by Gayla Twist
The younger man persisted in his silence.
“So what I propose is this.” The gentleman continued undaunted. “We can trade our rooms for yours. Then everyone would be happy.”
Violet found his smile infectious and was unable to resist returning it when he directed it her way. She wanted to accept his kind offer at once, but she felt the restraining hand of her aunt pressing on her sleeve. “I’m afraid we couldn’t possibly,” Vera said in the slightly pinched voice she used when trying to keep her composure in extreme circumstances. Her eyes bulged slightly with anxiety as she fixed her gaze on her plate.
“But my dear lady!” the old gentleman protested. “Surely you can see the mutual benefit of my proposal.” He turned to the young man seated next to him. “Won’t you explain it, Sebastian? You always explain things so much better than I.”
“It would not be of any inconvenience,” Sebastian said in a deep, quiet voice. “It genuinely would be our preference as much as yours.”
“No, no,” Vera insisted. “We absolutely couldn’t impose upon you. It’s quite out of the question.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin and pushed away from the table, abandoning the mutton upon which she had labored so carefully. “Come along, my dear,” she said to her niece.
Confused and alarmed at her aunt appearing so outraged, Violet allowed herself to be led out of the dining room. She really couldn’t conceive of why Vera was so offended. At the door, Violet glanced back to see the old gentleman looking crestfallen. But the young man had finally lifted his eyes and caught hers in a gaze that she found difficult to interpret.
* * * * * * * * * *
Having retreated to the relative privacy of the sitting room, Violet turned furiously on her great-aunt. “What possible reason could there be for not accepting their offer? You yourself said that our dreadful rooms would be the death of you. You think you know all about proper etiquette, but in truth, you’re quite rude.”
“I do not understand this city,” Vera muttered aloud. “I was told that this house was Witch friendly.”
“Witch friendly does not mean Witch exclusive,” came a voice behind them. It was Miss Abigail Fate with her two sisters. They had followed Violet and Vera from dinner, concerned over the discomfort of the ladies. Miss Abigail shuffled into the room, guiding the other two and gazing about the sitting room through the opera glasses that her sister had been using at dinner. Violet hadn’t realized before how old and shrivelled the three of them actually were. So much so that, when they settled onto a small couch ideally meant for two, it accommodated them all with ease.
“Are you speaking of Count Du Monde and his son?” the third Fate sister asked. She had not paid attention to the conversation at dinner, instead devoting herself entirely to the task of chewing her mutton with an enormous set of false teeth.
“I’m not quite sure,” Vera confessed. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch their names. In any event, my young niece doesn’t understand how serious a thing it is to put ourselves in the debt of perfect strangers. Especially,” she said, her voice lowering, “that sort.”
Violet felt a wave of exasperation. She was so tired of people telling her she didn’t understand the ways of the world just because she’d only been in it for the interval of sixteen years. Vera was being a prig, as far as she was concerned. The old gentleman and his son were perfectly amiable, just sitting there enjoying a glass of wine and eating their… Well, come to think of it, they weren’t eating anything. Their plates were noticeably bare.
Violet’s eyes widened suddenly as realization dawned on her. “Just a moment!” she exclaimed. “You don’t mean to say that,” she began and then faltered. “That kindly old gentleman?” She shook her head, unable to get a grasp on it. “Surely not.”
“I’m afraid so,” said the third Miss Fate, taking the opera glasses from her sister and raising them to her smoked spectacles. “This house has always been tolerant of Vampires. Though just now, the Du Mondes are the only two.”
“Vampires?” Violet whispered, barely able to form her mouth around the word. The idea left her quite breathless.
“Vampires,” said Vera, disapproval rolling off her tongue.
“Not to worry. They’re the good sort of Vampires,” Miss Abigail assured them. “Well behaved and polite. Not at all the sort that go around biting people on the neck whenever the impulse strikes. We rather like them, don’t we, Hazel?”
“Indeed, yes,” agreed the sister next to her. “Count Du Monde can be a little informal in his manner. But as far as Vampires go, they’re quite acceptable.”
Vera drew herself up, her hand flying to the lace collar at her throat. “Well, I’m not willing to accept them. Just imagine, Witches and Vampires under the same roof. It’s too vulgar to contemplate.”
She turned to her niece, who stood speechless at the news. “Violet, what would your mother think if she knew I’d let you stay in such an establishment?”
“Well...” Violet began, not quite sure what anyone would think. She’d always known that there were Vampires in X. It was another wonder in a city full of wonders; Vampires and Witches coexisted peacefully within its walls. But it was her understanding that Vampires primarily dwelt in Night Town, the infamous under-city where Witches never dared tread. She had assumed that X was entirely segregated. In truth, she was as shocked as Vera by the idea of sharing a roof with the undead, the mortal enemy of all Witches, creatures with whom her kind had been at war since before history began.
And yet, when she considered the phrase “the mortal enemy of all Witches” and placed it in her mind under a portrait of the amiable Count Du Monde, the resulting image could only be described as absurd. How could such a kindly old gentleman be a danger to anyone? Perhaps, Violet thought reluctantly, he was using Vampire glamour to beguile her, putting her off her guard. But she’d been taught that Witches were immune to Vampire enchantments. Regardless, the Count’s behaviour could hardly be called glamorous. Mortals who survived an encounter with a Vampire always described them as “wondrous, fascinating, luminous creatures, with eyes like impossibly deep pools in which one could drown.” The words “well meaning but terribly awkward” were never part of those accounts.
Besides, the Misses Fate considered these Vampires perfectly acceptable dinner companions. And the Fate sisters were obviously very traditional Witches. So Violet didn’t see why Vera should be making such a fuss.
Chapter 2: Every Crone Has Had a Girlhood
“We shall have to change lodgings. At once!” Vera went on as the parlour began to fill up with the pensione’s other guests. “I will start making inquiries first thing tomorrow.”
“Oh, you won’t have any luck with that,” announced a Witch boldly entering both the room and the conversation. “Especially if you want an establishment that is Vampire free. The entire city is full up by now.”
The strange lady’s attire matched her manners—bold and a little impertinent. Her lush, emerald-green velvet robes were accentuated by a massive pile of Titian red hair and an ample-sized bosom with plenty of jewelry and talismans piled on top of that. Taking a seat in a throne-like wicker chair beside the Misses Fate, the Witch leaned forwards and intimately whispered, “Personally, I wouldn’t set foot in the sort of guest house that didn’t allow Vampires. After all, what city do we think we’re living in? Times are changing. The magical peoples are intermingling, and we all had better get used to it.”
Vera’s mouth popped open into a little O as she stared at the newcomer. “Hippolyta?” she asked in a hesitating voice. “Hippolyta Hopkins. Is that you?”
“I am indeed one and the same,” the lady replied. “And who might you be?”
“My Goddess.” Vera started to tremble. “I’m Vera Tartlette. I’m sure you must not remember me.”
“Well, blessed be! Vera!” Hippolyta all but screeched, sweeping the other lady into a vigorous hug. “Don’t be ridiculous, you silly girl! How could you think
I’d ever forget?”
Vera blushed and straightened her bun, which had been knocked slightly askew by the embrace. “Well, it has been almost two centuries since we last saw one another. And you’ve become so famous. I always hear your accounts through the Witch’s Vine. You seem to know absolutely everyone worth knowing, so of course I assumed you’d forgotten someone like me.”
“And all our girlhood adventures?” Miss Hopkins gave an incredulous chuckle. In fact, it was almost a bawdy laugh, which, along with a mysterious twinkle in her eye, made Violet suddenly quite curious to know the details of her aunt’s youthful adventures.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I remember our summers in Turnbridge Wells like it was yesterday.”
Of course, Aunt Vera must once have been young and carefree. But it was hard for Violet to imagine that such a stuffy, timid Witch had ever cast enchantments on the local Mortal boys or danced with fairies in the moonlight or any of the things young Witches were told not to do and always did anyway. But Hippolyta Hopkins was clearly the sort of witch that was capable of almost anything. Violet wasn’t sure she felt entirely comfortable around her.
Vera and Hippolyta were obviously enchanted to be in each other’s company again. All worry of Vampires and basement rooms were temporarily forgotten, and it looked to Violet like she might as well leave the old friends to catch up on the last two hundred years. The Misses Fate each took a turn to regard the girl through their single pair of magical opera glasses. The attention felt somehow unnerving, so she turned away and peered around for a quiet chair to keep to herself. But the room had quickly filled to capacity. She found her way to the adjoining library, where a lonely oil lamp illuminated the dusty, neglected shelves. A brief perusal told her that any books worth reading must have found their way into the luggage of guests past, so she settled herself into a chair to simply rest and recover from a very vexing day.
Violet looked around. The library suddenly grew darker. The shadows shifted. A dim red light rose up from a source she couldn’t identify, and the disheveled bookshelves seemed to lean over her, creaking as though a great fist had taken hold of the room and begun to squeeze. She felt the first tremors of panic begin to flood her body as the shadows leapt from their corners and gathered in the center of the room, forming a terrible black figure that reach out to her as she sat paralyzed in her chair. She cowered back, reaching for her wand.
But the shadowy arm quickly coalesced into a black-gloved hand, offering itself to be shaken. The red light retreated, and the unearthly darkness about the figure fled, to be replaced with a short, round man wearing a rather mischievous grin. The face was familiar.
“Mr. Beelzebub!” Violet exclaimed with relief, too surprised to return the proffered handshake.
“I’m terribly sorry if I discomfited you, Miss Popplewell,” said the little man. “But this room is almost always empty this time of day, so the little trick of my arrival rarely causes any alarm.”
Gathering her composure, she shook hands properly, laughing off her fleeting terror. What else could the disturbance have been but a flamboyant Sorcerer? And few Sorcerers were as flamboyant as Mr. Beelzebub. He had recently been elected High Sorcerer of Surrey, charged with looking after the magical well-being of the countryside Witches. Unlike the previous incumbent, who had always seemed so grave and forbidding, even for a Sorcerer, Mr. Beelzebub struck Violet as an exceptionally easygoing fellow and not much like his predecessor at all. He didn’t even laugh like most Sorcerers—with their dry, spar cackle. He had a rich, plummy laugh, like a man who thoroughly enjoyed the simple pleasures of life. When Mrs. Popplewell had him over for dinner the previous summer, he employed it quite readily. Violet knew his arrival must be the start of something good.
Mr. Beelzebub hadn’t expected to be addressed so immediately after transporting to the Pensione Belladonna. He usually preferred a minute or two alone to compose himself and smoke his pipe. But he found Miss Popplewell a delightful creature. And it was always pleasant, when going on a journey, to meet at least one familiar face upon arrival at your destination. Besides, she appeared genuinely pleased to see him. So forgoing his pipe, he followed her dutifully through to the parlour.
“Do you remember me, Mr. Beelzebub?” Vera put herself forwards, if with a bit more trepidation than her niece, bobbing her head to the side like an inquisitive bird. “From that very rainy Summer Solstice where you presided at Turnbridge Wells? Miss Tartlette?”
“Of course. I remember only too well,” the Sorcerer said, grateful she had the decency to refresh his memory as to her name. “Are you both staying here at the Belladonna?”
“Momentarily,” Vera replied with a sniff. “We are on the verge of making a change.”
“Oh, we can’t change now,” Violet pleaded, seizing her aunt by the hand. “Not now Mr. Beelzebub is here.”
“Please call me Mr. B,” the Sorcerer insisted. “Beelzebub is such a mouthful after dinner. Now, just why is it you are thinking of leaving?”
“Vampires.” Vera conveyed everything in one whispered word. “Two of them. A father and son. They had the effrontery to offer to switch rooms with us. They apparently prefer the basement, and they offered us their rooms on the top floor. But I am a woman of the world in my own small way, and I know where those sorts of things may lead.”
“Are you speaking of Count Du Monde and his son?” Mr. B asked, seating himself in a velvet-covered chair and pulling his carved meerschaum pipe from his pocket.
“Why yes,” Vera replied, taken aback that the Sorcerer would be so familiar with the undead. “Do you know them?”
“Of course,” Mr. B exclaimed, patting his pockets in search of his tobacco pouch. “I stay at the Belladonna frequently when I’m in X, and they are regulars here. Count Du Monde is a good sort of chap. Sort of an expatriate of his species, you know. His son is a bit gloomy, but no more than expected from a young Vampire.”
Vera became agitated. Her greatest fear was that she should appear judgemental, as it impeded her judgements being taken seriously. “So you think I was wrong in rejecting them? You think I am small minded?”
“Not at all,” Mr. B assured her with a good-humored laugh. “You just haven’t adjusted to life in X yet. It takes some getting used to, but I find myself missing it when I’m back in England.”
Still, Miss Tartlette wasn’t convinced. She was, after all, a chaperone. “I would just hate to be put under an obligation. Especially with there being a young man involved and Violet being so inexperienced.”
“But there would be no obligation on either side,” interjected Violet, growing impatient with her aunt again. “They want our rooms as much as we want theirs.”
“Would it help if I were to arrange the exchange?” Mr. B offered, always happy to put a lady at her ease.
“Oh, would you?” Vera gazed at him with eager appreciation. “That would be most kind.”
And Mr. B was most kind. He settled the matter with the two Vampires only a few minutes after finishing his pipe. Count Du Monde and his son were most gracious about the exchange, sending word back that they promised to clear out from their view-ladened rooms immediately, so the ladies wouldn’t have the awkwardness of repeatedly passing them in the hall. Plus fresh linens had to be ordered. The proprietress was not pleased at having to fix up so many rooms so late in the evening, but Vera was firm. After all, there wouldn’t have been this little difficulty if the proprietress had just stuck to her word as it had been originally extended.
* * * * * * * * *
“I have no wish to incommode you, dear Violet, but let me just say this,” Vera began as Violet finished settling into their new quarters. The girl steeled herself. She was tired and in no mood for her aunt to raise some niggling little concern. Vera continued, “I know it is at you and your mother’s generosity that I’m here at all, and I would never dream of going against your wishes, but maybe it would be more proper if we switched rooms with one another.”
Vio
let, who had been propping a stack of books on a shelf, stopped what she was doing. “Whatever for?”
“It has come to my attention that the larger room was formerly occupied by the young man. Under normal circumstances, of course, you should have the larger room, there is no question on that, but given the way things are,” Vera hesitated, unsure how to phrase her concerns. “It might be best for it to appear that I benefited the most from the room exchange. We wouldn’t want to encourage any kind of expectations.”
It was so like her aunt to wait until she was nearly done with the task of unpacking. Violet stifled a sigh and reminded herself that Vera only had her best interest in mind, even if her concerns not only bordered on the ridiculous but took frequent trips beyond.
“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Violet asked, scooping up a handful of writing quills and sliding open the drawer of the desk to place them inside. She stood frozen for a moment, transfixed with the contents that had been left behind in the drawer. Fortunately, her aunt did not notice her temporary state of petrification and continued talking.
“I know it may seem silly to you, but propriety must be observed; especially when we are in a foreign land whose customs are strange.”
Violet hastily shoved the quills in the drawer and slammed it shut. She couldn’t think. What was it that Vera had just said? Something about wanting the larger room. “That’s fine, Vera. If you want this room then you shall have it. I don’t mind packing up again.”
“Oh, my dear Violet, you misunderstand me. It’s not that I want the larger room; it’s that it is more proper for me to have it.”