by Gayla Twist
“That’s not true,” Violet said, practically stamping her foot in frustration. “You just misread him. He’s not against magic. He’s just afraid of heights.”
“I think I know the difference between fear and loathing when I see it,” Sebastian informed her. “Your Mr. Wilberforce does not understand what it is to be magical. He’ll never understand you, and he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to change you to fit into his bespectacled little world.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Violet told him, lifting her chin a little higher in the air.
“Yes, you do,” he insisted. “You already feel it creeping into the corners of your life. He wants to button you down and iron you flat so that all of your wonderful magic is neatly tucked away like a well-organized closet.”
“He…” Violet began, but then she thought about the army of servants employed by Lady Wilberforce, constantly ironing all the wrinkles out of life. Shaking off the thought, she addressed him with, “Mr. Du Monde, I will not stand here arguing with you about my engagement. I simply asked you in here to tell you that you are suffering from the effects of a love charm. I suggest you boil seven large turnips in a pot of water, add two drops of newt oil, and bathe in that same water each night for a week. I’m sure after that you’ll feel much better.” Violet had no idea if bathing in a boiled turnip broth had any effect on a lovesick heart, but it would give him something to do in lieu of making plans to kiss her in the broom closet.
“It won’t do any good,” Sebastian told her. “I’m not going to stop loving you simply because I stink of turnips.”
“You don’t love me, Mr. Du Monde, and even if you did, I do not welcome your love. You have forced it upon me, and I’ve only been gracious about it thus far because of the part I played in its creation,” Violet told him. “But I am no longer willing to be tolerant of your outrageous behaviour. Your invitation to this house has been rescinded. You are no longer welcome here.”
A great look of sadness spread across the young Vampire’s face. “You don’t mean that,” he cried. “Say that you don’t mean it.”
“But I do mean it,” Violet said in a firm, calm voice. “You are no longer welcome in this home.”
It was as if a torrential wind started blowing through the house, but it only affected Sebastian. No books were flapped about or china knocked from the shelves, but the Vampire had to lean into the wind to stay upright. “Please,” he said to the girl, “don’t do this. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Violet had her arms folded. She was facing him but would not meet his eye. “Goodbye, Mr. Du Monde,” she said stiffly.
Step by begrudging step, the Vampire was forced towards the door. He fought it every inch of the way, but they both knew he no chance of remaining inside the Popplewell home without an invitation. The door leading into the front entrance blew open and then the front door after that. Sebastian could no longer keep a foothold and began sliding across the floor.
For some reason, Violet found her eyes were stinging as she followed the young man to make sure he was well and gone.
A big gust of wind caught Sebastian up and flung him towards the front door. But the Vampire managed to make a desperate grab for anything he could hold onto, and he clung to the door jamb for a moment, suspended by the wind just over the threshold, hanging by his fingertips as his feet kicked the air. “Violet,” he called. “I know you don’t believe I really love you, but there’s one thing I think you should know.”
The girl looked up, in part because he had addressed her using her given name and that, for some reason, released a small arrow that pricked at her heart. Tears were streaming down her face, but she wasn’t ashamed. Soon Sebastian Du Monde would be gone from her life forever, so she didn’t care if he saw her cry. “And what is that?” she asked, a giant throb in her throat.
As Sebastian began to lose his grip on the door jamb, he looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Love charms do not work on Vampires.” Then, without breaking his gaze from her, he intentionally released his hold and was blown out of the house into the falling night. The door slammed shut. Sebastian Du Monde was gone.
Chapter 22: Where Fools Fail to Rush In
“Has he left?” Miss Tartlette asked, peeping into the parlour. “I thought I heard the front door close.”
Violet did not yet feel composed enough to speak, so she simply nodded her head from behind her handkerchief.
Looking excessively relieved, Vera entered the parlour and sat down opposite her niece at the little table they used for playing cards. “I know it must have been a horrible strain, but it was the right thing to do,” she said, reaching out and patting the girl on the arm. “He was a vulgarian, and there’s only one way to treat a vulgarian.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” Miss Popplewell said with a sniff. “I think he was just a little too passionate about following his heart.”
“There you are,” Mr. Wilberforce said as he strolled into the parlour. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d run off with Mr. Du Monde,” he remarked with a smirk.
Both women gave him a hard look.
“Only joking,” Cyril amended, completely misinterpreting their expressions. “What happened to the old boy, anyway? Where is Mr. Du Monde?”
“He had to leave,” Violet said in a small and weary voice.
Getting to her feet, Vera announced, “I just remembered something I need from upstairs. And I’m sure the two of you would like to be alone.” Without waiting for a reply, she hurriedly left the room.
With Sebastian’s words still haunting her, Violet looked up at her fiancé and, for the first time, had to wonder what had ever possessed her when she had agreed to marry him. “Cyril,” she said, indicating that he should take a seat. “We need to talk.”
There was a loud crash as a bottle shattered the large parlour window and exploded on the floor, spraying a flaming liquid across the credenza. Mr. Wilberforce let out a high-pitched scream.
Quick as a whip, Violet produced her wand and shot a spray of water at the flames, but to no effect. The fire was too hot, and the water was simply turning to mist. Frowning, she flicked her wand rapidly up and down a couple of times like she was trying to get the mercury to settle in a thermometer. Again, she tried to douse the fire, but to no avail. “I think it must be Vampire magic,” she called to her fiancé.
“Good Lord,” Mr. Wilberforce cried, climbing up onto the card table.
“What are you doing?” Violet yelled at him. “Get down from there.”
“There’s fire!” he shouted.
“I know there’s fire,” she said. The flames had already spread to the drapes. “We have to get out of here.” Snatching at his arm, she pulled him off the table. Cyril’s eyes looked quite wild, like a horse trapped in a stall during a stable fire. Violet had to keep a firm hold on him or she was convinced he would run straight into the flames. “This way!” she yelled, pulling him towards the door. Arm in arm, they ran from the house.
As soon as they reached the front step, a dark form dived at them from out of the sky. Cyril shrieked and flung his hands in front of his face while Miss Popplewell drew her wand and sent a blast of sunlight towards the creature.
“What’s happening?” Mr. Wilberforce demanded from a crouched position on the steps.
“Vampires,” she told him. “We’re under attack!”
With another shriek, Cyril sprang up and tried to run back into the burning house.
Deflecting another of the undead with her wand hand, Violet grabbed her fiancé by the coattails with the other and dragged him back down the stairs. “Hold still!” she ordered, giving him a shake. “I can’t fight the Vampires and save you at the same time!”
After blasting a third dive-bombing Vampire with a ray of sun, she had a moment to stir with her wand over Cyril’s head and murmur a quick incantation. His skin began to glow like it was radiating sunlight. “You’ll be safe now. Go stand in the yard,
” she instructed him.
“Don’t leave me,” he cried, clinging to her arm and impinging on her wand-bearing hand.
“Cyril, control yourself!” she shouted. “I have to go back to get Vera. She’s upstairs, and I’m sure she’s trapped.” Extracting her arm, she gave him a shove away from the house and raced back up the front steps. Glancing around, she didn’t see the rest of her family outside. She felt her limbs begin to tremble with terror. But they may have gone out the back, she reminded herself, and kept going.
Entering the burning house was like stepping into the mouth of hell. The fire screamed at her with its high-pitched wail. Smoke made the air thick and sucked the breath from Violet’s lungs. Her eyes began to stream tears. The Witch whispered a quick incantation, and foam bubbles began to pour out the end of her wand. The bubbles got larger and larger until one was big enough for her to slip it over her head. The bubble protected her face and head from the heat and made it easier for her to breath, but it didn’t do a thing to shield the rest of her body from the flames.
“Vera!” Violet shouted, wondering if she could be heard outside the bubble as she rushed for the stairs. “Vera!”
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard a distant, “Help!”
“Vera?” Violet mounted the stairs, which had already caught fire. The banister toppled down to the first floor, which in a way was a blessing because it took the fire that was engulfing it along for the ride.
Violet felt a searing pain in her feet. She shot a blast of ice at them, encrusting her boots with a frosty glaze, but it melted away in an instant. “Vera, where are you?” Violet shouted.
“Here! Your mother’s room,” the elder Witch called. “I’m here!”
As Violet raced down the hallway, the entire staircase gave way. “I guess we won’t be leaving that way,” Violet thought as she ran.
When she reached the door to her mother’s room, she found it was locked. “Vera!” she shouted, banging on the door. “Let me in!” Her air bubble burst, and she got a good lung full of smoke.
Miss Tartlette opened the door. “Oh, I’m sorry about that,” she said ushering in the coughing girl and then slamming the door shut again. “I was trying to keep the fire out.”
“What are you even doing in here?” Violet asked. The fire had not touched the room yet, but the air was growing heavy with smoke.
“I thought I might gather a few things for your mother,” the elder Witch said, gesturing towards a carpetbag that she had filled. “Mostly photos and jewelry. Just mementos, really.”
“That’s very nice of you, Aunt Vera,” Violet told her, “but I’m sure Mother would much rather not have you burnt to a crisp.”
“Oh,” Miss Tartlette gasped, glancing towards the door. “Do you really think it’s as bad as that?”
“The whole house is engulfed,” the girl told her. “The staircase is gone. We’re going to have to jump for it.”
“What?” Vera attempted to dash for the door, but Violet caught her by the skirt.
“Don’t open that door!” Violet said, yanking her back. “Trust me, Vera,” Violet said, strong arming her aunt across the room. “The only way out of here is through the window.”
“But how?” Vera sounded a bit frantic. “We can’t fly. Our brooms are all up in smoke.” She snatched up the carpet bag and clutched it to her chest. “I guess it is up to me to levitate us out.”
“Vera, open the window,” Violet ordered as she grabbed a goose down pillow from the bed.
Miss Tartlette fumbled at the pane but couldn’t get it to budge. “Oh, dear,” she said. “This one always does have a tendency to be a bit sticky.”
The smoke was getting much thicker, and both women were coughing. “Get out of the way!” Violet shouted. A split second later, she sent the chair from her mother’s dressing table smashing through the glass.
Vera stared after the chair, mouth open. “Was that really necessary? Do you know how much that window will cost to replace?”
The bedroom door began to rattle. The fire wanted in.
“Come on!” Violet dropped the pillow out the window and then shoved her aunt towards the opening.
“If you’re going to start saving bedding, I’d think first of the brocade,” Vera commented, peering down at the pillow as it lay on the lawn beneath them.
Using one hand to link arms with her aunt, Violet reached for her wand with the other. Vera tried to protest, but Violet wasn’t listening. The bedroom door crashed open, and the fire burst its way in, the room immediately engulfed in flames.
And so she leapt. Dragging her aunt with her, Violet flung herself out the window. But as they were falling, Violet sliced through the air with her wand, causing the down pillow to expand to a hundred times its regular size.
The women landed safely, cushioned in goose feathers, the air barely knocked out of their lungs. “Are you all right?” Violet asked, looking over at her aunt.
“Violetta, your dress!” Vera exclaimed. “It’s absolutely singed.”
Miss Popplewell had to assume that her aunt was as right as she ever would be. Scrambling to her feet, she said, “I’m heading around back to see if everyone got out.”
But a second later, Sonny sprinted across the lawn towards her, shouting, “Thank Goddess, you’re all right. I was just rounding the corner of the house when I saw you shove Mr. Wilberforce, and the next thing I knew, you were plunging right back into the house.”
“Vera was upstairs gathering a few things,” his sister told him in a dry voice. Then, remembering the crisis wasn’t quite over, she asked, “Did everyone get out? Is everyone all right?”
“All present and accounted for. You were the only two missing,” Sonny assured her.
“Did you get Professor Yog out of the office?” she asked.
“Didn’t have to,” her brother told her. “He was the first one out the door. Didn’t think the old chap had it in him."
“I don’t understand what happened,” Violet said as both siblings helped their aunt off the giant pillow. “Someone threw a flaming bottle through the parlour window, and when we ran outside, there were Vampires attacking us.”
“Same thing in the kitchen,” Sonny said. “We ran out the back, but then were set upon. No one was expecting it. I’m sure they would have got us, but Sebastian appeared out of nowhere and started chucking his brethren around like ragdolls.”
“Sebastian?” Violet said in a small voice. Her heart was beating madly, and she tried to blame it on the fire.
“You know,” Sonny said, flashing her a frown. “Mr. Du Monde.” Looking at her more closely, he asked, “Are you sure you’re quite all right?”
“Where is he now?” she wanted to know, shaking her brother off and looking around.
“I hardly know,” was the reply. “I think he flew off to try to figure out why Vampires are marauding around the English countryside torching houses.”
“Have other houses been targeted?” Violet asked, instantly alarmed for her neighbours.
“I don’t think so,” Sonny assured her. “As far as I know, we’re the only lucky ones.”
“But why pick on us?” his sister asked, tears starting to prick at her eyes. “We haven’t done anything to the Vampires besides have one over to tea.”
“Well,” Sonny said, looking at his feet. “It might have something to do with my position during the war.”
“The war?” Vera exclaimed, finally finding her voice. “Do you seriously think Vampires are running around taking revenge on former supply clerks?”
“There you are, my darling,” Cyril said, hurrying towards them across the lawn. His skin was still glowing, but he wasn’t as bright as when Violet first cast the spell. He pulled up short once he got closer. “Look at the state of you. Violet, your hair is a wreck. You’re not fit to be seen by man or beast.”
Violet’s hands flew to her head. It was true, her normally stylish upsweep was a bit bedraggled; a few curls had
tumbled down out of the protection of the soap bubble and been singed off. Taking her wand, she began stirring it in her hair to put it right, but instead of appearing tidy and elegant as it normally did when she cast the spell, her hair turned the color of pink candy floss.
Bursting into peals of laughter, Sonny shook his head. “You are absolutely hopeless with magic.”
Chapter 23: Keeping Good Help
“My dear, I think you’re misremembering,” Mr. Wilberforce said, pulling down his vest and smoothing it over.
“No, I remember it all quite clearly,” Violet said. She was determined to break her engagement to Cyril but wanted to explain her reasoning first. And at the very top of her growing list of reasons as to why they should not marry was cowardice. “The only person who behaved more poorly would be my Aunt Vera.”
Cyril gave a very patronizing little laugh. “Am I really to be compared to your maiden aunt?” he said with some surprise. “Do you really consider my behaviour on the same scale as that of a silly old woman?”
What Violet wanted to say was, “No, Vera at least tried to help,” but instead she just sighed.
After the flames were finally quenched at the house on Gallows Road and the vandalism was reported to the authorities, the Popplewell family had to set about making plans to rebuild. The finest elf constuctioneers were hired, and their labor came with the promise that everything would be rebuilt exactly the way it was before the fire, down to the dishes in the sink. Vera had risked her life for naught, but Mrs. Popplewell soothed her aunt by saying, “I know the elves will do an excellent job, but I’m so glad to have the originals of my most cherished things. Especially with the dagguerros.” And that made the lady feel better.