A. Makes as much sense as anything.”
He looked about the night garden, only the tallest spires and widows walks of Rambledown visible beyond the cypresses and their hanging moss. “So, when do I get to meet the family?”
Use was taken a bit aback. “Um, whenever you want, I suppose. We’ll have to find them. Master Harry would be best. He’s my sire.”
“You mean he’s your da, your king, or is there some other business to it? Because I’ll be frank, the only time I hear that word often is when I’m around the Royal Kennel Club or the West-End Whippet Fanciers, and I don’t think that’s what you mean.”
Use nodded. “I mean he’s the Kindred — vampire, if you will — who made me what I am, giving me the gift of the Embrace. He's also my master and has taught me most of what I know of the Arts.”
“Well, the second sounds familiar enough, and the first I can guess, since you Tremere seem as fussy about talking about how you get more of your kind as living people are of talking about how they get more of theirs, even if it seems a fairly simple and straightforward business. I think I prefer to remain in the dark as to the exact particulars, because I'm still rather fond of the light.” He set the dying butterfly gently onto the bronze tip of the sundial.
“But I’m also rather interested in meeting the rest of my relatives, so lead on, good lady, if you please." His speech had turned courtly and amused, self-consciously formal, a spark dancing in each eye just like with Paul when he was enjoying himself. Use took Carl by the hand he extended and led him down the far path, under the trees and over the brook, careful of the rotted planks in the footbridge, to the small oaken door beneath the yew hedge.
This door opened onto one of Lady Sarah’s staircases, the small switchbacks with the many steps that seemed to lead nowhere, but were actually one of the fastest ways of navigating the Mystery House.
Carl took the steps three at a time. “There a charm to how you use these?”
“I think so,” Use said. “Unfortunately, it’s Lady Sarah’s, and she’s very private about its workings, so it's between the Manse and her. The main trick is to catch it in a good mood.” Carl hopped down the steps, swinging around the polished wooden orbs atop each newel post as he came to it. “Be tempted to play Mary Poppins except there's a few too many of these in the way.”
“You seem to be taking well to it.”
“Shouldn't I? After all, you said it was the old family
house.” Carl looked back and smiled, so much like Paul that it hurt. “Anyway, you haven’t been to Doissetep. They've got madmen running around the halls with broadswords and bunny slippers, and I don’t exaggerate. And when those broadsword-wielding, bunny-slippered madmen are also the archmages who run the show, well, you can see where I might find this refreshing."
Carl rounded another newel post, but the orb twisted in his hand this time, and he lost his balance, catching himself on the railing before he could fall down the stairwell. With a click, a panel opened in the opposite wall, leading into the Red Hall.
It was one of the older sections of the House, the grand banquet room of a seventeenth century Viennese hunting schloss, with a long table down the center of the room. Lynx, pheasants and other smaller trophies were set at intervals along its length with the heads of deer, elk, wild boar and the other larger game mounted on the walls to either side. The Hall’s name came from the blood-spattered battle standards hanging in the vaulted ceiling and the red crystal oil lanterns that were placed about the room, suffusing the chamber with a ruby glow.
Carl stepped in, Ilse following his lead, and she heard the almost noiseless click of the panel sliding to behind them. The mage didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, didn’t care.
At the far end of the table, facing the rampant remains of some fierce black wildcat, sat two figures, an elaborate porcelain tea service set out before them, tinged pale rose by the light.
“How lovely, Ilse, dear," said Lady Sarah. “You’re just in time for tea."
“Yes, yes, child,” said Mammy Pleasant. “And bring your gentleman friend in too. We want to see him for ourselves. The House has been cellin’ us all about ’im, but it’s one thing to listen to the walls creak and another to see somethin’ with your own eyes."
Carl looked at her, and Ilse realized that the introductions were hers. “Mammy, Lady Sarah, let me introduce Pau — Carl. Carl Magnuson. Of...?”
“Of, until lately, the Order of Hermes, but no longer, I’m afraid. So I suppose that just makes me of House Tremere.” Mammy Pleasant laughed, high and light, echoing and carrying to them down the length of the banquet hall. “Ooh, girl, you’ve got yourse'f a charmer there, that's for sure! A real charmer, an' a proper English hoodoo man, an’ they don’t come cheap. No, they don’t! Jing Wei’s gonna throw a hissy fit when she finds you’ve gone and grabbed her play-pretty." She slapped her knee and laughed. “Now you bring him over here so we can get a better look at im.”
Lady Sarah laughed as well, but respectfully and properly. They were like two sisters, two old women wrapped in shawls and lace and fine muslin, white in black and black in white, jiggling and giggling together like a pair of magnetic dogs on a magic mirror.
They made their way down the hall, Carl glancing up at the heads of the deer and boar who seemed to watch them with glittering red eyes. “Carl,” Use said, drawing his attention back down to the table once they reached its end, “may I introduce Lady Sarah Winchester, chief architect of Rambledown.” The tiny old woman nodded, hunched into her chair with her teacup like an apple doll in Victorian widow’s weeds, “and her companion, Mary Ellen Pleasant, head of housekeeping."
“Call me Mammy,” said the old black woman, her dead skin still shockingly dark against her white dashiki and her lace cap and shawl. “I run the show, and I’m a whole theater in myself."
Carl bowed low, coming back up with a smile. “I’d say I was charmed, except I’m afraid that would commit me, so I’ll just say I’m pleased to make the acquaintance of you both."
“He is a charmer,” Lady Sarah agreed. “What did I say, Mary? You owe me your tarot cards and a bottle of holy water.”
“Well, there’s the truth." Mammy chuckled, slapping her knee. “Sit down, you two. Sit down. Pull up a chair, an’ make yourselves comfy. Have a cup of tea. Well, at least you, Use. I don't know if your young man would care for our blend."
“Oh, who knows, Mary?” Lady Sarah said. “It’s not Darjeeling, but he might care for it anyway.”
Mammy pushed at her playfully. “Oh stop it, Sarah! You’re terrible!” she cackled. “But it’s not Ear
l Grey neither!”
Lady Sarah giggled and poured a cup from the bone china pot, the rich red of blood changing midstream to steaming brown tea. “Have a cuppa,” she said, her Mayflower accent turning mock-British, setting the cup before the empty chair at her right hand. “Bet it’s been a while since you tasted hot tea!"
Carl took the chair to the left of Mammy Pleasant. “I believe I’ll pass on the tea, but thank you, anyway.”
Lady Sarah set out another cup of fine bone china and pushed it towards him. “Oh, it doesn’t have to be tea. Would you like coffee? I can do it. Abracadabra, presto-chango, hey-ho, we’ve got coffee!" She held the teapot, poised.
“I daresay you ladies could manage Turkish delight if I were but to ask, but I'll pass all the same. Use and I were just looking for...?” He trailed off, looking askance at Use.
Use took the seat Lady Sarah had offered her, not wishing to offend the hospitality of the old blood-sisters. “Master Harry.” Use picked up her cup. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”
The two old women looked at her and burst into renewed peals of laughter at their latest private joke. Use was used to it. The old blood-sisters had an endless number of amusements, ranging from Blood Bound poodles to enchanted stereoscopes, and the Tremere council didn’t care overmuch what they did so long as they kept the Castle of Ten Thousand Rooms running smoothly and in a good state of repair. And happy.
Mammy at last wiped the tears of blood from her eyes and
stared, her eyes wide and goggling. “Oh, I daresay Massa Harry must be somewhere around here.” Then she collapsed onto the table, howling and pounding it with the flat of one hand.
Use decided to humor them, not that they seemed to need much more. “I suppose I’ll get the cream of the jest eventually."
Lady Sarah’s eyes went just as wide as Mammy’s. “Oh, would you like cream with your jest, Use?” She raised the teapot.
“Yes, thank you, Lady Sarah,” Use said and held out her cup as the old sorceress used the Magic of the Smith to transmute the blood into pure cream, swirling into the tea in her cup and changing the brown from dark to light, while Mammy Pleasant pounded the table and gasped out, “Jest cream! Jest cream!”
Carl chose to act as if nothing were amiss and sat there, inspecting the rampant black wildcat, testing to see if the claws of its taxidermized paws were still sharp. They were, and he put his finger in his mouth, sucking away the blood before anyone could offer to do it for him.
Use chose to just take a sip of her tea and savored the taste of full-bodied orange pekoe flavored with bergamot and violets and sweetened with fresh cream. It was an illusion, of course, for the tea was still in its essence blood, but there were reasons why the old sisters' tea parties were such popular affairs, despite the silly, girlish manner with which they comported themselves. “Where is Master Harry? I’d hoped to find him, but the House led me here instead.” Use took another sip of her tea.
“Isn't this a lovely cake?” Lady Sarah asked, ignoring the question. “Mary helped me bake it." She lifted the crystal cover of the cake plate and revealed a large, heart-shaped piece of dark cake, decorated with more of Mammy’s vever patterns. “It’s chocolate lebkuchen,” she said. “My own special recipe."
“Rowwrrrr!" The wildcat pounced onto the cake plate, knocking the cover out Lady Sarah’s hand and spilling the teapot, blood staining the white linen. The cat screamed again and raked its claws across the cake, a splinter of wood flying out, a toothpick, which landed on the table before Use. The cat gobbled down the lebkuchen, growing larger and larger until it stood the size of a panther. It lapped up the spilled blood from the table, then bit the teacup from Lady Sarah’s hand and swallowed it whole.
The giant cat snarled at the two old women with bloody fangs, then leaped between them, landing on the floor and turning in a flash, darting between them and under the table. The chairs down the length of the Red Hall’s grand banquet table rattled and shifted, jumping back one after the other as the creature raced down the length, until at last the master’s chair at the far end jumped back a full foot, the great cat coming up in it, facing them, its paws on the table, mouth open in a horrific snarl —
Then the paws came up behind the cat’s ears, and the beast’s face came away, the mouth still snarling. Dark eyes laughing under dark curly hair, Master Harry set the mask aside and nodded once.
Lady Sarah and Mammy Pleasant laughed like schoolgirls, clapping enthusiastically, and Carl followed suit, with polite, appreciative applause.
Master Harry acknowledged each of them, then turned to Ilse. “Ilse, dear, I believe that’s some of my blood you have in your cup. If you could spare it, I’d appreciate it, because I’m a bit low."
Feeling like a prize idiot, Ilse got up and went to the far end of the table, handing Master Harry her tea, which changed back to blood the moment it touched his lips.
“Almost got you, Harry,” Lady Sarah said, her voice echoing down the length of the hall. “Almost got you that time."
“You ain't got that many lives, you old cat!” Mammy Pleasant cackled and rubbed her hands. “We’ll skin you yet.” Master Harry set down the teacup, white and shining and licked clean. “If there weren’t any danger, there wouldn’t be any challenge. But you ladies will have to try better next time.” He took Use’s hand and kissed it as she took a seat next to him. “Where did you crib that one from, Sarah? ‘Hansel and Gretel?’”
“Is that what you want to call the trick, Harry?” Lady Sarah leaned forward and leered. “I thought ‘Cut out his heart and feed it to the cat’ might be better."
“Too long,” Master Harry said. “An illusion’s title is best short and poetic.” Not letting go of Use’s hand, Master Harry got up from his chair and pulled Use from hers, escorting her down the length of the table so where they wouldn’t have to shout.
He slipped out her original chair for her, then extended his hand to Carl. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. Harry Houdini, at your service, sir."
Carl laughed and stood up partway. “I'd rather guessed that. Carl Magnuson," He extended his own hand. “A pleasure to meet you. You've always been one of my idols.”
The mortal mage and Use's master shook warmly. “I'd thought the world thought me dead,” Master Harry remarked, releasing Carl's hand with a nod and a smile.
Carl smiled back. “Can you think of a better thing for idols to be?”
Master Harry nodded in agreement, then turned to Lady Sarah, who was still looking at the empty cake plate and the overturned teapot. “‘The Lebkuchen Heart,’” he supplied. “That’s the name for the trick you're looking for.”
Lady Sarah looked up, prim. “That’s redundant," she said. “Lebkiichen already means beloved cake. That translates as 'The Beloved Cake Heart.’"
Master Harry shrugged and reached over to Mammy
Pleasant’s cup, picking it up and draining the last of the tea, which changed to blood on contact with his lips. “Since when does reality have anything to do with illusion?”
“Oh, why don’t you call it ‘Feed the Cat’ an’ have done with it? Lan’ sakes, but you two go on.” Mammy Pleasant smiled and turned to Carl. “So, Carl boy, are you plannin’ on stayin' a spell? I've got a nice bedroom on the top floor I could fix up a treat for you.”
Carl smiled, one finger stroking his signet ring. “I’d say I could stay for a night, but as I understand from Use, that’s a good deal of time here.”
“Ooh, he’s a sharp one, he is!” Mammy said and shoved Use with her fingertips, laughing. “Jing Wei’s gonna be just furious when she finds you snatched him out from under her nose.”
Carl looked around the table. “I wasn’t aware that I was a prize to be snatched.” He paused. “And I thought my relationship with Jing Wei was private.”
Master Harry smiled back. “You’ll find that few things are private among the Tremere, relationships most especially. And Use and Jing Wei have a certain...riv
alry, as you might expect among blood-sisters.”
Carl gave Use a sharp look, and it wounded her to the heart. “Hmph. well, I suppose you can’t choose your relatives.” Master Harry smiled. “But don't you see? That’s the point — we can.” His eyes scanned Carl. “With a certain notable exception. It’s a rare thing to be hosting the first mortal mage in Clan Tremere in almost two hundred years.”
Carl laughed, though it sounded strained. “Pardon me if I don’t raise a glass to celebrate. The past couple weeks have been difficult for me.”
“Yes, cast out of the Order, as I understand?”
“Well, yes. All I did was say that you blokes might not be all bad, then someone found the skeleton in my closet, or should I say the bloodstain on the family tree, and hey-ho, I was out on my ear, even if I wasn’t the first to say it." He shrugged. “So I decided, well, if I was going to get kicked out for associating with you, I might as well do it and see what it was like, so I talked to this person and that person, an’ next thing I know, I’m off to L.A., and I hit it off with Jing Wei, but she doesn’t tell me much, then next night I’m set for another date with her, and Use shows up instead, followed by the Undead Chowderhead, and we nip out the back and end up here." He nodded towards Ilse and winked his green left eye, and Use felt her blood turn to water. “Works fast, she does."
“We’re not so very bad,” Master Harry said, producing a pack of cards from nowhere and fanning them with both hands.
“Hey, those are my” — Mammy started, interrupted by Lady Sarah. “No, remember, they’re my”—
“Girls, please." Master Harry folded the fans back up, shuffling the cards back together, then dividing them and flipping them from hand to hand in two arcs. “We drink blood, and we can’t stand sunlight, but that’s about the sum of our vices. As I understand, if you go to some of the newer clubs, they’ve becoming rather fashionable among the mortal set as well." His hands moved faster than the eye could see, cutting the cards, stacking them, and cutting them again. “Care to pick a card?"