Broom with a View (6 page)

The Count immediately clasped her hand in his, which were cold and dry. “Would it be too much to hope,” the Vampire ventured, “that you, Miss Popplewell, would befriend my boy? I know I ask much, but I can see that you have a kindly heart and look past the foolish prejudices of the world that nourish only hatred. I just want someone to show him that some magical folk, at least, are capable of kindness. It would give him hope.”

Violet wasn’t sure that her mother would approve of a friendship with a Vampire, especially a young male Vampire. And she knew for a fact that Vera would be apoplectic with shock if she found out. The most she could commit to was, “I... I’ll try.”

With that, she gently removed her hand from the Vampire’s grip and retreated to the cathedral’s immense front doors. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed the Count watching her go, looking more dejected than ever.

* * * * * * * * * *

After her frightening encounter with the owl-like shop owner, Miss Tartlette was determined to leave the subterranean world behind as quickly as possible. She explained to her friend that she’d had quite enough adventuring for one day and really should check on Violet.

“Oh, don’t be such a fussy old hen,” was Hippolyta's response. “I’m sure your charge can handle a half day on her own. She seems a perfectly capable girl. Besides, we haven’t even begun to explore the real X. There’s more to La Villa de la Notte besides fashionable shopping.”

Vera wasn’t sure how much more of the real X she could stand, but she also had no idea how to escape the underground city
, so she found herself at the mercy of Miss Hopkins’s whims.”

Hippolyta wandered through the fashion stalls, buying a scarlet scarf here, ordering a
n ermine muff there. As the two Witches waded deeper into the market, the merchants’ wares began to shift from the latest finery to more sinister offerings. “Are those bird skulls?” Vera asked in a half whisper, gazing down at a table covered with what at first she took to be decorative carvings.

“Yes,” was Hippolyta’s simple reply.

“Why on earth are those offered for sale?” Miss Tartlette leaned forwards to get a better look, squinting at the little bones.

“Don’t be so naive, Vera,” Miss Hopkins told her. “There are people who practice the dark arts
, and they must get their necessities somewhere.”

Vera took a decided step away from the table. She was feeling tired and had the beginnings of a headache. “Do you think there is anywhere we might rest for a
while and maybe have a spot of tea?”

Miss Hopkins examined her watch. “My Goddess, it’s half past twelve. My, how time flies when you don’t have the sun to guide you.” Slipping her watch back in
to her pocket, she said, “Now that you mention it, I am rather hungry.”

She led
Vera past dozens more stall-filled streets, under several carved arches with devils and maidens in stone relief smirking down at them, and over a canal via a charming bridge that split down the middle and flipped up like the lid on a jewelry box when barges stacked too high with cargo needed to pass.

“Here we are,” Hippolyta said, pushing open a tall wooden door and revealing an enormous room filled with long tables and crowded with people. “The banquet hall.”

The hall was illuminated by several rose-colored Italian glass chandeliers, which gave off a warm glow that enhanced the pallor of many of the diners. Long banquet tables were covered with starched white linen and staged with candelabras and crystal glassware. Even at a distance, Vera could tell solely by the sounds of the forks on the plates that the flatware was sterling.” Oh, I don’t know,” Miss Tartlette said hesitatingly. Her mind was on the measly contents of her pocketbook. “I really only need a cup of tea.”

“You can have whatever you like,” her friend said, breezing into the room. “There’s no bill. It’s all complimentary.”

Vera goggled at the closest table, where Mortals were quaffing champagne and devouring a heavily frosted cake. “You mean there’s no charge?” She was quite sure she’d seen someone being served a dish of caviar. “For all this food? How is that possible?”

“The Vampires provide it,” Miss Hopkins explained as she scanned the different tables, looking for a good spot. “There is an indirect bill for some diners, of course, but nothing the likes of you or I will likely be asked to pay.”

Vera was alarmed by her friend’s cavalier comments but also too afraid to ask for further details. She had to just trust that Miss Hopkins wouldn’t lead them into any real danger.

“Here’s a good spot,” Hippolyta said, indicating two open chairs that were at one end of a table crowded with young women all happily chatting and feasting on ices.

“Wouldn’t you prefer something a little more quiet?” Vera asked, wishing for a table a bit more out of the way where she could rest her eyes.

“No, I don’t believe that’s wise. This table will do nicely,” Miss Hopkins told her, sitting down with a decisive air. “Trust me, Vera. I know what I’m doing.”

Poor Vera had little choice but to take a seat, wanting nothing more than a hot cup of tea and a few biscuits.

“Tea, ladies?” A waiter magically appeared at Vera’s side proffering a tray with a steaming pot.

“Oh, yes, please,” Vera said, feeling excessively grateful that he hadn’t come over flapping menus at them.

“How about a few biscuits to nibble on while you gather your strength?” he asked, providing two bone china cups.

“That would be lovely,” Miss Hopkins assured him.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to settle in before bringing the rest of your order,” the waiter said, departing with great efficiency.

Vera gave a contented little sigh over her steaming cup as she relaxed slightly for the first time since entering the subterranean neighbourhood. “What a charming waiter,” she said. “It was almost like he could read my mind.”

“That’s because he can,” Hippolyta informed her as she added a lump of sugar to her brew.

“What?” Vera craned her head around to look after the waiter, her hand flying to the lace of her collar.

“Of course,” Miss Hopkins said. “All of the servers here are mind readers.” Then, in response to her friend
’s horrified look, she added. “Only about food, of course. They all have been charmed so that they can tell exactly what you want to eat and drink and when you want it.”

“That’s astonishing,” Vera couldn’t help but exclaim.

“It’s convenient,” her friend told her. “No fussing with all that nonsense of menus and specials. What you want is what you get.”

While they rested, Vera was at her leisure to regard the other people surrounding her. They were almost all clearly Mortals by the fact that they were in the banquet hall supping on fine food and drink. But their pale complexions and large eyes, unused to squinting in the sun, made it clear that they were not just visitors to Night Town, but inhabitants.

The people at their own table were a family of beautiful young women, shepherded by their still-handsome mother. Their skin was flawless and pale, as if they’d been consuming small bits of arsenic as a beauty treatment, but Vera shuddered when she thought about the real reason. It made no sense to her to shut such vivacious young women away from the sun.

“May I offer you a light gazpacho soup?” the waiter asked, magically appearing at Vera’s elbow.

Vera was startled and slightly indignant. It was true that she had just been thinking that a chilled soup would be refreshing, but it somehow felt impertinent that the waiter should just bring a bowl over to the table.

“She’ll take it
.” Miss Hopkins spoke up for her.

“And for you
, the watercress sandwich,” the waiter said, presenting the food with a flourish.

“Delightful,” Hippolyta said with a contented smile.

The soup was delicious; Vera had to admit. But such wonderful food at no cost made her suspicious. She knew from a couple hundred years of experience that there was no such thing as a free lunch. She began to observe the comings and goings of the banquet hall more closely, convinced something was not right.

It took only a few moments of quiet examination
for Vera to see that there was something odd about a small group of young men flitting around their table. They were not obtrusive in any way, beyond being remarkably handsome, and it was not uncommon for young men to gather where pretty girls were to be found. But there was something more to these young gentlemen, and Vera began to wonder what they were about. The three of them were impeccably dressed and had the deportment of cats rather than the swagger of young men. They were slim and pale, but their eyes were not those of the Mortals who chose to dwell in a world without sunlight; there was something more knowing, more cunning in each man’s visage.

“Who are those young fellow
s?” Vera asked her friend in a whisper. “The ones lurking about.”

“Wait and see,” was Hippolyta’s mysterious reply.

Shortly thereafter, one of the young men approached a girl at their table. She was easily the youngest and most beautiful of the sisters; a perfect bloom in a garden full of pretty flowers. She looked up, fright plainly written on her face. She turned away from the young man and silently sought help with pleading eyes from her mother at the far end of the table. But that handsome woman showed no compassion or aid; she simply nodded as if reminding the girl of her duty.

The young man held out his hand and the girl took it, reluctantly getting to her feet. She could not meet his eye
s, so he put a finger under her trembling chin and lifted it so he could gaze directly into her face. They locked eyes, hers full of terror, his intense and filled with the desire for possession. Then the girl suddenly relaxed; her shoulders rounding a little as the rigidness in her posture disappeared. She stopped trembling and became sanguine in her demeanor as the young man led her away from her family and out a small door discretely tucked in a far corner of the room.

“Where is he taking her?” Vera hissed across the table, alarmed for the girl’s safety.

“Oh, he won’t hurt her,” Hippolyta said. “Not really. She’ll just be a bit tired for a few days. I hope she had some red meat with her lunch.”

Miss Tartlette shook her head rapidly back and forth. “You don’t mean,” she stammered. “He can’t…” She rose in her chair slightly as if part of her wanted to chase after them and separate the pretty child from the villainous young man. “She’s just… And he’s…” Sinking back down into her chair, she took in a sharp breath. “I don’t understand,” she finally said.

“There are many Mortals that live in Night Town solely off the Vampires’ beneficence,” Miss Hopkins explained. “All of their needs are taken care of. They needn’t work at all, but in exchange…” She nodded in the direction that the couple had departed. “They must provide the one thing that a Vampire craves from a Mortal.” Hippolyta spread her hands, indicating the bounty of food being served at each table. “It’s not a bad life if you can tolerate the occasional bite.”

“That poor girl,” Vera exclaimed, her hand at her throat. “Someone should tell her mother what is happening. She can stop him if she acts now, before it’s too late.”

“Don’t be so naive, Vera,” Miss Hopkins scolded. “Her mother knows perfectly well what is going on. Why do you think she’s had so many pretty daughters?”

Miss Tartlette could not hide her shocked expression as she stared down the table at the mother, who didn’t seem at all disturbed by the fact that a Vampire had just gone off with her youngest girl to the Goddess knows where.

An alarming thought occurred to Vera. “And are we going to be expected to pay for our meal in the same manner?” she wanted to know, her hands starting to tremble slightly.

A devious laugh escaped Hippolyta’s lips. “It’s very unlikely,” she assured her friend. “Why do you think I chose this table? I knew with so many pretty girls about, the Vampires weren’t likely to notice two old Crones having a few sandwiches.
”

“Oh,” Vera said, a little stunned. She tried to take a sip of tea, but couldn’t stop her cup from rattling against the saucer. The waiter appeared from nowhere bearing a small aperitif glass. “Your
sherry, Madame,” he said, placing the liquor in front of her and then vanishing among the tables. Miss Tartlette was about to call after him, “But I didn’t order any cherie,” then remembered herself and, instead, took a grateful gulp.

It took a bit of persuading from Hippolyta, but Vera was eventually coaxed into having a bit of cake and some more tea. It felt very strange as they were preparing to go, not to have to settle up on any kind of bill. Vera almost felt like a thief sneaking out on a check from a fine restaurant.

As they were heading for the door, Miss Tartlette saw the family of beautiful daughters again. The youngest was back with them, but she looked impossibly pale, with a splash of red on her collar, and she was unable to stand without the support of her sisters. “Will she be all right?” Vera had to wonder, feeling frightened for the child.

“I’m sure a day or two of rest and she’ll be right a
s rain,” Miss Hopkins assured her. “Now, come along. There’s so much more I want to show you.”

Miss Tartlette followed blindly after her friend but felt a terrible chill as if her bones had turned to ice. Even though they had dined without personal sacrifice, she knew there was a good lesson to be remembered
: someone always has to pay the check.