by R K Dreaming
When I told him I did not, and that I didn’t have time to update him on my progress, he was disappointed.
“Listen, is father going to the Mayor’s Ball tonight?”
“Yes,” he said hesitantly. “Why?”
“Because I might be seeing him there,” I said grimly.
Oberon’s silence told me what he thought of this. That it was a very bad idea.
“I know, I know,” I said. “But I need to follow my only lead. Did father get his usual plus-two invitation?”
Father liked to arrive at parties with a beautiful enthralled on each arm.
“You want me to steal an invite for you?” said Oberon.
“Can you?”
“Only if you tell me what is going on.”
“I’ll tell you when it’s over. Why don’t you call Charming and see what he is up to?”
To his credit, Oberon didn’t push. He turned up to my house an hour later with the invitation I had asked for.
I had spent that time finding food for Squeak, then dashing to a late opening boutique to get one of the ballgowns that Bridgit had discarded, albeit in a larger size, seeing as I was a whole half foot taller than the petite redhead.
I’d returned home to wrestle with my hair and makeup, things I had never particularly enjoyed, and find matching shoes and accessories. If I was going to pretend to be father’s plus-one, I had to look the part.
I felt breathless and frazzled by the time Oberon arrived.
He whistled appreciatively when I opened the door dressed in a floor length emerald green dress with a daring split slashed up to my thigh. I’d also dug up some sparkling silver shoes and a precious pair of my mother’s diamond earrings, one of the few things I had left of hers.
“You clean up good, sis,” he said with a smile and offered me his arm.
I had a feeling the ball’s security would let him in even in those jeans, so charming as he was.
“You are not coming with me,” I said. “You attract far too much attention.”
“So will you,” he said with a laugh. “People will think you’re debuting yourself to start a new life in Brimstone Bay.”
“Good,” I said. “Maybe I will do when this is all over.”
His smile faltered, and I knew he was thinking that father would never allow that to happen.
“You need to be careful of him,” he said, a small frown marring his forehead.
“I have every attention of avoiding him,” I reassured him. “If I see him, I’ll go the other way.”
Oberon drove me to Hardwick Hall, the palatial residence of the town’s prominent Hardwick witching family, which Mayor Blaze had married into.
I emerged from the car, Squeak perched upon my shoulder as she had refused to be left behind in the empty house.
Oberon wished me luck. He surprised me by giving me a quick peck on the cheek before he departed. “Knock em dead.”
I strutted with long-practiced faux-confidence towards the main entrance of Hardwick Hall, which sat at the top of a sweeping cascade of steps, flanked by two massive pillars.
Uniformed Brimstone Bay police officers were milling all around the front of the hall, acting as security, no doubt ordered to do so by Chief of Police Hawke Hardwick.
What a waste of police resources when they were supposed to be investigating two murders, not to mention the Mockingbird ones.
The streets around the hall had been cordoned off for the night in preparation for the arrival of dignitaries and celebrities, and the grand entrance had a bright red carpet leading up to it.
There was a buzz in the air as luxury cars rolled up behind me to drop off glitzy gowned and tuxedoed guests, all excited at arriving, crying out that they were late, and yet pausing to be photographed by the press before they entered.
I gave a paparazzo who tried to stop me short shrift, striding past him without a second glance.
I wondered if Marilyn had been invited tonight, and whether she would have attended, had she lived.
And what I expected to say to Bridgit when I caught up with her, I had no idea. But maybe catching her in a crowd was not a bad idea. She didn’t seem to like public scenes. I hoped the mere threat of one would make her cave in.
I presented my invitation to the doorman, and I was dismayed to be handed off onto the arm of a formally attired footman who insisted on guiding me in to the banqueting room.
“I can find my own way,” I said.
He gave me a polite smile. “I’m afraid the banquet will shortly begin madam, and it will be best if I escort you to your table.”
Darn it! I didn’t want to waste hours eating and making small talk.
But to my delight, in a buzzing room full of at least two hundred people, the table he led me to was the one on which Bridgit Corkmony and her lover Tiberius Ossias were seated.
I beamed as he stopped at a chair right next to Ossias, but my eyes were on Bridgit.
She looked ravishing in a sapphire blue dress that turned her red hair almost golden. The minister certainly thought so, by the way he unashamedly kept stroking her waist beneath the satin.
Her eyes widened as she saw me, and then a look that might very well be dread crossed her face when she saw Squeak on my shoulder.
It hit me that she was remembering that Squeak belonged to Charming, whom she had thought was Chief Polliver, and to whom she had spilled her little people-smuggling secret. The secret she didn’t want her very important boyfriend finding out about because it would ruin his reputation among his prestigious pals, all of whom were no doubt here tonight.
The footman pulled out my chair for me and I gave Bridgit a dazzling smile, enjoying the look of discomfort on her face as she pretended not to know me.
“Sigourney,” purred a man’s voice at my elbow.
In a heartbeat, my insides felt like they had dropped right down through the floor.
I turned in horror.
It really was him.
“Father,” I said, my voice coming out horribly croaky.
And despite my disbelief, there he was, the most menacing vampire in Brimstone Bay, a mere few inches away from me. That face I had not seen in person in twenty-seven years was ever youthful, topped by his black hair and widow’s peak, his clear green eyes so like my brother’s.
But where Oberon Junior was wonderful, Oberon Senior was deadly. And after all these years, I found myself quavering inside, reduced to the frightened girl I had been when I had fled this town.
I only hoped I was managing to keep my tumultuous emotions from my face.
Father’s all too perceptive eyes saw exactly what I was feeling, and he smiled, gratified.
“My dear,” he said. “You haven’t met my paramour, Nargis.”
He indicated the Indian beauty at his other side. “Her sister Nazma was meant to be here tonight, but her invitation seems to have gone astray.”
He knew exactly what had happened. I only hoped Oberon Junior wouldn’t get into trouble for it.
I had always hoped I would be cool and brave when I saw father again. Now I cursed myself for my frozen tongue and wracked my brain for something clever to say. And found it empty.
Father’s eyes had strayed to Squeak on my shoulder and his nostrils flared with distaste.
“I see you’ve taken to carrying fresh snacks with you,” he observed.
Squeak gave a shrill squawk of protest.
“I’ve quite recovered from needing those kind of snacks,” I found myself saying.
Father’s eyes narrowed. His hand closed over my wrist beneath the tablecloth and he squeezed it hard. Hard enough to have broken it when I was a sanguith, but this time nothing happened. No satisfactory snap of the bones for him to rejoice over.
I was shocked. I had been so precious to father once. He had never physically harmed me back then. That he had resorted to it now showed me the depth of his hatred.
My lack of flinching in pain infuriated him, but all he showed was a flarin
g of his nostrils, and a brief flash of surprise that gratified me.
“Isn’t it wonderful father,” I goaded him, “that I’ve found a cure?”
I knew I should not, but I could not help it.
“Pity,” he said. “To have so little time left to enjoy your cure.”
And just like that the tiny ounce of exhilarated smugness I had felt was wiped out.
It was a threat, and he had uttered it out loud in front of every important personage at this table as if he had not a care in the world.
And Father always carried out his threats, especially public ones. It was a matter of pride.
I felt a chill. My head light. A whiff of danger. The scent of something herbal that I had smelled before, which left me feeling nauseated.
“Quite the contrary, father,” I said icily. “I plan to live a long and happy life. I’m sure you’re thrilled to have me back in town.”
His paramour Nargis was eyeing me with intense dislike. She had to be new, unaware yet of what he was really like, the poor woman.
I was saved from his response by the arrival of the first course. Blood pâté decorated with curls of icy blood ribbon, it looked like. The non-vampires at the table had been given ramekins of Magicwild legumes and Earthly salmon.
“I’ll have that,” I said to my waiter, pushing my plate of blood away.
Looking shocked, he actually protested. “But aren’t you the oracle, Her Grace Sigourney Maltei?” he said. “The… sanguith?”
He whispered sanguith like it was a dirty word.
Father’s face was thunderous to hear me addressed as Her Grace. I had no doubt he’d expected me to sink into the abyss when I’d fled him, not to survive and thrive.
“Not anymore,” I told the waiter, with a smile.
He looked alarmed, but hurried off to fetch me what I wanted.
When it arrived, father watched me eat it with a look of shock on his face. He kept watching, as if he expected me to throw up and humiliate myself. That I did not only made an icy cold descend over him.
And I knew I had only made him hate me worse.
And suddenly I felt exhilarated. My worse nightmare had come to life and I had not dropped dead.
And how ludicrous, that my worse nightmare was my own father, when I had the dreaded Reaper hunting me down.
I chuckled as I bit into another forkful of salmon. Gosh, it was tasty and tender and wonderful, and my all-powerful father could never partake of it. Never.
I was nothing like him any more, and I revelled in it.
Astonished at my display, father’s paramour seemed too frightened to touch her own plate of salmon. I switched my empty plate for her full one, saying, “You don’t mind, do you? I’m famished. Serves me right for missing lunch!”
Bridgit gave a nervous laugh. She and her lover and the other couple at our table had been watching my family reunion in bemusement, no doubt fully conscious of the hostility under our veneers.
Father ignored my temerity and proceeded to sample his pâté. He pushed it aside with distaste.
“Not to your liking, ey, Maltei?” boomed Tiberius Ossias, the Trade Minister. He was a stout incubus who looked in his sixties, and was heartily tucking into his fish. “I’ll have a word with the mayor. Make sure he gets it right for next time. Can’t have our vampirish friends being disappointed.” He laughed uproariously.
Father gave him a cool look. “There’s nothing quite like fresh.”
The minister blanched at this suggestion.
But Bridgit gave a breathy giggle, and said, “Oh yes, I’m always telling Tiberius we ought to eat fresh. Food is so poor quality these days. It’s lost half its nutrients by the time it gets to the plate!”
Tiberius patted her hand fondly. “My Bridgit is always concerned with health. Don’t get her started, Maltei, I implore you!”
My waiter poured a generous glug of white wine into my glass and I sampled it, finding it delicious with the fish.
“Wonderful,” I said to him with a smile.
“Really dear,” said Tiberius. “One ought to not speak to the serving staff.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Aren’t you a minister, minister? A representative of the people?”
His cheeks went ruddy. “Yes, but etiquette, dear,” he blustered, “is very important.”
“I prefer to make friends where I find them,” I said.
“And where exactly might all of these many friends be?” said father in a chilly voice.
“Around,” I said breezily, waving around the room. Let him make what he wanted of that.
Unfortunately for me, he only sneered, knowing I was bluffing.
And it hit me that I might want to make as many friends as possible as soon as I could.
Too bad Bridgit and her ambassador were on my list of suspects.
My eyes had landed on the place-card in front of Bridgit’s plate. The letters swam, rearranging themselves into something that made me blink. That herbal smell again, musky and sharp, making my head spin.
An odd possibility came into my mind.
Stunned, I looked up at Bridgit, who was carefully avoiding my gaze and brightly chit-chatting to the man on her other side.
“Any news on The Reaper murder, minister?” I asked Tiberius Ossias loudly.
Father stopped sipping his glass of blood and shot me a furious look.
What a pity it was because he was more interested in hiding the fact that he had covered up that The Reaper had murdered my mother, one of his enthralled, rather than out of any grief for my mother.
Tiberius gulped a large mouthful of wine. “I’m afraid the police haven’t been keeping us in the loop as much as I would have wished,” he admitted.
“It’s not because you’re a suspect, is it?” I said with a chuckle, and watched him closely.
He laughed good naturedly, but Bridgit had shot me a brief look full of alarm.
“Whatever do you mean?” she said shrilly, looking offended.
Tiberius patted her hand. “Let Her Grace have her little joke, dear,” he said. “If you ask me, the police have missed a trick not asking for her help.” He turned to me. “You’d have found the culprit like that, I’m sure.” He snapped his fingers.
As the next course was served — an artfully arranged cut of rare meat and some sort of frothy greens from the Magicwild — I said, “I’d have certainly done my utmost to identify anyone who is holding back important facts, minister. Keeping secrets, if you will.”
I gave Bridgit a discreet meaningful glance. She looked away.
“Perhaps you ought to have a word with your friend, the mayor,” I continued. “He may wish for his police force to consult me on the case.”
The minister joked that he might just do that, and Bridgit grew quieter and quieter, leaving her meat untouched.
By the time the final course arrived — a delectable little raspberry tart that made my mouth water — Bridgit looked tired and desperate to leave.
Not so much the minister, whose cheeks were flushed from drink, and who boomed that it was a pity father couldn’t try the tart.
“It’s wonderful with custard,” he cried. “Have you ever tried custard, Maltei? Perhaps back in your days before you turned?”
Father’s lips curled in displeasure at this topic of when he had been less than a vampire, which had been an immensely long time ago.
“Boy, where’s my custard?” said the minister to his waiter. “I did request custard, I believe.”
The waiter hurried to fetch a little jug of it on a silver tray, and the minister eagerly snatched it and poured a generous helping over his tart.
“And you, my dear?” he said to me, and proceeded to smother my tart in it before I could stop him.
“Simply the most moreish yellow sauce you’ll ever taste,” he reassured me. “My most favourite among the Humble inventions. They aren’t at all bad with food, some of them.”
Bridgit had to grab the jug from his hands to
stop him from pouring it all over father’s own wickedly red looking dessert.
“Really Tiberius. I don’t think Mr Maltei wants that!”
“Just a dollop won’t do him any harm!” boomed the minister.
“I’ll have a dollop,” ventured father’s paramour Nargis.
The minister lumbered to his feet to pour her a drizzle, stumbled over his own feet, and deposited the entire jugful onto my lap.
I gasped as the steaming hot custard seeped through my thin gown.
Bridgit let out a dainty shriek of despair.
“Oh dear!” boomed the minister. “Heavens. A witch, please! A cleaner? Anyone lend a wand here?”
“I’ve got it,” I said, rising with dignity to my feet and hastening away.
A witch attendant intercepted me and mopped up the mess with her wand, but I retreated to a quiet washroom anyway, eager for a moment’s respite from father’s ominous presence.
The evening was only just beginning. I had plenty of time to catch Bridgit at the ball, during which even more guests would be arriving. I sat down and took a quiet moment to calm my nerves.
I shouldn’t have goaded father like that, and now I was going to have to suffer the consequences. But I couldn’t afford to dwell on that.
What I had seen on Bridgit’s place-card was very interesting, but surely it was a coincidence? Because it made no sense.
As I mulled it over, I missed my psychic music more than ever.
Squeak jumped onto my hair and I had to flap her away. “Don’t make a mess,” I muttered. “I need a moment here.”
But she seemed unusually agitated, and proceeded to make a great fuss, treading all over my lap, clawing up my dress.
I leaned my head against the wall, glad to have chosen a bathroom out of the way. It was very nice with its elegant chaise longue, the hand-painted wallpaper behind it depicting a lush Magicwild jungle with fabulous birds. A series of small oil paintings were lit by silk-canopied lamps. The half-lit quiet in here was soothing. I almost felt like letting my eyes drift to take a nap.
Too bad I had work to do.
Squeak squawked in protest when I got up to leave.
“Stop making a fuss,” I chided her. “Bad enough I have to walk around with a chicken, without you being noisy as well.”
