by Gayla Twist
“Yeah, sure.” I dug the envelope out of my carry-on and handed it to her.
Gloria all but snatched the paper out of my hands in an uncontrolled eagerness to read it. She tore the lip of the envelope awkwardly in her zeal to get at its contents. Her mouth moved slightly as she read Viggo’s message, as if she was trying to taste every word. I did my best to give her some privacy by turning slightly away and pretending to look out the car window. I was looking into the black of an abandoned barn, but it seemed like the right thing to do.
I heard Gloria sniff. Then she put the car in drive again and pulled back onto the road, this time at a slower pace. “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice after clearing her throat and blinking repeatedly. “This means a lot to me.”
“Of course,” I told her. It was just carrying a letter. “I can take one back for you, if you like.” She gave me a peculiar glance which I quickly interpreted. “I mean,” I corrected myself, “if I get to go back.”
She nodded, just once.
We passed a few sweet little houses nestled in a grove of trees. It was almost like a picture out of a storybook. I felt a tingle of excitement. I had been so stressed about the coffin and customs and my fake passport and the Mafia that I hadn’t really absorbed the fact that I was actually in a foreign country. And not even Canada or Mexico, but Europe—Hungary. I tried to keep myself from pressing my face against the passenger’s side window as Gloria drove along. There wasn’t a ton to see at that moment, just snatches of houses and a bit of the countryside, but it was Hungarian countryside, so that made it more interesting to me. I thought, with some chagrin, that I would never be able to tell anyone about my adventure, not even Blossom, who was a big fan of adventure in general. Even if I could tell her without risking both our lives plus the safety of Jessie and his family, she would never believe me.
“What happened to Jessie?” I asked, feeling a sudden pang for just abandoning him and making a break for it, even if my life was being threatened.
“He will be taken care of,” she informed me. “You will see him when he gets up this evening.”
“How do you know Jessie?”
“Mrs. Vanderlind is a close friend of my employer,” she told me. “You will be staying at her house while you are in Budapest.” She pronounced Budapest like it was Budapesht.
“Who is your employer?” I was almost too intimidated to ask, but I was going to be a guest at her house, so it wasn’t like I was actually prying.
“I am indebted to the Csorbo family, but serve Csorbo Katalin in particular.” The guidebook had explained that Hungarian is the only major European language where they put the surname first and then the given name.
I didn’t know what Gloria meant by indebted. It didn’t sound like a typical employer/employee arrangement. I figured it probably wasn’t the polite thing to dig for details. “Is the Csorbo home in Budapest?” I asked, hoping I had at least come close to pronouncing the name correctly.
“Yes, for many centuries before Buda was even united with Pest.”
The sports car zipped along. We were entering the outskirts of the city. There were charming old houses interspersed with huge concrete apartment buildings that looked like something out of a cold war movie.
“Will you stay with the family much longer?” It seemed very much like she would prefer to be with Viggo.
“Yes,” Gloria said. “I will serve them for my lifetime, and I hope that will be long enough.” Her voice was clipped, and I realized I had probably accidentally trodden on something very personal that I didn’t understand. I also didn’t want to think how she would manage to serve the family after her lifetime. That did not sound fun.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, the scenery turning more urban, the buildings becoming more beautiful, the Soviet look of the facades giving way to numerous architectural flourishes. And then we were on a bridge, crossing the Danube.
Something caught my eye as we approached the bridge. I whipped my head around trying to get a second look. “Are there...” I stammered. “Are there lions on the bridge?”
“Yes,” Gloria told me. “Two on each end. This was the first bridge built in Budapest to cross the Danube.”
I knew my next question was going to make me sound nuts, but I had to ask. “This might sound weird, but do the lions have tongues?”
Gloria gave a small laugh. “There is a legend in the city that they do not,” she said, “but that’s only because you can’t see them from the ground. My employer has assured me that you can see them from the air.”
I found humor in the fact that my great grandmother could freak me out internationally. She was right after all. At least about where I was going. She really could see the future. She knew that I was going to Budapest. And she had warned me not to come.
That was not at all comforting.
“You are amused by the lions?” Gloria asked.
“No.” I shook my head a little. “Just thinking about my grandmother.”
I thought about Gloria’s employer viewing the lions from the air. “Uh...” I began. “Maybe I’m making an assumption here, but the Csorbo family, they’re...” I thought of how to phrase it. “They’re like the Vanderlinds, right?” I wasn’t sure if it was polite to come right out and ask if they were vampires.
Gloria nodded. “They are a very old family.”
“And they know about me?” I asked. “They know about Jessie and my situation? They don’t have a problem with it?”
The car idled at a traffic light. “They have offered you their protection until the tribunal. But if the Bishops do not rule in your favor, then I am afraid you can expect protection from no one.”
“I understand,” I told her. If the Bishops wanted me dead, then Jessie and I were on our own. No one would want to risk being dragged down with us.
After a moment, she said, “I would very much like to send a letter home with you for Viggo.” I assumed that was her subtle way of telling me that she hoped the vampires didn’t kill me.
The buildings around us became more massive, and the streets became increasingly narrow. I had to assume we were in the heart of Budapest. The roads were cobblestone after all, I noted to myself.
The car paused in front of an iron-gated arch that was the only opening in a long wall of stone. Gloria sat patiently behind the wheel. She did not honk the horn or send out a signal of our arrival in any way that I could observe. After only a moment, two men in beige uniforms appeared and opened the gate.
“Why are they dressed in beige?” I wanted to know. They looked a bit like Hugo Boss was designing suits for UPS.
“It is the livery of the house of Csorbo,” she explained. Jessie and his family really lucked out with the dark purple that represented the house of Vanderlind.
“Will Jessie come this way?” I asked. I was growing anxious to know his whereabouts and wanted to keep an eye on the gate.
“He will enter the grounds a different way,” Gloria told me as we pulled in. “This entrance is for the living.”
Beyond the wall was a rather beautiful building of white stucco with a red-tiled roof. It looked more like how I imagined an Italian villa rather than a medieval castle. “Is this the original building?” I asked. “I mean, has this always been here?”
“Madame Csorbo gets restless, so she hires a new architect every hundred years or so,” Gloria explained. “This latest building is from her Italian period.”
Chapter 21
“It will be a few hours until the family is up,” Gloria told me as she led me through the villa. It was like something out of an Italian renaissance dream with colorful drapes made of richly embroidered fabrics and parquet floors done in intricate patterns of pale wood that practically glowed they were so well polished. There were lots of pink creamy marble pillars and open-air spaces. The weather was chilly, but the sunlight was streaming in, filling the rooms with life. It made me wonder why Madame Csorbo had a house designed that her family could never
fully enjoy.
“Could you check if Jessie’s arrived yet?” I asked. I hated to keep pestering her but wouldn’t be able to relax without knowing if he was safely inside the villa.
“He is resting and will rise with the family,” was the reply, although I didn’t know where she’d received her information. Gloria had led me up a flight of stairs and down a wide hallway that had high, stuccoed ceilings. “This will be your room while you are a guest here,” she said, twisting an ornate golden doorknob and thrusting open a door.
The afternoon sun was streaming into a large room with pale, seashell-pink walls. There was a four-poster bed piled high with pillows in various shades of green. The floor was red tile, and there were four steps that led up to a small elevated area in front of the windows, which had been supplied with a plush, green loveseat, a small table, and plenty of books. It was the perfect place to while away the hours, enjoying the afternoon sun and looking out across the city.
“Does the Csorbo family frequently have human guests?” I asked.
“Not in the fourteen years that I have been in their service,” Gloria told me.
“But why all these windows and patios and access to sunshine?” I waved a hand at the expansive window stretching across one wall of the room.
Gloria pursed her lips for a moment before saying, “The things you can’t have are frequently the things you crave the most.”
She looked a little sad when saying it, and it made me remember how eager she was to read the letter from Viggo. “Gloria, I know this is none of my business, but why are you here?”
Her eyes showed a flash of anger, but that quickly softened. “My father owed a great deal of money to another family. He had no way to pay them. They were going to take his life. I went to the Csorbos and offered my services if they would pay my father’s debt. We signed a contract, and now I am here.”
“And your father just let you? Did he know who the Csorbos are?” I was stunned.
“I loved my father. I was happy to do it.”
I wondered about her use of the past tense when describing her dad. “And how is your father now? Is he...” I couldn’t think of what to ask. “Is he still happy with your decision?”
“He died two years after I cleared his debt,” Gloria told me. Abruptly turning, she strode toward a door in the opposite wall from the bed. “Here you have your sitting room,” she said, her voice a little ragged, making me wish I hadn’t pried into her personal life.
The sitting room also had a wall filled with windows and a sliding door that led out onto a small balcony. In the center of the room was a round table piled high with platters of grapes, plums, figs, and sliced ham. There was a large basket filled with bread and a decanter full of wine, but only one glass.
“There is refreshment, if you are hungry after your flight,” Gloria said. “And if you wish to bathe, there is a facility off of your room where you will find everything you need.”
That was a relief to know. Vampires frequently forgot certain specific needs of humans. At least Jessie did.
“Perhaps you would like to rest for a while. Your maid’s name is Margaret, if you need anything. And Madame Orzy will be in to dress you for this evening,” Gloria said.
“Yeah... I’ve been dressing myself for a while now,” I told her. “I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t need any help.”
“You have brought your own clothing for the ball?” she asked, feigning surprise.
“Oh,” I exclaimed. I must have really been stressed for the last few days because I had completely forgotten about the ball. “I guess I will need help, then. Thank you.” I felt a little thrill of excitement. I was going to a ball!
“Then I shall leave you,” Gloria said. She may have not had much of a discernible accent, but her speech patterns were more formal than mine.
“Thank you, Gloria. And thank you for getting me at the airport,” I told her, feeling the urge to give her a hug but sensing it would not be well received.
“Thank you for bringing the letter from my Viggo,” she said in turn. “I am still impressed with how you fought that man. It was not quite what I expected from an American teenager.”
“Yeah, well, we were lucky,” I told her. “He was a big dude, so it was a good thing he wasn’t expecting me to fight, either. I had the element of surprise.”
After she left, I really intended to have a bit of a snack, spend some time looking out the window at the city, and then explore every element of my rooms. But somehow, the couch was too comfortable, and I found myself cuddled up with a pillow taking an impromptu nap. I’d never had jet lag before, but my urge to sleep was almost overpowering.
I sensed someone was in the room with me, and I woke with a start. “I am sorry, Mademoiselle,” said a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. “I am Margaret, your maid.”
“Oh, hi,” I coughed. “I’m Au… uh… I’m Colette.”
“I did not know you were sleeping. The sun is going down, and I must close the windows. I beg your pardon for disturbing you.”
“No, that’s fine,” I said, sitting up. I felt all bleary and disoriented. “What time is it?”
“It’s half past six,” she said, unfolding some wooden shutters that clamped over the windows. “Madame Orzy will be in to dress you and style your hair soon if you’d like to refresh yourself before her arrival.” Her English was almost as perfect as Gloria’s.
“Oh, okay, thanks,” I said, hauling myself to my feet.
“And if I may suggest...” Margaret hesitated and I wondered why.
I gave her an encouraging look. “Yes?”
“It is not my place to say, but if I may suggest, you might want to have your supper now before you go down to dinner.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Eating with the family might not be so good for the appetite.” She placed her hand on her stomach and gave me a significant look.
I headed to the bathroom, determined to grab a shower before this Madame Orzy person showed up to dress me. The thought made me giggle, like I was starring in some very polite English period drama.
I felt sticky and stinky from the plane ride and napping in my clothes. I just wanted to scrape off a few layers of scunge. My plans for a quick cleansing went out the window once I saw the tub. It was made out of copper and had ball-in-claw feet. It was long and deep and beckoned me to submerge my body. I definitely complied. The bathroom was fully stocked with whatever bath salt, lotion, luffa, scented candle, and shampoo that I might desire. Fancy balls and vampire tribunals be damned, I was going to take some time out for a leisurely soak.
By the time I wandered back into the sitting room again feeling all pink and refreshed, a woman was waiting for me. The word prim immediately sprang to mind when I saw her. Her dress was a dark moss-green velvet, floor length and with a high collar. Her hair was pulled up into a pompadour, and a small hat was perched to one side of her head like a bird in a large nest. I didn’t know if what she was wearing was fashionable for Budapest or if she was dressed for the ball. She was sitting very straight in one of the least comfortable-looking chairs in the room. She wore short white gloves, and her hands were folded in her lap. Her expression was quite pinched.
Margaret entered the room, walking up behind me and carrying a tray full of tea things. “Excuse me, Mademoiselle, this is Madame Orzy. She is here to help you with your hair and gown.” She put the silver tray down on the table. “Madame Orzy, this is Mademoiselle Colette Gibson.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Madame Orzy,” I said, feeling compelled to break out my American friendliness. “I’m so excited about the ball. I can’t wait to see what I’m wearing.”
Madame Orzy rose stiffly from her chair, staring at me intently, but not at my eyes. She wasn’t even really regarding me as a person—more as an object that she was assessing. An item at an auction house on which she was considering placing a bid. She turned to Margaret. “I will need a blow dryer, some hot water, and you must
stay to help me with zee fitting.”
Great, I thought, she hasn’t said one word to me, and she already hates my guts.
Finally, Madame Orzy turned to address me. “I think we have zee good basic structure to work with here.” I could tell by her accent that she was probably French. She picked up a few strands of my wet hair and examined the ends. “Sometimes you don’t know what you get until it’s too late and zhere’s nothing you can do.”
It still didn’t feel like she was talking to me as a person, but it was probably the best I was going to get, so I said, “Thank you.” Madame Orzy appeared rather startled. She looked at me like I was her pet Pomeranian that had for no reason started to speak.
An hour later, my hair was high on my head, an elaborate pile of curls. My eyebrows had been plucked, my eyelashes curled, my face erased with powder and then painted back on again. And at that exact moment I felt like Scarlet O’Hara in the famous scene from Gone with the Wind where her maid is trying to squeeze her into a corset because that was exactly what Madame Orzy was trying to do to me.
“Zhis will not work unless you cooperate,” Madame Orzy snapped at me. “You must breathe in.” She gave a vicious yank of the cords she was using to bind me into a vivid blue corset.
“I am breathing in,” I fired right back at her. I had been trying to suck in my gut for the last ten minutes, and I was really feeling like I was starting to hyperventilate.
“Zhat is it. Hold right zhere!” I was instructed as I assumed Madame Orzy was tying the strings and cinching off all the blood supply to my brain. No wonder women were fainting all the time back then. My waist definitely felt smaller, and my breasts were hiked up so high I felt like I could easily balance a teacup on my cleavage. I had no idea what I looked like because Madame Orzy refused to dress me in front of a mirror. She wanted to have “zee big reveal,” as she said.
“Bring zee gown,” Madame Orzy commanded, and Margaret went scurrying out of the room.
