Broom with a View (3 page)

“And all our girlhood adventures?” Miss Hopkins gave an incredulous chuckle. In fact, it was almost a bawdy laugh, which, along with a mysterious twinkle in her eye, made Violet suddenly quite curious to know the details of her aunt’s youthful adventures.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I remember our summers in Turnbridge Wells like it was yesterday.”

Of course, Aunt Vera must once have been young and carefree. But it was hard for Violet to imagine that such a stuffy, timid Witch had ever cast enchantments on the local Mortal boys or danced with fairies in the moonlight or any of the things young Witches were told not to do and always did anyway. But Hippolyta Hopkins was clearly the sort of witch that was capable of almost anything. Violet wasn’t sure she felt entirely comfortable around her.

Vera and Hippolyta were obviously enchanted to be in each other’s company again.
All worry of Vampires and basement rooms were temporarily forgotten,
and it looked to Violet like she might as well leave the old friends to catch up on the last two hundred years. The Misses Fate each took a turn to regard the girl through their single pair of magical opera glasses. The attention felt somehow unnerving, so she turned away and peered around for a quiet chair to keep to herself. But the room had quickly filled to capacity. She found her way to the adjoining library, where a lonely oil lamp illuminated the dusty, neglected shelves. A brief perusal told her that any books worth reading must have found their way into the luggage of guests past, so she settled herself into a chair to simply rest and recover from a very vexing day.

Violet looked around
. The library suddenly grew darker. The shadows shifted. A dim red light rose up from a source she couldn’t identify, and the disheveled bookshelves seemed to lean over her, creaking as though a great fist had taken hold of the room and begun to squeeze. She felt the first tremors of panic begin to flood her body as the shadows leapt from their corners and gathered in the center of the room, forming a terrible black figure that reach out to her as she sat paralyzed in her chair. She cowered back, reaching for her wand.

But the shadowy arm quickly coalesced into a black-gloved hand, offering itself to be shaken. The red light retreated, and the unearthly darkness about the figure fled, to be replaced with a short, round man wearing a rather mischievous grin. The face was familiar.

“Mr. Beelzebub!” Violet exclaimed with relief, too surprised to return the proffered handshake.   

“I’m terribly sorry if I discomfited you, Miss Popplewell,” said the little man
. “But this room is almost always empty this time of day, so the little trick of my arrival rarely causes any alarm.”

Gathering her composure, she shook hands properly, laughing off her fleeting terror. What else could the disturbance have been but a flamboyant Sorcerer? And few Sorcerers were as flamboyant as Mr. Beelzebub. He had recently been elected High Sorcerer of Surrey, charged with looking after the magical well-being of the countryside Witches. Unlike the previous incumbent, who had always seemed so grave and forbidding, even for a Sorcerer, Mr
. Beelzebub struck Violet as an exceptionally easygoing fellow and not much like his predecessor at all. He didn’t even laugh like most Sorcerers—with their dry, spar cackle. He had a rich, plummy laugh, like a man who thoroughly enjoyed the simple pleasures of life. When Mrs. Popplewell had him over for dinner the previous summer, he employed it quite readily. Violet knew his arrival must be the start of something good.

Mr. Beelzebub hadn’t expected to be addressed so immediately after transporting to the Pensione Belladonna. He usually preferred a minute or two alone to compose himself and smoke his pipe. But he found Miss Popplewell a delightful creature. And it was always pleasant, when going on a journey, to meet at least one familiar face upon arrival at your destination. Besides, she appeared genuinely pleased to see him. So forgoing his pipe, he followed her dutifully through to the
parlour.

“Do you remember me, Mr. Beelzebub?” Vera put herself
forwards, if with a bit more trepidation than her niece, bobbing her head to the side like an inquisitive bird. “From that very rainy Summer Solstice where you presided at Turnbridge Wells? Miss Tartlette?”

“Of course. I remember only too well,” the Sorcerer said, grateful she had the decency to refresh his memory as to her name. “Are you both staying here at the Belladonna?”

“Momentarily,” Vera replied with a sniff. “We are on the verge of making a change.”

“Oh, we can’t change now,” Violet pleaded, seizing her aunt by the hand. “Not now Mr. Beelzebub is here.”

“Please call me Mr. B,” the Sorcerer insisted. “Beelzebub is such a mouthful after dinner. Now, just why is it you are thinking of leaving?”

“Vampires
.” Vera conveyed everything in one whispered word. “Two of them. A father and son. They had the effrontery to offer to switch rooms with us. They apparently prefer the basement, and they offered us their rooms on the top floor. But I am a woman of the world in my own small way, and I know where those sorts of things may lead.”

“Are you speaking of Count Du Monde and his son?” Mr. B asked, seating himself in a velvet
-covered chair and pulling his carved meerschaum pipe from his pocket.

“Why yes,” Vera replied
, taken aback that the Sorcerer would be so familiar with the undead. “Do you know them?”

“Of course,” Mr. B exclaimed
, patting his pockets in search of his tobacco pouch. “I stay at the Belladonna frequently when I’m in X, and they are regulars here. Count Du Monde is a good sort of chap. Sort of an expatriate of his species, you know. His son is a bit gloomy, but no more than expected from a young Vampire.”

Vera became agitated. Her greatest fear was that she should appear
judgemental, as it impeded her judgements being taken seriously. “So you think I was wrong in rejecting them? You think I am small minded?”

“Not at all,” Mr. B assured her with a good
-humored laugh. “You just haven’t adjusted to life in X yet. It takes some getting used to, but I find myself missing it when I’m back in England.”

Still, Miss Tartlette wasn’t convinced. She was, after all, a
chaperone. “I would just hate to be put under an obligation. Especially with there being a young man involved and Violet being so inexperienced.”

“But there would be no obligation on either side,” interjected Violet, growing impatient
 with her aunt again. “They want our rooms as much as we want theirs.”

“Would it help if I were to arrange the exchange?” Mr. B offered, always happy to put a lady at her ease.

“Oh, would you?” Vera gazed at him with eager appreciation. “That would be most kind.”

And Mr. B was most kind. He settled the matter with the two Vampires only a few minutes after finishing his pipe. Count Du Monde and his son were most gracious about the exchange, sending word back that they promised to clear out from their view-ladened rooms immediately, so the ladies wouldn’t have the awkwardness of repeatedly passing them in the hall. Plus fresh linens had to be ordered. The proprietress was not pleased at having to fix up so many rooms so late in the evening, but Vera was firm. After all, there wouldn’t have been this little difficulty if the proprietress had just stuck to her word as it had been originally extended.

* * * * * * * * *

“I have no wish to incommode you, dear Violet, but let me just say this,” Vera began as Violet finished settling into their new quarters.
The girl steeled herself. She was tired and in no mood for her aunt to raise some niggling little concern. Vera continued, “I know it is at you and your mother’s generosity that I’m here at all, and I would never dream of going against your wishes, but maybe it would be more proper if we switched rooms with one another.”

Violet, who had been propping a stack of books on a shelf, stopped what she was doing. “Whatever for?”

“It has come to my attention that the larger room was formerly occupied by the young man. Under normal circumstances, of course, you should have the larger room, there is no question on that, but given the way things are,” Vera hesitated, unsure how to phrase her concerns. “It might be best for it to appear that I benefited the most from the room exchange. We wouldn’t want to encourage any kind of expectations.”

It was so like her aunt to wait until she was nearly done with the task of unpacking.
Violet stifled a sigh and reminded herself that Vera only had her best interest in mind, even if her concerns not only bordered on the ridiculous but took frequent trips beyond.

“Do you really think that’s necessary?”
Violet asked, scooping up a handful of writing quills and sliding open the drawer of the desk to place them inside. She stood frozen for a moment, transfixed with the contents that had been left behind in the drawer. Fortunately, her aunt did not notice her temporary state of petrification and continued talking.

“I know it may seem silly to you, but propriety must be observed; especially when we are in a foreign land whose customs are strange.”

Violet hastily shoved the quills in the drawer and slammed it shut. She couldn’t think. What was it that Vera had just said? Something about wanting the larger room. “That’s fine, Vera. If you want this room then you shall have it. I don’t mind packing up again.”

“Oh
, my dear Violet, you misunderstand me. It’s not that I want the larger room; it’s that it is more proper for me to have it.”

There was a knock on the door. Before Violet could reach it, Vera ha
d dashed in front of her and pulled it open only just wide enough as to seem not entirely rude. Behind it stood Sebastian, looking grave as ever. In response to Vera’s startled gasp, he said, “I am sorry to disturb you, but I believe I left something behind and wish to retrieve it before you go to sleep.”

The Vampire must have
taken Vera’s open, gaping mouth as an invitation enough because he glided past her with astonishing speed and grace and approached the desk. Mutely, Violet fell back, creating plenty of space between them. Without so much as a glance in the young Witch’s direction, Sebastian slid open the desk drawer and deftly removed a piece of paper, which he quickly rolled into a tube. Bowing to both the ladies, the Vampire turned to leave.

Vera found her tongue. “Mr. Du Monde, it was very generous of your father to offer to exchange rooms with us.”

“As was already said, it benefited us as well as you,” he replied.

“But we are still grateful
, and I would like to thank Count Du Monde personally, if you would be so kind as to take me to him,” Vera persisted.

This the Vampire was not expecting
, and it was obvious the request mildly perturbed him. “I can take any message you have to my father.”

“I would much rather it be in person,” Vera explained.

Sebastian looked slightly pink, if it was possible for a Vampire to blush. “Could it wait until tomorrow?”

Vera was staunchly tenacious when she thought herself to be right. “I’d much rather do it now while the favo
ur is still fresh.”

Sebastian cleared his throat
. “I’m afraid it is impossible at the moment.”

“I don’t see why. It will only take a few minutes of his time.” Vera began to get the impression that Sebastian simply didn’t want a Witch, such as herself, conversing with his father. “I insist,” she added, with all the firmness she could muster.

Bowing again to both of them, the Vampire said, “I’m afraid it will have to wait until tomorrow. My father, you see, is in his coffin.”

After such an encounter, Vera was adamant about exchanging rooms with her young niece immediately. It took the better part of two hours before Violet was settled again. By then, she was more than ready to lay her head to rest on a pillow.

Even though the bed was soft and her body yearned for sleep, Violet could not close her eyes. She couldn’t forget what she’d seen in the drawer before Sebastian came to retrieve his property. It had been a sketch done in charcoal. That alone was not the alarming part. What did keep her from her slumber was that the subject of the sketch appeared to be herself.

The young Vampire must have spied Violet and her aunt as they first entered the Pensione Belladonna, when the girl was still feeling flustered from having secretly conjured the enhancement spell to aid with her aunt’s feeble seeking spell. Her face had been flushed and her hair coming a bit undone. The artist had captured her in that perfect state of breathlessness that one gets, not from physical exertion, but from starting an adventure.