A one-shot, dedicated to my mother. Even though she'll never ever read this.
Claire and Myrnin were upstairs in the attic behind Amelie's clubhouse. Trunks were thrown open and clothes had been strewn about the floor. A full-length mirror was in the center as Myrnin tried on old hats and vests.
"I didn't know Amelie had kept so many of my things," he said gratefully as he admired himself in the mirror. "I used to be such a smashing young lad."
Claire rolled her eyes. "So, have you come up here a lot?" she asked.
"Not since... Bishop's Welcome Feast. When I found our costumes. I must say, we were a smashing Harlequin and Pierrot."
Claire found this odd—not Myrnin's comment about the costume party, but the fact that Myrnin hadn't been in the attic since the Welcome Feast. "You haven't?"
Myrnin, ignoring her, shook his head and tried on a hat. "Oh, absolutely not. This would clash horribly..." he said, tossing it down and picking up another.
Claire had noticed many things were out of place since she'd last come up here. A mannequin had been tossed on its side and drawers shaken out. Did Amelie come looking for something?
"Perfect," Myrnin said, twirling around in a feather boa.
Claire rolled her eyes and checked her watch. "Why did we even come up here in the first place?" she asked, looking over at Myrnin again. She swung her legs idly on top of the chest of drawers she was sitting on. "You got way sidetracked."
"Me? My dear Claire, if you cannot remember our original purpose for trekking up all of those stairs, then you followed me into the shadow of petty distractions. Don't put all the blame on me," he chastised, not even glancing away from his reflection. He bent to pick up a pair of shoes.
Claire thought about insulting him, but she held it back and let out a tiny sigh. Well, if they weren't going to work today, she might as well have a look around. The old things in here could probably be interesting. Claire bet the best Victorian museums in America didn't have as many items of clothing or antiques as Amelie had hidden away in this attic.
She got up and looked in a trunk Myrnin had gotten his outfits from. There were lady clothes in here, too. Claire pulled out a voluminous dress, surprised at how much cloth a single article of clothing could be made of. She figured all of what went into the dress could equal her bedding in mass.
Myrnin looked over at what she was doing.
"That—" He stopped. He walked over and took the heavy dress from Claire. He smiled and barked a laugh, one that held the audible sound of a distant memory. "Knee-slapping."
Claire gave him an odd look. "What's knee-slapping?"
"This is Amelie's dress from her first ball."
"Amelie kept her dress from her first ball?"
Myrnin rolled his eyes. "I just said that, did I not? But anyway, Amelie's not usually one to place sentimental value on things. And," he said when Claire's reaction wasn't as grand as his, "you should have seen her dancing. She had just learned the waltz and she wasn't as graceful as a vampire. Several times, she nearly fell."
Her attention wandered, as she didn't seem to find Myrnin's story as funny as he did, and Claire caught a glimpse of something silver. It glinted in the afternoon light coming in from a small window. "Myrnin?" She stared at a sword that had been buried under Amelie's dress.
He looked at her and followed her gaze. He cocked his head to the side. And then, it seemed, realization hit him. Hard.
"She promised she would get rid of this," he muttered, leaning over and picking it up ever so gently, avoiding the sunlight as best he could.
Claire's brows furrowed as she looked over the sword. The blade was smooth and was without a scratch. The hilt was made of a black metal and little sapphires were set in swirly designs. It looked very simple, but it seemed—based on Myrnin's reaction to seeing it—ominous.
"What is it?"
Myrnin hesitated. "Nothing," he said.
He set down the sword gingerly and off the vest he'd been trying on. Myrnin folded it neatly and put it in the trunk and picked up the sword once more.
"Myrnin, tell me what it is. You, Amelie, and Oliver are all getting way too guarded about things these days. Why aren't you telling me anything?"
Myrnin looked at her. He looked at her hard—like he was sizing her up. Soon, a wall behind his eyes collapsed and he nodded, looking away from her. He jerked his head toward an unopened chest. "Sit."
Claire did and she watched Myrnin begin to pace before her.
"You know of Klaus, do you?" Myrnin asked, not looking up from the path he was walking.
She nodded. "You've mentioned him a few times."
"Well, he and I used to be close friends during the time of silence between Amelie and her father—you know," he said, looking at her quickly with a raised brow, "when we thought we had killed him."
Claire nodded, prompting him to continue.
"He was an inventor, like myself. We also shared an interest for alchemy. While he was not as studied in the subject, he had his flashes of brilliance. Klaus and I worked together for a number of years. And in those years, we created many things." He paused and his eyes glassed over for a moment or two before he continued. "You know," he said, "machines, communication devices, alchemical trinkets.
"Eventually, Bishop crept his way out of the shadows and made Amelie aware of his miserable existence that we had failed to rid the world of. Bishop's power grew quickly and Klaus was forced to choose sides. He—being the twitchy little devil that he was—chose Bishop over Amelie. But not before he and I had created a sword—this broadsword. He named it the Secret Sword," Myrnin said grudgingly. "Not my first choice, but he insisted. And the name... stuck. Unfortunately." Myrnin held up the Sword and looked it over again.
"The Secret Sword is an alchemical invention that—when having stabbed a human being—would turn them into a vampire. Klaus, of course, regretted the fact that he had left it in my hands and took it back to give to his master. But what he did not know, was that Amelie and I had fashioned the Secret Sword so that the humans being turned would serve Amelie and only Amelie."
"But, I thought a vampire could only be made from the transfer of human and vampire blood," Claire said, quite confused.
Myrnin gave her a scolding look. "Alchemy, Claire, is a magical science that defies all laws. You should know this by now."
"Just go on," Claire said, not wanting to hear a speech about it.
"Fine," Myrnin said. "Anyway, Klaus took the Secret Sword and showed it to Bishop. It pleased him and Bishop realized he could make an army of vampires to fight for him and help him gain more power. Soon, the newborns came to our quarters as they had been programmed to do. We won many battles, but soon our army ran out. So afterward—sorry, I'm not good at conclusions. I'll just stop there," Myrnin finished. "Well," he added quickly, "Klaus ran from Bishop once he realized the little addition Amelie and I made to the Sword. He, if I remember correctly now, was the one to send me that UV bomb. We aren't exactly on speaking terms any longer."
"He's still alive?" Claire asked.
"Oh, yes. I've received several packages from him over the last century containing some of my things I had apparently left in his possession and he was tired of holding onto them. Most of the boxes containing nasty letters from him and what he thought of me." Myrnin scoffed. "If those letters are the best he can do, I see no point in replying. They seemed like very weak attempts at insulting me."
Claire eyed the Secret Sword again and wondered aloud, "Why did Amelie have to get rid of it? It's not harming anyone, and hasn't for years."
"It just brings back memories that I don't especially like to sip wine to. And it's quite... magical, I suppose the word is."
"It is, isn't it?" a voice that was neither Claire's nor Myrnin's said. A figure in an old-fashioned suit stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the attic. "I've been looking for that," he said in a light tone that hid darkness just beneath the surface. He pushed circular wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and moved dark wavy hair out of his eyes. "If you two are done playing dress-up, I'd like to discuss your options with you. But first..." He removed a glass sphere from his pocket and tossed it at Myrnin.
Myrnin caught it deftly.
"That's yours as well, Myrnin. Another petty trinket you forgot to take with you when you and your Queen left."
This is probably the cheesiest thing I've ever written and you can feel free to taunt me for it. I just started writing and this is what my mind vomited. So, that was some genuine mind vomit from me. Review if you feel inclined—it's quite understandable if you don't. I just thought this would be such a waste if it sat on my flash drive forever.