Chapter 8

In Which A Chain Reaction Begins Which Will Bring About Ragnarok

Down the hall in Viktor's apartment, Amelia and Viktor were conversing heatedly. Viktor, seated in a velvet easy chair that reclined and vibrated, was listening to Amelia's endless monologue with a dark expression. It was difficult to tell whether he was angry about Lucian's cheek or Amelia's lethal attitude. Though he had learned to put up with Amelia's customary frosty conduct, he still drew the line at her violent outbursts that she still had occasionally.

Amelia, seated upright in a chair similar to Viktor's, was grilling the latter with demands to penalize Lucian swiftly and harshly. Viktor's 52-inch plasma screen TV, turned to a news channel, was on mute.

"Listen to me when I'm talking to you, Viktor!" Amelia snapped at him. Her jaw jutted out and she glared at him with venomous green eyes.

"I AM listening to you, darn it. Can't you freaking see that?" he responded irritably. "I'm listening quite attentively, although Lucian's shortcomings are not, by any means, new to me."

"What do you mean?" asked Amelia suspiciously. She felt her anger towards Lucian momentarily disappear as she observed Viktor's fury with interest.

Viktor gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his chair's armrests. "I found out that he was planning – entirely without my permission – to use the South Wing Lounge to play Halo with Sonja."

Amelia narrowed her jade eyes and tapped her fingers, one at a time, on her chair arm. She wondered why he was so angry – what was so appalling about Lucian wanting to play Halo with Sonja? Aside from the fact that Viktor might possibly object to any romantic crap between the two. But that was hardly plausible; Viktor was not the type to interfere in a romantic relationship. Amelia gritted her teeth. No, it had to be something else.

Suddenly, she thought of the girl. Could she have anything to do with it? Amelia strained her memory, determined to remember all she could about the incident. That girl – she had been from Yugoslavia. Or had she just been visiting? Amelia simply couldn't remember. It all had been centuries ago, but no matter – a very good thing that she had murdered the artful young gold-digger before Viktor's infatuation had turned into anything serious. Or had it? At the time, there were rumors that he was keeping a wife in the attic – maybe they were true.

Briefly, Amelia wondered what the girl had been like. Probably a shameless, fortune-hunting bimbo with enough innocent looks to fool Viktor. Viktor, in her estimation, had always been a total klutz in matters that dealt with women. Yes, it had definitely been a very good thing that she had killed the girl when she did.

Amelia was jolted back to the present when Viktor banged his chair arm which sent up a cloud of dust.

"So – what are you going to do about it?" she queried, hoping to goad him into killing Lucian.

"Deny him the use of the room, of course!" Viktor responded angrily. He rose from his chair and started pacing the room.

"Yes, I realize that," Amelia replied impatiently. "What I mean is, aren't you going to inflict a secondary sentence?"

He stopped pacing and stared at her as if all her clothes had disappeared. "Like what?"

The remaining fragments of Amelia's patience – she never had much to begin with – were fast being swept away. "What do you mean 'like what'? Aren't you going to do something else, deprive him of some privilege, or something, to show him once and for all that I – I mean – you are the master?"

Viktor was caught off-guard. "Uh… what do you suggest?"

"Well…" Amelia tapped her fingers together slowly. "What does he value most?"

"He values his freedom of course. Any real Hungarian would." Pride was evident in Viktor's voice. "And he values Sonja's friendship and his chance to play football in the United States – he values a crapload of things, Amelia!" His voice was aggravated. "What would you have me do, send him to the freaking pound like a dog?"

"He is a lycan, Viktor," Amelia said scornfully. "I suppose you're too soft to deprive that mangy, wretched animal of anything."

Viktor glared at her icily and abruptly resumed his pacing. "That is a lie. He deserves to be punished and I'm willing to do it!"

Amelia gave an inward, self-congratulatory smile, and said carefully, "Well, how about separating him from Sonja? Surely that would be punishment worthy of such heresy."

Viktor looked at her, askance. "How in five hecks would we manage that?"

"Simple," said Amelia, satisfied with herself. "You can kill Sonja." She couldn't realistically expect Viktor to agree to this; still, any suggestion was better than none.

Viktor fixed a blazing gaze on her, sickened with revulsion. "YouANIMAL!!!" he roared. Amelia backed away cautiously.

"I would NEVER do that even if we could get away with it. That is COMPLETELY unacceptable and UTTERLY UNJUST to BOTH of them, ESPECIALLY Sonja! HOW DARE YOU!"

Amelia scowled at the failure of her brilliant idea. "The next thing you'll be saying is that you'd die to oblige him!"

If Viktor was irritated before, he was enraged now. "I just might kill you to oblige him if you don't keep a civil tongue in your head. Now if you can't make a helpful suggestion, get out," he ordered.

Amelia's eyes blazed crimson. "If you'll stay quiet you'd hear my suggestions. As I was about to say, you could deny him his freedom."

Viktor looked skeptical and continued pacing, though with more deliberation that previously evident. "How do you suggest we do that?"

"Tell him," said Amelia craftily, encouraged by her success so far, "that you will not allow him to call on other people for a century or so. Impound his car, lock up the garage and so on. He'll be forced to spend his days in the mansion. Under my hand."

"That might be worth thinking about," conceded Viktor.

"Never end a sentence with a preposition."

"SHUT UP!"


Erika dashed down the hall, knowing that if she didn't return to the kitchen soon, Grushenka would be most displeased. She ran past the empty storage room and rounded a corner.

"Crap!" Erika exclaimed suddenly, coming face to face with Pierce.

Pierce didn't bother to hide his annoyance. "Erika, do you have to tear around the mansion like that? This is the second time I've been rammed into by you!"

"Watch where you're freaking going and you won't get rammed into," retorted Erika. "Where are you going, anyway? I thought you were moving the furniture in the drawing room."

Pierce waved a careless hand, momentary annoyance forgotten. "Oh, that's done with. Right now I'm supposed to be getting the small octagonal rug, except I can't find it anywhere and no one knows where it is."

"That rug? Oh. That's with Daria, I think," Erika offered. Daria was the middle-aged Russian woman who ran the mansion's laundromat. She was a kind soul, given to hoarding loot (I.e., yummy stuff) for the children whenever they might drop in.

"It is?" Pierce looked pleased. "Well, bring it to the Zurg Room once you've gotten it." He disappeared down another hallway.

"Darn it, Pierce!" hissed Erika furiously, pursuing him. "Who the heck do you think I am? A freaking serf?"

Pierce was wearing his ever-present grin. "What's wrong with you?"

Erika glowered. "You know perfectly well that I'm not around just to serve you!" she retorted hotly. "If you want that freaking rug, get it yourself!"

"Aw, come on, Sweetass," drawled Pierce in his most insinuating tone. "Can't you just do me one little favor?"

Erika wavered, relenting ever-so-slightly. "Well—"

"Just this once? Pleez?" She could almost hear the charming-scapegrace grin on his face.

"Okay, fine!" Erika said, ungraciously. "But ONLY this once!"

Pierce chuckled softly and disappeared.

Erika bounded down the stairs to the laundromat and pushed the door open energetically. "Daria?"

The Russian woman started and turned from her ironing. She smiled broadly. "Erika! How are you today?"

"Mm, can't complain," Erika grinned; the older woman's cheerful mood was infectious. "Do you have the small red octagonal rug? Pierce wants it for – uh, stuff," she finished awkwardly, eliciting a grin from Daria.

Daria chuckled. "I sure do! As a matter of fact, I'm just finishing ironing it. All the better for us, since we can talk and stuff."

"Why not?" Erika settled down on a small stool. As the woman continued her work, Erika gazed around at her surroundings.

"By the way," began Daria, "have you heard about what's going on?"

Erika grinned from ear to ear at hearing the phrase that she had been using so extensively actually coming from someone else. Talking with Daria was always enjoyable. Daria knew all the gossip, and was never unprepared to offer her opinion on it. "Yeah! Olga told me all about it. What do you think of it?"

Daria laughed out loud, placing the hot iron on the fabric with a sizzle. No need to ponder this question; she'd been asked it a million times already. "I think it's a great idea."

"Idea?" Erika was piqued. "What do you mean?"

Daria raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you noticed? Lucian has a special reason, believe me. This is more than just a Halo marathon. It's an opportunity."

"An opportunity to do what, daddang it? Be on WCG Ultimate Gamer, for Cash' sakes?" Erika was getting completely sick and tired of all these hints and intimations. But more than that the woman would not divulge; she was wearing her inscrutable expression again, which meant Erika had to wait. She did so, rather sulkily.

"Try to hurry up!" Erika exclaimed at long last. "I need to get the rug down to the Zurg Room."

"I'm going as fast as I can," said Daria, remaining supremely unhurried. She slid her iron deliberately across the red rug (WTBFH!!!!!!! WHO THE HECK IRONS RUGS???!); no one could say "haste and waste" about her. Finally she unplugged the iron and began to fold up the rug. "By the way, Erika," she began.

Erika looked at her quickly. "What?"

A small grin was hovering around Daria's mouth. "I don't know how accurate this is, but last time Rigel was downtown, he heard something rather interesting about Lorenz Macaro."

Erika was instantly alert. "Did he now?"

Daria deliberately made the final fold and tucked the rug, smelling beautifully of clean carpet, into Erika's arms. "They say," she said under her breath, "that he's bringing a 'gift' for her from Székesféhervár." Daria winked.

"What kind of gift?" asked Erika eagerly. "What do you mean?"

Daria gave her a little shove. "Never mind, I have work to do. Now shoo."

"I AM COMPLETELY SICK AND TIRED OF ALL THESE BROTHERFREAKING HINTS AND INTIMATIONS! SOONER OR LATER I AM GOING TO GET A DADDANG STRAIGHT ANSWER FROM SOMEONE!"