Beautiful Freaks (29 page)

He smiled his best social smile and extended a hand of sportsmanship. “Well, thank you, Miss Valentine. You’ve been most helpful.”

“Oh, Inspector, I suspect I’ve been most unhelpful, I’m afraid.”

He winced another smile and let go of her hand.

“Please see yourself out. And, if I can be of any further assistance then please do not hesitate to call again.”

He went to leave and then a thought came to him, “Perhaps I might call one evening and see the club in action.”

Eve laughed, “Oh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. It’s strictly members only.”

Steptree nodded and left. He’d never been happier to walk out into the cold energising air of autumn.

18

WEAPONS OF TRUTH

Kaspian closed the book but the printed image of Eve had magically transferred to the back of his eyelids. It was impossible – but then again, everything at No. 7 was impossible. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Wasn’t he himself
an impossibility
? A phantom.

The book had ended abruptly. Halfway through an investigation Doctor Valentine had died of a stroke, leaving his work incomplete. They had been in Romania, investigating the local legend of a vampire. The place had been rich in folklore. The pen and ink sketch showed the village was tucked into the folds of a valley; two imposing castles guarded it like two sentinels. The whole impression was that of a fairy tale world. There had been rumours of a vampiric aristocratic family, the House of Alucard, living in one of them. As Kaspian poured over the details of the legends, a nervous excitement flowed through him. He wondered if Doctor Valentine’s stroke had been as natural as it seemed.

At the back of the book, a piece of paper had been slipped in between the pages. It was fragile, weakened by time. Kaspian opened it up and strained to read it; the ink had faded making it almost impossible to read; only a few sections were still legible. The paper contained some research notes from a previous owner.

Notes of Mr. John Deely.
Romania. September 1754

T
he village
folk claim that his own daughter murdered the eminent Doctor Valentine. The innkeeper’s wife quite clearly remembers the young woman who went by the name Evangeline. There had been a fight between the two and she had cursed her father to hell. By next sunrise he was dead. A witch-hunt set forth but she was not returned.

…

It is believed the young woman fell in love with the son, and only surviving heir of the Astarot family … vampyre … human spirit … shot dead by her father.

…

Tomorrow I will venture up to the castle. The village folk say that it is abandoned. I am hoping to …

At this point the notes ran out. Kaspian wondered if Mr. John Deely had returned from his adventure. Kaspian re-read the passage, desperate to decipher more of it.

He flicked back to the image of Eve. Was it possible that ‘his’ Eve was this woman’s granddaughter? The likeness was beyond the normal but he supposed that this was a more logical explanation than Eve being the victim of a vampire attack a hundred and fifty years ago.

“I have no soul!”
her words echoed in his memory. 

His hand trembled. He was in love with her; totally bewitched by her. But maybe that was how it worked. During the evening he had spent with her, he’d never felt so alive.

The image of the sailor girl swam into his mind and he recalled his lips touching her cherry-stained lips. As he had kissed her, he had drunk her in and stolen her soul.
‘We are on
e
of the same,’
he thought.

He closed his eyes, travelled back in his mind to Eve’s bedroom. Memories of their lovemaking crowded in on him. The thoughts were rich and luxuriant.

When he opened them, he found himself lying on Eve’s bed.

*

Kaspian’s heart hammered in his chest as he swung his legs over the side of her bed. He still wasn’t used to his capacity to move through space and time in the blink of an eye and the feeling left him feeling somewhat disorientated. However a smile soon spread across his lips as the sudden understanding of possibility entered his head. He could go almost anywhere he desired, including visiting Eve in the night, without the watchful eyes of Doctor Heartlock or the town gossips. He let out an almost hysterical laugh as he thought on how fat he would
get not having
to walk to places. He crammed his balled up fist into his mouth to stifle the laughter. Eve might not take kindly to Kaspian invading her space.

He got a hold of himself, calmed himself down and listened carefully to see if there were any sounds of life in the place. It was as silent as the grave. He tiptoed out of her bedroom and onto the landing. The house was empty; he could sense it. Growing in confidence, he strode through the house as if he were a conquering prince. He went into the salon, poured
himself
a whisky from the decanter and prowled around the room, looking at the various paintings and objects of art. He had failed to notice the details of the place on his previous visits, always slightly overwhelmed by the overall impression. There were some interesting paintings; works by Degas and Whistler, contemporary and expensive. He moved over to the large mirror dressed with the black and gold drapes.
“I’m sure this is where the door to the theatre is,”
he thought.

He ran his finger over the glass, half expecting to find it insubstantial, a trick of the eye, allowing him to pass right through it – straight into wonderland. It was solid and cold. Alarm beat at him. Instinct told him to be careful; mirrors were traps – like Narcissus they could hold him there to witness his own decay. A shiver ran up Kaspian’s spine and he downed the rest of his whisky, feeling grateful for its warming sensation.

He poured himself another shot and sat down in the nearest armchair. The excitement of it all was almost tiring. And, although initially excited to wander around Eve’s space without her presence, he was now kind of hoping she might mysteriously appear so that he might spend the afternoon in her bed.

He closed his eyes, took himself back to the very first night Hugh had brought him to see ‘The Palace of Beautiful Freaks’. It had been a magical evening, full of wonder and amazement. It had promised Kaspian a life more extraordinary but there was a price, and that was a restless dissatisfaction between the moments of pleasure,
a boredom
so intense and violent that it made him feel on the edge of lunacy. His thoughts drifted back to the wonders of the theatre. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

When he opened his eyes he found himself sitting in one of the velvet chairs of the empty theatre. He laughed to himself. “I’ve got to get some control over this,” he said to nobody.

“Yes, you do, you really do.”

The voice came from behind him, causing him to start and splash a drop of whisky onto the floor. He turned to look in the direction of its owner. A stage was exposed, the curtains pulled aside. It was Alicia. She sat on the silver chaise lounge. Her wolf was curled at her feet and she was reading a book.

“Excuse me, I didn’t realise there was anybody here,” Kaspian said.

“There’s just me; the others are all out – stalking.”

Kaspian rose from his chair, walked towards the glass that she sat behind. He had forgotten just how exquisite she was. “Out?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“So they live here?”

Alicia nodded her head as if surprised by his question and responded, “Of course we live here.”

Kaspian looked around the theatre. He was confused. He hadn’t seen any living quarters besides Eve’s. “Where do you sleep?”

“Why, in our pens of course.” Alicia’s tone was heavy with sarcasm.

He stepped back. Embarrassment replaced confusion as he started to understand that he wasn’t surrounded by different performance stages but by a series of cells.

Alicia looked at him over the top of her book. Seeing his facial expression, she gave out a laugh that sounded like tinkling glasses. “Oh, you didn’t know! You didn’t know that we’re Eve’s captives.” Her laugh turned cold and bitter.

Kaspian rested his head against the glass-pane that separated them. “What do you mean ‘Captives’?” he whispered.

“You’ll find out soon enough; she has a cell waiting for you.”

All at once Kaspian felt as if he might be sick. He moved quickly, sweeping aside each of the seven curtains until he came to the final one – the one meant for him. Placing the heavy fabric behind its hook, he stepped back and drank in the details. The whole space was made out of mirrors, like the mirror-rooms he had heard about in the French palaces. Hanging from the ceilings were glass balls perfectly round, perfectly hollow.

“See. Perfect for you!”

Alicia was suddenly by the side of him; he could feel the ice-cold air coming from her in waves.

“How did you…?” he asked.

“We’re allowed out to roam. Why else would all the cells be empty?”

“I don’t know…” Kaspian said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I understand any of this.”

Alicia raised the hem of her dress to expose perfect ankles; around one was a small gold cuff and a fine golden chain.

“It’s invisible to the human eye. You can see it because you are a magical. It allows us to travel within a mile radius of her, but no further. It gives us the illusion of freedom, but really we’re her prisoners.” She lifted her foot and wiggled it, causing the chain to bounce around. “I’m not sure she’ll afford you the same luxury. I think you might be harder to chain down, phantom.”

As she said the word ‘phantom’ she stared at him intensely. He looked back towards his cell. It sparkled silver and gold. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself leaping from one surface to another, trapped for all time in a loop of imprisonment. It certainly would make a delightful spectacle. He imagined the look of madness on his face.

“Why?” Kaspian asked. “What does she want with me?”

“We each have something that she desires, a
special
quality.” Alicia turned on her heels, reminding him of her dance. “Think of this as a kind of living pantry. Eve comes her to feast on our powers – making her strong, beautiful, and young.”

“Why, that’s hideous!” Kaspian exclaimed.

“Is it? Surely it is just part of the natural food cycle. Each time we kill, we get stronger. Each time we get stronger, so does Eve. The trick is to get strong enough so that even when she’s drunk from us, we are strong enough to escape her. It’s kind of a race – a game if you’d rather see it that way.”

“I don’t think I want to play,” Kaspian responded wearily.

“Hmm, I’m not sure you’ll have a choice. I think she’s already made your heart a captive, now all that remains is for your body to follow.” Alicia sidled up to him, her breath cold on his skin. “You really are very beautiful, Kaspian Blackthorne … such a sweet sorrow.”

“I have to go,” Kaspian whispered.

“Yes, I think you better had. And if you want a word of advice, don’t come back.”

Kaspian closed his eyes and thought of the safety of home. Within the blink of an eye he was sat on the edge of his bed, a crystal whisky glass still in his hand. He tipped the remaining whisky down his throat, hoping it might burn off the tears that were gathering.

19

THE NET CLOSES

Steptree decided to walk home. He needed to focus and process the events of the last hour. He’d left No. 7 feeling drained and confused, as if all his spirit had been sapped. The feel of the biting air had refreshed him and enlivened his mind. He understood that he was playing an intricate game with Miss Valentine.
‘All games have rules, all games have strategy,’
he thought to himself. All he had to do was figure out the rules and work out a strategy.

Although he had no evidence whatsoever, he was certain that the key to the crimes he’d been investigating lay with the exquisite Miss Valentine. Having met her, he was entirely convinced she was capable of murder – in fact he had never met somebody so entirely murderous. There was something about her that made Steptree feel deeply disgusted. He was not a religious man; he believed more in the human mind than the human soul, but when he was with Miss Valentine he couldn’t help but think he was looking on a satanic abomination – a beautiful one at that.

She reminded him of the demonic Lady Macbeth, a woman so hell bent on power that she traded her own soul. The only thing with Lady Macbeth was that she was a fool to herself; he didn’t think Miss Valentine was quite so gullible.

The presence of the playing card in his home had stained his domestic happiness; now he sensed a deep and dark threat over his family and he knew he should start making precautions – but against what? Was her darkness just a shade of human nature or something more malevolent? Would it be enough to ensure that all the doors and windows were bolted before bed, or did he need a priest?