Year of the Vampire Page 7

  "Dred!" Evandis called from the first floor.

  Ivy bit her lip as he turned down the hall.

  "What do you want?" he yelled.

  "Have you seen the mirror from the library?"

  Dred paled, his expression drooping. "Damn girlie-man. What's he need to see everything for?"

  "A mirror?"

  "Yeah. Hang on." He nodded to the room. "Go on in. I'll be right back."

  He was gone before she could speak.

  She stood at the doorway, looking into the room. It wasn't a bad room, not poorly lit or musty-smelling; just something in the air that felt foreboding.

  She stepped inside, feeling nothing, and then took a few more steps. The floorboards were weathered light brown, the Oriental rug frayed and faded. The bedspread was somewhat smoothed, the pillow plumped. The windows were dusty but from the outside. She decided it wasn't too bad, his room, but something about being alone with him, knowing so little about him—and with no parental figures in place—made her reluctant.

  The door creaked and she looked to it.

  It slowly swung shut.

  Ivy gasped. At the back of the door hung a full-length mirror with beveled sides and ornate frame of brass. In it she saw the hallway, not the bedroom she was in. She took a deep breath, curious at the trick of imagery. She moved her hand, seeing no reflection or movement in the glass. From down the hall, the cello music resumed, this time slow and fluid, a summoning sound in its undertones.

  She slowly crossed the floor, waiting to see her reflection in the mirror, but none appeared. She stood directly before it, holding her breath as she reached for the brass doorknob. It turned easily, creaking as she pulled the door open.

  She quickly stepped into the hallway. The cello music drew on, from a room closer to the stair landing. She made her way there, hearing male voices from below in a low argument. When she got to the room where the music was loudest, she stopped, watching the slightly ajar door, willing herself to push it open a little more.

  She put a hand to the door, pushing gently. The door opened noiselessly, swinging open more than she intended.

  Inside the bright light of late afternoon sun streamed in, a warm welcome flooding her. A light-colored wood grand piano squatted on a navy and cream Persian rug, its keys exposed below the sheet music propped above. More papers with hand-drawn musical notes were scattered on the closed lid. Two music stands and a Queen Anne sofa were across the room, with open doors to a balcony directly across from where Ivy stood.

  From the balcony came the cello, low and bare, sounding forsaken and ominous.

  Ivy stood still, watching the balcony. Out it she could see the edge of a man's bent knee and the side of a riding boot. He was seated, she could tell, and every now and then, she saw his elbow come into view as he played, his camel tan shirtsleeve rolled up.

  She looked back to the sheet music at the piano. The upright pages were handwritten, the title in scrolling penmanship. Year of the Bone.

  Her eyes flicked back to the balcony as Mandrake's hair wove into view. He tilted his head, not quite looking at her, his playing uninterrupted.

  She silently backtracked, realizing she'd stepped into the room a few feet. When she got to the door, she quickly left, closed it to within a few inches of the doorjamb, and hurried to the staircase.

  ". . . working on it right now," Maeve's voice floated up from the bottom floor.

  Ivy slowed her steps, unsure of the protocol for girls in the house of mainly males.

  "I'm glad we're not traveling this year. I can do with another decade before the graveyard route again." It was Branard.

  "Ivy's here!" Dred nearly screeched from another ground floor room.

  Ivy stopped, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

  There was a whisper, and then Maeve called, "Hi, Ivy."

  Ivy continued down, knowing she was likely just out of sight around the curve of stairs along the wall.

  Sure enough, two steps later, Maeve and Branard appeared, ascending the case.

  "Hi," Ivy said, searching Maeve's face.

  Maeve raised an eyebrow, an amused smile on her lips. Branard chuckled, nodding to her.

  "We were working on a school project," Ivy heard herself say, feeling a blush swell over her cheeks.

  Maeve nodded down the staircase. "Dred's in the—"

  "Oh, gods!" Evandis' scream broke in. "Oh, how could this be? How? Who?" He was outside, his voice uncharacteristically manly and still waveringly shrill.

  The cello music stopped.

  Maeve crooked a smile. "Come on down, Ivy. Have you met Evandis yet?"

  "Oh, yes." Ivy hurried down.

  In the garden, a small group had gathered. Ivy knew a few of them, being Vohn, Rockfort, Evandis, and Berella by Dred's reference, but there were a few she did not. Evandis knelt by the decapitated statue, the stone head held close, cradling it like a slain brother in arms. He wasn't crying, but close to it. Rockfort looked bored, Vohn slightly guilty, and the man he had sparred with, a bit annoyed.

  He looked at Ivy as she approached, his black hair swept back with a strand hanging over his brow. His rapier was still in his hand, twisting in impatience.

  Dred stood beside Ivy, half hiding her as Evandis blubbered something about his workmanship.

  "Take her out of here," Vohn said, his stare on Ivy.

  Ivy stepped back as Dred blocked more of her.

  All eyes went to her. For a moment, even Evandis glanced her way. For a longer moment, Ivy felt as if she had stepped back in time, to a transitory moment of Victorian confusion where the industrial age had invaded something far older. It was a feeling she got sometimes when she was backstage at Lornie's play practice amid all the strange props. It wasn't until she stepped back at their scrutiny and her book bag slipped from her shoulder, that the rattle of crochet needles inside snapped the moment.

  "Dred," Maeve said, "maybe your friend shouldn't be here for this."

  Ivy nodded as Dred turned to her, eclipsing the other stares.

  "Yeah, no one wants to see Evandis cry," Dred said, chuckling as he took her elbow. "Let's go, Ivy."

  "Actually," she said, pulling the bag strap back up, "I should go." She caught a quick glimpse of his metal watch. "Past six already! I'm late, Dred." She gave a timid wave to everyone, casting a remorseful look to Evandis.

  He looked up from the blond drape of hair over his face, nodding to her.

  "I always lose track of time here," she mumbled as Dred ushered her across the yard to the hedges.

  Evandis hugged the stone head closer to his chest, his face buried in blond hair as he lowered his head.

  "Bye," she said to Dred as they reached the hedge opening.

  "I guess time just slipped by." He leaned an elbow on the hedge top and it let him sink in. He jerked upright, resuming his composure. "Maybe tomorrow?"

  "Maybe. I teach a class after school at the library, so that would work fine." She looked beyond him. In the garden, some of the Hall residents were drifting away, most back to the house. When all had left, only Vohn stood over the crouching figure of Evandis. He looked irritated, but finally squatted, appearing to speak to the miserable man. Ivy looked to the house when she saw a movement there.

  Mandrake stood on the second floor balcony, the cello upright in one hand as he watched Evandis and Vohn. He glanced to Ivy.

  Her gaze went to Dred. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Dred!" Maeve's voice rang out.

  Dred rolled his eyes. "All right. Bye, Ivy."

  Chapter Eight

  A record number of students had enrolled for Ivy's needlework class at the library. It was more difficult to tutor both crocheting and knitting at the same time, but with the coming holidays, home arts had gotten more popular. Some, like Deidre and Crystal, were taking both. It had taken Ivy a while to learn baby-booties enough to teach them, but it had been a challenge more in emotion than skill.

  Slippers, scarves, and Christma
s stockings were the favorites.

  And, so far, Ivy's earnings were on track for the 3D SewMaster Studio to be offered online the next May. She had applied over the summer, and once her dress was finished for Halloween, she could enter its photo for the fifteen percent discount off the course. And passing that, she thought, would put her into competition to make the next school play's costumes.

  At least, she hoped so.

  She waved to Lornie and turned down the hall to her next classroom. At the end of it stood Vohn, standing up from tying his shoe. He glanced her way, then turned back and walked away.

  An unusual fury welled up within her. Evandis' raw grief as he held his sculpture's head in his arms flooded her mind. Before she knew it, she was walking down the hall, her steps clicking loudly in the emptiness.

  "What do you want, Ivy?" he asked without looking at her when she neared.

  "I, I think that was just awful," she said, following as he rounded the corner into the electives wing of the building.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You know. Vohn," she added.

  "Well, is this a proper acquaintance now?" He stopped and faced her, eyes narrowing. "After a full summer of you and your little friends stalking me, now you introduce yourself? Somehow I always thought it was that brunette girl leading the covert operation."

  Her mouth dropped open as she stared up at him. "It was . . . That was Camille's idea. Not mine. Anyway," she said, brushing back a strand of hair that fell from her ponytail, "how could you be so callous to that Evandis guy?"

  "Oh. Evandis." He shook his head. "He's a little too sensitive, if you haven't noticed. He'll get over it."

  "But he was heartbroken."

  "He's easily heartbroken. If you looked at him wrong, he'd shatter. Besides, I apologized. But you weren't there for that, were you?" Some of the glare left his eyes. "I said I was sorry, Ivy. Nothing more I can do." He shrugged, sizing her up slowly. "He's making another. He's talented and quick. There'll be another statue up in no time."

  She felt the ire drain from her, leaving only a strange calm. "But he was so devastated."

  "He's also easily devastated." He shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing down the hall as the bell rang for classes to begin. "You're late."

  She clutched her books tighter. "I didn't realize . . ."

  "Maybe if you hurry, you won't be late."

  "The bell already went off." She took a deep breath. "It's too late."

  "Not if you hurry."

  She frowned at him, then turned and began back down the hallway. "Okay, thanks for . . ."

  "Apologizing to Evandis?" He laughed.

  Her ears burned red as she hurried away. "Yeah. I guess."

  "If you're so worried, come by the house and check out Evandis' new work, Ivy," he called.

  She paused at the corner of the next hall, looking back at him.

  "If you're brave enough to come back," he added, holding her stare.

  She stood straighter, unsure what was in his expression. "Why not?"

  He shrugged. "Dred can be a little much sometimes. I wouldn't be alone with him for too long, were I you."

  Before she could speak, he disappeared around the next hallway.

  Ivy frowned, then ducked into her next class three doors down.

  To her surprise, Mr. Tucker didn't notice her slip into her seat in the second to the last row.

  His back was to the class as he wrote on the whiteboard.

  Ivy glanced at the wall clock, startled to find that the minute hand was just clicking to the five. The pass break sounded, signaling the start of class. She blinked at it, confused.

  Camille leaned to her from the next row of seats. "That was close. You were almost late, Ivy. That new kid, Dred, he keep you out?"

  Ivy shook her head as Camille giggled. "I, I thought I was late."

  * * * * *

  Ivy thought about dropping by Brylinden Hall after school, but she headed to the library instead. Fortunately for her, their small town library didn't have much draw to it after summer reading programs, so the study rooms could double as extra-curricular meet points, giving her a place to hold her needlework classes. Usually she got access to the small room used for the historical society or genealogical club.

  This time, she headed to the local history section, with the librarian leading the way. There was a bit of musty smell in the dark confines of shelves labeled "Rasperville Archives", and the tome Mrs. Galewaters pulled from the little-used shelves looked to be a century old.

  "This should be it," Mrs. Galewaters said in answer to Ivy's request. She lugged the book to the nearest study table and gently let it down. She flipped a few pages, ones near the beginning of the photo gallery section, and turned it for Ivy to see. She sat down, wheezing slightly, her heavyset frame slumping on her elbows as she let herself rest. "It's been there ever since I can remember, Ivy, and I go back a ways. Near seventy years."

  "Thanks," Ivy told her, turning a page. "Wow, one of the oldest buildings in town."

  "Yes, predating even the town." She adjusted her trifocal glasses and slowly pushed herself up from the table as front door opened. "Let me know if you need anything else, Ivybelle."

  "Thanks." Ivy thumbed through the photos, finding Brylinden Hall easily. It was one of the first listed—and listed as "existing before town founding".

  She frowned. "How odd. A big hall like that. Just out here, for no reason."

  Over the next hour she learned more than she thought possible about the Hall she'd recently met in person. She lost herself in tax records—paid up every six years, in arrears—birth and death certificates, old photos in black-and-white and sienna tint, and sales receipts and newspaper clippings loosely connected to the Hall. The name Maelfaqs was the official owner-family of Brylinden Hall, but that name was on none of the tax receipts. Those were paid by names like Greitz and Goddard. She couldn't make out the first names, but they did not appear to be Mandrake.

  A clatter of metal rods rattling across the table grabbed Ivy's attention and made her flinch. She looked up as eleven-year-old Deidre Tucker plopped down across in the chair.

  She brushed her dark hair out of her eyes and smiled widely. "Hi, Ivy!" she whispered loudly. "Are you doing homework?"

  Ivy caught the chrome crochet hooks that rolled toward her. "Kind of. Are you here with your mom?" She looked around, not finding the girl's mother or older brother anywhere. "You know we don't have a class today, right?"

  Deidre rolled the two knitting needles she still had across the table below her palm. "Yup. Just hanging. I have a half an hour to kill before we have dance practice." Her eyes lit up. "Are you dancing in the Romeo and Juliet play at your school?"

  "Sorry to disappoint, Deidre. I'm not in the play, at all." Ivy handed the hooks back to her. "My friend Lornie is, though."

  "Oh," the girl breathed, smiling. "I wish I was. I want to do drama when I get to high school."

  "The junior high has a play this year, don't they?" Ivy watched her use the hooks as chopsticks, chasing a snippet of notebook paper scrap across the table.

  "Yeah, but they're doing scenes from The Hobbit. I don't want to be a hobbit," she said, scrunching up her nose.

  Before Ivy could speak again, Deidre spoke again.

  "Is that your boyfriend?" she asked, leaning across the table to her.

  Ivy followed the crochet hook the girl pointed to a cubby near the Mystery Fiction section.

  Dred sat in a chair, slouched, a magazine in his hands. At Ivy and Deidre's united glance, he raised the magazine up, hiding too late.

  "He's been sitting there for a long time," Deidre said, nodding as she leaned back.

  "No," Ivy said. "Not my boyfriend."

  Dred rolled the magazine and scooted it to the cubby table, then crossed the library to them. He grinned, nodding at Deidre. "Hi, Ivy. Ivy's little friend." He sat down between them at the short side of the table's chair.

  "Doing research?" Ivy
asked him, covering some of her own paperwork.

  "No. Just . . . Hey, what're you looking up?" His eyes sifted over what he could see of the newspaper clippings. "Our house?"

  "Yes." She quickly debated the matter. "It's an interesting house, and my dad said it's a menagerie of styles, so I thought I'd look it up."

  He nodded, then looked to where Deidre was tapping the nickel-colored crochet hooks on the table. "Slaying vampires? Are those real silver?"

  Deidre giggled and sat back in her chair, grinning goofily. "No."

  "She's a dancer," Ivy said.

  The girl smiled shyly as Dred grinned at her.

  "Really?"

  Deidre nodded. She pivoted in her chair and looked out the wide side window that showed part of the sidewalk at the front of the building. "How long are you staying, Ivy?"

  "I'm about done." Ivy gathered the material she had tentatively categorized by importance, as sketchy as that was. She placed it in the manila envelope Mrs. Galewaters had provided.

  "Can you walk with me to the dance studio?" Deidre's voice was meek now, her laugh gone.

  Ivy stopped putting the papers away. "Is something wrong, Deidre?"

  The girl shrugged. "No, but there was a big bird in the tree earlier. Huge, like a, a bird of prey."

  Ivy stood, craning her neck to see the large oak tree at the front of the library window. "Are you sure?"

  "Like the hawks out at the cornfield, at the corn maze last year." Deidre stood up and pulled her book bag into her arms, hugging it close. "It was big enough to pick me up, I bet."

  Ivy was still trying to see out the window, her hands deftly collecting the papers on the table, when Dred stepped before them, blocking their views.

  "I'll check it out," he said somberly. "Stay here."

  "I'm sure it's just a—"

  But he was already walking across the library, making a beeline for the double-doors.

  Deidre looked up at Ivy, who shrugged.

  Dred stood at the front of the small library, hands on his hips as he searched the two windows on either side of the doors. After a long moment, he turned and waved them over.

  "Guess the coast is clear," Ivy told Deidre.