Earthly Delights (28 page)

‘Are you going to Blood Lines tonight?’ I yelled up to her.

‘Yes!’ she called down.

‘See you there!’ I said, and watched her mouth drop open.

I talked to Jason in the bakery. He had finished his next
muffin experiment and it was really good. Just salty enough. I asked him what was in it. He counted on his fingers.

‘Parsley, mint, thyme, some sage and a leaf or two of coriander.’

‘I can taste that now. Just the right degree of spice, not overwhelming. Very good, Muffin Man.’

‘They would be perfect with soup,’ he said wistfully.

‘But we don’t sell soup,’ I said automatically. Still, soup and one of these savoury muffins was a possibility and I could always donate the leftovers of both to the soup van. ‘It’s a good idea for the depths of winter,’ I said. ‘Do some research. Find us some good soup recipes. There’s a shelf of cookbooks in my kitchen. Jason, you need to find somewhere to live. The nights are getting colder. While you’re probably not going to die of exposure, you’re too thin to sleep on the ground and the company isn’t very choice.’

‘The city’s pretty dear,’ he said. ‘But I could get a room in a backpackers’ if you start paying me.’

‘True. Would you like to do that?’

‘What, me own bed? A place to keep my stuff? Maybe some clothes? And not to have to listen out.’ ‘Yeah,’ he breathed. ‘Sleeping rough you always have to sleep light. Or someone’ll steal your stuff or … you could be in trouble, or the cops’ll arrest you. I been sleeping too deep these days to be safe.’

‘Right. Let’s gather you a change of clothes and you can get a room. I’ll pay you the basic apprentice’s wage for the time being. You can think about what you want to do later. Where’s your stuff?’

‘Stashed in the park. I’ll go and get it before the blokes come back,’ he said. ‘You mean it, Corinna?’

‘Yes, I mean it,’ I said.

He didn’t say anything. I gave him a shrunk skivvy and a pair of too-small track pants. I packed up his dinner in the usual supermarket bag. I handed over
Savoury Soups
for his bedtime reading and I counted out his first week’s wages and paid them into his hand.

He stared at the money. Then he took half and thrust the remainder at me. ‘Keep it for me?’ he asked.

I put the money in an envelope and wrote Jason on the front. ‘Tomorrow you get a bank account,’ I said.

‘I can’t,’ he replied. ‘I got no ID.’

‘We’ll deal with it next week,’ I said. ‘I’ll put this envelope under the tray in the till. Tomorrow I might be late. I have to go out to Blood Lines tonight.’

‘You still looking for the killer?’ he said. I nodded.

Then Jason grabbed me in a hard, unexpected, throttling embrace.

‘You be careful,’ he said. ‘You make that dude Daniel look out for you.’

‘I will,’ I gasped. He released me as suddenly as he had grabbed me. ‘I’ll come at four,’ he said. ‘If you’re not here, I’ll wait. Thanks, Corinna.’

He ran off as though he was afraid that I might change my mind. People were running away from me a lot today.

They must be detecting my inner dominatrix. I locked up and went upstairs to get some sleep. Both Horatio and the Mouse Police, unusually, joined me.

I had dozed the uneasy doze of a woman pinned down by three solid cats at different points on her doona and I was glad to get up, shower and let Cherie in. She looked different, somehow; perhaps older. Or maybe younger. She was carrying a case and when she opened it I saw that it was full of makeup. She took out a large bottle.

‘We need to put this all over any exposed skin and sit still till it dries,’ she instructed. ‘If you move it looks like you’re a hundred and five. Good if you’re going for that “returned from the grave” look, though. While you’re sitting I’ll do your nails. Have you got a name yet?’

‘You know my name,’ I said weakly as she smeared the white foundation all over my face, neck and breast.

‘Your Goth name,’ she said patiently, smoothing more foundation on my neck.

‘I hadn’t thought. What sort of names do female Goths have?’

‘Depends on who you’re being. If you’re an Edgar Allan Poe freak, you pick a name like Carmilla. If you’re into Angel
or Buffy, you pick a Latin name. Or use Demona. Victoria. An Anne Rice name—we got a lot of Anne Rice names. Lilith. What would you like to be?’

‘The costume is from Mistress Dread,’ I said.

‘Oh, then you’re a dominatrix. Lady someone. I’ll just wash my hands. Through here?’

While she was away I thought about it. There would be Morticias and Incubas and Succubas by the score. Who was the goddess that I felt truly expressed my personality as I wanted it to be? I had listened to Meroe tell me stories about the Celtic gods and the Prof about the Greek ones. Diana/Artemis, the hunter? Would need a more athletic figure than mine. Hecate, the Hag, lady of the three ways, goddess of exits and entrances, Lady of Witches? I wasn’t old enough. Rhiannon, Bloddfluedd, Ceridwen? Rhiannon, Lady of Sleep, Bloddfluedd, Maiden Made of Flowers and Ceridwen and her cauldron of renewal. No. Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos? The Fates. The Spinners. Clotho who spun the thread of life, Lachesis who measured it, and Atropos who cut it. None of them really matched me. Astoreth? Astarte? Ishtar? Perhaps I was a muse? I didn’t think so. Then I had it. When Cherie came back I said, trying not to move my lips, ‘Lady Medusa’.

‘Cool,’ she said. ‘Who was she?’

‘A beautiful monster in Ancient Greece. Her glance could turn men to stone.’

‘That’ll work. Lestat “My gift is death” will be pleased. He likes clever names. He thinks most Goths are unimaginative. You’re drying nicely,’ she said. She took my hand and began painting my nails bright red. Horatio removed himself. He hates the smell of nail polish. One reason why I never wear the stuff. It had improved since I last used it. It dried much faster.

‘Do you know Lestat well?’ I asked.

Cherie shrugged. ‘I don’t think anyone does. He’s very respected. But he plays blood games and I never do. If they let you into the crypt you’ll see. Gross.’ She obviously felt uncomfortable and changed the subject abruptly. ‘You ought to come up and see how my room looks now. Dad kept all my stuff. I never thought I’d see it again. Lots of it’s just junk but it’s my junk, you know?’

‘Your history,’ I said. ‘And your teddy bear,’ I added.

‘You know, I almost went back for Pumpkin Bear,’ said Cherie. ‘I just knew that Mum would throw him away. But Dad rescued him. And he looked for me everywhere. But I wasn’t on the street so he didn’t find me there. He did try very hard. Poor Dad.’

‘Are you going to keep working at the dress shop?’

‘For a week,’ she replied. ‘Donna gave me a job when I turned up and said I couldn’t go on the books. I owe her. But Dad says he’ll spot me to do a catch-up school course next year and then I want to get into RMIT. Do fashion design. Donna’s been letting me design Goth stuff for her. From next Thursday, Dad and I are going to have a holiday.’

‘A good idea,’ I said. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Here,’ said Cherie. ‘He’s going to take me to the zoo and the movies and teach me to cook. He’s a good cook. You wouldn’t know it from his fridge, though. We’re going to do all the stuff we would have done if … it hadn’t all gone wrong. I’m going to help him get off the bottle. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. And I never dared take any time off, because I never had enough money and I didn’t know if Donna could hold the job for me. I haven’t had a day off since I left home, except that one time when I caught the flu. I need a rest.’

It struck me that Donna had got rather a good deal. I suspected that Cherie might be just the person to design
clothes for today’s well-dressed Goth. Then again, I had just extorted a week’s free work out of an ex-junkie who slept in Flagstaff Gardens.

While she was talking, Cherie had been making up my face with effortless efficiency. She piled my hair up on top of my head and pinned it there with two black lacquered chopsticks and a few invisible hairpins. She buckled the spiked collar around my throat. The spiked armlets closed around my wrists.

I looked into the mirror. My face was bleached white. My lips were red as blood. Dark shadows rimmed my eyes, which looked much brighter in contrast.

I stood up, shedding my dressing gown, and Cherie dropped the red dress over my head without stirring a hair. I put on the corset and laced it as tightly as I could while retaining any lung function at all.

And there was the transformation. I was stunning. I rustled lusciously as I moved. My breasts rose as though I was floating in water. Cherie picked up my handbag.

‘What are you going to need? You shouldn’t carry anything in your hands but your whip,’ she instructed. ‘There’re pockets in the dress.’

So there were. Deep ones. I dropped my wallet, lipstick, keys, a handkerchief and a mobile phone into the left one and they vanished without a trace into the depths of the dress. I felt for them and they were all there, hanging at about knee level.

‘Make sure the phone is off,’ warned Cherie. ‘If it rings you are history.’

‘It’s hardly ever on,’ I said. ‘Anything else I need to know?’

‘Keep your head up and take no shit from anyone,’ said Cherie. ‘Have a good time. I gotta go. I’m watching
The Princess Bride
with Dad. He bought the video.’

I thanked her and saw her out and indulged myself in a few twirls. I had never worn anything like that red dress. I loved it. I practised walking in it, like a lady, with the front held up in both hands. Then I practised stalking like a dominatrix and found that it swished agreeably as I strode.

Then the door buzzer went and I gathered my black cloak, threw it around me, and went down, almost hoping to meet Mrs Pemberthy in the lift.

A black stretch limo with darkened windows was waiting. A uniformed chauffeur opened the door. I got in. There was Daniel, swathed in black like myself. He leaned forward and kissed me. Mistress Dread was in the opposite seat. The car pulled silently away from the kerb.

‘Have a drink, dear,’ said the Lady of Phantoms, opening a drinks cabinet and taking out a cocktail shaker. It was a White Lady, very strong.

‘Nothing but red wine in the club,’ she said. ‘I always have one drink to soothe my nerves.’

‘I don’t believe you have any nerves,’ I said admiringly.

‘I have a little drink to soothe the nerves which I’d have if I was another sort of person,’ she elaborated.

That made sense to me and we all drank. The limo pulled up outside a large warehouse at the top of the city. A small brass plate, like the ones on a doctor’s office, intimated to anyone close enough to read it that this was the home of Blood Lines, members only.

Mistress Dread stalked up the steps as though she was coming to accept the surrender of a small city, and the doors opened before her advance. She did not slow at all as she passed a person of indeterminate sex who was lurking inside the door. The person was wearing peasant clothes circa 1500, including a hood and liripipe. Its face was covered in stitches. I had seen the
film. Films. This was the one who was always sent out for fresh brains at three am. I had read Terry Pratchett.

‘May I drink your blood?’ it asked me hopefully.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Then may I take your cloak?’

‘Thank you, Igor.’

‘Lucky guess about the name, Mistress,’ said Igor.

I shed the black cloak and shook myself into order. Daniel did the same.

And there he was. He was naked to the waist. The rest of him was clad in leather trousers and boots. A design had been painted on his chest. There was a studded dog collar around his neck and he dropped to his knees and offered me the loop of his leash.

My hormones did that thud at the base of the spine thing. I was about to protest when his shook his head very slightly and said, ‘Please, Lady Medusa?’

‘Very well.’ I took the leash and tightened it so that I drew him almost to my hem. ‘If you are good.’

‘I’ll be good,’ he said, with an undercurrent which went straight through the corset into the breast underneath.

‘If you will sign in, Mistress Dread,’ said Igor, cringing. ‘And you, Mistress,’ he added to me. He did not address Daniel. Clearly pets did not have to register. I signed ‘Lady Medusa’ and paid over my fee. Igor led the way to the curtained door.

‘You are very decorative,’ I whispered to Daniel as we went towards the inner door, covered by a heavy red velvet curtain.

‘Celtic design. Meroe drew it. It’s your mark. It means that I am yours and anyone who wants to borrow me has to ask you first.’

‘I have no intention of lending you,’ I said. I meant it. I wondered what Meroe had felt, so close to this admirable
body, this smooth skin, this scent of spices, using his skin as her canvas. I hoped she had also given us a spell for success.

I joined Mistress Dread at the curtain, which was drawn back to reveal someone in the last stages of decomposition, dripping with what I hoped was very good fake green slime. Huge screens showed the Hammer horror movie
Brides of Dracula
. Christopher Lee’s mouth, fanged and three metres high, approached a vulnerable, proffered neck. I had no need to speak. I would not have been heard if I had. The loudness of the music was almost beyond bearing. Not techno, however. Not Eversun. This was death thrash metal and they were singing about …

‘Andre Norton?’ I asked.

‘It’s Blöödhag,’ yelled Mistress Dread. ‘They combine education with heavy metal. In concert they throw cheap editions of the books at the audience. Their motto is “the faster you go deaf, the more time you have to read”. Good, aren’t they?’

‘Terrific,’ I yelled back as the three nerds on the big screen segued into ‘HP Lovecraft’. I followed Mistress Dread to the bar. Funnily enough, on the approach of a six-foot woman in a black corset and carrying a whip, the crowd melted away. The bar person was a wolf. I delved for my wallet and the wolf man pointed to a sign. It read ‘Blood type O, two gold. Type Rh negative, four gold.’ I produced four gold and Daniel leaned up against my thigh, begging. ‘Lady?’