The Nebulizer Potion and the Electric Compass (Vampire DeAngeliuson Book 3)

by Kara Skye Smith

  ‘Whap!’ The back end of the Witch's broom smacks right into Jessica, and she topples over, onto the dusty ground. (This is how her time begins in the In Between.) The Witch screeches to a halt.

  “Just goes to show, you're not the only one who can fly around here, Missy!” the Witch says.

  Jessica sits up, “Well! That was rude,” she says, brushing herself off.

  The Witch scoots up on her broom, “Get on!” she boldy and uncivily demands.

  Crucious begins to jump up and down and practically slobbers with excitement as he spills out the words, “Splash it on her! Splash it on her!”

  “Splash what?” the Witch insists on knowing.

  Jessica fumbles in her pocket, “Now?” she asks. Crucious continues his little song and dance, so Jessica obliges and fishes out the bottle from her pocket. She manages its little cork off and pushes herself up from the ground as the Witch steps off her broom and underhandedly sticks that broom handle near the base of Jessica's ankle just as Jessica steps up to stand.

  “Uh-oo-uh-aa!!“ Jessica is tripped, by that old Norse’s broom. The potion spills from the bottle onto the unfertile soil of Crucious' homeland and all three stare as a caterpillar - innocently crawling there - sputters out potion, rolls over and dies.

  First there is silence, then the Witch's face, upon that caterpillar’s last breath, scrunches and screws up her brow with the realization that the splash of potion to bring about the innocent insect's demise was meant for her. She glares an unsightly scowl at Jessica with eyes so intense Jessica wonders for a moment if her hair will catch on fire.

  “Why you little devil!” the Witch exclaims. Crucious stops dancing around. His jaw hasn't closed shut since the caterpillar died.

  “And you!“ she says to the troll, “You complete idiot!!” Now, this unwelcome slight - the spilled potion, and the actively breathing Witch - moves Crucious to witness his cause, well, on his own, without the help of vampires and potions.

  Crucious points at the Witch, “I saw what you did!” he yells.

  The Witch retorts, “I did no such thing!!”

  Jessica raises an eyebrow, “What?”

  “O, you heard him!” the Witch sourly explains, “he thinks I'm a killer.”

  Jessica deliberates, “He didn't say - well, I mean he was going to, but he didn't say - you were... yet. But you are, aren't you? You already knew that he was going to accuse you of killing his brother, or you wouldn't have said, already, that you weren’t a killer - I mean-” and the Witch interrupts.

  “I've had enough of your shenanigans!! I see what you've done!! I'm taking this with me, as evidence!” She picks up the caterpillar in her long, wuthery fingers, trapped between her dirt sown fingernails and plops him into her pocket.

  “We'll just see about this. Won't we?” the Witch says and then insists to Jessica, “Get on the broom!”

  “I won't!” Jessica refuses.

  “I summoned you!” the Witch says.

  “I'm here,” Jessica says.

  “My house!” the Witch verbally underlines a detail from the summons.

  “I'll walk,” Jessica decides.

  “Suit yourself,” the Witch grumbles, and then adds another noted detail from her plan, “10:30. Don't be late.” Jessica picks herself up and dusts off.

  “Sheesh! Whatever,“ She grumbles, now too, under her breath. “... I'm not taking orders from the likes of you, and I won‘t be staying long enough to adjust my watch to Underworld time,” she says in a tone the Witch probably doesn’t hear.

  Crucious points and yells at the Witch as she rides off, “Killer!”

  “Now what do we do?” Jessica asks Crucious who fumbles his fingers around, thinking, he suddenly points into the air, like he just got a brilliant idea.

  “We go to her house!”

  “Then what?” Jessica asks.

  “We kill her!” Crucious says.

  “Can't I just go home?” Jessica asks with a little more than a teensy amount of whining to the word ‘home‘.

  “Can you?” Crucious asks. So, Jessica takes the pocket watch out that her Father had given Crucious (to give to her) and opens it to ask. Her Father opens one eye. His face is upside down.

  Before she says anything, Jessica's Father in the pocket watch says, “No,” and then shuts his eye.

  “But…” Jessica begins to protest.

  Jessica's Father in the pocket watch opens both eyes and repeats, “No. A summons is a summons,” he says, “you must go.”

  “But” Jessica points at Crucious, “he wants me to kill her and she wants to kill me and you... you want me to go?” she complains.

  Jessica's Father in the pocket watch says, “No. I don’t want you to go, but you must,” he says and then he adds, “I don't believe she will kill you.”

  Jessica’s voice sounds panicked, “That doesn't sound like enough to substantiate your asking me to go. I want to go home. This is a pocket watch. You don't even sound like my Father. Maybe this is a trick of the Witch?” she ventures.

  Jessica's Father in the pocket watch says calmly, “A summons is a summons, Jessica. And you are a vampire of ancestry to keep the order of the Underworld. You must go. Remember, you have my power.”

  “I'm starting to wonder -” Jessica’s voice trails off. Crucious nods his head in agreement and rubs his finger near his temple. (Even he presumed that the help of such a prestigious vampire’s power would have gotten the job done by now.)

  Jessica looks at him, “about you, too…”

  But Jessica's Father in the pocket watch calmly repeats himself, “Remember, you have my power.”

  “Is that like a credit card?” Jessica asks, which causes Crucious to snort holding in a laugh, while she continues, “Cause I'd like the first train outta here,” she says.

  And Crucious (being silly) adds, “Don't have a train here. Not in or out, anyway.”

  “I was making a joke, Crucious,” Jessica says.

  He smiles and says, “I know.”

  Jessica's Father in the pocket watch doesn‘t tease or talk silly, “At a time like this?” he asks.

  “Poor taste,” Jessica admits. “I don't know what else to do right now. My feet won't move. I don't want to disappoint you, but I don't want to go. She can't make me, can she? She can’t get away with this, can she? “

  Jessica's Father, you know - in the pocket watch - tells her, “Go, then, and find out. Remember,-”

  Jessica interrupts, almost annoyed at what she knows he is about to say, “O, for petulance sake! ‘You have my power…’ whatever. Fine! I'll go. But if you're wrong I'll, well, I'll scream! At you. It looks to me like a trap!” she complains.

  “Jessica!” her pocket watch Father nearly loses his temper, “If you don't obey the summons, you will be in the palm of a witch's hand. She is only a witch, remember - a subordinate, an inferior. Do not disgrace or dishonor this family by allowing the summons of a witch to overpower you. A vampire shalt not have fear. Let go of this emotion and go on, now, to curtail this annoyance, this errand, right away. I won't hear another word of doubt.” He says and closes his eyes. Jessica shuts the pocket watch.

  “He's right,” she says with a new attitude, “it's just a witch! I'm a grown woman,” she fakes an upbeat tone.

  Dear Jessica leaves out the obvious words, ‘I’m a vampire’ because Jessica has promised her mortal husband, Drew, she would try her best not to be a vampire - and so it gores, this ‘summons‘ has her really out of sorts. But she is - a vampire - and she knows in any proverbial rock-paper-scissors game of Underworlders, Vampire beats Witch, any day.

  So, she looks at Crucious Port and says with confidence, “Let's go!”

  Chapter Six

  Brewed Tea or Immortality

  At the DeAngeliuson's mansion, atop the steepest hill in a small, Above World town, Jessica‘s Father - who isn‘t inside any pocket watch compass at all, in fact, he isn‘t even hanging - pulls a black-cuffed, shirt sleeve o
ut of his black evening jacket and calls for the house manager’s help, “Mattressa!!“ She pops her head into the doorway of his room, her eyebrows slightly raise.

  He holds his wrists up to her, “Could you?”

  “Certainly,” Mattressa responds.

  “The cuff links are there - on the dresser,” he says pointing with an elbow, his wrists still held up. Mattressa picks them up and begins to fasten the tailored shirt’s wristed cuffs together with sharp, little, diamond-studded pins.

  “Heard from your Jessica lately?” Mattressa asks.

  “No. Not since the dinner caught fire. You?”

  Mattressa sighs, fussing with the stubborn cuff, “I wouldn't be asking you, would I?”

  “I suppose you wouldn't,” he answers her calmly and then adds, “Well, let's change that. Let's invite her, and that horrible Drew, over to dinner. Hmmm?”

  Mattressa makes a tisking sound and says, “He's not horrible. He was your choice for her.”

  “You might've bothered to double check that decision for me. When was that made after a three day, out-late haunt?”

  “No,” Mattressa tells him, “If I remember correctly I think your decision was based on the fear that she'd end up with someone like you. Yes, that’s what you’d said.”

  “There. You see? That's why I don't like him. And probably why he's good for her. I just won't have to like him, I guess, partly because I just don't see much of her anymore. Easily remedied with a dinner, together, for all of us. You'll be there, won't you?”

  Mattressa finishes up the next cuff’s linking, and looks at her employer seriously to implore, “Should I be there to hold your hand? Or to make sure Drew doesn't get left out of the conversation completely?”

  “I'm not one for hand holding, but you'll make him feel welcome. Like you did when they stayed here,” he says.

  “There you go!” Mattressa says of the second cuff link’s jeweled fastener, as he pulls his jacket sleeves back down over them.

  “Should I plan for the dinner out or in?” she asks with an all-business tone to her voice.

  “You choose,” he says.

  Mattressa asks, “And which date?

  Jessica's Father thinks out loud about his calendar, “Hmm, do you mean like - type A, type B; o no, you mean which date on the calendar – which day of the week -” he teases, “tonight might go into tomorrow night... tomorrow might go into - well, how about Saturday night?”

  “I shall call her up about it today,” Mattressa says suddenly sounding as though she is in a much better mood.

  “Good. And, tell her it's mandatory.”

  “She's a little too grown-up for mandatory, don't you think?” Mattressa asks.

  Jessica's Father thinks on this point for a minute, “Well, then, just urge her to attend,” he says. “Tell her I'd really like to see her. O, and invite Ickabod. I'd hate to have to run in to him and be questioned on how Jessica is doing; and, he likes that drab Drew.”

  “Dinner out, then,“ Mattressa decides, “I hate cooking for Ickabod. He's so particular.”

  “Finicky,” Jessica’s Father corrects Mattressa’s grammar about his friend, “Ickabod is finicky.”

  Mattressa sighs, “I miss having Jessica and Drew around. You'll be out for three days, now, and it will be so quiet here, now” she says.

  “What do you do while I'm gone?” Jessica’s Father asks.

  “Garden, cook, rent movies,” she explains and sighs again.

  Jessica's Father attempts to help, “You know, that's why I hired Crucious Port. So you'd have someone.”

  Mattressa groans, “That's the decision I would have canceled if I'd had the chance,” she says.

  “Mattressa?”

  “He's a disaster!” she tells him, “I sometimes wonder how you must hate me to have hired a troll to work with me. Don’t you like my work? Am I that bad?” she complains.

  Jessica's Father laughs, “I don't hate you, and you’re not being fair. He’s a good soul and a trustworthy employee - though, it is true, he is a troll. Alright then, choose someone else. We'll hire someone else.”

  “And let Crucious go?“ Mattressa asks, “Won't he, like, come back and stalk us, or something, if we let him go?”

  “That bad?” Jessica’s Father asks, “Mattressa, he just isn’t that bad.“

  She looks at him with a raised eyebrow while he continues, having gotten her point, “Well, then, right away. While I'm gone, start hiring someone new.”

  “How will you tell him? Or will I?” Mattressa asks and then complains, “O, you won't even tell him, will you?! You'll make me do it all,” she starts to sound almost angry.

  “I'll find him something,“ the note-worthy vampire says, “Another position somewhere, another property, a different division.”

  “Make it sound like a promotion,” Mattressa says considering the instability of her co-worker status.

  “That's going a bit far,” Jessica’s Father decides.

  “How did you find him, anyway?” she asks.

  “He came to me,” the vampire says, thinking back only for a moment, “Yes, I was approached by him one day. I thought it nice -” he stops talking suddenly, not wanting to insult her, again.

  “He begged you for the job, I hope,” Mattressa says, “or did you just think, ‘O, perfect mongrel for my house manager?”

  “House manager. I like that. No one says 'maid' anymore, do they?” he asks. Mattressa glares at him.

  “No. I do. I like that,” he says and then he explains, “He didn't beg me, actually. A common enemy to us both that he was suffering. He didn’t have to explain - I understood, right away, the pickle she‘d gotten him into - trap, really. He had to get out - away from the real Witch of a woman - I'd met her once... at first description, I remembered. My Father –” Mattressa gasps (rather loudly) at the mention of the illustrious vampire’s even more illustrious Father, and instinctively, she brings her hand to the front of her neck.

  She nearly whispers, looking side to side, “You never mention your Father.”

  “I know,” he whispers back and smiles.

  “Unless…” and Mattressa looks side to side again. Jessica's Father listens with a slightly perplexed expression.

  “Unless he's about to appear,” she says.

  “I know,” he says, “I mean, ‘no’, I didn’t realize I did that. Predict his arrival. And, no, well I hope he isn’t about to appear.”

  “Yes, after the last time, you mentioned him it wasn’t but two days later - O, and now you're going off to leave me here, alone. Don't be gone long. Just one day,” she instructs and then she changes her mind.

  “No, instead, I think I will go to my mother's for the weekend,” she decides, with the worry of a typical mortal – which Mattressa so rarely reveals - obvious in the tone of her voice, the shifting of her eyes, the searching of the shadowy corners in the room.

  “Yes. Good plan. You go to your mother's for a few days,“ Jessica's Father approves, “Plan that dinner, get-together-thing with Jessica, too. And I'll see you when you get back.“ The front door opens and shuts.

  Mattressa, the house manager doesn't move her feet but looks toward the sound and yells a rather shaky sounding, “ He-ll-o?!…”

  The voice of Crucious Port responds, “Hello.” Mattressa makes an unhappy face at Jessica's Father who only smiles back at her and shrugs.

  Luckily, he doesn’t say anything to her about ‘the help’ or how he thought they’d ‘like each other’, instead, he simply says, “I've gotta go.”

  He slaps her on the shoulder as he walks past, looks at his cuff links, and genuinely says, “Thanks,” in appreciation.

  The amazement of the arrival of Crucious Port to his employer and the house manager at this very moment is, however, underappreciated to say the least. On time and out of breath, he‘d made it through an Undertaker’s fog, a mix up of Underworld, documented centuries, and the science of immortality to arrive at their location precis
ely upon this one, distinct moment in Above Worlder’s clocks and calendars - which by the way, these very two had insisted upon - only to barely even notice his ‘on time’ arrival, here and now - for cripes and witches sakes! Afterall, mere moments ago, he’d been in the In Between - at the hut of the Witch across from the cottage of the little lady with the astonishing hair where the two houses sit facing opposite poles in the Underworld, trying desperately to ignore the existence of one-another. If the Hair Lady had not become quite so accustomed to shunning the fact that she’s had a witch for a neighbor - for Beck‘s only knows how long – she would have seen the body, the dead body, lying on the floor that day.

  As it stands, the only thing the Hair Lady knows is that one day, three trolls went into the Witch's hut, yet only two trolls ever walked back out. In fact, just an hour or so ago, she was out front, across the street, checking her seeds which she'd planted along the front fence row, wondering if the packets of new seeds, she sent for have arrived, yet, in the mail. She looks up as some little bell begins to chime from Crucious Port; Jessica looks over at the sound of it, too.

  “What is that?” Jessica asks.

  “My alarm. Gotta go to work! 'Scuse me,” Crucious fumbles in his pockets. He pulls out the alarm and cuts it off. He points, “There it is! The Witch's. I'd better go or I'll be late.”

  “But Crucious... you can't come this far and leave me now,” Jessica insists to his already walking away backside. He simply waves and hurries off, all without turning around.

  “Cru-ci-ous!” Jessica protests loudly even stomping her foot, “Wait!” but Crucious is gone; sometimes troll’s legs move pretty fast. Jessica looks over at the Hair Lady, who gets caught watching this little scene, but looks quickly away making toward her mailbox to check for incoming seed packets.

  Jessica observes the lady’s nervous behavior a while, then walks toward the Hair Lady for help. From the usual clues given off by the woman, Jessica suspects her nervousness isn’t out of order since the woman who lives across the street feels apprehensive, too. Jessica is trying not to turn and run away, but really, in this situation, wouldn't you?}