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Chapter 14
QuebecAnne had no idea how to work the coal stove, so she breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered the microwave. Who were these friends of Will's? Survivor contestants? The Swiss Family Robinson? And what did The Swiss Family Robinson even mean? Was their name Robinson and were they Swiss? Who cared? Why was their 'Swissness' so important? Why weren't they just the 'Robinson Family', like the Addams Family or the Partridge Family and how could she remember all this stuff about old TV shows and not be able to remember her own family?
Anne gave the soup a stir, then put it back in the microwave for awhile. She took out two stoneware bowls—at least she knew where everything was kept, after having searched the whole kitchen for coffee! She took out the butter—ooh! Real butter. Will likes real butter. She filed that fact away as she sliced the bread.
The microwave 'dinged' again, and this time, the frozen part in the middle of the soup seemed to have melted. She carried the food into the living room, and then put another log on the fire before sitting down.
“Can you manage, or would you like me to feed you?”
Will turned his head so he could glare at her with his good eye.
“An' have a rousing game of 'open the hanger; here comes the plane'? No, thank you. M'not a child. Not helpless.”
“Not helpless, maybe, but definitely cranky. Do you have any Advil or Tylenol or anything?”
He tilted his head in the direction of the bathroom. “Already took some.”
“Take more!”
Anne jumped up and headed toward the bathroom, returning with four Advil.
Will took the pills and smiled an apology.
They ate in companionable silence, Anne pretending not to notice his winces each time he reached for the bread or picked up his bowl.
When they had finished, Anne carried the dishes into the kitchen.
“Would you like to go to bed now?”
“Sorry?”
“Are you tired? Do you want to lie down in your bed, or do you want to stay up longer? I just thought it might help if you could get some sleep.”
“Oh, right then. Sleep. Sleep sounds good.”
Anne helped Will to the bedroom and, at his direction, got out two pairs of sweatpants, a soft flannel shirt that buttoned down the front, and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
She helped pull the sweater over his head and then looked away.
“Can you manage the rest, or do you want me—”
“I can manage, thanks.”
Anne picked up the T-shirt and the gray sweatpants, leaving the black ones for him, and slipped into the bathroom to change.
She gave him a few extra minutes, and then knocked on the bedroom door.
“Are you decent?”
“As much as I'll ever be.”
Anne piled the pillows up so he could recline, and then lifted his legs, placing them on the bed.
“Oh! The liniment. Be right back.”
Brandishing the jar of liniment, Anne approached the bed. She'd just gotten him settled and didn't want to move him again.
As carefully as possible, Anne climbed on the bed, threw a leg over his and straddled him, resting her butt on his thighs. She leaned forward to unbutton the shirt he had laboriously struggled to button. He decided that he didn't mind a bit.
Anne opened the jar and carefully smoothed the liniment over the untaped portion of his ribs, not wanting to disturb Mrs. Hatcher's handiwork.
Will leaned back, closing his eyes. Mrs. Hatcher certainly knew her liniment. His ribs hardly hurt at all.
Anne's hands moved over his abdomen, kneading the liniment into the muscles.
He was actually feeling quite well . . .
Anne shifted her position.
“Er, that's fine. I feel much better. Barely a twinge. I'm sure I'll sleep quite well. Thank you.”
Anne climbed off and flashed him a devilish grin. “Any time.”
**********
Anne put another log on the fire and curled up on the couch, tucking the afghan around her. The lusty-wrong thoughts were back in full force. She was a terrible person! First, she beat him senseless, and now she was feeling cranky because the injuries that she had inflicted made it impossible to . . . To what? Have her way with him? Anne giggled.
Don't go there—just go to sleep. Her eyes drifted closed.
**********
Anne's eyes flew open. What was that awful sound? That inhuman moaning? Will! He must be in terrible pain. Anne threw off the afghan and rushed to the bedroom.
Will was lying on his side, twitching and moaning, but still apparently sound asleep. Wait! He'd said something about nightmares, hadn't he?
Anne threw back the covers and crawled into bed with him, wrapping her arms around him. Will snuggled into her, nuzzling her neck.
“Slayer . . .” he whispered.
Slayer? Oh, yeah, wasn't that an 80's band? Will likes heavy metal music Anne added to her mental file.
“Dreamed you died . . . but you're here,” he muttered.
He seemed much quieter and more comfortable with her there. She'd already caused him enough pain. Anne dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead and turned over. She'd stay here for the rest of the night.
Will reached out an arm and pulled her close, wrapping his body around her, spoon fashion. She relaxed back against him.
Hung like a horse went into the file.
**********
Toronto
The discrete sign was worked in some kind of silvery metal that caught the light. The Dark Under the Stairs it read. Drusilla giggled. Such lovely nightmares could be found in the dark under the stairs. It was the perfect name for a club. She hadn't been to a club or a concert or a music hall in . . . forever. She nodded her head decisively. I'll go tonight. But first, she wanted a new dress.
Dru loved twilight. It was a mystical between-worlds time of day. She threw back her head and twirled around, fur coat flying out around her, a smile of bliss on her face. She'd go shopping! She'd buy a new dress and make herself pretty and go to The Dark Under the Stairs.
The ants were coming!
Dru stepped back against a building as the eruption occurred. The streets filled with noise as all the little worker ants rushed from their anthills and pulled out their cellphones. Dru covered her ears. The bad ants were too loud—they hurt her ears. They had no manners. Rude ants! They should pay. Pay . . . a gleam lit Dru's gray eyes, turning them silver in the last of the twilight.
Long, slender fingers reached out here and there. One man sensed something and turned to glance at her. Dru smiled at him.
“I'm the grasshopper,” she proclaimed.
He turned away and continued shouting into his cellphone, trying to be heard over the buzz of conversation, honking of horns and other street sounds.
Twenty minutes later, the flood of ants had tapered off to a slow stream and Drusilla slipped away.
She glided through the park until she came to a bench. She brushed off the covering of snow and sat down. Dru opened her coat and dozens of wallets spilled out.
“Scurry, scurry, little ants. Lay up your stores for winter while the grasshopper plays. My mummy told me that story.” Dru tilted her head. “I believe she wanted us to become the industrious ants.” Dru grinned. “Wouldn't mummy be surprised to discover I'm the grasshopper!”
Removing the cash, Drusilla let the wallets tumble to the ground.
“I'll stay in a fine hotel and I'll buy a new dress and I'll go to The Dark. 'Twill be like a party. With streamers and sweets and presents all for me.”
Dru stuffed the money into the deep pockets of her sable coat.
“All for me, because there isn't anyone else,” she concluded sadly.
**********
The nice concierge had given her the name of a vintage clothing store and had even gotten her a car to take her there. Dru decided she wouldn't eat him—he was quite useful.
Worth, Balenciaga, Sciaparelli—these were clothes. She was glad that dresses hadn't disappeared when the furs did. Her fingers smoothed a burgundy satin sheath with a bias cut skirt. Jean Harlow had worn a dress very like this, in white. Dru could still remember that party. Dru decided she preferred the burgundy. Stuart Weitzman black Peau-de-Sois shoes and a garnet and jet choker completed her ensemble.
“I'm a fairy princess!”
Dru reached into her pocket and pulled out a fistful of money which she placed on the counter. She looked up and then she saw them—rows of glass cases on the wall behind the register held antique dolls and toys.
“O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o.” Dru began to vibrate and her forefinger pointed at one doll. She had a kidskin body with bisque hands and head. She wore a burgundy velvet coat trimmed with fur, cut away in front to show her matching dress. She carried a black fur muff and had long dark ringlets, the color of Dru's own hair. She was perfect!
“Would you like to see her? She's in near-mint condition.”
Dru clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, please.”
She reached out a finger to touch the high-buttoned shoes.
“I remember button hooks,” Dru sighed. “Daddy could do so much with button hooks. Button, button, who's got the button? Not I, said the spider to the fly.”
Drusilla cradled the doll in her arms and crooned softly to it.
“Would you like me to add the doll to your bill?” the salesclerk asked.
Dru leaned forward to whisper confidentially. “Her name is Miss Edith and we're going to a party.”
“How nice.”
She handed Dru a pink and gray bag with stiffened handles containing her shoes and dress, her receipt and some of the money back.
“Say 'good-bye' to the nice lady, Miss Edith.” Dru glided out of the shop.
One of the other clerks circled her finger around her ear in the universal sign for 'crazy'.
Dru's salesclerk shook her head. “No dear, you're only crazy if you're poor.” She fanned out the money, calculating her sales commission in her head. “When you're rich, you're merely eccentric.”
**********
Dru danced down the steps inside the club, resplendent in satin and sable. Her hair was piled on top of her head and fell in ringlets down the back—just like Miss Edith's. Her long nails were freshly manicured in satiny burgundy, with her favorite French white tips.
A very young-looking vampire with Texas big hair and too much make-up tentatively approached her.
“Oh my, you're just the most beautifulest thing! Wish I looked just like you. An' you've got class. My boyfriend, Danny, dumped me 'cause he said I dint have no class. You just come with me now to pay your respects to Queen Drusilla, an' then you an' me can have a real nice confab!”
“Queen Drusilla?”
“Yes, ma'am. She's like the Queen of the Damned! The last surviving member of the Order of Aurelius—which, let me tell you, girl, makes her vampire royalty. She was sired by Angelus, hisself!”
Drusilla's eyebrow raised. “Was she now?”
“Oh, yeah! An' that's not all! She was the consort of Spike—the Slayer of Slayers—for over a century. Believe you me, Queen D's got it all! Everybody new who comes here has to pay their respects. If she approves of you, you get to stay, an' then we can hang, okay?”
Dru's tinkling laughter sent chills up Barbara Jean's spine.
“Oh, I don't think she'll approve of me. I don't believe she'll approve a'tall.”
Drusilla swept toward 'Queen D' with Barbara Jean trudging in her wake, like a tugboat trying to keep up with a Yankee Clipper.
The woman was actually wearing a tiara and was seated on a gold-plated chair! Dru giggled.
“Come along, Miss Edith. We'll have some fun, shall we?”
Queen Drusilla glared at the new vampire. She was entirely too attractive in that 1920's Jean Harlow way. No, Jean Harlow was hard. This one was ethereal—like Lillian Gish. Queen Drusilla would have to get rid of this one in a hurry; she was definitely too much competition.
“You're new to Toronto, aren't you?”
“Oh, yes. I just arrived last night. When I heard about you I just had to meet you right away. So, you were sired by Angelus?”
Dru tried to keep from giggling—that would ruin everything.
“See, you're saying it wrong. It's An-gelus. But a lotta people who don't really know him say An-gel-us.” She smiled superiorly at Dru.
Dru murmured, “Spike called him An-gelus to annoy him, you stupid cow!”
“Did you say something about my Spike?”
Dru's eyes narrowed threateningly. “He's not your Spike—was never your Spike and Daddy was never yours either!”
Dru extended two fingers, slowly passing them in front of Queen Drusilla's eyes. When Queen D's eyes were tracking the fingers, Dru brought them up to her own eyes.
“Look at me. Be in me. You're a liar and a fraud. I've lost everything. I've nothing left but me and I won't let you have me.”
Dru stiffened her index and middle fingers and thrust them straight into the imposter's chest. Her fingers curled around the Queen's dried up heart and yanked it from her chest. The Queen turned to dust as Dru squeezed the heart to dust, also. Dru opened her hand and blew across her palm, dispersing the heart dust.
“Bye-bye.”
Barbara Jean's mouth hung open in shock.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, you're her. You're really her!”
“I don't like it here, Miss Edith. Shall we go elsewhere?”
Dru turned to the exit. The bouncer was reading a newspaper.
“May I?” Dru asked as she tugged the paper from his loose hold. “Come, Miss Edith. We'll look in the paper and find somewhere else to visit in our pretty new clothes. The Dark was so-o-o disappointing!”
The big, hulking vampire that had been standing behind Queen Drusilla's throne finally processed what had happened and started after Dru.
Barbara Jean grabbed his arm. “No, you idiot! That's her. That's the real Drusilla!”
There was a cracking sound as he tried to frown in puzzlement. He had forgotten he was in vamp face.
“Wha'd'ya mean? She killed Drusilla! And Queen Drusilla hasn't even sired the Anointed One yet. How're we gonna bring back the Aurelian line without her?”
Barbara Jean patted his arm. It was the size and consistency of a tree trunk.
“Come sit down, Brick. I'll explain it all to ya . . . real slow-like.”
**********
Dru paused under a street light to look through the paper. She let the current events, sports and food sections flutter from her fingers. Arts and Leisure. That's the section she wanted.
She turned the pages, skimming the articles. Her eyes riveted on a small, grainy picture near the bottom of a back page. It was perfectly visible to her enhanced night vision. Her expressive fingers stroked the photo and a luminous smile lit up her face. She glanced at the caption. SRPB Signs New Author.
“My William. You've come back to me. Don't worry, Willy. Princess will find you and make everything all better.”
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