Broom with a View (22 page)

The proposed night flight still wasn’t settled by the dinner gong. Sebastian sat down with the family, even going to the trouble of cutting his food and moving it around his plate to appear more natural and put everyone at their ease. If he was at all regretful about spreading his wings in mixed company, he didn’t show it in the least.

“Don’t you see,” Sonny addressed Mr. Wilberforce over the main course of mutton and roasted potatoes, unwilling to let the proposed activity for the evening fade away. “If you don’t join us, it makes it all rather awkward. We can’t exactly just leave you behind while we’re all off zooming about the skies, enjoying ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s no persuading me,” Cyril said in a stiff tone, cutting his meat into uniform, bite
-sized pieces. Violet had only recently become aware of this habit of Cyril’s, and she was doing her best to find it endearing.

“I’m simply no good at this magic stuff,” Mr. Wilberforce said by way of an excuse. “I’d much rather stay here and listen to the fascinating conversation of your mother.” As he said it, his mouth twitched at the corner as if he’d found something very entertaining and was trying to conceal his amusement from the rest of the table.

“No good at magic or not interested in magic?” Sebastian wanted to know.

“Why split hairs?” Mr. Wilberforce said with a shrug to show he found the question inconsequential.

“Well, if that’s your opinion, anyone can see why you’d be so eager to engage yourself to a Witch,” Sonny said, earning himself a look of rebuke from his mother. He ignored the look, and Mr. Wilberforce ignored the comment, choosing instead to polish his spectacles with his napkin.

Meeting the gaze of his sister across the table, Sonny asked, “Are you sure about this whole Mortal union? It’ll be awfully inconvenient. You’ll have to travel everywhere by coach.”

“Sonny.” His mother emitted a low hiss of censure.

“Say what you will about Mortal living,” Sonny continued, “but given the choice, I think I would rather marry a Vampire.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Professor Yog muttered over his turnips.

“Dear me,” Aunt Vera said, clutching at the lace of her collar.

“That puts me in mind—I read a surprising bit of news today on the Grapevine,” Mrs. Popplewell said, desperate to turn the conversation away from her daughter’s engagement.

“The Grapevine?” Cyril asked.

“The Witch’s Grapevine,” she told him. “It’s how we get our news.”

“And all the gossip,” Sonny added dryly. “But go on
; tell us the news.”

“Well, it was all about a romance between a Vampire and a Witch,” Mrs. Popplewell continued in a bit of an awed voice.

“I didn’t know they were publishing fiction these days,” Professor Yog said with a loud harumph.

“It’s not fiction,” the hostess insisted. “It was a report from Hippolyta Hopkins herself. She’s been a reliable source of news for the last two centuries.”

“Ah, Miss Hopkins,” Mr. B said with a smile. “We all knew her in X. Lovely woman.”

Violet shot her aunt a penetrating look
, and Vera shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“I always find what ladies consider ‘news’ so fascinating,” Cyril said with a smirk. “I mean, never mind about the financial section.” When his future mother-in-law gave him an offended look
—she was, after all, trying to change the subject on his behalf—he quickly added, “Go on. Tell us about the article. I really do want to hear the details.”

“Well, it took place during the riots in X, in a ruined Vampire castle outside the city,” Mrs. Popplewell explained, warming to her story.

Sebastian sought to meet Violet’s eye, but she turned away. “Mother, no one wants to hear that romantic nonsense.”

“I do,” Cyril insisted. “Please go on, Mrs. Popplewell.”

“The girl snuck away from where her family was gathered to climb the sole standing tower in the giant ruined castle.”

“Why would she do that?” Mr. Wilberforce wondered. “Seems rather foolish.”

“Don’t you see? It was by design,” his hostess replied. “She went there to meet her undead lover.”

“Let’s not speak of this,” Miss Tartlette interrupted. “It’s too dreadful. I feel like I’m reading
The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne
. I have goose flesh crawling up my spine.”

“Don’t be so silly,” Mrs. Popplewell told her. “It’s just a report on the Vine. It’s not like the girl’s your cousin or anything.”

“I still don’t wish to hear,” Vera insisted. “And neither does Violet.”

“I think Miss Popplewell can speak her own mind,” Sebastian stated in a deep, steady voice.

Since her daughter said nothing, Mrs. Popplewell continued. “So as this young woman is at the top of the tower, looking at X burning in the distance, her Vampire lover swoops out of the night, clutches her in his arms, and embraces her.”

“He bit her on the neck?” Mr. B asked, a bit surprised.

“No,” Mrs. Popplewell explained, “he kissed her.”

“And what’s so remarkable about that?” Mr. Wilberforce wanted to know. He had embraced his own fiancée quite passionately on more than one occasion.

“It’s so hard to explain to someone who’s not from our world.” Mrs. Popplewell struggled to find the words.

“It’s just not done!” Professor Yog boomed, slamming the palm of his hand down on the table. “Witches and Vampires have never been together and will never be together. Not since the dawn of time and not for a hundred years hence. Imagine the unrest! Imagine the chaos!”

“But it has happened,” Mrs. Popplewell said in a calming voice. Turning back to Cyril, she added, “It has no precedent. That’s why it’s causing such a scandal in the Crafter community.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” Vera insisted. “Lies. It’s all lies,” she stated emphatically.

“But I thought Miss Hopkins was your friend,” Mr. B said, giving the lady a penetrating look. “You’ve known her since she was a girl. Would she make up such a report?”

“Well, her imagination has obviously run away with her this time,” Vera insisted. “I’m sure she just wrote it to cause a fuss. Maybe circulation has been down or something.”

“It would be fascinating, don’t you think, Miss Popplewell?” Mr. B asked, trying to get Violet’s attention from across the table. “It’s such a fine line between enemies and lovers.”

“I’m sure it’s just an idle report,” Violet said, abruptly pushing her chair away from the table and causing all the men to make a show of rising a little in their chairs. All except Professor Yog, of course, who had already let everyone know that he was too old for such gallant nonsense. “I’d planned a little picnic for our night flight, but if it isn’t going to be, then I’d better get the food back in the larder.” She gave her fiancé the sweetest of smiles
. “Cyril, would you please come with me? I could use a bit of help.”

Mr. Wilberforce did not acknowledge the sweet smile of the girl who was soon to be his wife. Instead, he looked put upon. “Not now, my dear. I’m still riveted by your mother’s enchanting story. And besides,” he said, adjusting his spectacles on their perch. “I really don’t feel that cleaning up is a man’s job. That’s something better left to the women or the servants.”

“I’ll assist you,” Sebastian said, bounding to his feet so quickly he rattled the china.

“No, that’s perfectly al
l right,” the girl told him. “There isn’t that much to do, and you’re a guest.”

“Oh, let him help if he’s so eager to be useful,” Cyril interjected, tilting back his head so he could look down his nose at the stalwart Vampire.

“I have a bit of correspondence that I just remembered I need to send right away,” Professor Yog said, pushing away from the table. “Mrs. Popplewell, might I bother you for a pen and a scrap of paper?”

“You’ll find
what you need in the office at my writing desk,” the hostess told him. “Violet will show you where everything is.”

After Violet saw Professor Yog settled with quill and stationery, she headed for the kitchen. “I really don’t need your help, Mr. Du Monde,” Violet insisted as the Vampire trailed after her carrying the picnic basket that she had packed earlier in the afternoon. “I was just hoping to have some time alone with my fiancé.”

“He’s a fool not to spend every second he can with you,” the Vampire said in a hushed yet passion
-filled voice. “His Mortal life is so short, yet he wastes it on foolish talk instead of worshiping at your feet.”

Violet felt her face go hot and her heart start to beat like a kettle drum. “Please, Mr. Du Monde, if you’ll just place the basket there
.” She pointed to the empty butcher’s block. “Then you can rejoin the others.”

Sebastian set down his load as instructed
, and Violet moved to one side to let him pass by on his way out of the larder. But instead of leaving her to her chore, he caught her in his arms and pressed his lips against hers.

Fire raced up Violet’s spine. She knew she should cry out to signal for help. She should call for Cyril to come and fight the brute for insulting her. But that’s not what she did.

Instead, she found herself responding to his passion; her lips moved, her tongue sought, her body arched involuntarily and pressed against his lithe form. She found herself, against her will, brushing aside an errant curl and pulling at the collar of her blouse to expose the flesh of her neck. A word found its way onto her tongue, a single, whispered word. “Please,” she said, lips trembling.

Chapter 21: The Charms of a Vampire

Miss Tartlette was in a quandary as to what she should do and how she should act. When she had related the events of her niece at the ruined castle to Miss Hopkins, she had meant it as a secret bit of gossip between old friends. Believing she shared the information in confidence, she had never in a million years imagined that Hippolyta would report the outrage on the Vine for the whole Crafting world to read.

Hearing Mrs. Popplewell relay the details of Violet’s humiliation had sent Vera practically into a state of paralysis. And to have the very fiend who insulted her sitting at the table must have been more than the poor girl could stand. Violet had left the room so quickly
, and that beast had followed her. If only Mr. Wilberforce knew how much danger his fiancée was in, then he could fight the undead villain and vanquish his love. But Mr. Wilberforce did not know. Nor was he likely to find out, at least not by Vera’s lips. That was a decision only Violet could make. Still, Vera thought, her dear niece was probably in the clutches of the Vampire at that exact moment, and all she could do was sit there unable to move or even sound the alarm.

“Excuse me,” Miss Tartlette finally managed to croak out, although her throat felt very dry. “I think I’ll just go and check on Violet.” There was the usual bobbing of men as she got to her feet.

Miss Popplewell was not in the dining room or the kitchen. “Where can she be?” Vera fretted to herself. The fiend can’t possibly have snatched her and flown into the night. Could he? Alarmed, Vera hurried across the kitchen and burst through the door of the larder to find Violet in the arms of the Vampire, passionately embracing him, her fingers tangled in his hair.

“Unhand her!” Vera commanded in a sharp whisper, slapping at the beast’s shoulders and arms. “Leave her alone, you vile creature! She is pure and will remain unsoiled by the likes of you.”

Sebastian immediately released the young Witch, but Violet wasn’t quite ready to do the same. She remained poised, eyes closed, with her head tilted back and her lips slightly parted as if she was trying to memorize every sensation of that exact moment.

“Violet!” Vera gasped, even more scandalized than she had been a few seconds earlier. “Are you able to move? Has he somehow entranced you?” The girl opened her eyes, blinked repeatedly
, and looked at her aunt a bit confused. This was all the proof Miss Tartlette needed that there was some type of undead magic controlling her niece. She grabbed some celery off the nearest shelf and began striking the Vampire with the stalks. “I said unhand her!”

After making sure Violet was steady on her feet, Sebastian quickly departed out the larder door and through the kitchen.

“Violetta, are you quite all right?” Miss Tartlette said with a gasp, dropping her wilted weapon.

The girl hardly knew what she was about, but she assumed she was al
l right because she felt a wave of irritation with her aunt for chasing off Sebastian and resurrecting the nickname she’d tried to launch in X. “Yes, I’m quite fine, Vera. There’s no reason to get hysterical.”

“No reason?” her aunt said with a gasp. “If ever there was a reason to get hysterical, this is it. How dare he insult you again? And in your own home. If I were you, I should never get over the outrage.”

“But this is your fault, Vera,” the girl said hotly. “He never would have come after me again if it wasn’t for you.”

“My fault?” Vera stared at her niece, eyes wide and innocent as one of the falsely accused.

“You’re the one that told that horrible Miss Hopkins about what happened in the castle ruins. It had to have been you. And now she’s shared it with the whole world. I doubt there’s a Crafter in England who hasn’t heard of it.”

“But you can’t blame me for his insulting you a second time,” Vera stammered, her eyes brimming with tears. “If I thought I was the cause of the outrage, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Violet was truly angry, but taking out her emotions on her aunt for what amounted to just foolish gossip wouldn’t serve. “It’s all right, Vera,” she said, softening her tone and patting Miss Tartlette on the arm. “It’s not your fault. And it’s not Mr. Du Monde’s fault, either. Not entirely.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Vera asked, her eyebrows making a sharp V. “How is this outrage possibly not his fault?”

“He could show more restraint, but he is laboring under the powers of the love charm, after all,” was the reply.

“Do you really think it has that much influence?” Vera said with a gasp. “You said it was only a trifle from a tourist shop.”

Violet nodded. “It has to be the charm. It’s the only explanation for such deplorable manners.”

“Oh my,” Vera said with a tremulous breath. “What will you do?”

Squaring her shoulders, Violet commanded. “Go and find him, Vera. Send him to me in the parlour. I will end this thing once and for all. I will break the love charm and banish the Vampire from the house.”

Violet did not at all feel like she had the strength to expel Mr. Du Monde from her home or from her life. It was already taking all of her energy not to think about him at any given moment of the day. But she had to be strong; she had to somehow find the resolve to end things once and for all.

She began clearing a vase and some bric
-a-brac from a small table. She thought if they could just sit down like civilized people, she could do what needed to be done. But her hands were still trembling from the memory of his lips against hers, and she absentmindedly chipped a corner off of a small crystal nut dish that she knew for a fact had been a wedding present to her mother from a favourite uncle. It was just the small tip of one corner, and Violet thought she just might enchant it back into place. Her mother would never know the difference. A quick flick of her wand turned the nut dish into a crystal model of a tall mast sailing ship complete with ropes, sails, and sailors. The chip was a shipmate that had somehow fallen overboard. Violet stared at the ship, blinking a few times. “Mother will definitely notice this,” she said in a bewildered whisper.

Sebastian strode eagerly into the room, a few celery strands still clinging to his jacket from Miss Tartlette’s attack. Violet was grateful for the table between them. She felt she needed tangible objects to obstruct her impulse to fall back into his arms.

“Mr. Du Monde,” she began, a little unsteadily. “As you know, I am engaged to Mr. Wilberforce, and I do not appreciate you constantly insulting me with your brutish behaviour.”

“If I am such a threat to you
, if you’re afraid for your safety, you could always cast a protection spell,” Sebastian pointed out. “You are, after all, a very powerful Witch.”

“This is no time for teasing, Mr. Du Monde,” Violet crisply informed him.

“Do you think I make a joke?” the Vampire asked, both his dark eyebrows rising high on his forehead.

“I know you make a joke,” was her reply. “I’m hopeless at magic. I just tried to fix a chip in a crystal nut dish and ended up with this,” she said, gesturing at the schooner.

“You cast an impenetrable spell of protection around the Wilberforce’s villa, yet you can’t fix a simple chip?” Sebastian said, shaking his head, amusement playing across his lips. “The genius of your magic seems to be only when you are doing something for others. Why is it, do you think, that you can never do any magic for yourself?”