Broom with a View

by Gayla Twist

  But after a few moments of waiting, she realized that no assailant pursued her from any quarter. She did feel a firm arm around her waist, supporting her, but it felt strong and comforting rather than murderous and hungry. Summoning up her courage, she cracked open an eye.

  She was still outside but sitting in a smaller square on a narrow ledge in the shade of a building. All was tranquil and calm, with not a trace of the violence that had sent her into her swoon. Cautiously turning her head a little, she realized the arm that supported her belonged to Sebastian Du Monde, who was gazing at her with a look of earnest concern on his handsome face. “Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice just above a whisper.

  “Yes, quite,” she said, righting herself and gently extricating her waist from his grasp. “You?” she queried, quite certain Sebastian had probably encountered some difficulty in freeing her from the other Vampire’s clutches. The young man’s collar was open, and the sleeve of his jacket was torn at the shoulder seam, but beyond that he did not appear in a damaged condition.

  In response to her timid query, Sebastian did nothing more than give a small nod of his head.

  Looking around the quiet square with some bewilderment, Violet wondered, “What happened? I remember the fighting and then...” she shuddered with the memory of the Vampire clutching her. “There was that man. But I’m afraid I must have fainted after that.” She looked at him shyly from the corner of her eyes. “I hope you didn’t go to any trouble on my behalf.”

  “It was no trouble,” he assured her.

  “Oh, but there must have been,” Violet insisted. “That man... that Vampire... he was so crazed. I was sure that I would not survive the encounter, yet here I am.”

  “The soldiers finally arrived, and the crowd was dispersed,” he explained. “It originally started with two rival gangs, but the violence quickly spread. Most of the gang members are in custody now—those that lived. As soon as the soldiers arrived, the crowd melted away.”

  He still hadn’t explained how Violet hadn’t been torn to pieces by the Vampire, but the girl received the impression that he did not wish to discuss it. Looking down at her hands, she said, “I had some things with me. A charm and a few postcards. I suppose they are lost.”

  He was silent for a moment and then said, “Not exactly lost. The postcards were covered in blood, so I threw them away. I hope you don’t mind. The charm is only a little stained. I planned to return it to you once it’s been cleaned. I have a feeling I don’t mind blood as much as you.”

  This was almost like a joke from such a solemn young man, and it took Violet a little by surprise. “That was very kind of you to collect them for me.”

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he said in a quiet yet resolute voice.

  “Don’t be absurd.” She tried to joke off the seriousness of his declaration. “We’ve only just met.”

  “But everything has changed,” he insisted, a note of urgency in his voice. “Everything is different now. Can’t you feel it?”

  Violet wasn’t sure what she felt. Mostly embarrassment for she was sure she’d acted rather silly in the square during the violence. She was, after all, a Witch. She did have magical powers at her disposal had she thought to use them. “I hope,” she managed to say after a few moments to gather her composure, “that the unpleasantness is over now so that things can go back to the way they were.”

  Sebastian could not agree. “For me, the world has changed and will never be the same again.” The Vampire reached out, clutched her hand, and said in a quiet yet urgent voice, “I no longer want to sequester myself in the underworld. I want to live.”

  * * * * * * * * * *

  After fully recovering from her own small adventure, Vera was at liberty to be in a panic about the absence of her niece. Mr. B informed her that Violet had stepped out earlier in search of a stamp and had probably just been caught up in the charms of the city. Vera could not be as sanguine about the situation and said several times to anyone within earshot that she would never forgive herself if something were to have happened to the child.

  The news of the fighting in the square brought Vera’s anxiety level up to almost a tizzy. It was a large city, and there were many places that a young girl might wander, but Vera was convinced that her niece could be nowhere but in the midst of the fighting. The Misses Fate offered to do a seeking spell to pinpoint the exact location of the wayward girl, but Vera preferred to be allowed to fret without consolation.

  Violet judged it best that her aunt not hear of her close proximity to the fighting in the square, and she hoped Sebastian would keep his promise to say nothing to anyone. She insisted they part ways before reaching the front steps of the Pensione Belladonna so no one would see them together.

  “Violetta!” Vera shrieked, sitting up from where she’d been convalescing on the bed when her niece entered the room. “I was sure you’d been killed.”

  “Nothing of the kind,” Violet assured her, crossing over to the bed and taking her aunt by the hands to reassure her. “You see, I am hardy and whole.”

  “But there’s been violence. A horrible battle. Many Witches have been killed today,” her aunt exclaimed.

  “Yes, I heard something of that,” Violet said in an offhanded way. “And that’s why I hurried back from window shopping. I didn’t want you to worry. And how was your day with Miss Hopkins? Did you enjoy Night Town?”

  Vera’s face drained of color just thinking about her morning escapades under the city. “Not at all,” she confessed. “Liberal-minded people always try to convince you that Vampires are magical folk just like you and me, but when you get down to it, they really are vile, undead creatures.”

  For the next few days, all was calm. Mr. B received several messages from England that the peace talks were going well and an agreement was on the verge of being signed. “Perhaps, if we are fortunate, we will be able to return to England very soon,” Vera said one sunny morning as they again sat in the parlour after breakfast.

  “Oh, but wouldn’t you like to see more of X before we leave?” Violet asked. They had been spending most of their days indoors at the Pensione Belladonna, and Violet was feeling overly restless.

  “No,” her aunt replied with a firm chin. “I absolutely would not. And if you had seen what I have seen then you would understand my feelings. Here, at least, we are only exposed to the Count and his son.”

  “What did you see?” Violet asked, leaning forwards eagerly. Ever since her return from the Night Town, Vera had been extremely hesitant to venture outdoors, even to the closest cafe. Miss Hopkins hadn’t even been able to bully her into visiting the cathedral, and she had tried several times.

  “Nothing,” Vera said, growing pale and fanning herself with a threadbare lace fan that Violet could remember seeing her aunt using since she was a little girl. “Nothing that I want to talk about.”

  Violet felt deflated and listless. Her first trip abroad would be a failure if she was unable to ever pry her aunt from their accommodations. Vera was fixated on returning to England as soon as it was deemed safe to do so, whereas Violet’s brush with adventure had left her craving a larger taste of the world.

  A red glow came from the library, and there was the now familiar sound of Mr. B’s arrival. A few minutes later, he entered the parlour, smoothing down his jacket.

  “Mr. B.” Violet sprang up to greet him, happy for any diversion. “What news do you have for us today?”

  “Good news,” the Sorcerer replied. “I have the highest expectations that all will be settled by the end of the week.”

  An explosion so loud that it cracked a parlour window assaulted their ears.

  “What was that?” Vera shrieked, leaping from her chair. The Misses Fate, who had been sitting quietly on their loveseat, all simultaneously struggled for the opera glasses.

  “Stay here and I’ll find out,” Mr. B said, rushing from the room.

  After almost three hours of the ladies fret
ting, the Sorcerer returned, a grim look replacing the cheerful expression he’d worn upon his first arrival. “This is very bad,” he said, shaking his head. “Very bad, indeed.”

  “What is it?” Vera demanded. “Tell us, please.”

  “There’s been an attack here in X. This is something that was previously unheard of. The Vampire Consulate has nearly been destroyed by a giant fireball.”

  “What?” all of the ladies cried simultaneously.

  “That cannot be true!” Violet gasped. “Who would do such a thing? It cannot be the work of Witches.” Then hesitantly she added, “Can it?”

  “No one has stepped forwards to claim responsibility as of yet,” the Sorcerer told her. “But of course, the accusations are flying, and the Vampires have been left to believe it was the hand of Crafters.”

  “But Witches would never do such a thing,” Vera insisted. “We are the most peaceful of the magical folk. It is the Vampires that always attack us unprovoked.”

  Mr. B hung his head a little and said in a low voice, “Perhaps not this time, I’m afraid.”

  Vera sprang to her feet and made a little rush for the door, suddenly desperate to be anywhere than where she was. Mr. B caught her firmly by the arm insisting, “Remain calm, Madam. This is no time to panic.”

  “But we have to get out.” Vera was frantic. “We have to get out of here. Who knows if they will target the Belladonna next?”

  Mr. B had to suppress a chuckle. The idea that the next building to be chosen for destruction after the embassy would be a Witch-friendly pensione struck his funny bone. “I’m sure we will be perfectly fine for the moment,” he assured her between poorly concealed smirks.

  As the day wore on, Violet still felt confined in their guest house, but at least now there was a reason not to take a stroll before dinner. News streamed in about a counterstrike against the Witches’ Guild and rioting in the streets and outside the governor's mansion.

  In the evening, the dining room was filled with people discussing the violence of the day. Count Du Monde was right there in the thick of the conversation doing his best to make his voice heard. “But there is no proof that Witches or Vampires were responsible for the initial attack. No one has claimed responsibility, and the police have found no evidence to arrest anyone.”

  “I heard,” Hippolyta interjected, “that the Vampires attacked their own embassy so they could justify coming after our guild.”

  “Is that really true?” Vera gasped.

  Hippolyta gave her friend a knowing look. “I’ve had it from a very reliable source.”

  “But don’t you see?” The Count was anxious to stop the finger pointing. “There’s no reason to listen to rumors and give credence to wild stories until we know the facts.”

  Mr. B hurried in, this time having used the front door for he had been out gathering more local information about the conflict. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to him. “I don’t want to cause any alarm,” he said, “but I do believe it might not be safe to stay in X for the moment. I’m going to suggest that we all make a hasty evacuation as soon as arrangements can be made.”

  “Leave the pensione?” Vera wailed, completely forgetting her attempt to flee a few hours earlier. “But where shall we go? Is it safe to return to England?”

  “No,” Mr. B said, pinching his bottom lip in thought. “I’m not sure that is advisable either. I think we must find accommodations in the countryside somewhere, and we must do so as soon as possible.”

  “But where shall we go? Where is there a place where we shall be safe from danger?” Vera asked the room at large.

  Violet couldn’t help but notice that the Count Du Monde and his son were intent in a private conversation on the other side of the table. Finally, the Count raised his voice. “If it’s not too impertinent to suggest, I know of a castle in the countryside, no more than an hour or so ride from here, that I’m sure would be a safe place for all of us to spend a few days until the cessation of violence. I’ve had an open invitation to visit for centuries, and I’m sure there would be enough room for all.”

  The entire room turned to regard the old Vampire, some with expressions of hope, some with trepidation, and some with gratitude. Vera, who was by far the most cautious among those who were reticent, piped up with the courage to ask, “But isn’t it a Vampire castle?” She said the word “Vampire” in a whisper.

  “It is very old,” the count admitted, “and belongs to my good friend who happens to be a Vampire.”

  Looking scandalized at the mere thought of being invited to the home of a Vampire, let alone staying there, Vera gestured towards the other Witches in the room. “But will it be quite safe? I mean, if we do accept the invitation?”

  “My dear, Madam,” Count Du Monde said in a voice that was to leave her in no doubt, “you will be guests.”

  Chapter 7: The Trouble of Travelling with Vampires

  By the next morning, the news of the violence in the streets of X was so very bad that even Vera had agreed to the Count’s plan. Everyone was packed and ready to leave by ten o’clock, despite the Signora of the Belladonna protesting that everything should be fine if they’d only give it a few days. Violet suspected the Signora was more concerned about an empty pensione than she was about her guests’ safety.

  The only nonresident of the pensione to participate was old Professor Yog, who was found waiting in the parlour with his jewel-embedded walking stick. A modest leather satchel was all that accompanied him in terms of luggage. Either the old gentleman did not recognize Count Du Monde from their conflict in the cathedral or he did not remember it, but either way, when they were introduced, he chose not to acknowledge that he had ever previously set eyes on the Vampire. It turned out that Mr. B had known the professor for over a century and didn’t feel comfortable leaving the distinguished gentleman to fend for himself with the city in such chaos. So his appearance in the parlour was not such a surprise after all.

  Mr. B went above and beyond the call of any Sorcerer by somehow procuring two carriages to transport the entire party and their trunks. Most of the city was in a panic, so it was actually no small feat. Dividing who should sit in which carriage became overly complicated by Vera’s desire not to sit in an open carriage because she wished to avoid the sun, but not to sit in a closed carriage because Count Du Monde and his son obviously preferred the shade. It was finally settled when Miss Hopkins pulled an enormous parasol from her bag so that everyone could be satisfied and Vera would not freckle.

  Violet was made to switch carriages every time her aunt changed her mind, as she oscillated between her fear of the harsh X sun and the undead cravings of Vampires. By the time they were finally settled in the open carriage with Miss Hopkins, Professor Yog, and Mr. B, the girl felt thoroughly put out. The Count and his son were to accompany the Misses Fate, who appeared to have no qualms about riding with two of the undead.

  Mr. B advised the carriage drivers to take as many back alleys and side streets as possible, by all means avoiding the main square and the crowded avenues. Still, there were ruffians about, eyeing the vehicles with a predatory eye. Whenever likely looking scoundrels would drift too close to the road as the carriages passed, the lead driver, who was conveying the Du Mondes and Misses Fates, would lash out at them with his whip. This was, for the most part, suitably keeping the potential highwaymen at bay.

  “What do they possibly want from us?” Vera wondered aloud, her voice quavering as she cowered in her seat.

  “The horses,” Mr. B explained. “These came at a pretty dear price, and I’m sure they could be sold for a small fortune on the black market.”

  “They’d take our horses? But that would be stealing!” Vera exclaimed, eyeing with suspicion a man who was standing at an open second-story window observing them as they drove past.

  “Yes,” Miss Hopkins assured her. “I’m sure they’re well aware of that.”

  The man in the window quickly hung two shirts on a clothing lin
e suspended over the street. Violet looked up at the shirts with some confusion, seeing that both of them were obviously quite dry. “Does anyone think that’s odd?” she was about to voice when their carriage was abruptly set upon from all sides by four men. The girl realized, all too late, the shirts were a signal to attack the second carriage.

  The lead highwayman grabbed the horse by the bridle. Their driver stood to whip him but was immediately knocked down by a second man. Mr. B raised his hand to cast a spell but received a strong blow to the jaw by a third outlaw who sprang up from next to the carriage’s rear wheel. The fourth accomplice attacked from the side on which Violet was seated. She frantically groped for the wand in her pocket while Miss Hopkins brandished her open parasol, stabbing at their assailant as well as repelling him.

  Fortunately, Vera let out an ear-splitting shriek, drawing the attention of the carriage in front of them which quickly came to a halt. Through the struggle, Violet caught a glimpse of the Du Mondes looking back at them. Then Sebastian was in their carriage, although she couldn’t remember seeing him run the few short yards that separated them. It was like he dropped out of the sky and was instantly in the thick of it, lifting the assailant that Hippolyta was fending off with her umbrella and flinging him into the street.

  Even though it was obvious that the young Du Monde was there to protect them, Vera increased her screams, which were very close to Violet’s ear, to the point that Violet was wishing that her aunt could stifle her fear a little better. Mr. B was back on his feet again, giving his attacker what for while Sebastian dealt with the two men who were detaining the horse.

  Once the horse’s head was clear of encumbrances, the driver found his whip and lashed at the animal, which lost no time taking a hasty gait down the small street. The carriage in front was also on the move, and besides a few scuffs, a tear in Miss Hopkins's parasol, and Mr. B’s bruised jaw, no one was much the worse for wear.