Three: History Is My Witness
Bonnie was thankful for the blankets Caroline piled on her shoulders, but she did not think it was a good idea to build a fire in the fireplace. First and foremost, this fireplace, much like the house, belonged to strangers.
Caroline, however, was in a state of frightening euphoria and hardly listened to her friend, as she dumped logs of wood in the fire box.
"Care, could you please stop? I'm warm, I really am. In fact…you should put on some clothes, so we can get out of here."
Her blonde friend seemed puzzled whenever Bonnie suggested they leave.
"But you haven't seen the other rooms! You haven't seen the ball room! Yeah, they've got a ball room! And it's no dance hall, like the one back home where they keep the tractors. It's like something outta Thief of Bagdad!"
"I really don't think we should see the other rooms, all right? We need to go home."
The word "home" seemed to evoke some kind of feeling in Caroline. Her eyes lingered wistfully over the mantelpiece and she almost let out a sigh of longing. The spell didn't last. Her attention was driven back to the fire box.
Bonnie could never leave without her friend. Leaving Caroline behind would be a cowardly gesture. Girls have to stick up for other girls, no matter what, her Grams had drilled into her head. You can hate a girl, but you have to help her. Cuz no one else will.
It was even harder, because she loved Caroline.
She had tried using brute force; she'd put her small hands on Caroline's white shoulders and pulled her towards the paneled doors, but her friend had resisted with unshakable strength. Bonnie had seen her lift that armchair and throw it across the pool, but she had hoped that was just the aftermath of a turbulent night and that her own mind was simply fabulating. She did not want to believe the demons of hell were any realer than uwa Arawa.
"At least…at least, tell me that fellow is not in the house right now," she tried a different tactic.
"What fellow?"
Bonnie tasted the name on her tongue. Stephen, was it? No, something foreign. "Stefano?"
"Oh, Stefan!" Caroline cried out with rapturous joy. "He's such a doll, you don't have to worry about him!"
"I'm sure he's swell," Bonnie conceded weakly, "but is he around here somewhere?"
"I don't know, he said he had to talk to Nickie someone. He said I can do whatever I want in the meantime, 'cause this is his home too."
That's what I feared, Bonnie thought sourly.
Perhaps, if there was only one of them in the house, they could make their escape that much easier. She pressed one finger to her perforated wrists. The dry crusts of blood had been removed by the pool's water, but two jagged holes remained, pink like freshly slaughtered lamb. She could hardly suppress a shudder.
If the golden-haired man and his red-eyed sister were somewhere nearby, neither she, nor Caroline, stood a chance.
"Voila!" Caroline cried out, as two shy ember flames rose from the pile of wood in the fireplace.
"That's great, Caroline. Could you…could you show me the rest of the house? I'm all warmed up."
She hoped her friend might know the way out. If they happened upon an entrance hall, she might make a dash for it. No, she wouldn't run out on Caroline. She'd rush to the nearest payphone, or try one of the neighbors.
"Are you sure? That water felt so cold on your skin."
Odd, Bonnie thought. Caroline had jumped inside the pool for her, but her friend was still wearing the revealing dressing robe without any sign of discomfort.
"I'm sure."
"Oh, you're gonna love your bedroom!"
"My – my what?"
"Stefan said you'd get one too. Mine's on the third floor, yours is on the second. I asked if we could be roommates, but he didn't agree. Said that Nickie fellow would want you on the second floor. Isn't this exciting?"
Bonnie gulped down the bile that rose in her throat. Caroline was intoxicated. There was no other explanation for it. Those fiendish rascals had drugged her; they had unscrewed the bolts in her brain and poured barbiturate inside.
And then, a terrifying thought seized her. Not barbiturate. Liquid gold.
"Caroline, did they bite you too? Do you have any wounds?"
She left the mountain of blankets behind on the couch and rushed to inspect her friend. Bonnie surveyed the milk-white skin, a skin she sometimes envied despite her best resolutions, and tried to find similar perforations. But it was smooth as a babe's bottom.
"That's ticklish," Caroline giggled. "What are you looking for, Bon?"
"They didn't leave a mark," she muttered, dropping her hands.
What did this mean? Would her own marks disappear? Was she going to become inebriated and carefree, was she going to frolic like a nymph?
"I'm scared," she mumbled to no one in particular, because she could sense that no one in this house had ever experienced that feeling.
"Don't be!" Caroline cheered her, kissing her cheeks. "I'm so glad you're here with me. You know, the first few moments when I woke up, I felt lonely, I felt really lousy, and I couldn't even bear sunlight. But look, Stefan gave me this beautiful ring."
Bonnie felt stupid that she hadn't even noticed. There was a copper band around Caroline's ring finger. Its engravings were beautiful, but the effect was marred by a bulky yellow stone placed right in the middle. India Yellow. They say it's the color of cow piss.
She chased these ridiculous thoughts from her head. "Please don't tell me you got engaged."
"No, silly. He said it's a ring to help me with the sunlight. It doesn't hurt anymore. It burned my skin right off! But now I'm all good. You know, I cried a lot, but he looked into my eyes and he said the burns would heal and they did! And he also told me to be happy, and I am!"
Bonnie chewed on her lip in a fit of distress. She wanted to put her arms around her friend, but the way Caroline was babbling, it was better to just let her talk.
"…and Stefan said these powers make you so strong you never die, can you believe it? But don't worry, he said you have powers too! We're so lucky, Bon."
Powers? Bonnie took a step back in fear.
"Come on, I'll show you everything."
When Caroline seized her hand, she could do little but follow.
Most of the doors they tried were locked. Not even Caroline's newfound strength could pry them open. The good news was the owners seemed to be out. The bad news…
"Look at those giant gates! They're taller than the Woolworth Building!"
She and Caroline stood on the columned verandah and gazed at the manicured lawn in front of them. A beautiful paved driveway curled around a series of naked poplars and reached its end in the teeth of a giant metal mouth that was barred shut.
Even if they could climb up those spikes and jumped down, they would break all their bones. Well, Caroline might not…
"Care. Do you think you could break through those gates?" Might as well use her powers for good, Bonnie reasoned.
But her blonde friend gave her such a funny look. "Maybe, but Stefan said we're his and Nickie's guests and it'd be really rude to break the gates."
Bonnie heaved a sigh. "You'll snap out of this soon. It can't last."
When they returned inside, Bonnie was just about ready to see that bedroom. There was no point in panicking any further. The best she could do was freshen herself up, maybe find some decent clothes and try to come up with another exit plan. She hadn't considered this before, but maybe these eccentrics were rich enough to own a telephone.
In any case, her Grams would realize soon enough that her girl was missing and…well, the cops didn't care much if a black girl vanished, but Sheila Bennett was a beloved fixture in the neighborhood. Maybe some folks would help out and come looking for her.
Caroline was delighted to show her up the stairs. "You know, I thought we'd be stuck working at El Rey forever, but destiny has other plans for us."
Bonnie shook her head. "Destiny can't be this cruel."
Her room was every bit as costly as the rest of the house. She could fit in her Grams' bedroom and kitchen and bathroom all in this one upscale apartment. You never realized they made houses these big, you never realized how much space some people took. Bonnie stood in the center, marveling.
There were two other doors in the room. One opened on a second bedroom… except there was no bed; inside, there were two heavy wardrobes filled with clothes. Giant boxes were lined against the wall, each of them holding a pair of expensive shoes. Bonnie's eyes went wide.
"Caroline, we can't…"
But her friend had disappeared in a puff of smoke, it seemed, and she was all alone in this mausoleum.
Shyly, Bonnie stepped into this miraculous closet. She touched the fabrics as she went by with the tips of her fingers. Silk, velvet, taffeta, samite, satin, gossamer, tweed…
She gasped when she saw that there were even drawers full of nylon stockings, and not the cheap kind whose lines you had to draw with charcoal.
She felt like crying. She was almost hurt by this opulence. It felt like she was being robbed, like something inside of her was being replaced.
She left the closet behind and opened the second door instead. She had never seen such a pretty bathroom before. The room was tiled from floor to ceiling in a green mosaic. A clawfoot bathtub reigned supreme in the middle of this chromatic display, but it had a long hose attached to it. Bonnie had heard of these contraptions before. They were supposed to make bathing easier.
On a shelf above her head she saw a variety of soaps, most of them from France (it said Marseille on the back). And then there were the towels; snowy white, baby soft to the touch. These were engraved with a large angry "M" on the hem.
That must be the family name.
She did not want to use them. That imposing letter would be scratching against her skin. But she smelled like a hog and she really needed a bath.
When she returned to the bedroom, she was warm and clean, wrapped up in the soft towels like a swaddled baby. She was a hypocrite, perhaps, because the mysterious "M" was emblazoned on her breast and she was still breathing easy.
Her hair would probably have a lot of kinks she'd have to wrinkle out with a good brush, but that could wait. Suddenly, nothing was so very pressing. She had to go home…and retrieve Caroline…but surely…an hour or two couldn't hurt…
She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, foolishly.
"Wake up."
Bonnie groaned into the pillow, hiding her face.
"I said wake up."
"…mmm, one more minute, Grams."
"Do I sound like an elderly woman?"
Bonnie opened one bloodshot eye. The man standing by her bedside looked like her old schoolmaster. The same imperious expression, the same slightly ruffled suit. Except, Mr. Curlins wasn't white and young and…
Bonnie jumped up, unraveling the towel wrapped around her hair.
She felt clammy and cold. She looked down and realized she'd slept in the damp towels. And she was rather naked underneath them.
She put a hand to her head, where she felt the stubborn pulse of a headache. This was becoming a bad habit.
"Now. Perhaps you'd like to make yourself decent," the voice said and she felt a sudden weight in her lap. She looked down and identified a petticoat, a pair of thick stockings and a pretty blue cashmere dress.
"I…thank you, but wool makes my skin irritable."
"You are welcome to try something else, witchling."
Bonnie looked up slowly. It seemed slow in retrospect, because her every breath came out delayed. She remembered where she was. And she finally took a good look at the stranger that had reminded her of Mr. Curlins.
She screamed.
A bird was screeching in her ears, White Devil! White Devil!
It was him. Gold hair, demon smile.
Bonnie jumped up and ran across the bed, like a child at play, except her nose was filling up with water and her throat was closing up. Before she could make it to the door, he had her wrapped in his arms.
Bonnie struggled and lashed out and scratched at his arms desperately, but the only thing she accomplished was to remove the last towel from her body.
"I could very well sink my teeth into your throat and make you as pliant as a cat," he spoke into her ear, his hands holding her waist like a jeweler weighing his prize collection.
Bonnie covered herself with her arms and closed her eyes, as if that would somehow dispel her nakedness, as if that would restore her to a semblance of dignity.
"Please," she said hoarsely, "I'll wear the dress, just don't touch me–"
The golden-haired man deposited her back on the bed with little ceremony.
"Don't insult me, witchling," he spoke, both amused and insulted. "I do not play with my acquisitions. And I certainly don't need to."
Bonnie gripped the petticoat to shield her body. "What do you want with me?"
"You're being quite melodramatic. I am not here to impose myself on you."
Perhaps it was madness, more than madness, particularly after all she'd seen and done, but she was suddenly gripped with a cold fury. Darla Max hadn't died for this.
"You…you're a white man who kidnapped me, fed on my body," she said, lifting her wrists, "and now calls me his acquisition."
"And?" he echoed arrogantly.
"And that's exactly what imposing on me means! History is my witness."
The man let out a sinister bark of laughter. "History? And what do you know of that, witchling?"
Bonnie blushed furiously. Her feverish political pursuits had no place here. This wasn't Harlem, this house could never even conceive it. But she had to speak.
"Stop calling me that!"
He cleared his throat, eyes narrowing in all too menacing a manner. "You presume to order me."
Bonnie flinched, drawing further away from him.
She had been so stupid, talking out of hand, trying to sound her opinions. What was she even doing? She had to get out of this house, no matter the cost. And she had to take Caroline with her.
"Please, where is my friend?" she asked, lifting her chin up and trying to meet his eyes without shaking.
It was a difficult task, since those liquid orbs shifted constantly, showing either darkness or light with each step he took.
"I want to see her," she said, locking her fingers together.
"You are very demanding for someone in your position. And quite brazen too," he commented coolly. But she felt he was mocking her in some way.
"I suppose it would be dull if you were not," he added, calmly pacing the room. "But let us hope you will be more receptive once you learn to be my witch."
Bonnie choked on her breath, and what came out was an embarrassing sound of strangled laughter.
"Your what?"
The man was insane. Positively mad. She was just an exotic oddity to him. People always thought her Grams could cast spells just because she "looked" like she could.
But Bonnie remembered the fangs. The reality of their incision. She remembered his monstrous mouth, that spectral look of him towering above her as he fed. She remembered his sister, with her red hungry eyes. And…her beloved friend, Caroline, dashing across the pool, lifting impossible weights…
He was suddenly near her again, raising her chin with one terrifyingly warm finger.
"If you're going to scream again, you had better make it loud."
Stefan raised the bottle to the ceiling, and then smashed it against the mantelpiece. Glass scattered indifferently on the woven rug. He used the jagged end to cut into the throat of his victim. This one had a thick neck on him, and his girl would have a hard time piercing through the flesh.
Caroline watched from a comfortable distance.
"You'll have to learn to do this in a cleaner fashion. But he's a solid kill. Enough blood to sate you for days."
Caroline listened carefully with a simpering smile. Something was not right with the room. There was a smell almost, a smell of decay.
"Where is Bonnie?" she suddenly asked, as if someone had just shown her a funny picture of her friend.
Stefan held out the thick-set man at arm's length. His crude overalls clashed absurdly with the fin-de-siècle décor of the room. "Drink first. You're hungry."
Caroline swayed a little on the sofa. "I'm woozy. I think I need Bonnie to give me one of her aspirins."
Stefan sighed. The man's blood was falling in large drops on the expensive rug. Nik would be mad. With that in mind…
"You'll be fine if you have a drink. And your friend is probably… having a chat with my friend. You'll meet him soon enough."
"What does he want with Bonnie?" Caroline asked, feeling both immensely listless and deeply worried for her friend.
"What most men want with witches. Power. Now…how about that drink?"
Caroline felt the veins in her cheeks boiling under the skin, reaching her eyes, prickling her vision until she was about to cry. She ran to meet the man's open jugular.
so, I realize I'm updating more than a year later, but better late than never, right? I don't want to burden you guys with my personal problems, but I'm struggling with some things, so I wasn't in the mood/mental state to write. but thank you for your reviews and I hope you'll enjoy what I've written here! let's see if I can keep it up!