Year of the Vampire Page 12

  The grand house was alive with music. The notes seemed to ride on the air, down the staircase, flow into every room. It was a simple melody, of violin and piano, from the second floor music room, Ivy guessed. The hall itself seemed different, the wood panels grainier, the candelabras flickering brighter, the fire in the hearth redder. Ivy stood still, feeling something in the air she couldn't place.

  "You have to see what Evandis has done," Dred said.

  She nearly forgot he was still there as she tried to determine what else was different about the Hall. Before she could ask, Scarlet came out from the far doorway. She was in a beaded purple dress, its flapper-length skirt dropping just to her knees as swags of black and silver beaded necklaces sung at her chest. She smiled at Ivy, meeting her with a gushing laugh.

  "Finally, Ivy. I so want to see this dress you've created." In her other hand was a fluted glass of deep red fluid, a color that matched her lips. "You will show us? Tomorrow?"

  "Well, yes, I can." Ivy gripped her book bag, feeling overwhelmed as the music added a heavier bass to the undertones, seeming to reset her heart's rhythm. "It's just my work. Mostly hand-sewn."

  "I'm sure it's lovely." Scarlet turned as another woman entered the room from behind the staircase. "Have you met my sister, Berella?"

  Before Ivy could answer or see much of the woman, a door shut in the kitchen.

  "I guess she's still pouting." Scarlet laughed, one shoulder shrugging dismissively. "Someone tissued her motorcycle last night."

  "Oh, Devil's Night." Ivy heard a loud cursing come from the back of the house, a woman's voice screeching what sounded like curses in three languages.

  A door behind her closed and Ivy turned to see who, but instead saw only the fifteen-light floor candelabra across the room, every wick lit.

  "Just Rimbladt," Scarlet said.

  "Come on," Dred said. "I'll show you what Evandis has done."

  "Oh, wait until tomorrow," Scarlet said to him.

  Ivy looked from him to the woman.

  Dred took her hand and pulled her to the staircase. "Won't take long, Ivy. You gotta see this."

  She followed, taking the steps clumsily as he hurried. "What? Evandis' work?"

  "Yeah, that and more."

  Ivy tried to keep up, then barely made the turn as he took them down the hallway where the music grew louder. She yanked her hand free, slowing.

  He stopped and turned to her. "What's wrong?"

  "Just . . . where are we going, Dred?"

  He spread one arm to his side, shrugging. "To see Evandis' creation."

  "Oh, the replacement sculpture."

  "Yes, you haven't seen it, right?"

  "No. I mean, I haven't."

  They continued on, the hallway warm from candle-lit wall sconces flickering to either side. They had just reached the open doorway where Ivy knew Evandis sculpted, than he stepped out. He was haggard, his mild blue shirt untucked, its frilled neck unbuttoned and drooping untied, his black pants dusted with marble powder. He looked from Dred to Ivy, shock clearly in his face.

  "It's not ready yet," he said, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand still clutching the hammer. "I need another day."

  "Just a peek," Dred said as the music stopped.

  Ivy tried to see past them both, but could only make out the base of the block of marble. Evandis moved to block her view.

  "I must insist on waiting," he said, an almost pleading in his tone. He pulled the watch chain from his pants pocket and checked it, nodded, and stuck it back in the pocket. "Ivy will understand," he said, looking to her entreatingly. "Won't you, dear creature?"

  No one had ever called her a creature before. "Uh, well, if you don't—"

  "I think the cello is better, so we try that," came Mandrake's voice from down the hall.

  Ivy turned to look behind her, but the door to the music room was closed. Male voices rose, but she couldn't understand much of it; the argument was now in another language, something rougher, something coarse in content, it seemed to her.

  "Your pardon," Evandis said.

  Ivy turned back to find only Dred standing there, who was glaring at the closed door.

  "You believe this guy?" he said. "All week talking about wanting you to see this thing and now he clams up."

  "Maybe another time then." Ivy backed a few steps. "I should get home, Dred."

  "I'll walk you."

  She had just got to the music room door when the music began again. This time it was the cello and piano with a violin, the same tune as before, but now with a mournful tone. She stopped, listening. The candles in the hallway cut low as she paused. She listened, finding something soul-stirring in the harmony of stings and keys.

  "You like it?" Dred asked quietly, close behind her.

  She nodded, smiling just a little. "It's very nice."

  The violin dominated the chords, seeming to draw Ivy nearer to the door, but she didn't move. Dred's hand slipped around her shoulder, sliding slowly down her right arm.

  "It suits you," he said close to her left ear, just below temple.

  She nodded, feeling strangely immobile, waiting breathlessly for the next turn of the song, the next draw of violin and strum of harp. Her eyes closed to the low light of the hallway, hearing her heart pound in beat to the music.

  "Keep it," he said barely above a whisper.

  She nodded, her eyes closing firmly as his other hand circled her waist. When his fingers pressed to her jacket zipper, her eyes flung open.

  "Dred," Vohn snapped.

  Ivy jerked, flinching from Dred's hold.

  He let her go, turning to face Vohn at the staircase landing with a toxic look on his face.

  "You all right, Ivy?" Vohn asked, not looking at her.

  "Y-Yes," she said, straightening her jacket, fighting down the flush on her cheeks and throat. When she glanced at Dred, he refused to look at her. His lips were pressed together, staring at Vohn.

  "Take those stairs, Ivy," Vohn said, pointing to the small hallway leading from the side of the landing. "They'll put you out into the old hall. You can leave out the front through it."

  She looked up at Dred, who still hadn't looked away from Vohn, a sneer on his face. She skirted Dred and walked toward Vohn, who gave her only a quick glimpse as she passed him.

  "Your stay here is tenuous, at best," she heard Vohn's low tone say as she hurried down the narrower hallway to the next back stair landing. "You know that."

  She didn't hear Dred's reply if he made one. She found a wrought iron staircase that spiraled down into a dimly lit circular room, descending with a strange clanking sound until she reached the bottom. There the room opened up into a long, rectangular room with better lighting, but it wasn't the ballroom. Its tall walls were dark red, plastered and hung with ornate picture frames. All were empty, giving it an uncanny look of abandonment despite the tall, burgundy draped windows on the outside wall. The rug stretched the length of the room, cream and burgundy with some green in a floral motif. She followed it, searching the room for the entry into the ballroom.

  She was halfway down the room when she noticed the panels on the innermost wall of the room. They were tiled with large panels, each about two feet by two feet, each of carved wood. She passed them, slowing until she stopped, then backed up to see the first.

  In it, a pile of bones were carved, heaped to form a bonfire. Two figures in sackcloth knelt on either side of it, their hooded faces covered with their hands, as if in mourning. Ivy frowned and moved to the next wooden tile. In this one, a man stood with a scythe, its crook dripping a dark color. He looked like a peasant from a past era. Above him the letters S, C, T, and H were cut. She looked to the first tile. Only a B and N were on it. The next tile only had the letters S,T, and N, and a cave blocked by a boulder cut into it.

  She stepped back, looking down the row of woodcut tiles. Ten in all.

  She followed them. They seemed to tell a story, but one she couldn't understand. Perhaps, she decid
ed, a cautionary fairytale, like ones people used to tell children to scare them into not wandering. The next woodcut had a beautiful woman carved into it, the next a man holding a war sword, and the next a willow tree bending low. She frowned and examined the tree more closely, and realized it was a man among the branches, his arms dangling like the limbs, his hair long and entwined in the leaves. She moved to the next, which had a large crow-like bird carved into it, and the next with two circles closing over top of each other, like an eclipse. The next was what looked like a full moon, with a simple M and N carved above it.

  The last was the most startling, holding only a dark figure, a man wrapped in a long cloak, his hair swept back from his face, with two prominent fangs protruding from his mouth as he faced the viewer.

  Ivy stumbled back, realizing what it depicted. Above it, cut deep into the wood, were the letters V, M, P, R.

  She shook her head, confused.

  The air in the room grew chilly, and she looked to either side. The short end with the spiral staircase seemed to dissolve into a black hole in the appliquéd ceiling. The opposite end, where an easel was propped, had a door, the one she thought would lead to the ballroom. She didn't look at the tiles as she passed them, not wanting to put together whatever tale they told. She hurried to the end, pausing as she reached the doors. Here the light was brighter with a floor candelabra perched beside the easel.

  A painting rested there, covered with a black cloth, and Ivy was tempted to lift it enough for a peek, but halted the thought. On the wall to the side of the easel was the tall mirror from Dred's room, the one with the trick glass pane.

  She resisted looking at the easel painting, but the mirror was unavoidable.

  In it, she saw the doors behind her, but not her reflection. She made herself reason, noting the flickering candelabra light in the smoky glass, the empty picture frames on the wall behind her, a few of the woodcuts.

  But no reflection.

  "Nice trick," she murmured, and then turned, opened the door, and left.

  The door echoed behind her as she closed it and turned to face the ballroom. It was still bright and nearly festive with glowing candlelight. Upstairs she could hear the music and male voices low in argument.

  As the echo resounded, four figures from the far end of the room turned, their conversation halting upon seeing her.

  Ivy stopped, returning their attention, and then caught her breath as she recognized them.

  Rimbladt, Rockfort, and two others she had only seen once.

  The two singing gypsies from the Autumn Fest camp.

  Before they could speak, Ivy ran for the entrance doors, pulled one open, and raced outside.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ivy's senses were still dulled when her father woke her up with a quick, "Back tomorrow. See you then. Love you, Ivy."

  The bedroom door closed softly.

  She sat bolt upright, then ripped off the covers and whipped open the door. "Dad!"

  The top of his head was just disappearing down the staircase. He stopped and looked back at her. "Hi, Ivybelle."

  Her fingers clutched the doorframe, no words coming to her lips. She forced a smile. "Be careful. And I love you."

  "Love you, too, sweetheart." He grinned, waved, and continued on. "Have fun at the party and be careful. Say hi to Camille's folks for me. I'll call you tonight!"

  She heard the front door open and close, the lock rattle with keys. A moment later, his car started and he was gone. She stayed at the door, the preceding night's events playing back through her mind.

  It was a messy group of thoughts, tangled with music and shouts of Trick-or-Treaters, costumed children, and strange, woodcut images. She swallowed, feeling weak at the menagerie of engraved fairytales she'd seen at Brylinden Hall. She'd never seen any of the stories depicted in them.

  She dropped onto her bed, reaching for her cell phone. One message from Lornie, another from Camille. Got in late. cu after matinee, was from Lornie. Camille's was simply, Dnt 4gt 8pm!

  She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Since talking with Vohn outside the library, nothing seemed real or true. What he'd told her about Dred sounded possible at the moment he told her, but now, now it seemed unlikely. With the sun stretching across her on the bed, someone as elusive as a killer in Rasperville seemed outlandish. So did the residents of Brylinden Hall—whoever they were.

  The images in the woodcuts came back to her. They made no sense, even with the cryptic letters above them. She could guess what the last one meant—or was—but the rest seemed to have no rhyme or reason. She pulled her phone out and did a quick internet search for woodcut art. The names Gustave Doré, Jost Amman, Master E.S., and Albrecht Dürer topped the list. She frowned, then clicked on a few images. Scenes from Ars moriendi, The Four Horsemen, Ukiyo-e, and assorted fairytales came up.

  She scrolled through the images, most in black-and-white, but some, mostly Japanese ones, in color. None matched the panels she had seen in the Hall. From her recent searches, advertisements displaying accessories and memorabilia for Gone with the Wind decorated the phone screen. She pulled her thoughts from them; the temptation was nearly too distracting.

  She closed the screen and put the phone in her book bag. A dull rattle came from inside, and she stuck her hand in, making sure the needlework supplies hadn't gouged her phone screen. She repacked the phone in the lining slot made for cell phones, and opened the bag wider. Somewhere in her mind, things started to slide into place, something she wished happened during those pop quizzes at school. She pushed the hints creeping into her mind away. Too many fairytales. Too many weird things in the past two weeks, she told herself.

  Her dress faced her, hanging on her closet door in a clear garment bag, finished and awaiting presentation at Camille's party. Her promise to Dred and Evandis for a first showing loomed before her.

  But she was no longer in a hurry to make good on that promise.

  Too much strangeness there. Too many odd people.

  And too many questions.

  * * * * *

  Her plan had been to lurk around the hedges of Brylinden Hall and hope Dred spotted her and came out to say hi. For ten minutes Ivy walked up and down the front hedges, eyeing the tall stone house. The bare trees threw spindly clawing shadows across the walk, seeming to reach for her shoes as she paced. She headed to the corner hedges, where she heard music playing from the patio. It was the cello and harp, accompanied by what sounded like two violins, playing in unison.

  "The gypsies," she whispered. She had forgotten about them.

  As if hearing her, the music stopped. Ivy took a few more steps, which put her in view of the garden.

  Among the statues, Scarlet and Berella sat on a stone bench, Rockfort at an easel, painting. On the patio, Mandrake stood up from the cello and leaned it to a pillar, watching her. The two gypsies, both with violins, lowered their instruments.

  Ivy watched them, uncertain at the distance of their faces, but definitely the man and woman she'd seen at the Autumn Fest playing the violin and accordion. They weren't as colorfully dressed now, but still in loose pants and full gauze skirt and shirts belted with sashes, the man wearing a vest. The Travelling Notes, Lornie had called them at the festival. Jovan was among them, and he let the harp ease to upright, then stood behind it, watching Ivy.

  "Ivy," Scarlet said, crossing the yard to the hedges where Ivy stood. "Come to the gate."

  Ivy didn't budge. "I, I didn't come to stay."

  Berella lagged behind Scarlet, both in sweeping southern belle dresses so that they appeared to glide across the cold grass. Berella's gait wasn't quite as fluid as Scarlet's, which made her hooped skirt bounce.

  "Oh, is that it?" Scarlet stood on tiptoe to see the garment bag Ivy held. "Come in. You can change in my room."

  Ivy gripped the bag tighter, seeing Mandrake start across the yard toward them. "Uh, n-no, that's okay. I didn't come to wear it."

  Berella raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"Told you she wouldn't do it."

  Ivy braced herself, feeling faint as Mandrake neared. "I just came to tell Dred that, that I couldn't do this today. I . . . I have plans for later."

  "Shouldn't take long," Mandrake said, his eyes on Ivy as he stopped behind Scarlet. "Come in, Ivy. I'd like your opinion on a new piece I've written."

  She tore her eyes from him, settling on the gypsies. "You have company."

  "Family. Relatives. Visiting," Berella said, crossing her arms across her chest, making her ruffled collar plump. "Hurry up and come in. I want to get out of these bones. This is taking forever," she snapped to Scarlet before turning and stomping back to Rockfort.

  "Oh, you have no hoop," Scarlet said, leaning to see over the hedge more. "I think we can manage a spare. Come in now and we'll make-do."

  "I didn't do a hoop," Ivy explained, trying to avoid Mandrake's pointed stare. "I have a petticoat."

  He beckoned with his hand, nodding to the break in the hedges. "Come, Ivy. We'll go in and find Dred."

  She almost took a step toward the gate, but steeled herself. "I really can't right now. I'll come back later."

  His eyes seemed to propel her into motion, but she made herself veer away from the hedges, out of arm's reach. "You don't want to hear it?"

  The notes from last night drifted into her head, almost forcefully. "Not, not now, please. Mandrake."

  His lips curved in a smile. "You will come back later."

  She nodded slowly, unable to break eye contact. "I'll come back later."

  "Good."

  She ripped her gaze from him, taking a deep breath as she hurried across the dead leaf littered lot.

  "We'll hold you to that," he said, his voice never rising but easily reaching her.

  She nodded, not looking back.

  The harp rippled into the melody she'd heard the previous night.

  She pulled the garment bag closer, hugging it as she broke into a trot for town.

  * * * * *