by A. J. Aalto
“Madam does want that,” I said enthusiastically. “Madam also wants to continue to refer to herself as ‘Madam’ for the duration of her stay, if that’s peachy keen with you, Mr. Merritt. Also, could you call it my boudoir? Always wanted a boudoir.”
“As you wish, Madam.” He did a good job of clamping down on a smile. “Do ring for me when you’re ready for tea. I’ll make my preparations.”
I jogged up to the second floor, following the lone bedroom light left on to guide me. Vi had preferred candlelight, I’d once been told, and I understood that; fire casts a flattering glow.
The room was as I’d left it, with the addition of one revenant standing with his back to me, wearing his favorite grey wool trousers and a crisp white linen shirt, gazing out the window at the back yard and smoking a menthol cigarette, holding it the European way. He turned suddenly, whirling to face me with theatrical flair, his thrice-pierced brow arched in question, his chin tilted just so.
I smiled fondly at his dramatics. “Hullo, my Harry.”
“And a hearty good evening to you, my pear-shaped paramour.”
I felt my upper lip curl. “Pear-shaped?”
Harry made a motion in the air as though he were stroking the curves of a voluptuous woman before him, adding girth to the hip area with a sly smile — Harry was an ass man. His crisp, London accent sharpened. “Now then, my sugarplum, what is that disagreeable fragrance clinging to you?”
“It’s maple,” I said defensively. “Everybody loves maple.”
“Artificial maple.”
“Doughnuts,” I admitted, like it was a crime I’d committed.
“Ah yes,” he said loftily, “your policeman. I’d wondered to what dark corner you had slunk, and with whom.”
I went to the closet, where I had left a My Little Pony nightshirt hanging. “Oh yeah, I’m busted now. You caught me cop-slinking.”
“Dare you deny it?”
I whipped my shirt off and unclasped my bra, letting it fall to the floor. My mind strayed for a guilty second to the Sarokhanian revenants, wondering how to broach the subject so he wouldn’t blow his wig. I peered at him through the nightshirt’s neck-hole. “Harry, you always know exactly where I am and who I’m with.”
He slid me a sly look that said plenty. When I didn’t rise to the bait, Harry gave in, coming around the bed to help me extricate my elbow from where it had gotten tangled in the sleeve of my nightshirt. Then he stroked my nearly-bald head with one cool hand. “Come now, driggle-draggle. I’m being silly, of course. I’m in a playful mood. Why will you not spar with me tonight, my pet?”
“Madam is not in a sparring mood. Madam is in the mood to refer to herself in the third person and take tea in her boudoir,” I informed him, to which he threw back his head for a good, long laugh.
“Butter upon bacon!” he exclaimed with delight. “Dare I hope that my own darling has at long last become accustomed to this style of living?” He began excitedly planning a grand new chateau and a future bopping between London and Paris, chattering on about china patterns and velvet flocked wallpaper.
“Slooooooow yer roll, there, dead guy,” I said, dropping my pants and kicking them into the closet. “I’m humoring Mr. Merritt. This lifestyle is ridiculous and you know it. I’m a grown-ass woman, I can make my own damn tea.”
Harry settled into a casual lean against the dresser, smoke curling from the cigarette trapped in the corner of a challenging smile. “Go on, then.”
I tried to remember where the butler’s pantry was, chewing my bottom lip. “Could if I wanted to.”
“Would you like to see poor Mr. Merritt out of a job?” He subtly inclined his head toward the little pull cord beside the bed, indicating that I should ring for my tea.
“You think you’re winning,” I said, stomping over to pull the cord, “but you’re not.”
Harry just smiled, which was both adorable and irritating. And he kept right on smiling as I rang the bell. I could feel his approval washing through the Bond, tinged with more than a little smugness.
“And yes, to answer your accusation,” I said, putting off the mention of my meeting with the revenants on the beach, “I was visiting Constable Schenk.”
“I trust your stalwart companion is well?” Harry inquired, finishing his cigarette.
I see-sawed one hand.
“Oh, I am sorry to hear this,” Harry said, and I Felt his disappointment was genuine. “And can you provide some sort of aid in the matter?”
“Well, yeah, actually,” I said. “Ever since our case together — ”
“Our case, was it? You were invited to assist on that one, were you?”
“Okay. The case. His case. Point is: Schenk’s been having trouble sleeping. I’ll put him in touch with a therapist from Gold-Drake & Cross, they’ve got a few on staff in Hamilton. Unless you have a better idea?”
Harry strolled thoughtfully across the room purely for the dramatic effect of being seen to stroll thoughtfully. I knew he’d already decided, but he enjoyed appearing to consider it. I watched, playing the part of rapt audience dutifully. I didn’t even roll my eyes, though it was a struggle. He struck a pose I liked to call The Dandy Considers: pointer finger to pursed lips, thumb under the chin, eyes on the ceiling. I humored him, letting him feel through the Bond my admiration of his graceful lines. Pleased, he nodded once.
“You understand I could help the man myself, but not without completely overwhelming his mind and lulling him into a deep state of unconsciousness, yes?” he warned. “And that, in doing so, I may create a state in which your officer feels attached to me.”
“I’d try to control my jealousy,” I drawled.
“See that you do,” he said, stepping aside as Mr. Merritt rolled the tea trolley into the bedroom. “One is quite distressed to see a possessive streak in one’s own pet. A simply dreadful discovery, I assure you.”
He meant the exact opposite; few things pleased Harry more than inspiring a jealous outburst. He’d been tickled pink to watch my squawking over his indiscretion with SSA Chapel. Harry could be a difficult companion to manage, but after all these years, I was hip to his shenanigans.
“Oh, I know. Such a burden on you,” I said with a heavy dose of mock sympathy. I stopped short of crooning “you poor baby” because the twitch in his eyebrow told me he’d already received the message loud and clear. A tiny, caught-out smile flickered across his lips but it was replaced by an expectant tilt of his head.
I shook my mine. “Why don’t we wait and see how the therapy goes before you mindfuck my friend, eh?”
“As you wish. And now,” he said, brandishing a fresh cigarette like a pointer, “shall we discuss the details of your other meeting this evening, my pet?”
Busted. “Oh, riiiiiiight. The pissy stiffs.”
Harry murmured dubiously.
“Totally slipped my mind.” I showed him my most innocent smile. Even without his preternatural powers or the Bond between us, it wasn't very convincing.
“Lies, ducky? To me?” He clucked his tongue. “When will you learn?”
“Hopefully, never. What fun would that be?” I said, tossing a wink at Mr. Merritt.
Mr. Merritt wisely shifted his attention back to pouring tea, smoothing napkins, and eavesdropping.
“Well?” Harry prodded. “Don’t make me drag it out of you, my own.”
“It was just a few crusty old revenants from, uh, House Sarokhanian. That reminds me, this one guy had the most gorgeous timepiece, Harry, major bling, you would have died,” I gushed. “Gold trim and hands, a brown leather band, asymmetrical displays, big date — ”
“Yes, yes.” Harry attempted to pretend he wasn’t interested. “An A. Lange & Sohne, no doubt, iconic Saxon watchmaking. But of course you’re stalling. Who were these gentlemen, pray tell, and what business could they possibly have had with my DaySitter?” He added with genuine distress, “I can smell them on you, pet. More than a few. How many, and why? Are you well and unmo
lested?”
I took a deep, calming breath so that Harry’s ruffled feathers might settle. He knew better than anyone that I was physically fine, but that didn’t stop him from scanning me rapidly inside and out with an immortal’s keen senses. His nostrils flared and he dropped the pretense of breathing as he focused in on more important things. I waited for his diagnosis, and was not at all surprised when he announced, “Mildew on velvet. It’s not even Italian velvet.” His scathing verdict was punctuated by a disgusted suck on his teeth.
“The man I spoke to was named Ghazaros Merzyan.” I waited to see if the name meant anything to Harry, but if it did, he hid it. “He was very well-mannered,” I offered. “He’s the eldest in the region when Aston Sarokhanian is away, and wanted to know why you entered the territory without extending a greeting.”
Harry sniffed indignantly. “And by greeting you mean ‘begging permission,’ I’m quite sure. Of all the nerve.”
“He has a point,” I said. “If Sarokhanian’s not here, he’s next up, right?”
“Ridiculous. Aston Sarokhanian has most certainly been here, though he seems to have taken his leave. I had every intention of meeting Master Sarokhanian, but I do not intend to present myself before a pompous little cumberworld like Prince Merzyan.”
“Well, in that case,” I dug in my pants pockets for his calling card, “I guess it sucks that he invited you for tomorrow night.”
“Invited? Ha!” Harry pounced forward with eye-blurring speed, snatching the card from my hand and holding it aloft like he’d made a dreadful discovery. “Who dares command me? That wandought? That pretentious little fop?”
“Wow.” I didn’t dare point out the irony, shifting my gaze to the tea. “Chamomile, Harry?”
“Rubbish!” he shouted, storming to one corner of the room while Mr. Merritt pretended to quietly mind his own business, once again arranging biscuits.
“I’m sure it is,” I said.
“He can go saddle a goose!” Harry bellowed, pacing back to the window.
That was a new one. “Doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, but okay.”
“Tommyrot!” Harry gnashed his teeth and his eyes flashed chrome. “Bilge drippings!”
“Sure, those.” It took all my strength not to roll my eyes.
“Hogwash and horsefeathers, I say!”
“Do you? Is that what you say, Harry?” I wilted with a sigh, flopping onto the bed, resigning myself to listening to his cannon blasts while he slipped into French, back to English, then sideways unexpectedly to German. That was new. I didn’t understand it any more than I did the French, though, and gave up to crawl under the covers, smiling appreciatively when Mr. Merritt handed me a pretty chintz teacup.
When Harry’s barrage finally stopped, I blew on the tea steam and said, “You ignored protocol so now you need to go see the Ghazmeister.”
My Cold Company visibly seethed about the injustice of having to present himself to someone he clearly despised, his unnatural chrome eyes wide with fury, fists clenched around the crumpled remains of Prince Merzyan’s calling card. In the end, he drew himself up to full height. “And so I shall. Do forget my indefensible podsnappery, if you can.”
“I dunno, man. Podsnappery is so hard to forget,” I said, sipping my tea.
Harry nodded once, his normally tidy, sandy-brown hair mussed by his tantrum. “Very well, then. Let the galley be rowed.”
“Let the egg be hatched!” I agreed.
Harry looked momentarily perplexed.
“Let the cookie be crumbled?” I tried.
When he refocused his irritation from Ghazaros to me, I fluttered my lashes and tried to look adorable. His shoulders sagged as the fight went out of him.
“Does ‘rowing the galley’ mean you’ll go, Harry?”
“I shall leave you to your comestibles, shall I? I’ve some mental preparations to do in case your insomniac policeman arrives seeking my assistance,” he said, though I was sure that “mental preparations” was code for playing Candy Crush. Harry hadn't been able to beat level three hundred for two days. I’d gotten to level sixty-five weeks ago and hadn’t tried again.
“Send me free lives!” I shouted at his retreating back.
Mr. Merritt gently bustled the tea trolley closer to my side of the bed, where I could reach everything from a resting position, then plumped and fluffed the pillows for me. He’d added a heavy wool blanket, remembering how I liked the weight for sleeping.
“I can do all this,” slipped out of my mouth before I remembered that my objections were not appreciated and would go unheeded anyway. I added, “Thank you.”
“Will Madam be needing anything further this evening?”
I thought about a room for Schenk, on the off-off chance he’d rather have Harry’s help than therapy, but I could sort that out without the old man’s help if it came up. “No, I’m good. Wow, that’s a lot of cookies.”
Mr. Merritt’s face wrinkled with a pleased smile. “I am familiar with your appetite, Madam,” he said fondly.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“As it was meant,” he said. “Your grandmother had a hearty appetite as well. It gave me great pleasure to cook for her.”
“Harry didn’t?”
His eyes bulged as though I’d suggested we organize a gang bang on the front lawn. “My Lord Dreppenstedt working in the kitchen? I should think not.”
Feeling scolded and mildly bemused, I asked, “Would it surprise you to know he cooks and bakes for me all the time at Shaw's Fist?”
He seemed to be trying to picture it in his head but was running into difficulty. Choosing his words carefully, he answered, “I don’t doubt there are a great many activities that our good lord could excel at, if he were of a mind to do so.”
I took my gloves off and treated my hands to a lotion rub. “If I asked you a question, would you be honest with me?”
“As honest as I am able to be, Madam.”
“Fair enough. You had guests,” I said, dunking a buttery shortbread cookie into my tea. “You don’t need to tell me who they were. I know that my brother Wesley was also here not too long ago. Thank you for caring for him.”
“You’re most welcome. I’m pleased to have Master Wesley back. I have found your brother’s company to be…” He hrmmed and then decided on, “invigorating in small doses.”
I barked a short laugh. “Diplomatic.” Mr. Merritt moved to make sure the bedroom drapes were shut tight against the night. “After Wes left, there were others. At least one man. I’m guessing two.”
“As you say, Madam, but they have not returned for some time. I was concerned, but was told not to mention their comings and goings, not even to Lord Dreppenstedt.”
“Who told you to keep it quiet?”
“Lord Dreppenstedt himself, Madam. He gave me strict instructions to pretend as though the house were empty, and to pay no mind whatsoever to the guests, as though they were mere spirits haunting the manor.” He fussed around like he was cleaning, though they wasn’t anything particular out of place; his hands lighted on the dresser and on the vanity, straightening things that were already straight. A nervous habit, I thought, like when Harry smoothed his shirt front or his eyebrows. “I was not to offer to make food. I was not to shop for them. I was not to leave a light on for them to come home to. I was not to put a fire on in the Winter Room. I was to keep to myself in my quarters and leave the rest of the house shut down as though I were alone. And I did as instructed, though I don’t mind telling you it felt unfriendly not to offer my services.”
“How long since you last noticed them here?”
“There was a coffee mug in the sink on Friday evening when I returned with my take-out fish and chips, just before seven in the evening,” he said. “When I picked it up to wash it, it was still warm to the touch and smelled of Lord Dreppenstedt’s hazelnut blend. All of the lights in North House were off, which was not unusual; the guests never put the lights on wh
en I wasn’t home. Crept around in the dark. I am not unaccustomed to this behavior, you understand,” he said with a somewhat fond smile and a glance to a sketch of Harry and Grandma Vi on the wall. “Why, when Lord Dreppenstedt is here alone, often the only light I have is the lantern I set on my dining table.”
“Friday evening,” I thought aloud. “So, four days ago.”
“No, Madam, the previous Friday.”
My hopes, foolish as they were, sank. I’d missed Batten by a full eleven days. A person with funds could get just about anywhere on Earth in the space of a day, but a revenant paying cash and traveling only by night had more constraints. Still. Eleven nights. He could be long gone.
“Where did he go?” I lamented, knowing Mr. Merritt wouldn't have a clue. My heart gave a squeeze of longing. “Why did he go? Did anyone come here looking for him?”
“No, Madam. The only person besides me that has been here was the service delivering clean linens.”
I froze. “Linens for what?”
“The bedrooms, Madam, sheets and towels and blankets and rugs. Things that needed cleaning and freshening before the master returned home. I’d hoped to have the curtains done, but I ran out of time.”
“What company do you use?”
“The same as always, of course,” he said, drawing himself up defensively. “Shield, the company that delivers Lord Dreppenstedt’s regular provisions for the freezer. I stocked up in case you weren’t able to join him at the last minute. The woman who came was the delivery person who always comes. She’s been thoroughly vetted. We’ve used this branch of Shield for decades. I promise you, there was no breach in our security. I’d stake my life on that.”
“I don’t doubt you, Mr. Merritt. Perhaps our guest didn’t know that, and got spooked by someone coming to the door.” I thought of Mitch Dunlop, the ex-cop from Michigan whom I suspected was still playing bodyguard to his old partner. “Or maybe his caregiver got spooked.”
I didn’t know whether or not Aston Sarokhanian would return to Niagara now that he’d moved on, but old revenants put down deep roots, and this was one of the most logical places to find him. He’d once had a home here, business connections, and support. He clearly maintained kin here. It was definitely the place Batten would be lying in wait for him, unless he’d gotten better intel. Did Batten understand that he might not be able to shield his presence from elder immortals simply by keeping the damn lights off? A cold flutter of queasy anxiety moved through my lower belly and I decided not to let it fester. Kill-Notch knew what he was doing. Didn’t he?
