House of Secrets

by James Moore

  sacrifice the child’s mother, to, as you might expect, Charnas, the Lord of Misrule. It was only ncccssary that he love the woman — not that she love him — but hey, it made the betrayal all the more painful, and who’s gonna complain about a bonus?”

  Chamas sat up and kicked his feet against the wall. “You were that woman, Ilse, the one he murdered and whose baby he gave to a demon. That is why he seems so familiar. That, and the tact that your soul has had a long series of affairs and involvements with the souls of the men of his bloodline. You’re the Dulcinca to their Don Quixote, the Pocahontas to their John Smith, or, in the case of Thadius, the Margaret to his Dr. Faustus. And that, Use, is why he was so disturbed by your appearance. Thadius knows there’s nothing sweeter than revenge, except maybe a guilty conscience, and all debts come due eventually."

  The imp gestured, the image of convivial mirth. “And now I've answered the riddle I owed you." He leaned forward then, his features sly and conspiratorial, and he pointed one finger directly at her heart. “And if you’d like to play Nimue to his Merlin, I can help. After all, we both have a score to settle with Zho.”

  Ilse felt her blood turn to water, phantom memories surfacing in the back of her mind, recollections of a life — and death — she hadn't known that she had. “Go away, Charnas," she whispered, trying to push them away.

  He grinned impishly. “No.”

  Her blood began to boil with rage, and tears started in her eyes. “Go to Hell!"

  “Ah-ah-ah, no can do," Charnas said, tsking his fingers at her. “Only Thadius has that power over me, by the compact. Unless you want to set up your own contract with my greater half, Charnas, the Lord of Misrule?”

  “No,” IIse said and attempted to banish the horrible memories that had sprung up at the imp’s words.

  “Well...," said Charnas, shrugging and throwing his hands up and looking heavenward, as if for divine guidance. He tipped sideways off the wall until he caught himself at the last moment with one leg, swinging back and forth until he came to rest, suspended like the Hanged Man, though instead of looking complacent, he had the same devout expression as before, this time pointing downwards.

  “Well,” Chamas repeated, now in the proper position, “if you’re ever in the mood to sell your soul, here's hoping you remember us. We’re the fun side of evil, and we offer much more innovative torments and tortures than the other demons and devils. Just ask Thadius.” The imp looked pensive. “Not that we’ve got his soul. Yet.”

  Use shivered. “I wasn’t aware that evil could be fun.”

  “Of course it is," said Chamas, “or, I should say, our brand of evil is — or at least we'd like to think so.” He smiled mock-beatifically, holding his hands together in reverence. “Other demons and dark lords try to disguise what they are, appear as angels of light, all the rest of that shtick, or else show up with great roaring voices and flames and the 'Why have you summoned me, pitiful mortal?’ routine. I ask you — Would you sell your soul to someone like that? Angels don’t buy souls, so if a guy with wings and a halo asks for yours, you know he isn’t on the up-and-up. And why would you want to sell your soul to some loud-mouthed pompous windbag, unless you’re seriously into B&.D? Which, if you are, we can accommodate, but it’s not our main stock-in-trade — unless you really enjoy it.

  “We’re the fun evil," Chamas said, continuing. “Charnas and me, me and Charnas — really, it’s the same thing. He’s the Lord, I’m the Knave, or the Fool, of Misrule, and we thought, ‘Hey, let’s make evil fun! Then everyone will want to sell their souls!’ Or at least that was the general idea.” The imp shrugged, penduluming slightly. “At least we’re honest about it, unlike some demons I could mention. Different strokes for different folks, I suppose, and if it weren’t for that, everyone would just be selling their souls to ‘Evil’ with a capital E, and we’d be out of a job.”

  “Go to Hell," Ilse repeated.

  Chamas smirked. “Eat my shorts."

  “I don’t think you wear any.”

  The imp seemed so tickled by this that he kicked his heels with glee, losing his grip on the wall and falling on his head. Ilse was pleased, but unfortunately Charnas didn’t seem any worse for the wear, clutching his stomach and rolling on his back, snickering.

  But he did seem off guard. Ilse slipped her key back in her purse and quickly unloaded the camera, readying another roll of film. If she could just get the proper rite prepared...

  At the last moment, Chamas hopped up. “Ah-ah-ah,” he said, “you didn’t say, ‘Mother, may I?’ You know you can steal people’s souls with those things."

  “I knew,” Ilse said and lifted the camera into position, hitting the button.

  Chamas disappeared in a gout of violet flame the moment before the flash, his trademark sulfur and lavender wafting down the stairwell, then there was a second burst of purple fire right in front of Ilse, and Charnas reappeared midair, dressed in black and magenta tennis gear.

  He grabbed the camera from behind — “Image is everything!" — and vanished in another flash of fire.

  Then he appeared back on the original wall in his original motorcycle leathers. “You’re nasty,” he said. “I like that in a woman.”

  “Where’s my camera?”

  “It’s in Hell. I bet you didn’t know there was a separate Hell for cameras."

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it, whether I want to hear it or not.” Ilse hugged her evening bag to herself, trying to cover up the hole in her dress. “Listen, I’ve got a war to prevent, and I don’t have time to chat with demons.”

  “Well, don’t let me be keeping you. Run along, run along!" He made a shooing gesture with his long fingers, then grinned. “Though I don’t know what Dr. Dee is doing in the maintenance room. That’s where that stairway leads.”

  Well, so much for the Iron Key. It seemed there was less chance of being able to use it than there was of using her camera.

  Chamas snapped his fingers. “Let me guess — Dr. Dee did his ‘Oh, let’s be so secret and mystical’ shtick and you’re not allowed to go back to the chantry by any usual way, like the front door, the chantry, of course, being either the house on Pudding Lane, Garter-Cross near the Tower, or Malmsey House on Curson Street.” The imp began ticking them off on his fingers. “Now the house on Pudding Lane is right by the solicitors, which means Ventrue, so —”

  “Is this all common knowledge?”

  “What?” said the imp, looking up. “Oh, no. It’s worth quite a few petty souls to the right people. I wouldn’t know, except I know Zho, and Zho knows Tremere, and what Zho knows, I know, y’know?” He put a finger to his chin and studied her. “I’d be guessing you need to get to Malmsey House.”

  “If you tell Lady Anne...”

  The imp grinned, and Use knew she’d confirmed his suspicion. “What, you'll make me wish I was in Hell? You’ll visit me with unspeakable torments? You’ll visit me, period? You know, I might just like that. Lady A’s just around the comer; I could tell her right now."

  Ilse didn’t say anything.

  Chamas chuckled and held up one finger. “Listen, sugar, don’t threaten a demon. We wrote the book on it. So, why don’t you do your job, and I’ll do my job, and everyone'll be as happy as pigs in a brothel." His look dared her to think of all the possible interpretations. “Now you just run along to Malmsey House, and pretend that you never saw me, and I’ll sneak along after you, and I won’t tell anyone that we talked. It'll be our little secret.”

  Ilse bit her lip, not wanting to admit how helpless she felt. “The fact of the matter is, I don’t know where Malmsey House is."

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Charnas asked. “It's on Curson Street."

  “I don’t know where Curson Street is either.”

  Charnas whistled. “Boy, you’re really hating unlife, aren’t you, lady? If you lost that bag of tricks, you’d be up the River Styx without a paddle, to badly mix a few metaphors, but what the hey, if a dead Englishman ca
n get away with it, so can I." He jumped down from the wall but remained in a crouch, beckoning with one finger. “C’mon, follow me, and I’ll get you there.” He grinned evilly. “You don’t have any choice but to trust me. Isn’t this great?”

  Ilse knew when to give up. “Just get us there quickly.”

  “Follow me.”

  Charnas led the way up and around Parliament, moving with a ludicrously exaggerated sneaking gait that Ilse suspected would have been impossible for anything other than a spirit. She just followed as quietly as she could, the grass of the lawn cool beneath her feet and wet with dew.

  Near the fountains and reflecting pool, they came upon a stretch of road where a chauffeur waited by a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost. Charnas rubbed his hands as they crouched behind the bushes. “Oh, this is going to be fun, but quick,” he promised. “Wait here."

  Charnas then strolled around the hedge and down towards the chauffeur, metamorphosing into the very image of Lady Anne, down to the jeweled pins in her hair.

  “My Queen,” the chauffeur said, standing at attention, only moving his lips and the one arm necessary to open the door.

  “Oh, Clarence!” Charnas cried, rushing up in a very ladylike manner. “Oh, I do not know how I can take it any longer! Oh, kiss me!”

  The imp, in the guise of the Queen of London, draped herself around the hapless chauffeur, still standing at attention, and planted a large, passionate kiss on his mouth. The chauffeur swayed at attention, one hand still holding the door of the Rolls, and Charnas finally came off him. “My — My lady...” he stammered.

  Charnas quickly looked flustered, primping her hair, then turned to Clarence and clutched his arm. “Oh, Clarence, do forgive us. That was most unbecoming."

  “Think — Think nothing of — “

  “Oh hush, Clarence," Charnas said. “Let me just look at you for a moment. Oh, I must apologize. You know I took you as my ghoul for I was attracted to you, but these pressures — Oh, Clarence, please, hold me for a moment! the attempts on my life by these horrid Brujah and those damnable Tremere...Oh, the others must not see my moment of weakness, but I don’t care! Do you hear me, Clarence? I don't care!"

  Charnas held her wrist to her forehead, the hapless chauffeur merely standing there and attempting to keep a stiff upper lip. Charnas tore the pins from her hair, screaming, “Look at me, Clarence! I don’t care if I’m dead! I don’t care if I’m a Queen! I don’t care if you’re gay! I am a woman, you are a man, and I must have you!”

  She shook out her hair, embraced him once, sobbing, then pushed him away and pointed to the bushes a short distance from the ones Use was behind. “Go behind those bushes and take off your clothes, Clarence. Once I compose myself, I will join you. But I wish for you to feign that your passion for me is as strong as my passion for you. Make me feel like a woman!”

  “I — I will try my best, My Queen."

  Charnas stood there, gesturing imperiously, and Clarence left, with only a glance or two backwards, the water of the fountain sparkling with the lights of Parliament.

  Once he was behind the bushes. Use took that as her cue and ran down to the car. Charnas grinned, and his semblance of Lady Anne dissolved into his regular black-leather bad-boy appearance as he held up the keys he’d lifted from the chauffeur.

  Ilse climbed in the back of the Rolls and slammed the door as Charnas hopped into the driver's seat, bouncing up and down happily. “A motorcar...," he said in a completely different voice from his own, as if he were quoting something. “A lovely red motorcar..."

  He was definitely quoting something, because the Rolls was silver, not red, but he started it up anyway. “Put-put!" he said, and it purred to life, almost silent. Charnas piloted it away from the curb. “Put-put and off we go!”

  Ilse ignored the imp’s comments, looking back at the fountain and the bushes sparkling in the moonlight. “She's going to kill him."

  “Hopefully," Charnas responded, back to his usual mischievous tone. “Really sucks to be a Ventrue chauffeur tonight, doesn't it? What do you think they pay them? Blood?" He grinned in the rearview mirror.

  “One would suppose so.”

  “They'd have to," Charnas said, whipping into the main flow of traffic and flipping off the cars behind them in response to the angry honking. “You know how many souls it takes to get that kind of loyalty from a demon?"

  Ilse decided to take it as a rhetorical question and so made no comment. Charnas only responded by driving over the divider onto the right-hand side of the road, threading the needle between two oncoming cars. “Look at me!" he cried. “I’m an American tourist!" He floored it then, still in the lane of oncoming traffic. “Now I’m a German tourist! Ja! Die Autobahn!"

  Ilse was plastered back into the soft gray upholstery, hearing the squealing brakes and smashing fenders around them. “Get to the other side!"

  “What’s the third type of awful tourist ? Charnas asked, giggling.

  “I don’t know, I give up!” she babbled, praying that the crazy demon wouldn't drive her straight to Hell.

  “A Japanese tourist!" he answered, then swerved back onto the left-hand side, causing three more accidents in the process. “Here, take some pictures! You can’t be a proper Japanese tourist without pictures!" Charnas held up one hand, and a ball of purple flame appeared in it, flickering out and leaving behind her camera.

  “Whoops,” he said, snatching it back and taking his other hand from the wheel. “Can’t let you be having this. Not that I object to the idea of stealing souls with a camera, mind you, but I’d rather not be captured on film myself. Ruins the image." He detached the Monocle of Clarity and tried to hand her the camera.

  Ilse only had eyes for the railing of the bridge. “For God's sake, steer!" she cried out, then reached out telekinetically, grabbing the wheel and preventing them from crashing into the Thames.

  “For God’s sake...no," Charnas mused. “For your sake ... maybe. But you’re doing a pretty good job of it, so maybe I should take the pictures." He leaned over across the passenger’s seat and snapped a shot of a car plowing into one of the lampposts. “Thadius said for me to follow you, not drive you, anyway."

  “I don’t know where we’re going."

  “To Malmsey House, wasn't it? What, you mean it really is the house on Puddin’ Lane?” Charnas grinned, facing her and holding her camera offhandedly.

  Ilse grabbed it. “You drive. I’ll take the pictures.”

  He laughed, Use supposed, because she’d finally given in to his game. “Okay,” he said, tossing the Monocle of Clarity back into her lap as well and putting his hands back on the wheel. “But you can’t snap my picture, ‘cause if you do, you're lost, and if you’re lost, you aren’t gonna have anyone to show you the way to Dr. Dee.”

  Ilse fitted the Monocle back on and raised the camera, taking a direct shot of Chamas. The flash went off bright in the interior of the car.

  “Think again,” Use said and lowered the camera.

  Charnas was still there.

  He held up the yellow roll of film in one hand. “Psych."

  Use felt her fangs press against her lower lip, and she tightened her grip on the camera. “Just get us there,” she ground out, biting back the incipient frenzy.

  “Okay,” said the imp, taking a corner too hard, then wrenching the wheel. The Ventrue Rolls spun out, slamming Use into the left door tires squealing like pigs at the slaughter, until with a bump and a jump and another bump, they fetched up against the curb.

  “We’re here!” the imp laughed and disappeared. The next second, the door behind her popped open and Use tumbled out onto the street.

  She looked up at Charnas, grinning gleefully at her. “Okay, I’ve kept my part of the bargain. Now you go on in, and I’ll tag along.”

  “In your dreams, imp!” Use spat, but Charnas only snickered and vanished, not in a gout of flames this time, but in a puff of lavender smoke.

  Use waved it away, then picked up her evening bag
and the camera. The Monocle was still attached, but the lens cover had come off its string. She snapped it on the end, hearing the echo of Charnas’ annoying laughter, and got to her feet.

  She wished there were a worse place than Hell for creatures like Charnas.

  Staggering slightly, but not much more bruised than before, Use made her way up the steps of the mansion, resting her feet on the plush gold carpet remnant below the front step, monogrammed with Sarah Cobbler’s sigil. The door opened before she could even reach for the knocker.

  “Miss Decameron, please, do come in.” Mr. Winthrop ushered her in before she could say a word, shutting the door behind her. “Though I’m doubtlessly certain that you wish to freshen up, I am also certain that the master will wish to see you immediately. If you would be so good as to come with me ? Anticipating her every need, Mr. Winthrop conducted her down the hall, lifting a long, crushed royal velvet cloak from a peg and draping it about her. “I’m certain that Miss Cobbler will not mind me taking the liberty, given the circumstances and the state of your dress.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Winthrop.”

  “Tut, think nothing of it. I live to serve.” He opened a door, ushering her into another suite of rooms and down a grand staircase. “Shall I also take the liberty of bringing you refreshments, Miss Decameron? I judge that yours has not been a pleasant evening.”

  “No,” Ilse said, hearing Charnas chuckle in the back of her mind. “It has not. And yes, please, as to the vitae."