Broom with a View

by Gayla Twist

  Chapter 14: The Right Kind of Vampire

  The odds suddenly looked a lot more favourable when the sun orb tipped over the edge of the newly created crater and plunged into the cavern. Sonny watched it fall. It seemed to be moving so slowly that he had time to speculate what would happen once it hit the ground, seeing that his protection spell had already dissipated. A moment later, he remembered himself. “Look out!” he shouted as he dove for cover behind a stalagmite, curling himself into as small of a ball as possible and pulling his long coat up to cover his head. By shouting, he had warned the Vampires as well as his comrades, but it was a natural reaction, and little good did it do the undead.

  The orb shattered as it hit the stone floor of the cavern, and then there was an explosion of light. Hundreds of Vampires turned to ash like a match touched to silk thread; they were there, and then an instant later, there was nothing but a bit of black smoke in the air. Sonny closed his eyes and shielded his face. Even with his heavy jacket protecting him, he could see a bright orange glow through his eyelids, and his entire body throbbed with the heat. There were horrible screams and wails of pain. Corp. Popplewell wondered if any of his fellow Crafters were contributing their voices to the choir of agony.

  The flash of light faded rather quickly, replaced by the growing light of dawn. Whoever of the undead that had survived the explosion fell back, scrambling down the hallways and cubbyholes of the enormous cavern.

  Staggering to his feet, Sonny looked around. Large blurry spots danced in front of his eyes, and he had to rub them repeatedly to be able to distinguish anything. He saw the lifeless body of Lieutenant Chomsky a few feet away. They had not summoned the earthquake in time.

  Another soldier staggered up to Sonny and the deceased Lieutenant. “What do we do?” he asked Chomsky and then appeared perplexed that there was no reply. “What’s our orders, sir?” he tried again. Half the man’s face was scorched and blistering from the blast, so Sonny didn’t judge him for being a little disoriented.

  “He’s dead,” Sonny told the man, gripping his shoulder to steady him.

  The other soldier frowned at the lifeless body and then turned his attention to Sonny. “What do you think our orders are?”

  “I think we’re supposed to pursue the Vampires,” Corp. Popplewell told him.

  The soldier squinted down one of the dark tunnels that the Vampires had used to flee. “I don’t want to do that,” he said, shaking his head. “That sounds terrible.”

  Sonny had to agree. “Actually, I’m not sure who is in command now. Perhaps we could just wait for new orders. Check on the injured; that sort of thing.”

  “Yes,” his new friend agreed. “That sounds much better.”

  With a quick search of the cavern, they found three surviving Crafters, two of whom had lost their vision from the flash. The third was a little charred but nothing too severe.

  “Corporal Popplewell,” a voice called from the lip of the newly formed crater.

  Sonny looked up, shading his eyes with his hand. “Yes, sir?” He wasn’t sure if whoever was addressing him warranted a sir, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  “Are there any undead survivors?” the voice asked. Due to the rising sun at the man’s back, he was only visible in silhouette.

  “Yes, sir. A couple dozen, I believe,” was Sonny’s reluctant reply.

  “Well, what are you standing around for? Get in there and flush them out,” the silhouette ordered.

  Sonny squinted up at the man some more. “We were waiting for reinforcements,” he said, intentionally leaving off the “sir” to see if it registered.

  “Oh,” the man said, sounding a little less authoritative. “Um… yeah. Those are coming.”

  Sonny had to assume, and probably correctly, that whoever was at the lip of the crater was just another dogface who was hoping that someone else would deal with the undead while he could relax in the relative safety of being above ground.

  There was the sound of numerous footsteps moving at a good clip. The silhouetted man looked around and then quickly disappeared from view; a new figure took his place. “State your name and rank, soldier,” the figure commanded with the air of someone used to being obeyed without hesitation.

  “Corporal Sonny Popplewell.”

  “How many Crafters are with you, and how many bloodsuckers are still in the cave?” the man wanted to know.

  “There’s five of us,” Sonny reported. “But two can’t see right now. The rest of us are a bit burnt. As far as Vampires, I have no real way of telling how many were in other parts of the fortress when the sun bomb went off. A couple hundred got killed in the explosion, and I think a few dozen fled into the recesses of the cave, but I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

  The new man in charge retracted his head from the crater’s lip. A few moments later, rappelling ropes were dropped, and Witch soldiers started descending to join them. “Thank Goddess,” one of the survivors in the cave murmured.

  Other Crafters floated down on puffs of air or other magical conveyances. These men were in full battle gear and looked ready to fight. They weren’t the green platoon that had been sent into the field to be slaughtered. Sonny instantly understood that he and his fellow soldiers had been sent in as bait. It made him angry beyond words, which was a good thing because if he could speak, he probably would have ended up court-martialed.

  Sonny recognized his new commander—Captain Somebody-or-other. He was too furious to remember the man’s name, but the gist of his orders was that they were to flush out and stake every last Vampire in the cavern.

  Corp. Popplewell was probably not an ideal candidate for military service. He had the bad habit of thinking too much for himself. That made him a good forward scout but a bad soldier. Staking Vampires en masse right before a ceasefire was declared felt vindictive in a way that was not within Sonny’s nature. “Who is going to tend to the wounded, sir?” Corp. Popplewell asked with the strong hope that he and his fellow survivors would be assigned the task. They were, after all, a little shell shocked.

  “You and you.” The Captain pointed at his two sunburnt compatriots. “Take care of these fellows. Popplewell, you take point to show us which way the bloodsuckers went.”

  Sonny had to suppress a sigh. It figured that he would be called upon to lead the charge. As if he knew the twists and turns of the cavern any better than anyone else. “Yes, sir,” he said, trying to keep the grumble out of his voice.

  Finding his crossbow on the ground, Sonny nocked an arrow. “They all scattered,” he said. “But most of them headed this way.” Corporal Popplewell started walking down a large tunnel through which the Vampires had fled. He didn’t enjoy being the bulls-eye on a target, and he wasn’t all that interested in dying for a cause he really didn’t believe in, but at that moment, he couldn’t see that he had any other choice but to start moving.

  The tunnel was wide enough to fit seven Crafters walking abreast, but instead of walking beside him, the troops crowded in behind him, effectively using Sonny as a very ineffective shield.

  There was a distant noise that sounded like someone shaking out a rug. It grew quickly louder, additional rugs joining the chorus. And then, suddenly, a swarm of black bats burst upon them, flooding down the hall like a spilled bottle of ink. The creatures were madly beating at the air with their claw-tipped wings and making sharp chirping noises like amplified crickets. The soldiers, all battle-hardened veterans, began shrieking and slapping at the bats like a spinster on a table because she saw a mouse.

  Sonny saw his opportunity. He wasn’t thrilled about being pummeled with hundreds of bat wings, but he wasn’t undone, either. While everyone else was distracted, he quickly slipped down a small offshoot he’d spied along the side of the tunnel. Corporal Popplewell had had his fill of being a pawn in the Witch army. Someone else could lead the continued assault on the Vampire fortress. He figured he would make up a story about being temporarily knocked unconscious during the bat me
lee.

  The offshoot turned out to be more like a hole. Sonny found himself tumbling down a gravel-covered chute and hitting the ground hard, his crossbow skittering across the floor. Even though the wind was knocked out of him, he quickly scrambled to his feet. By taking the small passage, he had unwittingly placed himself in an even larger cavern that was obviously some kind of gathering room for the undead. Fortunately for the longevity of Corporal Popplewell, the room appeared to be empty of any of the enemy.

  Enormous stalactites dripped down from the vaulted ceiling to the stone floor, giving the impression of ornately carved pillars. There was a raised platform in the center of the room covered in a crimson fabric and illuminated by dozens of candelabras. Sonny took it to be some type of altar. Striding quickly across the floor, Sonny bent to retrieve his crossbow. The bats hadn’t unnerved him, but somehow being alone in the enormous room sent shivers up his spine. As Corp. Popplewell stood, fitting an arrow back into his weapon, a small sound caught his attention. He spun around to face the altar and found himself face-to-face with a Vampire.

  The creature stood, perfectly still, with a surprisingly relaxed expression on his chiselled face, looking more inquisitive than bloodthirsty. Frantically, Sonny nocked his arrow and took aim with his crossbow, knowing all the while that his movements were like oozing molasses to a Vampire ready to strike. He was already doomed.

  But the Vampire did nothing; he just stood there as if expecting to be staked and not really minding the idea. Sonny found himself hesitating as he wondered what his enemy was waiting for. His finger was on the trigger of his bow, but he somehow found that he couldn’t fire. It just seemed so unsporting, like the English Mortals and their beastly foxhunting. Sonny always found himself on the side of the fox.

  The longer they stood there, the more ridiculous it seemed that they would want to kill each other. Sonny was a bit baffled as to what to do. The Vampire gave no indication that he had any hostility towards the Warlock at all. Finally, Corp. Popplewell just shrugged and lowered his crossbow.

  “Sorry for dropping in on you like this,” Sonny said. It always felt so rude to be part of an invading army.

  The Vampire’s lips twitched. “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you, or I would have put out some refreshments.”

  Sonny couldn’t help but feel his own lips begin to turn up at the corners. “I’m afraid there are quite a few of us coming in behind me,” he said apologetically. “They’re all upstairs somewhere right now.”

  The Vampire frowned. “I might be able to scare up a bottle of sherry.”

  Corporal Popplewell found it impossible not to laugh. The Vampire smiled in return, and there was the surreal feeling of being forced to share a compartment on a crowded train and finding that you were in rather good company. “I’m Sonny Popplewell,” he said, half extending his hand to be shook but not sure of the etiquette.

  “Sebastian Du Monde,” the Vampire told him. He looked as if he were willing to shake hands too, but, without warning, there was a flash of white doves filling the cave. An instant later, the birds were gone.

  Mr. Du Monde looked around, his brow furrowed. “What do you think that was all about?”

  Rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, Sonny replied, “I believe they’ve just declared a ceasefire.”

  Chapter 15: Two Kisses That Are Worlds Apart

  “Engaged?” Mrs. Popplewell said. This was the third time she had said the word as she sat there, teapot in hand poised to serve, and Violet wasn’t sure how to break her mother out of the little loop in which she had somehow become stuck. The girl wondered if, like a gramophone playing the same snatch of melody over and over again, her mother just needed a small nudge to jolt her forwards so she could proceed with the rest of the tune.

  “It’s all my fault,” Vera said, clucking away as she helped herself to the selection of tea sandwiches that had been set out. “I tried to watch her. I warned her, and I did my best to be vigilant. But those Mortals are so clever and underhanded. I swear you’d think they were relations of the Devil himself.”

  “Did he trick you?” Mrs. Popplewell persisted in not serving the tea. “Did he pressure you in some way?”

  “The magic of threes,” Vera said, touching the side of her nose with a significant glance at Mrs. Popplewell.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Violet said, finally relieving her mother of the teapot and taking the duties of serving upon herself. “Mr. Wilberforce is a perfectly nice man with a perfectly nice mother. It is true that they are Mortals. I’m afraid that can’t be helped. But is it really fair for us to hold that against them?”

  “Is it their fortune?” Mrs. Popplewell asked, her hand still in the air, fingers curled, as if she was still supporting the teapot. “Because you’ll be coming into your own money soon. It may not be as large a fortune as theirs, but you will never want for comforts.”

  “No, it’s not the money,” Violet insisted. “It’s just…” She floundered for the right words.

  “It’s just the magic of threes,” Miss Tartlette felt the need to mention again. “Mortal magic. You never think it’s real until you feel the shackles.”

  “It’s not Mortal magic,” Violet insisted, almost stamping her foot with vexation. “It’s that Cyril is a very nice man and I am… Well, I find myself…” He brain wanted to say, “And I find myself in love with him,” but the rest of her body refused. “I find myself quite fond of him,” was all she could manage.

  “Fond?” Sonny said with an incredulous laugh from where he lounged in a chair. “Is that all you have to say of a man with whom you’ve pledged to spend the rest of your life?” A subtle throat clearing from his mother caused the young man to amend. “I mean, at least the next fifty years or so.”

  “That’s true,” said their mother. “Have you taken into consideration that humans don’t age at all well? He’ll be headed to the grave well before you’ve found your first gray hair.”

  Violet gave her mother a penetrating look. “Is that something that would prevent you from forming an alliance with a human?” she asked.

  “Well, never mind about that,” Mrs. Popplewell said, her cheeks a bit red as she readjusted the sandwiches that Vera had disturbed. “If you’re determined to have him, then I suppose we’ll grow to love him.”

  “Or at least become fond of him,” Sonny chimed in.

  “That’s enough out of you,” Mrs. Popplewell said, taking a playful swipe at her boy. “Are you going to find something to do now that you’re home or just lounge around the house like a useless little beastie?”

  “Is that how you treat the return of a conquering hero?” Sonny wanted to know. “I risk life and limb out in the dreadful wilds of practically the netherworld and my return doesn’t even warrant a party?”

  “Oh yes,” exclaimed his mother. She turned to look at her darling girl. “I suppose we’ll need to throw you an engagement party right away. Is that a Mortal thing as well, or will your Mr. Wilberforce look at us like we’ve been pixilated?”

  “I’m not sure,” Violet said, wondering if Cyril would even be aware of a pixie if he was about to trod on one. “I can ask him, but I’m sure a party wouldn’t be unwelcome. I mean, everyone enjoys a party.”

  * * * * * * * * * *

  “I can’t for the life of me fathom why people are always so eager to throw a party over every little thing,” Cyril said, cleaning his glasses.

  “I thought you’d be glad for an engagement party,” Violet said, feeling a little sting of hurt. “People are naturally curious to meet you, and it’s a chance to meet all our neighbours and friends.”

  “I feel rather like the prize pig at the fair,” her fiancé said, fitting his spectacles back on their perch. “What a squalid bunch of neighbours you have at your disposal. I can’t imagine how you turned out so splendidly with this selection of humanity all around you, setting an example.”

  “Be kind, Cyril. Someone might hear you.” Violet tried to cha
stise him, but with a gentle hand. She had always found her neighbours perfectly acceptable and couldn’t understand why he viewed them differently.

  “I wouldn’t mind a jot if they did,” Cyril insisted. “A good setdown might brighten their manners.”

  “I think their manners are perfectly fine,” the girl protested.

  “Of course you do, my pet,” he said. Cyril was trying out this nickname for Miss Popplewell. The girl hoped he would move on to something else very soon. “I know you haven’t had the opportunity to mix in the same circles as I did when I was growing up. When we go to London, you’ll see what I mean. Town is where you find the true cosmopolitans of England.”

  Violet gave a small frown, not sure what to think of the engagement party that she had found perfectly lovely only a few minutes earlier. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said in a slightly sullen voice.

  “Well, take this fellow, for example,” Cyril said, not at all being subtle about pointing out a gentleman in the crowd.

  “Mr. Wainbright?” Violet questioned, a bit puzzled. “What’s wrong with him? He’s a very close friend of my mother’s.”

  “Friend of your mother’s,” Cyril sputtered. “I’m sure your mother is much too gentile of a woman to take any truck with him.”

  “He is a very respectable man,” Violet insisted, feeling a bit defensive on her mother’s behalf. Mrs. Popplewell and the gentleman in question were, after all, quite close.

  If Violet was honest, Mr. Wainbright was a bit red in the face, and he did have the habit of wearing brightly colored plaid waistcoats, but he was about the most pleasant Mortal you could find in all of Surrey. At least, that was Violet’s opinion. He was quite wealthy, too, if that mattered for anything. He held sizeable properties all over the county.