Cocktails at Seven, Apocalypse at Eight: The Derby Cavendish Stories

by Don Bassingthwaite

  “Good.” I put his hot, ashy hand on top of the paperweight so that he and Bobby held the crystal orb between them. Then I wrapped my hands around theirs and took a deep breath, focusing my concentration.

  “Light of the sun, return!” I commanded. “Light of life, return!”

  I felt something push within Richard’s flesh and an answering pull in Bobby’s. I squeezed my eyes shut and poured my will into that connection. “Light of pride, return!”

  Searing heat flared in Richard’s hand, scorching mine as well. Before either of us could do more than cry out, though, the heat was gone. It left my palm and fingers throbbing, but Richard’s skin was suddenly cold beneath mine—perfectly normal for a vampire. I opened my eyes.

  The orb glowed softly from within, lit with a warm light. Bobby stared at it in wonder. I released his hand and he cradled the crystal to his chest. I looked to Richard.

  He was still as black and crispy as a sausage forgotten on the barbecue, but the flickering embers had died out. He no longer smoked—nor did Stephen or Michael, crouching now on the other side of him. I let go of Richard’s hand. He reached over and touched first one of them, then the other.

  I know when it’s time to leave a party. I helped Bobby to his feet, then caught Matt’s eye and nodded toward the door of the den. Matt didn’t need a second invitation. He caught Bobby from the other side and we headed for the door.

  “Derby,” croaked Richard. “Wait.”

  I looked back to find him gesturing for me. I hesitated, then waved Matt and Bobby on. “Get down to the street,” I said. I went and kneeled beside Richard. “What is it?”

  His voice was rough when he answered. “I owe you. I owe you big.”

  “You promised me Bobby’s life,” I reminded him.

  Richard’s lips twisted into a smile. “I promised I’d let him live.”

  I knew exactly what he was implying. Bobby had his life but the Bears still knew his secrets—not that they were likely to be secret for much longer. But I’d been expecting that all along, even before Bobby had brought the sun into Bears’ living room. “His life is all I asked for,” I said. “You don’t owe me anything else.” I stood up and walked to the door. “Wonderful party as always, boys, but I imagine you’ll want to start cleaning up. See you next year?”

  “Why do you think we wanted to meet Tarik, Derby?” said Richard.

  I paused and glanced over my shoulder. “Because of me.”

  Richard shook his head. “No,” he said. “Because of her.”

  I knew who he meant from the way he said the word and the look of dread in his eye. It took a special kind of evil to put fear into people like the Three Bears. My mouth went dry. I turned around.

  “Bethany,” I said.

  ※

  Matt and Bobby were on the sidewalk, trying to act inconspicuous among lingering party guests, irate building evacuees, and emergency responders. I eavesdropped as I made my way through the crowd. The events of the party were on everyone’s lips, but the glamour of the otherworldly was already at work. The Bears’ confrontation with Bobby had become an embarrassing hissy fit, the subject of much speculation, while the fire had been caused by an overabundance of candles knocked into a tray of exceptionally dry martinis. By some accounts, it was the best party ever—although I suspected that any of the Bears’ future parties would have a much smaller guest list. I had a feeling that their golden envelopes wouldn’t carry quite the same weight after this.

  “That took longer than I expected,” said Matt.

  “The Bears had a lot to say,” I told him.

  I quickly took charge. We got Bobby into a cab and whisked him away to a very reputable hotel where we put him in bed with a big glass of scotch while I made a few phone calls. First thing next morning, Bobby Gold would be on television making a more public, if less spectacular, coming out. The Three Bears would try to come after him and the best thing he could do was beat them to the punch. His old life was definitively over—he’d already experienced the media’s attention when rumours of his sexuality first surfaced, but now he was going to have to face the truth.

  This time, at least, he was ready to own it. In fact, it was all I could do to convince him that maybe there were some things, like the existence of vampires or being able to light up brighter than a tanning bed, that the world didn’t need to know about.

  “Trust me,” I told him. “Stick with telling them you’re gay. If you want to become the proud poster boy for rubber kink and ass play, go for it. Just don’t mention the otherworldly—no one will believe you, anyway.”

  It was very late by the time Matt and I left him. The hotel lobby was empty and the street even more so. As we waited for cabs, Matt looked over at me. “Exactly how much of what happened tonight did you plan, Derby?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

  “I mean that Thoe the caterer sent the oysters out just when we’d get them. Horse arrived just in time to distract the Bears so I’d spot the silver dust. That’s pretty remarkable timing.”

  “Coincidence.”

  “You know Horse. You know Ashley, the ogress who got him invited. You know Thoe. You even know the witch that the Bears got their charms from.”

  I glanced back at him. “I know a lot of people. I knew most of the otherworldly at the party.”

  Matt held my gaze. “When the Bears accused Bobby of trying to kill them, he said he didn’t know what they were talking about. He never did admit to anything. I think he was set up. If he didn’t know silver doesn’t hurt vampires, how could he know they eat oysters?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. Matt sighed. “There was someone who had the chance to put the silver dust on the oysters after they came out of the kitchen,” he said pointedly. “Even if he knew it wouldn’t do anything.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” I said. “I’d say that little bit of silver dust accomplished an awful lot. It broke the Bears’ power. It got Bobby out from under their thumb.”

  “By destroying his life.”

  “By giving him the chance to live it.”

  Matt sighed. “You didn’t do all this for Bobby Gold.”

  “No. I did it to protect my friends,” I said just as the cabs pulled up. I opened the door of the first one for him. “Good night, Matthew. Give my love to Aidan.”

  He gave me another long look before he got in the cab. “I will. Good night, Derby. Say hello to Tarik.”

  I stepped back and closed the door.

  Matt’s cab pulled away. I got into mine, gave the driver my address, and sat back. I found my phone and dialled Tarik’s number.

  It took a few rings before he answered. He sounded sleepy. I’m sure I woke him up. “Hey,” he said. “This is later than you thought you’d be.”

  “Stuff happened. Party’s over. I’m heading home now.”

  “Do you want me to come over?”

  “No. I just wanted to hear your voice. I’ll call again tomorrow.” I hung up and my mind went back to the Three Bears’ sodden, smoky den—and what Richard had told me.

  “A few months ago, Bethany asked us to use our connections to find someone. Not a particular person, just a particular type of person. Out-of-towner, otherworldly, young, good-looking, charming, not too principled. She didn’t say why, but we found someone for her.”

  “You can imagine our surprise when you started dating him.”

  3. St. Patrick’s Day

  Who is Bethany? The short answer is that she’s my nemesis. I first encountered her when I was in high school. She arrived as a transfer student from somewhere unspecified but far away—the common rumour was that her parents, strangely never around, had been diplomats in the Middle East or possibly North Africa. If you believe movies and television shows, no matter how odd or suspicious new students may appear, they’re really just
like us once we get to know them. The moment I laid eyes on Bethany, though, I knew she was nothing like me or anyone else. There was a darkness inside her that no one but me seemed able to see and that made me even more wary. I think she recognized me as a threat, as well. I know for certain that she did after the incident with the school mascot (don’t worry, he recovered and so did the basketball team).

  But even I had underestimated the true depth of her darkness. After I managed to foil her ultimate scheme—I could have told the prom committee that the “Enchantment Under the Sea” theme was both clichéd and just asking for trouble—I didn’t expect to see her again. I was wrong. When we ran into each other a second time several years later, Bethany was as evil and perky as ever. She didn’t appear to have aged a day. We’ve clashed several times since then, but no matter what happens to her, she always comes back just the same.

  I’ve tried researching Bethany’s past. As best as I can tell, she gets around like the plague. Literally. I’ve found a record of a young sorceress matching her description living in Constantinople in a.d. 542 during the Plague of Justinian, another of a beautiful witch near Florence in 1348 during the Black Death, and a third of a mysterious “pale lady” during the Great Plague of London in 1666. She may have been in Salem during the witch trials of 1692 before moving south to the Caribbean where a rare literate pirate wrote in his diary: “24 November 1715—Today sweet Beth-Annie who reads the Bones outside the Salty Mizzen did tell Edward Teach that he would look Right Good with a Black Beard. She is a Meddlesome Wench. Mutton for dinner. Pissed out window.”

  In short, wherever Bethany goes—usually in the company of the three otherworldly girls she calls Sara, Rani, and Cleo—chaos follows. I’ve been able to trace her progress around the world at least twice since the sixth century: a trail of war, atrocity, rebellion, upheaval, unrest, and bad fashion choices. I still don’t know exactly how old she is, but sometimes when she’s talked about the distant past during our confrontations, it’s almost as if she was there to witness it. She’s a nexus of ancient darkness; the walking incarnation of malevolence; the evil queen, the cruel stepmother, and the wicked witch all rolled into one.

  She’s the original mean girl. And whatever she was up to, even if it was just breaking my heart, it couldn’t be good.

  I couldn’t tell anyone what I’d discovered from the Three Bears. I didn’t want to risk that Tarik might catch any hint I knew there was a connection between him and Bethany—I knew he’d disappear faster than free Viagra at a retirement home. I definitely didn’t want him reporting back to Bethany when I didn’t know what she was up to yet. Setting me up with a fake boyfriend might have been cruel, but it was, quite frankly, amateur night for Bethany. She was capable of much worse, and I had no doubt that much worse was coming.

  So I kept my silence, waiting and watching. If Tarik sensed that anything had changed between us, he didn’t let on even when I suddenly started finding excuses to spend a little less time in his company. Bobby Gold needed help with the transition to his new lives, both openly gay and secretly otherworldly. Aaron returned to town full of tales from Mardi Gras in New Orleans—“Honestly, Derby, they were just whipping them out on the street! Cocks and tits everywhere!”—and he needed help picking out costumes for the next segment of Mitzy’s Big Year. Various old friends that I’d neglected in the blazing heat of my romance needed to be reconnected with. The tomes and artefacts in my private sanctum on the upper floor of my apartment needed organizing. . . .

  Alright, I was spending a lot less time around Tarik. Every moment that I was with him felt like an eternity and not in a good way. Cuddling felt awkward and sex was definitely weird in a bad way. I was certain that at any moment, Tarik would realize I was holding back. The worst part was that even after several weeks of torturing myself, I still had no idea what Bethany had planned. Tarik, my best hope for finding out more, was a brick wall—if he was hiding anything at all. I started doubting my suspicions. Maybe he didn’t actually know anything. Maybe the Bears had made up the whole thing for some nefarious reason of their own. Maybe Bethany was just sulking in her evil pink lair, not even giving me a second thought.

  I should have known better. The end came quickly—and it began with brunch.

  ※

  “It’s gorgeous out,” said Tarik. “Why don’t we do a patio with Matt and Aidan this afternoon? Before things get crazy.”

  I perked up at the suggestion. Sunny, warm Sunday afternoons in the middle of March are rare enough to deserve celebration on their own—a drink outdoors is both a giant “Fuck you!” to the fading tyranny of winter and a hearty “Hello, sailor!” to the season of shorts and muscle shirts—but I was also feeling a particular low point in my relationship with Tarik. The opportunity to get out of the apartment in the company of other friends was a siren call. Something in Tarik’s words still gave me pause, however.

  “What crazy?” I asked.

  “Has the great Derby Cavendish actually forgotten a holiday?” He kissed me on the forehead. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.”

  Clearly I couldn’t have been more distracted by Bethany if she had taken up residence in my rectum. St. Patrick’s Day is hardly one of the more dangerous of the ancient dates of power, but it’s certainly one of the most chaotic and even more so when it happens to fall on a Sunday. The combination of a morning parade, an afternoon of day-drinking, and an evening of hard partying is like an extra-large cock—a lot of fun at the time, but you know you’re going to hurt the next day.

  An afternoon on a patio would, however, hit the sweet spot between the morning’s family-friendly cultural cheer and the evening’s “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” free-for-all. Plus, I realized, it would allow Aaron Silverman to join us as well. After blowing the budget for Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Mitzy’s Big Year was filming a St. Patrick’s day episode at home. Mitzy Knish had a turn on a parade float in the morning and a twirl on a show stage at night, but Aaron’s afternoon was free. Maybe with Matt and Aidan and Aaron in his face all at once, Tarik would finally let something slip.

  “Let’s do it,” I said and reached for my phone.

  Fortunately, all three of my friends were available, and by one-thirty we were sitting on the sun-drenched patio of the gay village’s favourite Irish pub, Cockles and Mussels. A server wearing a t-shirt with the pub’s famous slogan “Alive, Alive, Hos!” came over to us.

  “Happy St. Paddy’s,” she said wearily. “Just drinks or food? You’re still in time for our St. Patrick’s Day brunch specials: Luck o’ the Irish Hash, Eggs Colleen, Blarney Omelette, Shamrock Pancakes, and the ever-popular Green Eggs and Ham.”

  “What’s in the hash?” asked Aidan. Matt’s boyfriend is a big, athletic man, and food is never far from his mind.

  “Same thing that’s in everything else: green.”

  “Does anything come without green?” Matt asked.

  “Not today, honey. Not today.”

  “What if we ask really nicely?” said Tarik, flashing wide eyes and a brilliant smile. My heart tugged in my chest. Whatever else he might be, he was charming. Even our server, who probably hadn’t fallen for a man since Santa Claus, wasn’t immune.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said. Since I could see that there were a few other people on the patio eating food that wasn’t artificially emerald, I doubted that the request was really that onerous. We gave in and ordered a late brunch, Aaron and Aidan gamely trying out the special menu. I drew the line at our table partaking of the day’s festive drinks, however. Some things really are sacred. When our assortment of Irish stouts and good solid cocktails arrived at the table, I raised my non-green martini and proposed a toast. “To friends who are family, to brothers who are sisters—may the tops be at your back and the bottoms rise to meet you. Sláinte!”

  “Sláinte!” echoed the others.

  “That is sweet,” added another voice. “You are all
so cute, I could just puke!”

  We froze, our glasses still in the air. Our table was at the edge of the patio, right up against the wrought iron fence separating patio from sidewalk. On the other side of the fence, so close I could smell the artificial apple scent of her St. Patrick’s Day lollipop, was Bethany. Clustered around her were, as ever, her three harpies.

  And Hermione Frisson.

  “Bonjour, Derby Cavendish,” said Hermione in her fake French accent. “Nothing to say? Has the cat got your tongue?”

  I will admit that I was shocked. Shocked not just to see them together, but shocked to see them at all. Weeks of fretting and stewing over Bethany’s plans, and here she was in front of me. I was so shocked that my first reaction wasn’t to demand to know what she was up to or even to comment on the green pleather cropped jacket that made it look like she was wearing frog skin.

  It was to look directly at Tarik.

  For the briefest instant, I saw surprise in his eyes—then his expression closed up faster than an unlubricated asshole. So the Three Bears had been telling the truth. I wouldn’t have thought that I could feel worse for having my suspicions confirmed, but I did. Suddenly there was a fist-sized knot in my guts as if I’d fallen asleep in the sling at Squeal on red-hankie night.

  Fortunately, my real friends were there. Aaron fixed Hermione with that special kind of stink-eye only people who perform live have mastered. “Hermione, you should spread your legs a little wider. A wandering fumigator might pass by and take pity on you.”

  Hermione glared at him. “Shave your back!” she snapped.

  “Ow—harsh. Do you want to try that one again?”

  The pale girl Bethany called Cleo made the dry, rasping sound that served her as laughter. Hermione turned her glare on her. Cleo bared sharp teeth and hissed. But the exchange had given me the moment I needed to collect myself. Tarik could wait—I put his hairy, treacherous ass out of my mind and focused on the real danger. “What are you doing here, Bethany? Remembering the glory days of the Potato Famine?”