by Hall, Ian
“Let’s get inside anyway,” Finch hissed, “maybe they’ll be leaving soon. Anything goes wrong we meet at the car.”
“Sounds good, me first.” I let go her hand, carefully slipping past the suited figures, into the dining room.
Georgie sat at the far end of the large oval table. His elbows rested on the polished wood, his hands clasped together in front of his mouth. Raymond, one of his sidekicks stood at the other end of the table. It felt quite scary walking into the room, and once through the doorway, I backed against the wall.
I have no idea how long I stood there.
Then the doorbell rang, making both men in the room glance at the open doorway, their faces somewhat pensive, almost afraid.
Voices from the hall grew louder, and the goon from the door poked his head in. “They’re here, Boss.”
Georgie stood up, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Show them in.”
To my shock, Ivan strode smoothly into the room, bowing to both Raymond and Georgie. “Gentlemen,” his rich tones echoed around the walls, “may I present Constance Berthier, of the High Council of the Strogoi.”
For the next ten minutes I forgot how to breathe.
My mother walked into the room with the grace of a ballet dancer. She bowed slightly to the men inside, “Good evening, Gheorghe Kovács.”
He took her offered hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing her knuckles. “It is my honor, Madame Berthier. How was your journey here?”
Her raven hair was swept back from her face, having a film-star quality, her face looked pale, yet beautiful, in a fragile porcelain way. She wore a trouser suit, very modern, very trendy Hollywood. She looked no older than thirty.
“I am here, Gheorghe Kovács, there was no pleasure getting here.”
Her tone did nothing to relieve his flustered expression. “Have a seat, Madame.”
Raymond had closed the door as soon as she’d crossed the threshold, retreating into the hallway, and now only the three stood in the room. Ivan sat down after mother had her chair shoved under her ass by Georgie.
Breathe dear.
My mother’s voice strong in my head, yet not loud and echoing like before.
Mother? I sent out, my question coated in tears.
Be still, dear. Vampires don’t cry.
Mother
Theresa Scholes, March 1959, New York
I walked around the room looking at the sheets pinned on the wall, counting numbers, trying to recognize places, committing as much to memory as I could. The shimmer made everything fuzzy, but I found if I looked real closely, I could read details okay. Then the doorbell rang, and everyone around me seemed to freeze.
Ivan walked into the room, and I stepped away from the busy wall, taking a place near the curtained windows.
A woman followed, her fluid movement belied serious training.
“Gentlemen,” For once Ivan’s soothing voice made me cringe, it belied his power in a way I’d never witnessed before. “May I present Constance Berthier, of the High Council of the Strogoi.”
I caught myself almost asking “Who?”
Berthier.
Valérie’s name. And he’d said she was from the High Council.
“Good evening, Gheorghe Kovács.”
In an instant, I recognized her voice from Georgie’s phone call; here stood the woman who’d tried to get us sent away; tried to get us excluded from the big hit.
Valérie’s mom. Holy crap.
“It is my honor, Madame Berthier. How was your journey here?”
She rounded the table “I am here, Gheorghe Kovács, there was no pleasure getting here.”
In two statements she’d shown how to control, she had Georgie wrapped round her little finger.
“So tell me what you have found, Gheorghe Kovács.” Constance said, her accent now clearly sounding French. “Tell me of Tomas Lucescu.”
“He lives in a house in the suburbs of Philadelphia.”
That information almost floored me; we’d spent days passing sightings of Tomas to Georgie, and now he’d revealed he knew where the man lived!
“How droll,” Constance mocked. “He’s turned so mundane. Show me.”
They leaned over a map on the table. “It’s on the north-east side, in the country. He’s bought a fair bit of land adjacent to the Huntingdon Valley Country Club.”
“And he has been seen here?”
“I’ve got a couple of men in the carpentry team he employs…”
“Vampires?” she asked.
“No, no, just humans. He bought one of the largest houses in the area, and immediately began to renovate inside. My men tell of hidden doors, and passageways. He has pieces of art by the hundred.”
“It seems he has decided to settle for a while.” Ivan pointed to the map, dabbing his finger on one spot. “If the Council wants his works curtailed, we have to strike soon.”
Georgie nodded. “That is why I contacted you. On Saturday night, he plans to hold a reception, to show off his collection. Special invite only.”
“And we strike!” Constance clenched a fist.
“Yes, Madame Berthier, we are ready.”
“What time do we attack?”
Georgie tapped the paper, and I made a note to read the timetable.
“What numbers do we have?”
“With your additions, and the Helsings, Madame, we number sixty-six.”
“The Council will be grateful.”
“Anything, Madam.”
I’d heard Amos talk of the Council, but he always gave the impression that its influence was on the wane, its presence a distant memory. But here in the room stood two old vampires, Constance and Ivan, organizing a small battle.
Looking around the room, I could only imagine what Valérie was going through. If this woman actually proved to be Valérie’s mom, then she’d be shitting bricks in a corner somewhere. I decided to pay even more attention, surmising that Valérie would be at the very least distracted. I would have been. From the papers on the walls to the maps on the table, I took in every detail. Troop locations, times, routes of ingress, I even tried to memorize the secret passages and their specific methods of opening. I found an outhouse that the vampires planned to rendezvous behind. I decided that as a good place for us to start.
Two special teams were mentioned, and I assumed they’d be Căluşari; I took special note of these. As they went over their plan, I insinuated my own plans on top, and looked for routes where we could thread through these other Căluşari. Hopefully we’d miss each other.
“The world will be a better place for their demise, Gheorghe Kovács.” Constance said, stepping back from the table.
“If we can prevent his escape, Madame, his bones will add to the fire.”
“Oh, he will not wish to escape the conflagration, his need for vengeance will rise to the fore.” She stepped towards the door, Ivan following. “We already have the honey for the fly-trap.”
“Madame Berthier,” Georgie started after the pair, “surely I should know the full extent of the plan.”
The woman stopped, and I’m certain that as she turned her eyes lingered on my position. “Gheorghe Kovács, you just do your job, and leave Tomas Lucescu to Ivan and myself. The Council will decree what you need to know, and the Council will decide your fate or reward after the exercise has been carried out.”
Damn if her tone hadn’t knocked his legs out from under him.
As Constance left the room, I followed, trying hard to keep my footfalls in time with theirs.
“Are you as confident as before?” Constance asked Ivan as they passed the standing goons in the hallway. Some bowed to her; all had the sense to get well out of her way.
“I am. We have the numbers to overcome the obvious hurdles.”
They walked down the steps to the driveway. The gravel would present a problem, but again, I tried to keep my footfalls to theirs.
Suddenly, Constance Berthier stopped, and turned her head. “
You can come out now, my dear.”
Even in the dim light of the evening, I could see her eyes. She’d got my rough location probably by my footfalls, but she couldn’t see me.
She sighed. “Come on dear, visible to me, now!” her words snapped in the stillness.
I decided I’d let her have her small victory.
I shimmered back.
“I had understood that you were on your way to Texas, Miss Scholes?”
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” I had tried not to be impertinent, but my natural cheek escaped me. “Hello, Ivan.”
Constance raised her hand, stifling Ivan’s reply. “And why is that?”
“We decided to stick around and see if we could lend a hand.”
“So it seems.” She looked over my shoulder, and I expected Valérie to turn up. “Valérie was never able to take instruction well.”
She handed me a business card.
Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York.
“Penthouse,”
Of course, where else.
“Tell Valérie that I’ll be there tonight.”
“I will.” The pair turned away. “Constance?” the word was out of my mouth before I’d realized.
She turned back to me. “Yes, Miss Scholes?”
“On whom does Tomas seek vengeance?”
She grinned, but I caught nothing warm in the action. “Why, he seeks to end the lives of Ivan and myself, of course.”
They vanished together, a synchronous act borne of years of training.
Valérie Lidowitz, March 1959, New York
Vampires Don’t Cry.
All very well for her to say.
Be still.
Yeah, all very well for you.
My dear, if you excite yourself any longer, you will make yourself visible to Gheorghe Kovács here, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?
I tried to concentrate on our plan, but my mind wandered. It took all of my composure to remain invisible, never mind follow the discussions in the room.
My mind coursed with emotions. I tried every way that I could think of to cut the communication thread between us. Slowly, I drew myself tight, my barriers up.
But no matter how I tried to draw a curtain over the scene before me, I couldn’t ignore the fact that my mother stood in front of me. I couldn’t decide whether to berate her for abandoning me, or rush into her arms for a one hundred year overdue embrace.
And she had the gall to communicate with me.
She could have saved me at any stage in my insane upbringing. She could have saved me from the ravages of Amos Blanche, yet she had left me to suffer daily rape, torture and frequent death.
I slid down the wall, my back silent in its slow traverse.
I considered all the times I’d heard her voice in my head, making the assumption that I’d somehow inherited her psyche. Perhaps my mother had indeed spoken to me from the woods while I stood in the garden with Dr. Fabrini.
Her words The Truth Illuminates had brought calmness to my soul, yet her physical presence would have brought much more. For many years in my childhood I had blamed myself for killing my own mother, and now the realization had dawned that she could have rid me of my torment at any time.
Just by turning up.
I looked up at the figures round the table, Georgie, his suave sophistication suddenly forgotten, playing serf to these visiting dignitaries, Ivan, his silver tongue, his fancy invisible ways, mother, with her selfish life.
I hated them all.
They embodied the very worst of vampirism, a self-absorbed singularity of purpose with no trace of humanity. These three figures became the focus of every grain of hate I could dredge from the pits of my soul.
Careful, dear, you’re beginning to show.
I looked at my hand, a pale vision of my fingers lay before me, and I shimmered back to full invisibility, a trace of apology running through my mind.
I thought of the Căluşari blades in my wide cloth belt. For an instant I debated their use. Surely the vampire kingdom would be the better for the culling of these three decadent beings.
I realized they were leaving. I brought my focus back to the room, in my inward musings I’d missed everything. But even now their words were meaningless, a squeaking of mice in their cage.
Mother’s constant use of Georgie’s full name demeaned him rather than flattered, and she lorded over the room like a malignant disease.
Fighting the urge to scream in protest, I found myself with an edge. In the midst of her aloof condescension, I could sense her doubt. I could smell her fear. Yes she wore a veil of calm, but inside she feared Tomas.
I stood, grasping on my newly gained advantage. I now sensed that her confident words carried an overtone of unease.
Through Georgie’s protestations I sensed her mind close, but it was too late, she and Ivan were the bait to entrap Tomas Lucescu. She made light of it all, but deep in her subconscious, she railed in guilt and despair, her emotions churned in fear and dread.
Emotionless, I watched them leave.
Georgie stood, his body limp, his usual vitality gone, for the first time I saw the man as an empty shell.
I longed to hug him and tell him of my new enlightenment. Then he walked forward into the hallway, and began barking orders to his henchmen. With mother’s leaving, the old Georgie had returned.
Belatedly I studied the maps on the table, and tried to see the plan. I had heard nothing of the meeting, and hoped that Finch had done better than I had.
“Finch!” I snapped, looking guardedly at the open door. “Finch!”
Nothing.
Weaving my way between the testosterone suits in the large hallway, I made my way to the car to await my partner.
A Meeting with Mother
Theresa Scholes, March 1959, Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York
The grandeur that was the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel stood imposing in the chill of a lingering winter. I walked to the elevator, then paused, waiting on Valérie joining me. She’d lingered all evening, she dallied getting dressed, and she delayed to put on make-up, then deciding against it, taking more time.
But no matter what she did, I noticed that she always made some progress, no matter what emotions fought inside, something in her actually wanted to meet her mother properly.
“So tell me again why we’re here?” Valérie asked, allowing herself to be pulled by the arm.
“Because you need the whole story.”
“I’m not certain I need anything from the woman.”
I sighed, pressing the button on the elevator panel for the penthouse. “And that’s why you’re here. You simply can’t go to war without knowing her side. We can’t trust Ivan or Georgie on ordinary things, why would you trust them about your history?”
The floors sped by in silence then the door opened. We were met by a man wearing a green turtle-neck sweater and blue jeans. Not what I expected. “Madame Berthier is expecting you.” The man opened the door to the suite, then backed away.
Inside, Constance sat alone in the main room of the opulent apartment, her starched trouser suit changed for a comfortable dressing gown pulled tightly to her lithe body. She held a filled wine glass in her lap.
“Hello,” I said.
“Good evening, Theresa, thank you for bringing Valérie to me.”
“She didn’t bring me!” Valérie stepped forward, her words cutting through the air like cold knives.
Constance pointed to a wine decanter on the low central table. I crossed the emotionally charged room, and poured another two glasses.
I almost gasped with its quality on the first cautious sip, sitting on one of the luxurious sofa chairs, leaving Valérie standing.
“It seems I have a story to tell,” Constance began.
“I don’t want your story!” Valérie bawled. “I came here to see the woman who left me to die!”
To her credit, she didn’t rise to the baiting. If I’d raised that tone to my mo
m, she’d have slapped my face.
“To begin, Valérie, my dear, I did not leave you to die. I had just been turned into a vampire. Ivan told me you were well taken care of by the servants in the alley.”
“I’m not talking about me as a baby!” She closed the distance between them, and as I looked over the rim of my wine glass, I could detect the possibility of violence. Not for the first time, I questioned the reasoning behind persuading Valérie to attend. “I’m talking about the last hundred years!”
“I had an agreement with your father. I would not interfere with your upbringing…”
“You left me alone in that asylum because of an agreement?” her body shook with each word.
“I had given my word.” Constance remained calm. “For your father and I, that was enough.”
I could see Valérie baulk at her simple explanation, “You mean Father knew you were alive?”
Constance’s face fell, “I told him I was leaving him,” she said. “What else could I do?”
Valérie’s brows clouded over her eyes. “So now you shift the blame to Father?”
“Because of my standing in France, I was immediately seized by the Council and thrust into vampire life against my choosing. I lost you!” I could see the tears in her eyes, “The Council spent many years breaking me to their mold. I did not get released until you’d already been taken to America. It took me many years to find you, because they would not provide me with assistance, me a Council member.”
“You left me with Amos the beast!” Valérie roared. “He raped me, he killed me!” her body shook with emotion, her arms rigid and outstretched. The cords in her neck strained against her jutting chin. Tears of anger poured down her face.
Constance rose from her sofa, and rounded the room towards Valérie. “And we shall wreak our vengeance on Saturday.” She stood, just a foot away. “Amos will die.”
Valérie’s lips trembled as she spoke, “I don’t want this.”
“Want what?” Constance asked, her back to me, the question in her tone seemingly innocent.
