“Are you sure we can’t talk this over?”
“Leave this house!” Rissa commanded, feeling the dragon ring throb with a massive surge of raw ethereal power.
Standing there looking utterly confused, and more than a little mortified, Colt did nothing for a minute. Then he threw up both hands and walked out of the basement, muttering and shaking his head.
Following him out, but not too closely, Rissa stayed in the hallway as Colt gently closed the front door in his wake, and she only relaxed when the lock clicked into place.
Then Rissa heard the most amazing string of vulgarities issuing from the other side of the door that she had ever encountered outside of a traffic jam in downtown Chicago, midnight on Christmas Eve.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Muttering under his breath, Colt stormed down the curved sidewalk, his thoughts wildly chaotic. Rage, confusion, wounded pride, and lust combined into a roiling cocktail of total frustration. Until this very moment, Colt had never suspected that Colette had a sister from Chicago!
And I only wanted to kiss the woman! Colt raged, but then relented. Okay, that was a lie. But I would have stopped if she said so. Hell, I did stop!
Parked at the iron lace gate of the driveway, John was leaning against the Rolls and reading a newspaper.
“Good timing, sir!” John smiled, folding away the paper. “I was just about to—” He stopped talking. Never had he seen such a dark expression on his employer before.
“Is there anything on my neck?” Colt demanded, jerking a finger in that direction.
“No, sir,” John said hesitantly, “not that I can see.”
“Ha! I knew it!”
“Absolutely! Knew what?”
Yanking open the rear door, Colt started to ask the man if he believed in magic, but this was Savannah and John was as Southern as red clay. The only people down haya who didn’t believe in magic were the ones selling shrunken heads to the tourists at the voodoo shops on Bull Street—possibly the most appropriately named venue in the world.
“Lunatics,” Colt muttered, climbing inside the Rolls. “They’re all lunatics!”
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“Women! They’re all lunatics!”
John grinned widely. “Well said. Thank goodness we don’t know any!”
“Oh ... shut up,” Colt muttered, opening the liquor cabinet only to slam it closed hard enough to rattle the bottles. “Well, what are you waiting for, Danvers?”
At the use of his last name, John swiftly closed the door and jogged around the car, nimbly dodging a jingling bike messenger. Climbing behind the steering wheel, he started the engine. “Where to next, Mr. Coltier?” asked John formally over the intercom.
Hunching over, Colt threw the man a hard look. “Anywhere but here.”
“Home it is,” John replied crisply, accelerating away from the curb to smoothly merge with the flow of rush hour traffic.
***
Rushing to the front door, Rissa threw a heavy brass deadbolt that looked more than capable of stopping King Kong, much less a man. Even the mighty Hercules out there, she noted as it rammed into place.
Carefully looking through the peephole, she watched as a sleek Rolls-Royce drove away, Colt scowling through the window at the mansion. But his angry face instantly softened into a woeful expression of heartfelt disappointment.
Oh, crap, nobody is that good an actor. Suddenly, Rissa knew that she had made a terrible mistake. Grabbing the deadbolt, she struggled to force it back, then threw open the door.
“Colt, wait!” she shouted just as the Rolls-Royce disappeared into traffic.
With a sigh, Rissa closed and locked the door, then proceeded directly to the sitting room.
“We need to talk,” she said striding past the oil painting.
“Was that Mr. Coltier?” it asked, setting down the book again. “Such a lovely man. Did anything interesting transpire?”
“Yes, he now thinks that I’m insane,” Rissa muttered, stopping at the tallboy. “See that symbol? Colt had the exact same thing on the side of his neck.” She waved both arms. “Glowing! It was glowing on the side of his neck!”
The woman in the oil painting smiled. “Oh my, he does like you, and quite a lot.”
“Of course! So ... excuse me?”
“That is a rune of power, used primarily for defense,” it said patiently. “It is only visible to the caster, or somebody you’re extremely close to emotionally: a blood relative, beloved friend, or spouse.”
In ragged stages, Rissa got a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Rune of defense?”
“You’ve got several of them yourself, dear heart,” the woman in the painting said. “When you accidentally blew off your clothes, I saw ten of them ... along with the garish tattoo.”
“Ten?” Rissa squeaked, examining her arms and hands.
“They’re on your back.”
“Oh ... why do I have so many of them?”
“As extra protection, of course. Your grandfather put them on everybody he liked, as a sort of general safeguard: your parents, our milkman, the neighbors, the mayor ... Why, after so many years, probably half of Savannah has a rune!”
“A safeguard from what?” Rissa asked, not sure that she really wanted to hear the answer.
“Dark magic, hexes, and curses.”
Suddenly, a lot of odd things made sense. The rune was why Colt didn’t simply vanish in a flash of light to reappear on the porch when she ordered him to leave. He was protected. Which means I sent him packing for no reason whatsoever. Wow, there is some major groveling in my immediate future!
“Unfortunately, there are also other things,” the woman in the painting continued, “not all of them human, that would love to gain access to this mansion and steal your grandfather’s inventions.”
Taking a seat, Rissa chewed that over. “Inventions such as: the ice cubes, you ... and this ring.” She did not phrase it as a question.
“Exactly! That is very powerful magic, indeed.”
“No kidding,” Rissa muttered, rubbing the ring into a palm, which made her recall the incident on the bus.
The antiques dealer had been wearing nine golden dragon rings, while she only possessed one made out of amber and wasn’t wearing it at the time. However, she did have ten runes. Did those equal each other, one ring per rune? Rissa guessed so, which would logically explain why the fellow had to trick her with the fake business card instead of just demanding she pass over the ring.
Or just frying my ass with a lightning bolt, Rissa amended bluntly. On the other hand, if Uncle Creepy ever got just one more ring ... She swallowed a small internal organ that had inexplicably risen into her throat.
“Something wrong, dear?” the figure asked, walking to the edge of the frame. “You’ve gone rather pale.”
“Math always gives me a headache.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Tell you later,” Rissa said, abruptly standing. “Right now, I need to read that letter.”
“Ah, very wise, I’m sure.”
Tactfully ignoring the sarcasm, Rissa cycled open the tallboy again and took out the envelope. There was no flap, so she ripped it along the edge. There instantly issued a huge cloud of green smoke. Rissa tried not to breathe in any, but got a lungful anyway. She half expected it to reek of sulfur and mercury, the infamous brimstone. But instead it was rather pleasant, reminding her of Thanksgiving dinner; a homey mixture of parsley, sage, rosemary, and something else that she could not quite identify.
As the smoke dissipated, Rissa pulled out the paper inside. It was very stiff, and yellow with age. It wasn’t paper, but old-fashioned parchment.
It was also blank.
Hesitantly turning the sheet over, Rissa was greatly relieved to see the rune of power neatly calligraphed in the middle of the page. Except that this time it was surrounded by a circle of stars that began to move and glow, swirling rapidly into a hypnotic spiral that exp
anded to fill the room and draw her helplessly into the parchment; she tumbled out the other side as if shot from a cannon ...
There was a chaotic moment of disorientation, then the floor opened wide and Rissa plummeted straight through a puffy white cloud.
As the ground abruptly became visible, Rissa cut loose with a full-throated scream. Directly between her shoes was a sprawling city of dirty old buildings, squares, and domes, all of them surrounded by a dense fog that crawled along the landscape like a living thing in search of prey.
Extending to the horizon, every building, house, factory, and mansion had a brick chimney issuing a thick plume of dark smoke that merged with the river mist to blanket the city in billowing gloom. The only relief came from the crescent moon overhead, and an orderly array of flickering yellow gas lamps situated along the main thoroughfares and concourses.
Bursting into laughter, Rissa no longer felt terrified, but exhilarated. This was London, around the turn of the century. How marvelous! This was obviously some sort of an illusion, but a damn convincing one. The landscape looked real enough to put a knot of anxiety in her stomach, and the rushing air smelled of a recent rainstorm, clean and fresh.
Shooting through a blur of oak trees, Rissa came to an abrupt halt on a cobblestone street, the surface dotted with small puddles. There had been no sensation of deceleration. She just stopped. Amazing.
A split second later, a horse-drawn carriage came noisily rattling around a curve in the road, its pair of bull’s-eye lanterns emitting wide beams of harsh yellow light. Instinctively, Rissa tried to dodge out of the way, but the chestnut mares stampeded directly over her, the wooden yoke piercing her chest.
Recoiling in fear, Rissa raised her hands and screamed—then stopped as there was no sensation of the iron-shod hooves pounding through her body.
Feeling foolish that she had forgotten this was an illusion, Rissa dusted herself off while surrounded by a wild tangle of leather straps. Just then there came the loud crack of a whip, and the animals turned sharply. Going inside a mare, she briefly saw a set of beating internal organs before coming out the hairy arse. Instantly the wooden carriage came next, and was gone even faster, leaving only a vague impression of old leather, polished brass, and dirty boots.
More than slightly miffed, Rissa watched the carriage stop at the granite curb along the street, and a dashingly handsome military officer jump down to the street. She did not recognize the uniform, green brocade, sash, and sword, but she most definitely knew the face. It was her grandfather, only much, much younger than she had ever seen him, even in the family photographs.
Which is, of course, impossible, Rissa noted. This was clearly some time around the turn of the century, so unless Grandpoppy was a hundred and fifty years old, this obviously was her great-grandfather.
Starting that way, Rissa marveled over how much the two men looked like each other.
Rummaging in a vest pocket, the military officer unearthed a thick gold coin and flipped it up to the driver. “My compliments as always, Hectrope!”
Making the catch in a gnarled fist, the driver stared wide-eyed at the coin, then quickly tucked it away into a leather pouch on his belt.
“Thanky, Colonel Harmond!” he grinned, displaying an amazing lack of teeth. “God’s good blessings on both you and Lady Durand!”
“Much appreciated, old friend.”
Standing only inches away, Rissa held her breath to not miss anything. Harmond and Durand. Those are the right names, but still ...
Setting a boot on a large granite block situated alongside the curb for apparently just such a purpose, Colonel Harmond opened the carriage door and extended a hand. “Home sweet home, my dear.”
A small gloved hand took his, and Rissa gasped as a mature woman with graying hair moved gracefully into the fluttering gaslight.
It was her grandmother. There could be no doubt in the matter. The woman even had the exact same scar on her forehead, and the tiny mole behind her ear. This was not somebody who resembled Grammy; it was her. However, unlike the colonel, Grammy was much older than Rissa had ever seen her. Her mind swirled with a million explanations, each of them less plausible than the one before. Magic was the only logical answer, but what exactly was happening here Rissa had no idea.
As the carriage clattered away into the swirling fog, the couple stepped over a pile of horse droppings and strolled arm in arm along a long curved sidewalk that led to a large mansion.
Rissa followed close behind.
“I had a wonderful time tonight, Richard,” Lady Durand said, straightening the corsage on her wrist.
“As I did, Henrietta.”
“And I had no idea you were such an excellent dancer!”
“Years of practice, my dear.” He smiled. “I had to be ready for when I found you.”
“Men are such liars,” she muttered, lightly hitting him with a fan.
“Oh no, I may tease you, dearest. But I will never lie to you about anything. That I solemnly promise.”
Blushing fiercely, Lady Durand started to speak, then looked up at the tall officer and blessed him with her eyes.
Feeling like a voyeur, Rissa wanted to glance away but could not. Okay, these were her grandparents. That much had been established. But aside from that she wasn’t sure of anything else.
Reaching the front of the mansion, Lady Durand used a big iron key to unlock the door and pushed it open. A dozen candelabra filled the foyer with soft light.
To Rissa the place looked exactly the same, except for the lack of the electronic security console on the wall and the fact that London, not Savannah, was outside the windows.
“Where are the servants?” Colonel Harmond asked, glancing about the interior.
“I gave them the rest of the evening off ... in Blackpool,” she admitted shyly, stepping inside.
Unseen, Rissa stayed close as the colonel followed and shut the door behind him. “But that’s three hundred miles away!”
“Yes, it is.”
“They won’t be back for a week.”
“No, they will not.”
“Clever girl,” Colonel Harmond chuckled, removing his gloves to tuck them into his sword belt.
“Oh, I’m anything but a girl,” Lady Durand whispered bitterly, looking at the floor.
“Not to me,” Colonel Harmond stated, placing a hand under her chin to gently lift her face upward until they were looking at each other.
Hesitantly, Lady Durand gave a wan smile, and he slowly leaned in to kiss her on the lips. She resisted for only a moment, then eagerly wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer for a much more intimate and ardent embrace.
Somewhere across London, a clock tower started to chime midnight.
“My dearest love,” Colonel Harmond whispered, brushing a curl of silvery hair from her face. “Does ... does this mean that you accept?”
“Yes, it does,” Lady Durand replied, removing a silk scarf from around her neck. “I don’t care if others smirk at the difference in our ages. I am yours, Richard, body and soul. Forever and ever!”
“Forever and ever,” Colonel Harmond repeated ceremoniously, nuzzling the bare skin of her throat before gently easing his fangs into the soft flesh.
Stunned at the sight, Rissa felt the world spin out of control. Her grandfather was ... he was a ... no way!
Flinching at the contact, Lady Durand trembled all over, then visibly relaxed. As a tiny rivulet of red blood escaped from his lips to trickle down her satin gown, she began to grow pale, and to subtly change. The traces of gray receded from her thinning hair until it transformed into the thick luxurious auburn tresses of a teenager; then the age lines and liver spots faded away completely.
With her straining fingers clawing the back of his uniform, Lady Durand started breathing rapidly; then sweat soaked through her clothing and she violently shuddered.
Embarrassed right down to her sneakers, Rissa covered her face with both hands but still peeked through the
fingers. There was no doubt that her dear sweet old grammy just had a world-shattering orgasm.
“Oh ... Richard ...” she moaned, trembling again and again.
Briefly, Rissa wondered if there were enough whiskey in Georgia to burn this unwanted image from her brain. Maybe if Ireland and Scotland both sent their combined stockpiles, then I filled a swimming pool and got a snorkel ...
Delicately easing both fangs out of her throat, Colonel Harmond gave a crimson smile and ripped open his collar to expose his neck. Without the slightest hesitation, Lady Durand eagerly sank her new fangs into his veins and started greedily drinking.
“Yes ... harder ... deeper ...” he commanded, then inhaled sharply and trembled.
Okay, now I just have to shoot myself.
As the strange exchange continued, the velvet band of the corsage burst off her wrist, and Lady Durand began to stand taller, new muscles rippling into existence under her youthful skin. Then her breasts swelled to youthful proportions, threatening to burst free from the restraining corset.
Long minutes passed with the couple locked in their loving embrace. Then the colonel gently pushed her away, and smiled. “How are you feeling ... Mrs. Harmond?”
“Can’t ... breathe ...” she wheezed, grabbing the front of her satin gown to rip it wide open. Still panting, she slid a fingernail down the front of the corset, splitting the material until it fell away completely.
“Better?” Richard asked in concern.
“Better,” Henrietta sighed in relief, massaging her ribs.
“Much better,” he chuckled.
Pursing her blood-stained lips in mock disapproval, Henrietta pulled up the tattered remains of the gown to cover her unexpected nakedness. “Please, Richard, not in the foyer!”
“Anything you wish, dear wife.”
“Speaking of which ... why did you say the conversion would hurt?”
Using a white linen handkerchief, Richard wiped his mouth clean. “Because I wanted to make it less attractive for you to become ... what I am.”
“A vampyre,” she said, giving it the Old World pronunciation.
“I prefer vampire,” Richard gently corrected, offering the cloth. “But whatever you wish is fine with me, dear.” He flipped hand a back and forth. “Tomato, tomahto.”
Belle, Book and Candle: A Fantasy Novel by Nick Pollotta Page 7
