The Dirigible Airship Disaster Page 9

  As soon as her hand fell, my brow furrowed, and chill ran through my core. Another one? Perhaps she only meant Dr. Marquis. “How are you aware of the goings-on of my bedroom?” I asked, dismayed.

  Callista smiled slowly again. The chill that had come over me began to warm at the sight of her.

  “It’s called divination, my dear, and I will gladly teach you one day. But for now, your quarters.” She waved her hand in the direction of the main, switchback stairwell behind our group. “I would prefer you go without that dastardly hood. It does your coif no favors.” She sniffed, glancing at Belinda with a frown.

  Cecilee offered her pudgy hand to me. “Yes, I do apologize for our less than hospitable introductions. Let me show you around.”

  I looked from Cecilee’s hand to Callista, who nodded and smiled again. My fears melted to nothing like spring ice, and I took Cecilee’s hand and she grinned. Callista disappeared down a dark hall to the left of the front door.

  Cecilee pulled me along with Belinda following close behind. The floors of this manor hideaway were a warm, red oak, and the staircase was wide and sweeping, outfitted with a plush, emerald green runner in a gold leaf pattern. We began to climb the stairs.

  “Are you hungry, miss? Sir Ulrich will gladly whip you up a dish. I’m always famished after a magickal undertaking,” Cecilee said with a sugary, dreamy smile.

  Belinda scoffed. “Indeed, and you can tell how much she undertakes.”

  “Oh.” Cecilee growled, and I tried not to laugh. Her hand was pudgy and soft as she tugged me along.

  “Why don’t you take her up, Cee, and I’ll get Ulrich,” Belinda said, hobbling back down the stairs.

  Cecilee gave a dismissive wave of her free hand, and we ascended to the second floor. Hushed, muffled voices drifted through the corridors, but their origins were indiscernible. Our shadows flickered across the walls in distorted, grotesque shapes, and strange paintings adorned the area above the bead board wainscoting. Most were portraits, or medieval-looking hunting scenes, their perspectives flat and strangely angled. Da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine hung outside a closed door at the very end of the hall on the right, with a gold knob and filigree keyhole. Cecilee turned the knob and opened the door.

  Inside, a fire burned behind a wrought-iron grate. On either side of the hearth, and on a rectangular patch of the floor in front of it were blood-red, shiny tiles. A pair of white candles flickered on a black mantle over the fire, reflecting in a mirror above the hearth. My face floated between the candles in the mirror, pale as a ghost, and my dark hair fell in wild, unruly curls, streaming down my shoulders like a black shroud. Cecilee watched me with a strange grin, and the inability to discern her motives frightened me. I pulled my kimono tight, feeling the chainmail pressing into my skin.

  A canopy bed in black walnut sat in the center of the room, the posts carved into the shapes of roaring lions. I looked closer, my eyes narrowing for a moment. The lions had scorpions’ tails, curling around the posts. The canopy curtains, a gossamer, pale gold, were tied with black sashes. There was a balcony on the other side of the bed, and the doors, a shiny black, were open. The fire crackled, and a pack of coyotes howled in the distance as the breeze stirred, ruffling the boughs of the pines outside.

  “Belinda will be up with a tray soon, and I’m sure Callista will come knockin’,” Cecilee said, putting her hand around the doorknob. “Make yourself at home, honey. This room has the best view.” She nodded toward the balcony, grinning again, then disappeared across the threshold into the dark hall, and closed the door behind her.

  Now that she was gone, leaving me alone in the darkened room, my panic returned. Worse still, was the feeling of confusion—I didn’t know whom to trust, so I could trust no one. In my terrorized solitude, part of me wished for either Samuel or Dr. Henderson to appear, but would he bite me again, draining me to succumber? Would Samuel, a creature even stranger than the doctor? My head spun like a steaming pinwheel, and I looked around, my gaze darting about the room in all directions, searching for an answer written in the wallpaper, or lurking in the shadowy corners. I wondered if perhaps there was a way down the balcony. I could try to make it out on foot, find some abandoned camp and settle in for the remainder of the night until dawn.

  I gulped, holding my breath, and crossed the room to the balcony. The air was still and silent, like time had stopped, and I passed through the open, folding walnut doors, shellacked in black, snakeskin veneer. Their shiny surface reflected the firelight like dancing, liquid waves. Maybe if I disappeared, they could all burn each other and the world down without me playing a reluctant, integral part in their stupid plans. The thought of staying here and playing the pliant child had my neck tense, and my temples started to ache. I needed rest, safety, and probably something to eat before a migraine settled in. I shivered at the thought of taking sick in such a strange place where hostile creatures lurked.

  Although the night was humid, a chill had settled into my bones. I crossed my arms. The only light came from the hearth, which bathed the room behind me in gold light. The balcony faced the empty field I’d crossed with the trio of witches earlier, and the woods were to my left. The crickets chirped and strange, midnight birds warbled in the dense brush.

  A figure crossed the lawn, his features hidden in shadow, and his coat billowed behind him like a black cape. I wondered then if he was a hero or a fiend. I froze there on the balcony, watching his approach. His footsteps were heavy and determined, but his limbs swung about and moved beneath him in a languid, calm and assured manner. A vague familiarity at the sight of his unhurried gait stirred something lost in slumber deep inside of me, and I rushed back inside, and slid the doors closed but for a tiny crack to let some of the heat out. Pressing my eye against the crack, I watched him gain purchase across the field, before he reached the cobblestone walkway and his boots hit the surface with soft, distant knocks. He disappeared under the edge of the balcony, and I lost sight of him. Terror nipped and clawed at my insides, devouring my bravery from just a moment before. Those woods were dark, far too dark, and terrible sounds emitted from their gaping, black maw.

  Only my breath, and the crackling of the log on the fire made any sound in the room. Resignation that I would have to stay here at least until morning crept in, and I sighed while eyeing my surroundings. Everything was black, accented in pale, dusty gold and blood-red. The furniture was smooth and polished, and so was the floor. It was eerie, slippery and oily like ink, although, the bed did look inviting. Exhaustion burned the rims of my eyes, and the chainmail against my skin felt like a heavy cage. I cursed myself for putting it on in such impish, cheeky impulsivity. I wasn’t sure if I should remove it or not. I needed rest, but sleeping in unfamiliar territory would already disturb my slumber. Doing it while uncomfortable was worse. I needed my wits about me for tomorrow’s escape. I decided to remove it, and put it somewhere safe from the sight of others.

  Frowning, I crossed the room to the dresser which sat against the far wall, purposely keeping my steps light, afraid of making the slightest noise and drawing any attention. Anxiety, fear of the occupants of the house and uncertainty of how I would ever get home shook me to my core, and with a slow and gentle hand, I slid open the top of the dresser drawer. It was filled with unmentionables in differing, pastel shades. I ran my fingers against the tops of the folded fabric, and my hands brushed across soft, warm cotton, cool and slippery satin. In that intimate instant, a hot, prickling sensation tugged at my consciousness. Involuntarily, my gaze was ripped from the dresser to the wall next to the closed door.

  There was a hole in the wall, in the center of a diamond in the red and gold patterned wall paper. But what was so strange about it was the wide, sparkling yellow-blue eye that filled the jagged aperture. I gasped, shrieked almost, my hand flying to my mouth. The eye seemed to narrow and crinkle into a smile, and in an instant, my fear turned to anger. I stomped across the room, my rage covering, smothering and extinguishing my fear.
I hoped that perhaps my quick, stomping footsteps would frighten the spy.

  Throwing open the door, it banged against the wainscoting, and I looked left down the hall, only to find Lucius Marquis, his hair wild, and his thin, ruby-red lips twisting into an eel-like smirk. He had pulled the Lady with an Ermine painting aside, revealing a crack in the plaster.

  “Ms. Delafayette, I see you have met my dear mistress, Callista Tromperie,” he said, grinning.

  My insides froze like I’d swallowed a block of ice.

  He let go of the painting, and it slid across the wall with a whisper. Still smirking, he straightened it, and hummed a strange tune.

  I squared my shoulders and glared at him, feeling a bit self-assured because of the chainmail beneath my kimono.

  He turned to me, and smiled with glimmering, sharp fangs. His yellowish eyes spotted the necklaces I was wearing. “Silver really isn’t your color, Ms. Delafayette, and I’m sure my prodigal son has told you as much.” His face fell, darkening, and his eyes began to turn pink, right before his shift full-on, blood-lusting fiend. The blood in my ears rushed to an uncomfortable beat as I remembered his terrifying form in the garret room the night before.

  He sniffed, inhaling a sharp, quick breath before continuing. “Hm, Talcott,” he said, bringing his finger to his chin before wagging it back and forth. “He is my own family, my own son. I gave him rebirth, deep in the bowels of the earth as The Reaper yielded his ghastly harvest against all weak, mortal creatures.”

  I swallowed hard, listening to him regale me with Dr. Henderson’s origins. The menace that laced his quiet voice had me frozen to the spot, and I could do nothing but watch him with a horrible transfixion. His claws began to grow, and my breath stopped.

  “And, he has repaid me with the ultimate betrayal, and you as the vessal.” He stepped toward me, closing the space until he was but an inch away, and his breath was cold against my cheek, and the air around him was stale and smelled like fresh dirt over a new grave. “Don’t you dare think, Ms. Delafayette, that he will not betray you as well.” He reached over, twisting a lock of my hair in his fingers.

  My spirit shrieked through every nerve of my body to flee, but his eyes spun red, and his voice became smooth like fresh rolled butter, compelling me with a horrible, hypnotic pull to remain still.

  He brought my hair to his face, and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of it. “And don’t think, either, that The Quartermaine will save you from his clutches.” He opened his eyes and they were a deep, ruby red. My heart pounded, and a scream caught in my throat.

  He laughed, howled almost like a rabid dog, dropping my hair. He still hadn’t released me from his pull and I remained so close to his frigid body. “Your terror is delicious.” He stopped, listening. “Ah, my mistress is on her way. Perhaps soon I will take the opportunity to inform you of The Quartermaine’s transgressions. Why in fact, you even look like the young girl who,” he made a gesture with his forefinger, bringing it quickly across his neck in a slashing motion, “lost her head to his depravations!” He howled again and the urge to kick and claw and scream at him was unbearable, like every fiber of my being was an ignited gunpowder trail, or shaken bottles of glycerin.

  Callista appeared in the shadows of the hall, carrying a crystal tray. “Lucius, you audacious thrall. Is that any way to treat the newest initiate to my coven?”

  Lucius turned to her, and gave a bow. I gasped as his pull released, like ripping out a gag. My fists clenched.

  “He has upset you.” Callista looked at me with her eyebrows raised, sympathy painted on her features.

  My eyes stung and I swallowed hard and nodded. The smell of fresh-pressed coffee and roast chicken dripping with herbed cream sauce wafted from her tray, where lidded bowls sat arranged with a tiny vase adorned with one single, buttercup bloom. I wanted to run, to scream down the hallway, but what was the use? I was surrounded, and who knew what other torments awaited in the bowels of the witch’s fortress.

  She turned to Lucius and her voice took on a commanding, hard edge. His jaw appeared to drop and quiver as she spoke. “Go downstairs, flog yourself with the salted whip 25 times. You may not feed until tomorrow night.”

  He turned back to me, his jaw slamming shut and clenching as his eyes burned with red hatred.

  “Now, thrall, and turn your eyes back to their normal, unsightly shade.” She sighed and rolled her eyes as he turned on his heel and skulked down the corridor. I was flabbergasted.

  Callista gave a shrug of her shoulder, grinning with satisfaction, and headed into my room. “Follow,” she said.

  I followed her in, hoping for an explanation. I didn’t know it was possible for a mortal to command a vampire, and one as powerful as Marquis. A fearful thought that perhaps she wasn’t mortal at all crossed my mind. Curiosity fought with my apprehension.

  She set the tray on the bed and turned to face me. “Shut the door, please.”

  I stared at the knob for a moment, and curiosity pinned my fear squarely to the floor. Pulling the knob, I closed the door with a soft click and turned to face this strange, possibly immortal Callista Tromperie.

  “How would you like to command vampires instead of fear them?”

  I shook my head and cleared my throat, afraid Lucius had taken my voice with him. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  Callista laughed softly, and sat down on the foot of the bed. “A witch’s familiar is not just a spirit animal, it is a vampire in his transmogrified form. Every high witch is given a vampire familiar after her initiation. Lucius, one of the most powerful of the vampires,” she rolled her eyes and mumbled, “After my brother, Abaddon, is mine.”

  I nodded slowly. “Who is Abaddon?”

  “King of the vampires, leader of the Scion Hive, the most powerful of the hives. It is the hive of the North Americas, and sometimes Greenland when they feel like fighting with the Berserker Viking Hive. Or maybe it is Iceland . . ..” Calista’s lips pursed as she gazed up at the pressed gold tin in the ceiling, searching for a memory. “Oh, it’s terribly difficult to remember all these things when you’re as old as I am.” She waved her hand, and flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder. She traced a line with her forefinger up and down the length of the bedpost.

  I leaned against the door, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes, and rubbed them. More questions than answers flooded my brain, stuffing it to overload. “This makes no sense to me, I’m sorry,” I said, dropping my hands and looking at her. Little stars danced across her face.

  She gave another sympathetic look, and picked up a pitcher of coffee and a crystal mug from the tray. “I hope you like your coffee black. We are out of cream and summoning such things out of thin air is not our coven’s specialty. That Ulrich,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I ought to have him demoted to scullery maid instead of high chef.” She held out the mug and gestured for me to take it. A puff of steam rose from it.

  I approached her and took the coffee. The mug was hot in my shaking hands.

  “You’ll need to drink that. It won’t keep you up. And I can’t have you thinking I’m doing this for charity, keeping you safe from Talcott and Abaddon, that is, teaching you the craft out of the kindness of my heart.” Her eyelids fluttered as she shook her head, pressing her hand to her chest.

  Taking a sip, the area between my rib cage tightened. Looking down into the mug, I wondered for a moment why she said I “needed” to drink it. Maybe she meant it was decaffeinated, or she thought a warm drink would be soothing for me. I looked back at her and the subtle smile on her face settled my apprehension, still clawing away at curiosity’s strong grip. Besides, it was one of the best tasting coffees I’d ever had—smooth and warm, buttery and sweet like caramel. I usually never took it black.

  “I don’t have much time tonight to explain everything to you. That must wait until at least tomorrow; however, there is something you must do for me once you finish eating.” She lifted the lid over the bowl, revealin
g a breaded piece of chicken swimming in cream sauce.

  I salivated at the sight and smell of it, not realizing until then how hungry I’d become.

  “We are energy witches here. We derive our power from high emotion, good or bad. I prefer good, which is why I’ll need you to engage in congress with Samuel Quartermaine.”

  As she said it, I was taking another sip of the coffee, and it caught in my mouth, burning my nostrils as I tried not to spit it out.

  “What?” I asked, coughing.

  “I’m starving, Ms. Delafayette, and I must feed and renew my powers. My powers are what keep you safe from the likes of the Scion Hive.”

  Her words began to fade away, becoming muffled like she was speaking under water or with a pillow to her mouth. Congress with Samuel Quartermaine! And what did she mean, ‘feed?’ The thought of her watching sent my pulse to overdrive, and I could feel her stare boring into me as I gazed at my feet. Her words came back into sharp focus as I took a deep breath, and then another sip.

  “Now, I have recently brokered a deal with Mr. Quartermaine, and that is the end of the bargain that you must uphold.”

  Silence filled the room as her words registered slowly in my brain, like they had to travel through several galaxies before reaching my ears. Her stare began to burn hotter than the mug held tight between my hands.

  “He’s here?” I asked with a quivering breath.

  She nodded. “He arrived soon after you did—hot on your heels, I must say.” She gave a sideways grin, and her steely eyes glinted.

  My mouth opened and closed, my brow furrowed as the coffee spread throughout my limbs and warmed them. She regarded me with a raised eyebrow and a soft smile.

  I took a step back from, bumping into the closed door. “Well, what do I get out of this bargain? It’s obvious what he gets out of it.” I hissed, rolling my eyes as a flicker of embarrassment and irritation with him and her and everyone filled the tightened space under my rib cage.