Oliver Asquith ran one hand through his thick, wavy hair. Somehow, he managed to convey, in that one weary gesture, that he had suffered greatly but was bravely carrying on.
“Emerson,” he said in a rich, fruity voice. “How good of you to offer me sanctuary.”
“Sanctuary might be going a bit far,” said Mr. Malone. “Let’s start with a bed and see how things go from there. What exactly is the problem?”
Oliver shrugged. “Just a little trouble I ran into in Moldavia,” he said. “I think I mentioned it in one of my letters?”
“Yes, I believe you did,” said Mr. Malone. “It was a bit more than a little trouble, though, wasn’t it? Your research assistant was found dead and decapitated.”
“Oh yes. Right,” said Oliver. He looked slightly taken aback, as if he’d momentarily forgotten what had happened to his research assistant or, indeed, that he’d ever had one. He quickly recovered himself and said, “Yes, yes, that was indeed tragic. But what I’m referring to is what happened afterward. You see, I’d been making great inroads with one particular member of the vampire cult. He was willing to tell me everything. He had even agreed to be filmed for the series. But then a few of his comrades found out that he planned to Tell All and, well . . .”
“Now you’ve arrived on our doorstep with Moldavian vampires on your tail,” Mr. Malone finished.
“Perhaps we could try to look at the bright side?” Mrs. Malone suggested. “Perhaps we could focus our energies on the positive?”
“I fail to see anything positive about having dozens of blood-sucking members of the undead descending upon us,” said Mr. Malone. “Especially when there are children in the home—”
“Oh, Emerson, please,” said Mrs. Malone. “We’ve let the children take part in voodoo ceremonies, go scuba diving in Loch Ness, and track the Moth Man through New Jersey swamps! I hardly think a few vampires could be any more dangerous than that.”
But Oliver Asquith held up a hand and said in a hollow voice, “No, no, Emerson has a point. It’s one thing for me to risk my own life in the pursuit of scientific advancement. But the two of you have so much to lose these days—” He looked around at the grandfather clock in the hall, the rug on the floor, the framed pictures on the walls, and smiled faintly. “You’ve really settled down, haven’t you, Emerson? I completely understand if you’ve lost your taste for danger—”
Mr. Malone bristled. “Let me remind you that I once confronted El Chupacabra in a remote Mexican jungle, armed only with a walking stick and the can of foot powder that I happened to have in my luggage. I’m simply thinking about the children—”
“Of course.” Oliver Asquith let out a deep sigh, then bowed his head in resignation. “You’re quite right. I should go.”
Mrs. Malone clutched her robe even more tightly around her. “Nonsense!” she cried. “If something happened to you, Emerson and I would never forgive ourselves! Would we, Emerson?”
There was a short, awkward silence. Finally, Mr. Malone said, “Well, ‘never’ is a bit strong, but it would certainly take a few months—” He caught his wife’s eye and finished hastily, “Lucille is right. You must stay.”
Oliver Asquith drooped with relief. “You’re too kind. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, but I promise you”—he grasped Mrs. Malone’s hands, held them over his heart, and peered soulfully into her eyes—“I promise you that I shall!”
Mrs. Malone blushed and let out a small laugh that was almost a titter.
Will made a gagging sound behind Poppy’s left shoulder. She stepped back on his toe, hard, but it was too late.
Her mother looked up, saw them on the landing, and frowned. “What are you children doing up? It’s almost one o’clock in the morning. You should be asleep.”
“But I want to hear about the vampires,” Franny said breathlessly. She was hanging over the banister, her newly brushed hair gleaming in the low light. She flashed a bright smile that showed off her dimples to their best advantage. “Hello, Professor Asquith! It sounds as if you’ve been having the most amazing adventures. We’d all simply love to hear about them. . . .”
Mr. Malone made a growling noise. “Not tonight,” he said. “Go back to bed. All of you.”
“But I’m not tired at all,” Franny protested, tossing her hair. “Mom, can’t we please stay up and hear about the vampires?”
Mrs. Malone hesitated. “Maybe tomorrow,” she said. Her children groaned, and she said more firmly, “Oliver will still be here in the morning. Now off to bed, all of you!”
As Poppy, Will, and Franny trailed down the hall, she turned to Oliver and said, “Come into the kitchen. I’ll make some sandwiches and coffee, and you can tell us all about what’s been happening to you since your last letter. . . .”
“We can stay up until dawn when they want us to run infrared cameras,” Franny muttered, “but all of a sudden we’re growing children who need our sleep. It’s not fair.”
“Totally inconsistent parenting,” Will agreed. “We’ll all need years of therapy to get over it.” He yawned hugely, then drifted down the hall toward his bedroom. “G’night.”
Poppy paused by Rolly’s bedroom. On a sudden impulse, she opened the door.
Moonlight slanted into the room through a gap in the curtains, turning the familiar space, with its twin bed, dresser, and toy box, a mysterious blue. Rolly was fast asleep. This should have been a reassuring sight, but it was not. He was lying on his back, as straight as an arrow, his arms at his sides. The sheet and quilt were pulled neatly up under his chin, and he had a sweet smile on his face.
“Will,” Poppy called softly. “Come here for a second.”
Will reluctantly drifted back to Rolly’s room. “What’s up?” he asked, blinking. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Before she could answer, he added, “And if you did, please keep quiet about it. We’ve already got the Dark Presence to deal with. Now we’re probably going to be attacked by Moldavian vampires.”
“Take a look at Rolly,” Poppy said, easing the door open a little wider. “Do you notice anything strange about him?”
Will glanced at the bed. “No. Do you?”
“Well, yes. He looks so calm. So quiet. So, so . . . sweet. It’s unnatural.”
“It’s a statistical aberration.” Will shrugged. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Okay, but—” Poppy began, but Will was already headed down the hall.
“At least he’s not experimenting with lighter fluid,” he called back over his shoulder before disappearing into his room.
Poppy was alone. After a moment, she gave herself a little shake, then she strode across the room to Rolly’s bed. She gently brushed back his hair, revealing his left ear. It was as perfect and pink and curved as a seashell, the most normal ear one could imagine. There wasn’t anything pointy about it at all.
Poppy let out a sigh of relief.
Honestly, you should know better than to let some silly book get you in a state, she told herself. If you don’t watch it, you’ll end up on someone’s doorstep in twenty years, wild-eyed and claiming that vampires are chasing you.
Still, she took one last look at Rolly before she shut the door.
He was smiling in his sleep, a smile so angelic that he looked as if he belonged on a Christmas card.
It should have been a heartwarming sight, but Poppy shivered all the same.
Chapter Twelve
Poppy woke up the next morning in the middle of a confused dream involving a vampire who was chasing a goblin who looked an awful lot like Rolly. She jumped out of bed, determined to tell her parents about her suspicions. Who cared if they called a television station or the local newspaper? One good thing about her parents, unlike many others—they were sure to believe her when she told them their youngest child had been stolen by goblins.
But when she burst into the kitchen, she found that the rest of the family was already there, engrossed in listening to Oliver Asquith. At least, her mother a
nd Franny were apparently enraptured. Mrs. Malone’s eyes were shining with admiration; Franny’s chin was propped on one hand, and her gaze was fixed unblinkingly on Oliver’s face. (Poppy noticed that Franny had apparently decided to wear the contents of her jewelry box in honor of the occasion; she had a sparkly gold barrette in her hair, her favorite necklace, tinselly earrings from last Christmas, and three rings on each hand.) Even Will and Rolly were caught up in what their visitor was saying. Will’s fork had paused halfway to his mouth, and Rolly was listening politely as he neatly cut a sausage into small bites.
Only Mr. Malone was resisting the lure of high drama, artfully told. He had retreated behind the front section of the newspaper and was pretending to read. Only the occasional rustle of paper, caused by his fists clenching, betrayed his true emotions.
“And that was when I realized that I had to flee for my life,” Oliver was saying as Poppy took her place at the table.
“What an amazing story,” Mrs. Malone said breathlessly. “How lucky that you still had that vial of holy water in your coat pocket!”
Most people who had survived a near-death experience and were now dealing with a flock of vampires bent on revenge would have little appetite for breakfast, Poppy thought, but Oliver Asquith was clearly made of stronger stuff. A plate with a few remnants of scrambled eggs and hash browns sat in front of him, and toast crumbs were scattered on the tablecloth. He lifted his cup to his lips, then glanced down as if astonished to find that it was empty.
“I wonder . . .” He gazed vaguely around the kitchen. “I wonder if perhaps there’s any coffee left?”
“I’ll get you some,” said Franny, leaping to her feet. She grabbed the coffeepot and began pouring him another cup.
“Thank you, that’s very kind,” said Professor Asquith, bestowing such a glittering smile on her that she blushed and forgot to stop pouring.
After a brief interlude for flustered apologies and mopping-up operations, Oliver continued his story.
“Anyway, as I was saying . . . I fled, hoping against hope that the vampires would not be able to pick up my trail. I followed all the proper protocols, of course—scattered salt on my footprints, drew crosses on every door I walked through—but they have been far more resourceful than I had anticipated. Now that you’ve taken me in, I’m afraid we must prepare ourselves to fend off a full-scale invasion of the undead.”
He sat back in his chair with the self-satisfied air of someone who has successfully foisted a problem off on someone else. “Does anyone else want more toast?”
Professor Asquith generously offered to make the toast. He was relying too much on their hospitality as it was, he said. He couldn’t let Franny and Mrs. Malone do all the work, he declared. He would take his turn at the toaster, he insisted.
Then he tried to stand up, gasped, and sank back into his chair.
“Oliver, what is it?” asked Mrs. Malone.
“Oh, nothing, really.” He bit his lip, clearly trying to mask the pain. “It’s just a . . . well, I suppose you might call it an old war wound, in a way. I got it when I was on the trail of the Vrykolakas; it has a tendency to flare up at the most inconvenient times.”
There was a snort from behind the newspaper. Mr. Malone muttered something about injuries that suddenly appeared when there was work to be done, but fortunately his mutter was so indistinct they could all pretend to ignore it.
“Don’t worry, I can make the toast,” said Franny, springing into action. “What are the Vrykolakas?”
“Greek vampires,” Oliver Asquith explained. “They’ve been hanging around since the time of Homer. Completely vicious, of course, but rather charming in their own way. Interestingly enough, they’re the only type of vampire that actually likes garlic.” He took a sip of coffee and added thoughtfully, “I remember a certain young lady who had a gift for making moussaka that bordered on genius; I still regret what the world lost when I was forced to drive a stake through her heart.”
Poppy was too well-mannered to roll her eyes at a guest, but she caught Will’s eye and raised one eyebrow a fraction of an inch. The corner of his mouth turned up, then he put on his most earnest expression and said, “So how did you get hurt, Professor Asquith?”
Oliver shrugged modestly. “Oh, the usual thing. I had to make an unexpectedly fast exit from a crypt at the base of Mount Penteli. I was planning to open a certain coffin before the sun set but, as luck would have it, my watch battery was running down and I ended up staying just a few minutes too long. I didn’t know anything was wrong until the coffin lid opened and I was face-to-face with a particularly large and gruesome Vrykolakas specimen. The next thing I knew—”
“Franny!” Poppy yelled. “The toast!”
“Oh! Oh dear!” Franny stared at the smoking toaster in dismay. “I’m so sorry, I’ll make some more, can someone hand me the bread . . . ?”
But before anyone could do so, the smoke alarm went off with an ear-piercing shriek. Franny began flapping a dish towel in the air. Will informed her that was absolutely the wrong way to get rid of smoke and suggested that she open the door instead. Franny suggested that, if he was so smart, perhaps he should open the door. Mrs. Malone tried to take the toast out of the toaster, burned her fingers, and dropped it to the floor, where it shattered into crumbs.
“Dear me, what drama,” Mr. Malone said from behind his newspaper. “No wonder your TV viewers are enthralled.”
Oliver Asquith did not rise to this bait, however. He simply waited calmly until the alarm had been deactivated, the floor had been swept, more toast had been made, and his audience was seated around the kitchen table once more before continuing. “As I was saying, I was racing out the crypt’s entrance, just steps ahead of the vampire, when I slipped and fell, badly twisting my ankle.” He shook his head. “It still gives me trouble on damp days, but one must soldier on, of course.”
Franny and Mrs. Malone sighed in unison, causing Mr. Malone to turn to the sports page with an irritable rustle. “Too bad there weren’t any reporters there to capture the moment,” he said. “I can see the headline now: ‘World-Famous Paranormal Investigator Trips on Step; Develops Slight Limp.’”
“I wouldn’t mind meeting a vampire,” said Franny. “Especially if he was young and handsome and terribly, terribly tormented about being undead—”
Mr. Malone snorted. “For your future reference, any handsome young vampire you may meet is only thinking about one thing—”
“Emerson,” said Mrs. Malone.
“How to drain you of every drop of blood in your body,” he finished. “For the last time, Franny: vampires are cold, heartless, evil creatures. They are not dreamy!”
“And they don’t exist,” Poppy added. “Minor point.”
“Ah yes, you’re the budding skeptic, aren’t you, Poppy?” Oliver Asquith gave a knowing chuckle that made Poppy yearn to throw the butter at his head. “We all go through that phase at some point in our youth, don’t we, Emerson? You’ll soon learn that there are more things in heaven and earth than you can dream of—”
“Yes,” said Mr. Malone. “For example, I find it quite odd that these alleged vampires were able to follow you across the Atlantic. After all, it’s a well-known fact that vampires can’t travel over water.”
“You don’t still believe that old wives’ tale, do you, Emerson?” Oliver Asquith asked in amazement. He smiled blandly at Mr. Malone as he buttered another piece of toast. “I suppose family life has prevented you from keeping up on the latest research.”
Mr. Malone lowered his newspaper, the better to glare at his guest. “I have investigated the Obayifo in Ghana, the Yara-Ma-Yha-Who in Australia, and the Chiang-Shi in the Gansu province of China,” he said stiffly. “I don’t need to read every obscure little journal to know all I need to know about vampires.”
Oliver Asquith shrugged. “Well, you’ll soon have a chance to put your theories to the test,” he said briskly. “I predict we’ll see the first drakolai by tomor
row at sundown. That only gives us about thirty-two hours to get ready for them, so we’d better build up our strength while we can.” He rubbed his hands and looked over the breakfast table. “I don’t suppose there’s more bacon?”
“I’m not sure how much we have left. . . .” said Mrs. Malone.
Will grinned. “But if we need more, I’m sure Franny would be willing to go out and butcher a pig,” he said. “Really, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all. . . .”
“There are still a few slices in the package,” said Franny, giving her brother a warning look. She turned to Oliver and smiled. “How many pieces would you like?”
“Two would just about hit the spot,” said Oliver Asquith. “Well, as long as you’re up . . . perhaps three?”
“You don’t expect us to believe that goblins are real,” said Franny later that afternoon. “For heaven’s sake, Poppy. You’re supposed to be the scientist in the family.”
“I wouldn’t have told you about the goblins if I didn’t have proof,” said Poppy.
“Even if goblins do exist, why would they want Rolly?” Will asked reasonably. “Why would anyone want Rolly?”
“I don’t know,” Poppy snapped. “I just know that they took him.”
She fanned herself irritably with the 1972 issue of Popular Mechanics that she’d found hidden behind the upturned bucket she was sitting on. They had decided to hold their council of war in the toolshed, safely out of their parents’ sight. They were afraid of being recruited to either fortify the house against vampires, hunt for the still-lurking Dark Presence, or track ley lines in the hot sun. The shed door stood half open to let a little air inside, but the atmosphere was still sweltering.
Poppy looked from Will, who was stretched out on the floor and appeared ready to fall asleep despite the fact the floor was concrete, to Franny, who was draped over an ancient armchair that was rubbed bald in places and losing its stuffing. They wore identical expressions that managed to combine complete skepticism and increasing worry.
She took a deep breath and decided to try making her case again, building it slowly with logic and evidence and reason. “Look, I know this is hard to believe. But please, try to keep an open mind—”
The Unseen World of Poppy Malone: A Gaggle of Goblins Page 9