by J A Cummings
And then last year he’d picked up books by some rabble-rouser named Che Guevara, and then the philosophies of that tiresome German Marx. Worse, he’d started re-reading the scribblings of Hume and Paine, and that was the beginning of the end of his obedience. Julia should have known better than to buy him a computer that had access to every library in the world. The fool had filled his pretty head with nonsense about liberty and equal rights, and now look what he’d done.
She had to admit that he was troublesome, almost more trouble that he was worth, and when he was encouraged by the likes of the witch from the ball, well… She sighed. Hegula finished her work and stood back.
“Pretty as a picture, as always, my mistress.”
Lora came forward with a black suit with a peplum jacket and pencil skirt. Black thigh-high hose with seams and a pair of black pumps completed the look, and Julia let her banshee dress her.
“Pearls,” she requested, and Hegula draped her throat with a priceless choker of black pearls from Spain. Her ears and wrists gained more of the same, and when she was done, she did a slow turn for her handmaids.
Lora clapped her pale, bony hands. “Splendid, Domina!”
“Immaculate,” Hegula agreed. “You look quite beautiful.”
Julia smiled, appeased. “Excellent. Now let’s go talk to the administrators of this silly island.”
Harry drove the limousine to the administration offices and opened the door from the driver’s seat, utilizing his abilities as a poltergeist to clear the way for his mistress without getting too close to her. Julia swept out of the car and into the lobby.
The hapless sylph who was acting as that’s night receptionist looked up in surprise when the aged vampire strode into the room. “I would speak to the administrator of this resort,” Julia demanded.
“The main administrator is diurnal, but the vice administratrix is in. Whom shall I say is calling?”
The vampire was unmoved by the faery’s friendly smile. “Julia Silvania Caratacus of Roma.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The sylph reached out and picked up a telephone, dialing a quick number. She spoke in a squeaking tongue that Julia did not understand, which annoyed her greatly. The sylph hung up the phone. “Madame Lombard will see you, ma’am.”
“I would hope so. And it’s terribly rude to speak in front of someone in a language they don’t share.”
The sylph’s expression seemed to think that listening to someone else’s phone call was ruder, but she said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. Right this way.”
Julia followed the receptionist into a grand office whose walls were covered with artistic renderings of the various climates and accommodations on the island. The woman behind the desk stood, and her gaunt face and haunted eyes gave Julia a start. She hadn’t expected to encounter a vampire even older than she herself.
“Madam,” the administratrix said, her voice sepulchral. “Please, sit down. What can I do for you this beautiful night?”
Julia sat in one of the visitors’ chairs and crossed her legs. If she had learned nothing else from her senator father, she had learned to always behave as if she were the most powerful person in the room, even when it wasn’t true.
“I’ve come to lodge a complaint.”
The older vampire sat and folded her hands on the desktop. Her nails were broken and splintered from digging her way out of her grave, and they were caked with cemetery dirt. Julia sniffed at the administratrix’s old-school style.
“What is your complaint?” the aged vampire intoned.
Julia clutched her black patent leather purse on her lap. “Someone is trying to steal one of my thralls. He has gone missing from my entourage, and I want him returned.”
“Who is stealing him?” The administratrix frowned. “Another vampire?”
“No,” she sniffed. “A witch.”
“Oh. Well.”
The official sat back and brushed a spot of graveyard dirt from her dress.
“That’s all?” Julia prompted.
“A witch, madam? Stealing a thrall from one such as you? I’m sure it’s just a phase, or a resort-based fling.” She offered a smile, but since all of her teeth but her fangs were missing, it was more like the gape of a catfish. “This is a vacation resort, madam, and people and thralls will do as they would not do otherwise. He will come to his senses when it’s time for your reservation to end. It’s just foolishness, a vacation affair for the fun of it. Nothing more.”
Julia was affronted. “You don’t know my thrall.”
“Madam,” the administratrix sighed, “I have seen this many times before. Otherwise obedient thralls and companions come here and have a bit too much fun. They always go back to their masters and mistresses when it’s time to go home. It’s just harmless tomfoolery.” She winked, and her eyelid creaked when it reopened. “What happens in the Bermuda Triangle stays in the Bermuda Triangle, as they say.”
She considered trying to compel the administratrix to her complaint more seriously, but Julia knew that the vampire facing her was her senior by a number of centuries. She sighed instead and tried to play upon her feelings, if she had any left. “He is valuable to me, and this upstart witch has stolen him.”
“Borrowed, I would say.” The administratrix reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out an envelope. “Here… to ease your tension while he’s away. Ten full-body hot stone massages, on the house.”
She eased the coupons toward Julia, who took them but stood in a huff. “With as much as you charge for this place, I would think you’d take allegations of theft more seriously.”
“Tell my assistant the name of the witch on your way out, and we will investigate her intentions,” she said. Julia knew she was just being mollified.
“Her name is Rowena Glass. She is a thief, and I want her horsewhipped.”
“Of course you do. I assure you, we will investigate the matter, but there will be no whipping.” The administratrix offered another smile. “Please don’t concern yourself further. I’m sure your thrall will return to you when he’s had his little taste of freedom.”
Julia shoved the massage coupons into her purse. “I will have you know that I am displeased with your handling of this complaint.”
“I know. Thank you.” The administratrix walked her to her office door. “Good night, now. Enjoy the resort. Perhaps you can find a warlock to have a little fling of your own.”
She turned at the door and glared at the resort employees. “I am displeased with your handling of this complaint. You will be hearing from my travel agent.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Julia turned on her heel, disgusted by the lack of action. Harry opened the door to the limousine again, and she threw herself inside.
Chapter Eleven
Rowena pushed the grimoire away and looked around the room. Lucius was pacing, and Grendel sat on the rug in front of the fire, licking his paws. She sighed.
“There’s absolutely bugger-all in this grimoire about breaking the sort of bondage that you’re carrying,” she sighed. “I guess it’s the one sort of curse that my ancestors never encountered. I know I’ve never run into it before.”
The handsome vampire nodded. “I see. You’ve tried your best. I understand.”
“I didn’t say I was giving up. I just said the grimoire was silent on the subject. There’s someone else I can ask, someone with knowledge much older than mine.”
Lucius tilted his head, curious. “Who?”
“It was someone I met at the ball. He gave me his hotel room number…” She went to her purse and dug around inside. There, in the bottom of the pouch, she found the papyrus that the mummy had given to her. “Ah! Here we are. Imptah Ra-Koreh.”
Grendel raised his head from his post-lamb dinner relaxation. “Where is his room? Is it far?”
“It’s in the grand hotel in the desert section.”
Lucius chuckled. “I suppose that was predictable.”
“I’m going to go pay
him a visit.” She tucked the papyrus into the pocket of her jeans and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “I’m glad I’m not going into the desert in the heat of the day.”
“Night is much kinder,” the Roman vampire told her. “Softer. More like a kiss.”
If a feline could roll his eyes, Grendel did. “Oh, come on…”
Rowena smiled at her familiar’s aggrieved reaction. “I like daylight, as well. It’s happy.”
The vampire looked away. “I don’t remember.”
She felt a momentary pang of sympathy for him. “When she Made you, was it your choice? I mean, did you want to become a vampire?”
“I was a slave, as I am today,” he said. “My wishes matter for very little.”
Rowena went to him and hugged him, trying to soothe his wounded heart. She was a compulsive nurturer. “They matter to me. And I promise you, I’ll find a way to get you free of her so you can finally live your own life on your own terms.”
“I’m beginning to think that’s just a fairytale,” he admitted, but he embraced her back, his strong arms wrapping around her body.
“It’s real, and there’s a happy ending just for you. And we’re going to find it.”
She pulled back to look up into his face. His dark eyes met her emerald gaze, and then he was kissing her, his embrace passionate but not demanding. She kissed him back, opening her mouth to let his tongue slide between her lips. Rowena’s fingers threaded through his dark hair, and he pulled her close, pressing her against his muscular form.
She broke away to breathe, and he released her reluctantly. Their eyes met again as she slowly backed away.
“I’ll… be back,” Rowena said simply, her cheeks flushed.
“I’ll be here.”
“You’d better be.”
When she walked outside the cabin, she found Heinrich standing guard on the door. He straightened to attention when she emerged, and she smiled when she saw him.
“Thank you for protecting us,” she said.
“It’s my pleasure. May I escort you somewhere?”
Rowena hesitated. “I’m going to the desert hotel.”
“Ah! I know the way. If you would permit me, I would take you there on horseback.” It was a long trip, and she would have to find transport, but she was hesitant to leave Lucius unguarded. Heinrich seemed to sense her hesitation. “I could stay here and let you take Wotan.”
Their conversation was interrupted when Chester’s door banged open. The chupacabra stood on his front step, the blaze in his fireplace turning him into a black silhouette. He crossed his arms and stared at them.
Heinrich sighed. “I’ll go speak to him.”
“No, don’t. Leave him be. As long as he’s not trying to get into the bungalow, he can stand and stare at us as long as he wants.”
“You are a forgiving woman,” the Headless Horseman told her. “I would be very angry with him for attacking my door that way.”
“It’s just a door. Just… don’t let him do it again.” She would have kissed his cheek, but she took his hand and squeezed it instead. “If you’re sure Wotan wouldn’t object, I’d like to accept your offer.”
“He likes you. He’ll be happy to carry you into the desert.”
“Thank you.”
He put his fingers up to his neck and whistled. Wotan trotted forward, moving through the paddock fence as if it weren’t there. As the horse approached, all of his tack appeared, so by the time he reached Rowena’s rented house, he was ready to ride.
Rowena swung up into the saddle while Heinrich held Wotan’s reins. He told her, “He knows the way, and he knows where you want to go. He’ll get you there safely.”
“Perfect. Thanks.”
“And don’t worry about your guest. I will keep him safe.”
She wished for the hundredth time that he still had his head. With a smile, she said, “I’ll be back.”
Ghost horses had the ability to cross terrain at the speed of thought, and Rowena found herself outside the desert hotel, gasping for air. Wotan whickered at her, and it sounded for all the world like an apology for forgetting that she was still alive and needed to breathe. Rowena patted his neck and dismounted.
“Thank you,” she told him. “I’ll be back out in a few minutes. Could you wait for me?”
He nodded his head, and she patted him again.
She went into the lobby and found a phone that connected with the rooms upstairs. It was only polite to tell Imptah that she was coming, just in case he had company. The phone rang twice, then the mummy’s voice came on the line.
“Imptah? I don’t know if you remember me or not. My name is Rowena Glass… we met at the ball.”
“Miss Glass! Of course! My long-lost love!” She rolled her eyes, and Imptah, oblivious, continued. “You’ve come to visit me! I’m so honored. Please come up!”
Whatever else could be said about the ancient Egyptian, he was certainly enthusiastic. “I’m on my way.”
She took the elevator up to the ninth floor, and Imptah was already standing in the hallway, waiting to escort her. His bandages had been dusted and he smelled like frankincense. Rowena greeted him with a kiss on each cheek, and he returned the greeting in kind.
“Please, come this way,” the mummy said, shuffling down the hallway toward his room. The bandages made it difficult for him to bend his legs, but he managed to walk quickly as he led her to his door.
He let her into the room, and she walked in, taking a look around. The room was elegant, the sort of place one would expect to find in four-star hotel. Instead of a bed, an Egyptian sarcophagus occupied the majority of the floor space. She wondered if it had been here all along, or if Imptah somehow traveled with it.
The mummy closed the door behind them. He hurried into the room and gestured to the sofa. “Please, have a seat. May I offer you a drink?”
“Water, please.”
He blinked and smiled. “Really? There’s a full mini-bar, and I haven’t drunk everything yet.”
Rowena chuckled. “Really. Just water.”
“Suit yourself.”
He retrieved a bottle from the refrigerator and brought it to her. Imptah managed to fold at the waist so he could sit beside her. He held up his own drink, a mini-bottle of vodka, and saluted her.
“To old friends made new.”
She smiled. “To new friends claiming to be old.”
They drank, and Imptah chuckled. “You wound me. You still don’t believe me that we lived and loved once before?”
“Honestly? No.” She crossed her legs and sat back. “I wish this was just a social call, but I’ve come to ask for help.”
His brow furrowed. “Oh, dear. Help with what?”
“Curses.”
The mummy squinted at her. “What kind of curse?”
She hesitated, then decided to be as honest as possible. “I’ve made the acquaintance of a vampire whose Maker is keeping him as a slave. There are actual chains that he wears that I can see through OtherSight, and I need to break them to set him free.”
“Thrall chains are a difficult matter,” he mused, “but I think I’ve heard tell of them being defeated once before. If you’ll give me the chance to do some research, I’ll see if I can find an answer for you. I might have the right papyrus around here somewhere.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” She looked at the sarcophagus. “Do you have all of your papyri with you?”
He smiled. “Indeed I do. I’m a permanent resident now.” His smile faced. “Too many humans with torches.”
“I understand, believe me. Humans burned my home to the ground and destroyed everything I owned.”
Imptah shook his head. “Horrible. Blast the day they ever discovered fire.” He held out his bottle. “To better and brighter days ahead.”
She tapped her bottle against his. “May they come swiftly.”
Chapter Twelve
Rowena returned to the bungalow just before dawn. She returned
Wotan to his paddock and went to bed, lying at Lucius’s side as the daylight reclaimed him into his death state. She slept instantly.
Heinrich stood guard over the bungalow for a while longer, watching for Chester to make any more incursions. A few times, the chupacabra came near, but he always dodged away again as soon as he saw the Headless Horseman standing guard. It seemed to Heinrich that Chester was acting under the power of compulsion, and he thought it unlikely that the chupacabra really wanted to do any harm to their witch friend.
He left his post and walked to Chester’s house. The chupacabra opened the door before Heinrich even had a chance to knock, his beady eyes squinted in dismay and apprehension.
“What do you want?” Chester demanded.
“An explanation.”
The chupacabra sighed and beckoned Heinrich to come inside. As soon as the horseman had crossed the threshold, he locked the door and stomped over to the fireplace, his hooves clattering on the floorboards.
“All right,” Chester grumbled. “Say it. Tell me I’m an asshole and tell me I was wrong.”
“You were wrong to attack Miss Rowena’s house,” Heinrich said, “but I don’t think you’re entirely to blame. Tell me what’s happening.”
The chupacabra thrust his wrists at him. “Look.” He stopped and looked at him, then said, “Oh, hell. Whatever.”
“I can see.” Heinrich would have nodded. “Yes, I see the chains. Why does she have your Marker?”
Chester sighed. “I was being chased in Texas by some good ol’ boys with shootin’ irons, and she and her gladiator happened to be in Austin for the South by Southwest festival. I asked for her help, and they rescued me. Now she owns me for a period of time of her choosing, and I don’t know when it’ll be up.” He dropped his hands again. “For all I know, I’ll be her slave forever.”
