“I do not doubt that we’ll be a good fit,” he said quietly. “No doubt whatsoever.”
Well, that sure could be taken two ways. I wondered in which way he meant it?
I know the first thing that popped into my mind.
He said nothing further, but quickly left the room. As soon as he was gone, Leech gestured for me to follow her down the hall. As we walked, she said in her morose monotone, “Three Vampires valk into a bar.”
“It’s okay Leech,” I rushed. “Please don’t feel obliged to tell me a jo—”
“De barmaid approaches.” She stared straight ahead as she spoke, walking along the gallery as though she were in a trance. “‘Vat vill it be?’ says de barmaid. De first Vampire says, ‘I vill heff a mug uff blood.’ De second Vampire says, ‘I, too, vill heff a mug uff blood.’ De third Vampire speaks up. ‘I vill heff a glass of plasma.’ De girl turns to de bartender and says, ‘Order up; two bloods and a blood light!’”
The punch line was followed by a chuckle that sounded more like a cat choking up a wet hairball. Leech continued making that sound and snorting through her nose until we reached the front door.
Her hand on the knob, she turned to me. “Velcome to de Mausoleum. De Heir Dock-tor seems pleased mit you. I am heppy to leaf him in such gapable henz.” She opened the door and followed me onto the veranda.
“Thank you,” I said. “I should be back in a couple of hours. Will I have any duties I need to be prepared to perform tonight?”
She stepped back into the threshold and crossed her arms. “Not tonight. Ve all vill be watching our favorite TV show.”
The Undead watched TV? Who knew? “May I ask what it is?”
A gleam sparked in her obsidian eyes. “Boardwalk Vampire, uff gourse.” Again with the hairball routine. She continued to giggle and chortle as she closed the door, leaving me to return to my car in a bit of a daze.
Sliding behind the wheel, I buckled my seatbelt and turned the ignition, then gazed at my reflection in the rear view mirror.
What in the hell had just happened? Now that I was away from the house, my thoughts seemed to clear, my brain un-fuzzed, leaving me with the distinct impression I’d just experienced some kind of waking dream.
Was I really working for a Vampire? And living in his house? With my mother? Dr. Mercilus had sworn we would be safe and he had such an expression of sincerity, I believed him. Well, maybe I wanted to believe him more than I did, but I needed a place to live and I needed a job and I needed to care for Mom, so the incredibly attractive Dr. Mercilus just had to be on the level.
Part of me was elated and relieved. A job. Money. Security. A roof over my head. At last. But part of me—that back-of-the-brain nagging part—was worried I’d just made a horrible mistake.
Releasing the parking brake, I had the distinct impression I was being watched. As I started to pull into the driveway, a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned my head in time to see the curtain in the topmost turret flutter, as though someone had pulled it aside and then quickly stepped back. The telltale curtain confirmed my suspicion. But who was watching me, and why? Simple curiosity, or something more… sinister?
In movies, the heroine shakes her head and dismisses these kinds of warnings as just her imagination running wild, or a trick of the light or an errant breeze, but this wasn’t a movie and I’d just accepted a job as housekeeper to a Vampire.
Of course somebody was watching me!
As I headed for home, however, I couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever or whatever had been in that tower window had not done so out of curiosity, but out of malice.
Oh.
Oh, gadzooks.
Chapter 5
12:45 P.M.
We live in Sequoia City on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada in northern California. California, Land of fruits and nuts! as my mother used to say. She still does on those rare days when she’s lucid. In her former life, she’d taught poetry at Stanford and had many of her own poems published. But those days were gone now. These days, Mom lives in a confusing world where poems and poetry do not exist… have never existed.
Since Mom’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis six years ago, she’s been with me in the house I bought back when I was a popular romance novelist and the money was rolling in. Like most people, when my career was flying high, I thought it would last forever. As to that topic, my mom had warned Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched and Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
Sadly, the only thing I got from her words of wisdom was stay away from poultry farming.
Boy, was I ever naïve.
Or stupid.
Or both.
Even before she developed Alzheimer’s, my mom never was politically correct. She often burst forth with cleave-to-the-bone remarks whenever she felt so inclined. Which was whenever she was awake. She had opinions on everything, and voiced them loudly, especially on topics most people tend to avoid in polite conversation: politics, religion, gun control, and whether Snooki or Kim Kardishian would win the thickest-layer-of-sticky-lipstick contest. Mom’s biases swirled around her like debris from a tornado. She would occasionally fling a cow or car from the tempest, inflicting wounds on the innocent. She didn’t intend to hurt; she just doesn’t know how not to.
I love my mom, but she could be a gigantic pain in the ass. Still is, only now the pain has crept up into my heart.
“Where are your kids?” she demanded as I hurriedly tossed all her meds into an open suitcase on the bed. From her wheelchair by the window, she looked around the bedroom as though I’d somehow misplaced her grandchildren.
“They’re at school, Mom,” I lied. “Now, don’t change the subject. What do you think about going to live with a Vampire?”
“Who’s going to go live with a Vampire?” She blinked at me several times, then narrowed her once-clever brown eyes in thought. Those eyes had kept me on the straight and narrow all my life, but in the last few years, they’d begun to dim, become slightly unfocused, confused.
Scanning the room again, she growled, “What have you done with my grandchildren?” then redirected her gaze at me. “You know what you need? A man. You’re no spring chicken, you know.” Mumbling under her breath, she turned away from me once more to look out the window.
She sat hunched over in her wheelchair like a she-wolf guarding its kill. The persimmon polyester pantsuit she wore needed to be laundered, but it was her favorite outfit and I’d had a tough time trying to get it away from her long enough to wash it. Her head bowed, she muttered, “I need a cigarette.”
“You quit smoking thirty years ago, Mom.”
Her gray brows lifted. “I did?” which was quickly followed by an angry, “What in the hell are you doing with my bottles? Those are my bottles. They’re special. Don’t you hurt my bottles, Lady!”
My mom always calls me Lady when she can’t remember who I am. At first, it hurt. But now, years in, it hurts more.
“I won’t, Mom,” I said gently. “There are a couple of men with a van coming very soon who will help move us to our new, uh, place. I want to make sure we don’t forget any of your prescriptions.”
“A van? What van? Why am I getting in a van? Where in the hell is this van gonna take me?” Peering up at me like a little girl trying to fathom why she was being punished, she whimpered, “Lady? Do I like to ride in a van?”
My heart squeezed.
“Just our belongings will go in the van.” I spoke slowly, hoping she would understand, all the while knowing she would not. “I’ll drive you in the car.” I tried very hard to smile and said cheerily, “You’ll have fun today. A new place, new room, new friends. It’ll be great and I’ll be there with you all the time.”
She crossed her arms and turned her attention out the window again, watching as two sparrows hopped and splashed about in the garden birdbath. A ray of mid-morning sun cast dappled shadows across the lawn, while the maple tree in the corner by the fe
nce blazed reds and golds, sharply contrasting the snow-heavy clouds.
Abruptly, my mom uncrossed her arms and slapped her knees with open palms. “Where in the hell is my daughter? Where’s Stephanie?” Lifting her brows, she glared at me. “Well? Speak up, Lady!”
Dear God, I was tired.
Before I could form some kind of response, the doorbell chimed. I’d always liked it because it was soft and melodious, like wind chimes. I hadn’t anticipated my mother’s response to its notes.
Her brow furrowed. “What was that? A harp? Have the angels come to take me away?” Her thin fingers wrapped around my forearm in a tight grip. “Don’t let the angels take me, Lady. Please, please—”
“Mom, Mom, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” My reassurances seemed to calm her a little. “That was just the front door. I’m going to answer it. Will you be okay for a minute?”
The vacant look in her eyes told me she was lost at sea, adrift on an ocean of uncertainty and fear. I patted her hand, then slowly loosed myself from her strangle-hold. “I’ll be right back.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away as I hurried to the door, opening it to two men clad in blue jeans and purple tie-dye T-shirts. The taller of the two was very skinny. His completely bald head and shaven face appeared somewhat chaffed from the cold weather. His light blue eyes bulged a little as though someone were perpetually choking him by the neck.
The other man was quite hairy, so much so, I wasn’t sure whether he was human or a test tube poodle gone terribly wrong. Since he stood upright and wore a wristwatch, I’d have to assume him to be a man, but I’m sure I couldn’t swear to it under oath. Masses of dark hair sprang from his head as though the wind were constantly blowing. His beard grew to his shoulders and was so thick, all but his long nose and brown eyes were obscured.
Figuring I was facing Igor and Wolf, I offered a friendly smile. “Hi.”
The skinny one nodded with enthusiasm. “You Mrs. Gabriel, yeah?”
“I am.”
His response was a wide grin. “Dr. Mercilus, like, sent us? You know, to like, move your stuff?”
“Yes. He told me he was going to have—”
“He’s Wolf,” he said, indicating his partner. “And I am Igor.”
“Nice to meet you, Ig—”
“Igor to get started!” he interrupted, breaking into high-pitched guffaws. I couldn’t help but notice he had pointy teeth. A lot of pointy teeth.
As Igor chortled and snorted, Wolf spoke up.
“Not to mind him, Missus.” He rolled his eyes. “An idiot, is Igor. Speaking before he is thinking, always.” He punctuated his critique with a small shrug.
Cordial and polite, Wolf possessed an accent I couldn’t quite place. The situation being what it was, however, I decided I didn’t want to pursue an examination of either man’s origins.
So, “Very nice to meet you both,” was all I said. Standing back, I opened the door wider and gestured them to come in. “The furniture pieces have been sold, so it’s just the boxes. They’re in the living room. Ready to go. There’s, uh, there’s… ”
There’s not much.
I cleared my throat and forced a smile. Gesturing toward the archway that led from the foyer to the living room, I simply said, “In there.”
My life had been reduced to the contents of twenty cardboard boxes. A series of yard sales over the last few months had emptied my house of most of the furnishings, small appliances, dishes, books. I’d kept our clothing and so forth. A smaller box, taped up and labeled, contained my mother’s mementoes. Ironic, since she didn’t remember any of them.
Three of the cartons held my own past. Me, young. Me, married. Me, pregnant. In time—with a change of luck or the winning lottery ticket—I might reclaim the household items I’d forfeited, but photos could not be replaced. The moments they captured were gone—never to come again.
As Igor and Wolf began loading my life into the van, I returned to my mom’s bedroom to finish packing for her.
She sat quietly, her empty eyes looking at, but not seeing me. She’d checked out for a while; it was anybody’s guess when she’d come back… if she’d come back.
“Missus?” Wolf stood in the bedroom doorway. “Big snow is to be starting soon. Best we go now. You are needing anything else?”
I swallowed. “Um, yes. Sort of. I just have a question, if I may?”
“Yes, Missus?”
“How long have you worked for Dr. Mercilus?”
“Many years.” His jaw clamped shut making it obvious he would not elaborate.
“Do you find him a good employer?”
We stood facing each other while he seemed to mull this over. Behind me, my mother coughed, but when I turned to make sure she was okay, she’d already slipped back into her waking coma.
“Yes,” Wolf said as I faced him again. “Is good man. Good to work for.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
His eyes locked with mine, he crossed his arms over his chest, took in a big breath, let it out. Then, “Know this. It will be best for you to hurry nowhere. Big house. Easy to getting lost. Ending up, maybe, in a place you should not want to be.”
“I see.” I didn’t, but at least I had something to go on, vague warning though it was.
“Also…” He dropped his arms. “Best being in your room at the mid-night. Is locking your door. Stay, and not to wander before the sun is rising.” He turned on his heel and started down the hallway. Over his shoulder, he said, “This you do every night, and you are being okay.”
After he’d gone, I struggled to understand what he’d meant.
Behind me, my mother sighed. When I looked at her, she was folding and unfolding her hands, her eyes fixed on the spot where Wolf had been standing. Blinking a few times, she slowly shook her head.
“Lady?” she whispered. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
Oh?
Oh, shit.
Chapter 6
4:30 P.M.
By the time I’d gotten my mom ready to go, the October sun had tumbled toward the horizon, smearing the clouds in brilliant pastels like a child’s erratic finger painting.
Regardless of how long or short the trip, travel anywhere with my mother always required patience and planning, but on the Stephanie-Stress-O-Meter-Scale-of-One-to-Ten, preparing her to move to a new home had accelerated the level from Mildly Frustrating to Terminally Exasperating.
After buckling her securely into the passenger seat of my silver Forrester, I double-checked to make sure she had her not-too-hot-chocolate-filled travel mug. Folding her wheelchair, I stowed it in the back of the SUV, then tossed in the suitcase containing her meds, all the while assuring her the angels weren’t going to come for her today.
Before climbing behind the wheel, I stopped, hooked my fingers over the top of my open door and prepared myself to say farewell to my house. After months of trying to refinance with no income, I gave up the fight and let the place fall into foreclosure. I’d known for weeks this day was coming but now that the moment of parting had arrived, I felt as though I were losing a cherished friend.
The house was the only one I’d ever owned. It was mine, all mine, bought with my own money after Scott decided he needed tastier arm candy to display at his executive dinners. The house was my first, my only. And now I’d lost it.
I could have blamed Scott for my predicament. I wanted to blame him, but truth was, it was my fault.
After all, it was my career that had failed.
My career.
My failure.
My problem.
Not being able to afford to provide better for my mom would have been an added burden, except for the fact that even when I’d had the funds, I’d cared for her myself. I owed it to her. After all, it was my fault she’d developed early-onset Alzheimer’s in the first place.
My mother.
My fault.
My responsibility.
Smiling at the house, I put my fin
gertips to my mouth and blew it a gentle kiss. “Bye,” I whispered. “I’ll never forget you.”
Once inside the SUV, I thrust it into gear and drove away and away and away, never once glancing in my rear view mirror.
Looking back would do me no good. The time had come to look forward.
Snowflakes splattered my windshield as I rolled through the iron gate for the second time that day and by the time I reached The Mausoleum, the snowfall was so heavy, my wipers could barely keep up. Already, the pine and fir trees were groaning under the weight of wet snow, and the wind howled through the treetops like an angry banshee.
Perfect. Just perfect for my first night in what was most surely a haunted house. But hell, as long as it had central heating, my mom and I would at least have a roof over our heads. Things had happened so quickly, I hadn’t had time to let the twins know I was moving. As soon as I got Mom settled, I’d give them a call.
Mom remained silent during the drive, staring out the frosty passenger-side window. I wondered where she thought she was. On arriving at the mansion, she made no remark. Was she adrift on an empty sea, resting in her bedroom, or simply gone deep inside her memories? I only knew that wherever she was, I was not there. I had disappeared from her life moment-by-moment, inch-by-inch as completely as though I had never been.
An odd dichotomy, this thing called dementia. Usually, it is the victim who must cope with the consequences of illness or injury, but with Alzheimer’s, it is not the victim, but those who love her, who must suffer the wounds.
I parked in the same spot as I had that morning. Setting the brake, I said, “This is it, Mom. Our new home. For a while anyway.”
She tilted her head. “Are we going in the van yet?”
Forcing myself not to sigh, I reached over and patted her hand. “No van. Not today.”
Her brow furrowed. She tugged her hand from beneath mine and examined it as though it were a foreign thing she had never seen before.
I would have dwelt on that for a bit, if not for the sight of my new employer emerging from the house to make his way down the path to my car.
Shadows in the Mist: A Paranormal Anthology Page 3