Guild Of Immortal Women

by David Alan Morrison

  She started up the Focus and headed towards Dairy Queen. So this would be two visits in one day, but fuck it. She needed another double fudge sundae if she was going to figure this one out.

  33

  “Until the twenty-first,” Robert said, slipping on the bra. “The witches have until the twenty-first to plan the Faire, organize their Ritual, get Abbey to full strength, and arrange for the annual crossover.” Robert wiggled down into the girdle and held out his hand to the Doctor.

  “I suspect the tight time frame will not hinder them,” said the Doctor, fastening the black felt cloak around Robert’s neck. He handed Robert the rubber breasts.

  “Thus the disguise,” Robert said, shoving the breasts into the bra.

  “My wig, please.”

  “You seem to enjoy women’s clothing a bit too much, my friend.”

  “This is the disguise that saved me many hours and countless confrontations with that damnable Boudicca.” He tucked his hair beneath the wig and pulled the curls down over his eyes. “How do you think I managed to slip by the witches so often?”

  The Doctor eyed the figure standing before him. A disheveled, broad-shouldered, hunchbacked woman with large breasts and hair resembling dirty straw leaned unsteadily on a walking stick. The woman’s complexion lay hidden in the shadows of the unkempt mop of hair, her eyes sunken and dark. While the figure hurt his eyes with its ugliness, it was, nonetheless, a woman. He smiled. “I should have thought of this myself.”

  “That, my friend, is why you will never reach your potential.” Robert smiled broadly. “You do not push the limits of your own creative juices.”

  “Perhaps. But I shall never cross swords with Boudicca, either.”

  Robert laughed heartily and clapped the Doctor on the back. “Come. Let us get that simpleton to drive to the Bastille. I would like to see what I can learn of Abbey.”

  “The chances of you catching her away from the women is, perhaps, one in a hundred.”

  “One is all I need,” Robert winked. “It is all I need.”

  34

  Eleanor put down her accounting as Boo burst through the door of the den brandishing her broadsword.

  “We must talk. Now.”

  Eleanor turned to Zen sitting at the rolltop desk and shot her a questioning look. Zen picked up on the signal for help. “Boo, can it not wait? The accounting has yet to be done for the month.”

  “No!” Boo shot back, slamming her hands onto the desk before Eleanor. “We must act and act now.”

  “About what, dear?” Eleanor asked, knowing full well what Boo’s response would be.

  “About Abbey.”

  “I feel she is coming along very well,” Zen said, placing the thick pile of bank statements onto the sideboard. “Since her amazing breakthrough at The Meadows.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “What I know is that you interrupted me. That is unacceptable.” Zen flung herself against Boo so quickly, Eleanor barely saw the woman move. “If you wish to treat the others with such disregard that is their concern. But when you address me you will do so with the respect I deserve. Do I speak a language you understand, Queen Boudicca?” Boo studied her for a moment before relaxing her stance and stepping away from the thin woman. “Yes, Queen Zenobia.”

  Zen nodded and broke out into a smile. She grabbed Boudicca by the shoulders and guided her to a chair opposite Eleanor. “Come, love.

  Let us sit and discuss this in a civil fashion.”

  “Ring for the others.” Eleanor put the papers aside and sat back, smiling. “I adore watching the two of you interact. How much you remind me of myself and Henry.”

  “Henry was a pig,” Boo retorted.

  “A worthy opponent. I miss his sparring,” Zenobia smirked as she picked up the phone. An intercom system magnified her voice and Eleanor heard it echoing throughout the mansion.

  “Did you love him?” Zen asked.

  “More than you could understand,” Eleanor laughed. “More than even I understand. There will never be another man like Henry.”

  “Why do we waste time babbling about men?” Boo demanded.

  “Idle chatter.” Eleanor’s voice maintained the quiet softness despite herself. “We shall wait for the others. As we always have done.”

  “We spoke briefly of you taking a respite,” Boo crooned. “Perhaps that respite is now due?”

  “You will take control from Eleanor if and when the Guild elects you as her successor,” Zen said. “If you wish to do so before a valid vote of all the women, I will stop you, Boudicca.” She leaned closely to Boudicca and winked. “And I may be the only one in this mansion who can.”

  Boo grinned and held Zen’s hand. “You may certainly try.” The two locked eyes for a moment and Eleanor thought she saw something like love reflected in Boo’s face. After a moment, it was gone. “But not today.”

  “A party? I received no invite. Thank the gods.”

  Eleanor waved, “Come in, Livia.”

  “Lady Livia,” Zenobia smiled at Boo, who winked in return, much to Eleanor’s surprise.

  “Lady?” Livia said, gliding into the room. “Are we to be reliving the

  Roman senate meetings then? Those damned things bore me to death.”

  “Close enough,” Eleanor. “Although without the male of the species, I dare say the entertainment value will be diminished.”

  “I sent Ruth with Abbey,” said Tomyris, with boredom oozing out of her as she lumbered to the leather couch while chewing on a cookie. She wore her usual half-shirt, only today her belly button held a red jewel. She had replaced the eagle feathers with peacock and as she walked, they spun in circles like rainbow-colored propellers. “By now, I’m sure Ruth’s baked the girl a batch of unleavened bread, a slew of bagels, and is currently slicing lox.” She flopped herself down onto the couch and stretched out, her dogs lying obediently next to her.

  “Is she not to be referred to as ‘Queen Tomyris,’ or do the formalities end with me?” Lady Livia asked.

  “Oh, no,” Tomyris moaned, “not a fucking ‘formalities’ meeting again.” She picked up a stray magazine, rolled it into a tube, and began swatting randomly.

  “Then continue to spar with the fleas and flies,” Eleanor said, looking to Boudicca. “I believe Boudicca requested this meeting?”

  All eyes turned toward the Celt. She set her jaw and spoke. “We have no more time. Abbey must renew her affiliation with the Guild.”

  “She has, hasn’t she?” Livia said, thumbing through the latest issue of Vogue. “Or is that her identical twin sister I see in the hallways?” “Do not joke with me!” Boudicca yelled.

  Livia cleared her throat and continued thumbing through the magazine. “Do not irritate me, Boudicca. While I lack your expertise on the field of battle, Livia Drusilla surpasses you in poisoning, assassinating, and ensuring that people disappear.”

  “You threaten me?”

  Livia Drusilla dropped the Vogue and picked up the L.L. Bean catalog. “Of course not, my love. Merely stating fact.” She looked up at Boo over the top of the mail order form and grinned. “So how about it, Boudicca? Want to disappear?”

  “Ladies,” Eleanor groaned. “Now, Boo, dear, please be seated. You block my view of Tomyris.”

  “I do not mind,” Tomyris sighed. “I look the same today as yesterday.”

  “Please try to stay awake, Tomyris.” Eleanor rubbed her eyes. “You snore so loudly.”

  “What is it that you want, Queen Boudicca?” Livia Drusilla asked, holding up the L.L. Bean catalog and showing her the fall jackets.

  “We have less than two weeks before the Faire,” Boudicca said. “Before that time, we have the Tapestry to mend, the year’s embroidery to finish, and the Ritual to prepare.”

  “I particularly like the olive green windbreaker,” Livia said. “Shall I order one for you, too?” she asked Eleanor.

  “AND,” Boo continued as she glanced angrily at Livia, “the
Faire alone demands much time.”

  “We know this, Boudicca,” Tomyris groaned and began texting into her cell phone. “Please tell us your point.”

  “My point is this: the Tapestry is failing. Almost daily I find myself battling people back into it. No thanks to any of you, who do not wish to help out.”

  “Why should we?” Zenobia said with a flat expression. “When you carry the hatred of forty warriors?”

  “You say?”

  “I say,” Zenobia said so quietly Eleanor could barely hear her, “that we await you to tire of revenge.” She tenderly stroked Boo’s hand.

  “Boo. When will you end your quest for blood?” Zen whispered as the others watched. “Your life as Elizabeth Borden did not help, nor your role as warden. You must let the past die.”

  The two women sat in silence, hand in hand for a minute while Eleanor scrutinized Boo’s expression. The volatile woman’s propensity for flashes of violence required patience when dealing with sensitive issues. To Eleanor’s surprise, Boudicca remained calm, quietly looking at Zenobia. She breathed a sigh of relief. The work of the next week and a half would be difficult and draining. To be spared the additional task of caretaking a crazed blue warrior woman would be a blessing.

  Just as Boo seemed to relax, Livia spoke from behind the L.L. Bean catalog. “And let us not forget about Robert de Baudricourt. He is still after Abbey.” She licked her finger and turned the page with slow deliberateness. “So I agree with Zen. Remain calm. We will see to it that Abbey shan’t be raped and murdered like your daughters.” Instantly Boudicca was on her feet.

  “Boo!” Eleanor said quietly. “Sit, dear.” Boo didn’t.

  “He is still after us all. He would see us dead before returning to his prison in the Tapestry,” Tomyris said from behind the cell phone.

  “You do not know that!” Zenobia said.

  “It shall not come to that,” Eleanor said, motioning for everyone to sit. “You know as well as I the result of men acting as wardens.” “How can you be so sure?” Boo spat.

  “I am old, Boudicca.”

  “I am older,” Boo retorted. “He already has the Doctor on his side.

  Who is to say he shall not have more?” “Unlikely,” Tomyris muttered.

  “Regardless…”

  “Boo,” Zen responded calmly, “the Doctor slayed prostitutes in England a hundred years ago. He hardly constitutes a threat.”

  “Besides,” Tomyris said from her position on the couch, “the Doctor is only angry because he has trouble staying erect. This century has Viagra. He should be fine.” She looked at the rest of the women staring at her in disbelief. “What?” She shrugged and returned to texting. “Give me a break! We did it once. Once! It was the night of the Hindenburg disaster. We were both grieving.” She smirked and chuckled softly. “Besides...I was better than he was.”

  “I warn you,” Boo said to Eleanor, “Robert de Baudricourt and his

  Doctor friend are coming.”

  “According to Tomyris, not nearly often enough,” Livia quipped.

  “It is not a joke,” Boo exploded.

  “No, Boo, it is not,” Eleanor responded. “We are all aware of the state of the Tapestry due to Abbey’s mental condition. What would you suggest?”

  “Give her to me to train. Perhaps she will remember once she has a blade in her hand and a horse beneath her.”

  Eleanor nodded. “Very well.”

  Boo nodded and stormed out of the room.

  “Are we done now?” Tomyris asked, leaping up from the couch.

  “Yes, dear,” Eleanor sighed as Tomyris trotted to the door, her dogs hot on her heels, and her feathers flapping in the current.

  Eleanor turned toward Livia. “Next time, dear, if you wish to poke an injured animal, perhaps you would like to take a stick to road kill.”

  “For a woman proficient with politics, such as yourself, your lack of tact with Boudicca surprises me,” Zen said, once again sitting down at her rolltop desk.

  “And I suppose your condescension with Boudicca is motivated by altruistic love for the Family?” Livia shot back.

  “Of course.”

  “Then we can count on your support every bit as much as your people did when you betrayed them for the man…what was his name again?”

  “You dare accuse me of treason?”

  “No, dear. You came to that conclusion all on your own.”

  “Ladies!” Eleanor shouted louder than she expected. Her arms hurt, her eyes burned, and the idea of sandwiching herself between these two Immortals upset her stomach. “Shall we deal with the problem at hand?

  “We still must continue with the arrangements for the Faire and the Ritual. I’m afraid our task will be more daunting now that there is a body on our property.”

  “I stand behind my earlier comment. We must move the Faire’s location,” Zen stated.

  Liv chuckled. “Impossible. Much preliminary work is already complete. The logistics of relocating now are a nightmare at best.”

  “Those logistics would be your concern, would they not?” Zen folded her arms and waited for Livia to respond.

  Eleanor interjected. “I agree with Livia. The more shuffling of people and tents, vendors and the crowd, the more risk of something going wrong. Better to endure the Detective’s investigation.”

  “When will it conclude?” Zen went over to Eleanor and began massaging the woman’s shoulders.

  “Oh! That feels good.” Eleanor remained silent for a few moments while Zen continued. Finally, she muttered, “We should check into that detective. Mathews?”

  “Mathers,” Livia corrected. “Yes, I have researched him.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small notebook. “New to the Montpelier force—less than two years. Highly regarded by his peers. Replaced retiring Detective Smythe. Quiet. Thorough. Smart. Single.

  Never married.”

  “Homosexual?” Eleanor’s voice carried a trace of hope. Liv shook her head. “’tis a pity. It always becomes complicated when a human male deals with the Guild.”

  “I will handle that,” Livia responded, closing her book. “The only problem I foresee is his intelligence.” Eleanor had a questioning look. “Highly intelligent. I would hate for him to learn too much about us too quickly.”

  Eleanor sighed and patted Zen’s hands. She couldn’t risk relaxing any further. The desire to fall asleep called too strongly. She hadn’t been confronted with law officials for so long she’d almost forgotten how much of a bother they were. Luckily, Livia was the Guild public relations woman.

  “Handle that, will you, dear?” Livia nodded. “And Zen, darling, let us return to work. We must finish the accounts before our lives become unmanageable from the Faire. And ladies…” She paused to get their attention. “…despite the police, Robert and corpses, nothing can interfere with the Faire.”

  35

  “What are you doing?” Whenever Heather tried to sound angry, the pouty voice reminded Lynn of her mother and, subsequently, triggered her authority issues.

  “I am spreading my joy,” Mrs. Bailey sang.

  Mrs. Bailey, stripped naked and sans Feng Shi, held a towel to her shoulders like a cape and ran up and down the corridors, her multiple folds of fat jiggling in all their naked glory. From the smell of it, the shower hadn’t seen a lot of glory lately either. She reeked like a cross between garbage and sewer.

  “Mrs. Bailey, perhaps you would like to spread the joy in your room,” Lynn suggested.

  “The world needs my joy!” Mrs. Bailey’s face contorted into anger.

  “But you’ve been depressed lately, haven’t you? I think your room needs some joy.”

  Mrs. Bailey nodded. “Abbey’s been gone a long time.”

  “Almost two weeks, yes,” Lynn said, thinking of the last time Abbey was in her office. She should have tied and gagged those two old psychos right there. “Are you still missing her?”

  Mrs. Bailey nodded. “Two weeks is…almost…a
month.” Suddenly, Mrs. Bailey’s face lit up. “I’ll go to my room so my joy can fill it!” With glee, the woman bounded back down the residence hall.

  “Thanks?” Heather questioned Lynn.

  Before she could reply, a voice started screaming in the day room. “It’s her! It’s her!” Lynn looked up and caught Mr. Rix, looking like a dead ringer for Judy Garland in a tight, thigh-length black sequin dress with matching pearls, jumping up and down and pointing at the television.

  “Mr. Rix?” Heather called, rushing into the day room.

  “IT’S JUDY GARLAND, YOU STUPID WHORE!” Edna screamed. Then to Judy Garland, she said, “Quiet, please, Judy, I can’t hear the television.”

  Lynn knew at whom Mr. Rix was pointing even before she looked at the TV: Livia Emerson. The television appearances on the local station began shortly after Lynn’s visit to the Bastille. As if reading her mind, the ladies mounted a public relations blitz, kissing the ass of every local paper, town rag, neighborhood newsletter, and Elks club meeting. Lynn expected to see the woman setting up birthday parties at McDonald’s next. Wouldn’t that be great for the brownie-eating lesbian sadists of the Bastille?

  Livia wore a tailored dress with a simple string of pearls. The woman must have contracted with Mother Nature and ordered a perfect breeze to shimmer through her hair, as it danced in rhythm with the interviewer’s questions. She could practically smell Livia’s cologne: something floral and expensive.