Wuthering Frights

by H. P. Mallory

  Once I located the hair dye, my thoughts turned to makeup. I found the lightest liquid makeup I could in the Cover Girl aisle, along with four compacts of extra loud eye shadow, with colors ranging from fuchsia to electric blue, a bright red lip liner and matching lipstick, and a coral pink blush. The idea was to make myself look as unlike myself as possible. I was going for camouflage, disguise and incognito. I was going for Cyndi Lauper meets Boy George with a bit of RuPaul thrown in for good measure.

  When I got home, I quickly dyed my hair. While it was wrapped up in a towel on top of my head, I searched through my closet for my white jeans and a white T-shirt. Once I located them both, I left the jeans on my bed and carried the v-necked T-shirt into the living room. I pulled out the ironing board and the iron, plugged it in and set it for “high steam.” Then I ransacked the first two drawers beside my kitchen sink until I found the iron-on alphabet decals I'd purchased for Halloween last year when Sam and I had dressed up like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.

  Our costumes had sucked so bad that we hadn't looked a thing like either Tweedle, so in a last ditch attempt to salvage our dignity, we opted to spell out our characters with iron-on alphabet letters. I couldn't help smiling as I remembered how much fun we'd had while cutting out the letters and arranging them just so. I was in charge of cutting while Sam did the ironing. After a few glasses of wine and too many laughs to count, my "Dee" ended up off center and Sam's "Dum" looked like it was falling downhill, which only made us laugh all the more.

  I suddenly was overcome with feelings of depression as I cut out the letters to spell: "Flowertime." I promised myself, then and there, to prove Quill wrong. Nothing could ever get in the way of my friendship with my best friend. Whatever crimes I committed with regards to Melchior would soon be wiped clean from my slate. I promised myself that I would come up with a plan to stop my father and this was just the first step. I had to ensure that the Draoidheil never made it to the black market. Because if it did, my father's sovereignty would be guaranteed.

  Once I finished ironing the letters onto my shirt, I turned the iron off and set the T-shirt aside to check on my hair. I unwrapped the towel and combed out the long tresses, noticing they looked sort of purple. Either way, purple-black was less Dulcie than honey-gold. I started for the living room again and turned on my computer, opening Microsoft Word as soon as the computer booted up. When I was greeted with the blank page, I started typing:

  Caressa,

  There is a shipment of illegal narcotics coming from the Netherworld scheduled to hit Splendor, Moon, Estuary, Haven and Sanctity. The narcotic is called Draoidheil and it's like nothing you've ever seen before. Immediate addiction. The only way to avoid it is an antidote (I will include two vials of the antidote with this letter for you to distribute to any ANC members involved in busting it). It is very important that you find someone who can recreate the antidote exactly. Once you are able to duplicate it, make as much as you can. Again, this is the ONLY way to avoid the addictive effects of the Draoidheil). The potion is airborne and anyone unlucky enough to inhale it will immediately become addicted. The narcotics will be arriving on May 10th at the following ports and at the following times:

  8 pm Splendor: The Loading Docks and The Abandoned Railway Station on the Upper East Side

  8:15 pm Moon: The old asylum off Grover St.

  8:30 pm Sanctity: The train tracks where Green St. crosses Blue St.

  8:45 pm Estuary: The Henderson Tomb in the Briarwood Cemetery

  9:00 pm Haven: The abandoned Highgate Theater

  I finished the letter by naming all of Melchior's thugs who would be receiving the Draoidheil at each portal station. I also mentioned the Dryads. I thought about telling her that Melchior was behind it all, but then worried that if Caressa didn't already know my father was in charge of the trafficking, she might not act on the information; especially if she thought it could mean her own personal safety. I ended the note with:

  As soon as you finish reading this letter, please destroy it.

  I stood up from my computer and stretched my arms above my head. There wasn't anything more I could do tonight. Tomorrow, I would stop by the florist in downtown Splendor and purchase a bouquet, paying for it with cash so I could remain anonymous. Then I planned to hop through the portal to the Netherworld where I would pretend to be a flower delivery person with an arrangement for Caressa.

  I was nervous, the anxiety pumping through my veins ever since I’d devised this plan in the first place. But there was no turning back now. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and Caressa was the only person I could turn to. I knew she'd eventually recognize me under my blackish purple hair and overdone makeup. I was betting on it because I needed her to believe the information I told her was accurate and true. And I had to imagine that she would trust me, given the relationship she and I had already built. It wasn't much of a relationship but it had definitely been built on trust. It was everyone else in the Netherworld who I was attempting to hide from, not wanting to be recognized on video surveillance, etcetera.

  I was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. I glanced at the caller ID and recognized No Regrets, Bram's nightclub.

  "Hello?" I asked.

  "Sweet," Bram's English accent seemed especially thick tonight. "Are you engaged this evening?"

  I figured he was going to make good on the promise I'd made him to allow him to take me to dinner five times in return for serving as my guide in the Netherworld. Unfortunately for me, I still owed him all five dinner dates. More unfortunately for me, Bram had also stipulated that on every date, I was to wear a short dress which was also low cut. If nothing else, Bram was persistent. And as much as I didn't want to have to fend off the advances of the three-hundred-year-old vampire all night, I had nothing else to do.

  "No, I'm free," I said, sounding less than thrilled.

  "Very good," Bram answered, but seemed to be weighing his words. "I would like you to meet me at No Regrets, sweet."

  "We're going to have dinner there?" I asked, surprised because Bram usually seemed only interested in dining in five star restaurants, even though he, himself, never ate a thing.

  "No, no, sweet. I am not interested in supper this eve. My request for your companionship has nothing to do with my list of demands; although I do hope you still plan to hold up your end of the bargain?"

  "I do," I grumbled.

  "Very good, sweet, very good."

  It struck me as odd that Bram was requesting my company when there didn't appear to be anything in it for him ...Well, nothing that I could immediately see anyway. "What is this about then?"

  He paused for a few seconds, which had to mean something was on his mind. "I prefer to discuss the specifics in person, sweet Dulcie. I will send a vehicle for you."

  "I have my bike," I started.

  "No," he interrupted. "I prefer your visit be clandestine, sweet."

  I was surprised and intrigued, I couldn't help it. "Okay, I'll see you soon then, I guess."

  Fourteen

  It was only twenty minutes later when Bram's black limo arrived in front of my apartment, chauffeured by a long-haired, bearded werewolf. The were was even dressed in a black suit, white-collared shirt, black tie and a funny little hat that made him look like he just stepped off the Newsies lot. I'd seen the guy previously around No Regrets a few times. I think he also moonlighted as Bram's bodyguard. Why would a vampire need a bodyguard? I had no clue—I think it was mostly for show. It seemed everything Bram did was merely for the sake of doing it.

  "Thanks," I said as the were opened the door for me and I seated myself in the plush black leather interior of the limo. I was immediately enveloped by Bram's smell—something slightly exotic and foreign, but captivating all the same.

  The ride to No Regrets was quick and silent, which was just as well because I wasn't in the mood for small talk. Instead, I found my thoughts centered on why Bram requested the pleasure of my company this evening and more im
portantly, why was he being so secretive about it?

  I lost track of time and when I felt the limo come to a stop, it didn't even seem like ten minutes had gone by. I smiled my thanks to the were when he opened the door for me and helped me out of the limo. Then he escorted me to the back entrance of No Regrets. So Bram hadn't been fibbing when he'd said he wanted my visit to remain secret. And I couldn't even say that it offended me … Nope, I was getting used to skulking in shadows.

  I'd used the back entrance of No Regrets a few times when I'd visited Bram in the past (basically when I needed information from him and he wanted me kept on the down low) so when the chauffeur bypassed the door and started down the alley abutting Bram's nightclub, I was instantly on high alert.

  "Um, isn't it this way?" I asked, motioning to the back door.

  The were shook his head and his voice was deep when he spoke. "Bram insisted you enter through the alleyway." Figuring I was relatively safe with the werewolf, since he was in Bram's employ, I followed him into the alley where he paused at the top of a flight of stairs. He glanced back at me as if to make sure I was keeping up and then started down the stairs, which terminated in a nondescript white door. He knocked and the door opened maybe three inches, at which time the were announced Bram had a visitor. Then he turned to face me, gesturing for me to approach. The person on the other side of the door held it open twelve inches wider, expecting me to squeeze my way through. Good thing for me that I was both small in stature and thin, otherwise I wouldn't have made it through.

  Once on the other side, it took my eyes a few seconds to get used to the darkness of the room. Although it was nighttime outside, the moon was incredibly bright and now I felt like I’d just been thrown into a pitch-black cave. After a few seconds, my eyes adjusted and I found myself at the end of a long hallway. I could hear the sounds of Rihanna's "Rude Boy" in the distance, raucous laughter punctuating the song.

  "This way," the person at the entrance said gruffly. I didn't recognize the thuggish looking guy although I could tell he was a troll of some sort—whether from the Netherworlds of Scandinavia or Britain, I had no clue. He encompassed an enormous amount of space with his head nearly touching the ceiling. It would have, if not for the exaggerated hump on his back that caused him to hunch over to support its massive weight. He looked like a giant with osteoporosis. As if the hump on his back weren't enough to ensure he wouldn't win any beauty contests, he also walked with a limp. It was as if his left side had suffered from a stroke, his foot dragging behind him. All in all, I felt like I was on my way to visit Victor Frankenstein and his lab of horrors, Igor leading the way.

  I followed the troll down the darkly lit hallway which T-boned into another corridor. Not only had I never been in this section of No Regrets, I never even knew it existed. Yep, Bram was a sneaky one. We took a left and continued down the passage until we came to a door. The troll whipped out a key ring, which was maybe ten inches wide, and gripping the longest key out of the bunch, unlocked the door, motioning for me to enter. When I did, I found myself in the midst of yet another corridor. I followed the troll when he made a right, suddenly feeling like I was in a maze. I definitely had no idea how to get back out again. The music from the main section of the club now sounded distant and muffled.

  "How much farther?" I asked. "I forgot my walking shoes."

  The troll just "humphed" as if laughing at a joke, stupid though mine might have been, was entirely beyond him. He said nothing, but paused in front of another door before rapping his beefy knuckles against it, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

  "Announce yourself," came Bram's voice from the other side.

  "Your visitor is here," the troll breathed back, his tone of voice reminding me of Rensfield, Dracula's servant. Hmmm, how fitting.

  "You may enter," Bram responded and the troll groaned as he turned the doorknob and opened the door, leaning against it for support. Immediately, I recognized Bram's office—the white, red and black motif being hard to forget. Twin red velvet armchairs sat atop the plush white carpet in the middle of the room. Both the walls and ceiling were painted black, making it feel like I was actually standing outside, under the night sky. The only things missing were some twinkling lights to act the part of the stars.

  Bram was sitting on one of the red velvet armchairs, his right leg crossed over his left knee and his hands clasped beneath his chin as if he were Madonna, striking a pose.

  I walked through the door and turned around to watch the troll close and lock it behind me. Only then did I realize the reason I'd never noticed this door before—it was conveniently disguised as a bookcase. Clever, Bram, really clever.

  "If you're going for Rodin’s Thinker, your posture is a little off," I said as I glanced over at him again, my hands on my hips. He was always predictable in his attempts to appear important.

  He stood up and approached me, frowning as he observed my newly dyed hair. "Dulcie, sweet, you have done this to yourself again?" Then he shook his head as if he thought it was a damn pity. "It is not a good look."

  "I didn't do it for looks, dumbass," I grumbled back, not wanting to get into a long, drawn-out explanation. He ran a strand of my hair through his fingers, "tsking" at it with obvious displeasure. I didn't pull away.

  "Then why did you do it?" he asked glumly, maybe taking offense to being called a “dumbass.”

  "It's all part of the game," I said simply.

  "I do not care for it," Bram replied as he arched his eyebrows as if to further emphasize his disapproval.

  "Well I don't care that you don't care so I guess we're even."

  Bram threw his head back and chuckled heartily, not making any attempt to maintain personal space between the two of us. Instead, he looked at me with amused eyes, a smile pulling at his plump lips. "I believe it must be your distinctive scent that so intoxicates me."

  I shook my head with a deep sigh, desperately searching for the patience to deal with him, but coming up short. "Bram, why is it that every time I see you, we have to go through this song and dance? Haven't we been through it enough times now that we can just bypass it?"

  "I am always hopeful, my sweet," he started, while circling me as if he were inspecting a horse to purchase. He stopped walking when he was directly behind me and I could feel his gaze on my ass. I never encouraged this behavior and tonight was no different. I wasn't dressed up for the occasion, wearing fitted blue jeans and a v-necked, long-sleeved white T-shirt.

  "Hopeful for what?" I snapped, even though I really wasn't looking forward to his answer. Things with Bram never seemed to change. I always had to play his little game of cat and mouse before he'd open up and tell me what I really needed to know.

  Patience, Dulcie, patience.

  I felt him grab a handful of my hair tightly at first, then loosening his grip, he draped it over my shoulder. At the touch of his fingertips along the sensitive skin of my shoulders, I got goose bumps.

  "Hopeful that you will give in to me," he whispered into my ear, his fingertips following the line of my T-shirt to my front, before trailing down to the cleavage of my breasts. I grabbed his fingers once it seemed they were intent on further exploration.

  "A for your effort, Bram," I said, turning around to face him. "Whatever acting classes you've been taking, they're paying off. I bet you could even outdo Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire."

  He frowned and sighed loudly to show his lack of amusement. "One night with you, sweet, would cure me of this insatiable hunger." His gaze moved from my eyes to my bust and back up to my eyes again as he smiled broadly. "Of that I am certain."

  It almost sounded worthwhile. Just one night of sex (which would probably result in a wham, bam, thank you, Bram) and he'd no doubt get over me, relegating me to all his other conquests he grew bored with. Yes, it all sounded fine and good until I got to the sex part. "Sorry, can't help you there," I said with an apologetic smile. "Now how about you tell me why you wanted to see me? And what's with that maze of h
allways?"

  Bram pouted but at the steely expression in my eyes, he dropped the pout. "I have been thinking about you, sweet," he said as he led us to the red chairs in the center of the room again. He sat in the one he'd previously occupied and motioned for me to take the other. I did and faced him expectantly.

  "And what's with all the secretive stuff?"

  He shrugged as if it should be obvious. "I didn't want your presence here known." Then he nodded as if he were seeking more time to say whatever he intended to say. "I have been quite worried about you."

  I frowned, not buying this story for one second. Emotions like worry and caring had no place in Bram's world. "Well, you couldn't have been that worried, considering you're just broaching this subject now," I said as I arched one brow at him skeptically. I'd been up to my eyes in chaos for at least the last two weeks, so Bram's timing was definitely tardy.