Chapter 10: Better of Two Evils
Won't you shake a poor sinner's hand?
…You got what you wanted, but you lost what you had.
-Dr. Facilier, "Friends on the Other Side," The Princess and the Frog
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"Oh, just let it go, Antonio!"
"I will not! Honestly, Margarita," Antonio shot the English woman an infuriated glance. "You are going to make things far more difficult for the master and you know what that will mean for all of us."
"Lord Dracula can handle himself. I refuse to be degraded by some Irish twit!"
"Margarita," The Spaniard hissed. "You are not being degraded – or replaced."
"I should hope not," Margaret spat. "Not after my generosity. This is still my house!"
"I understand, Margarita." Antonio massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Again, I speak for the master when I offer eternal gratitude and appreciation for allowing us asylum in your home." Indeed, the night Antonio had been sent ahead to secure a household for the Count, he had come across this dark-haired woman sitting alone in the gardens. She invited him in – aware his race - for a price.
-
Two months ago, early evening
-
"Then it is agreed?" The girl eagerly thrust her hand into the air between herself and the man that would in mere moments, satisfy one of her fondest dreams.
Antonio nodded. "Sí. All will be taken care of. My master will arrive shortly. He will be most pleased with you, Señorita. Then I will see to it that your further requests are fulfilled." He plucked Margaret's hand from the air and shook it, a confident grin engraved on his lips.
"Wonderful," Margaret breathed. A few rooms down, she heard an irritated male voice howl her name. "Father!" she answered. "I'm in the boudoir!"
"Well, what the blazes are you doing in there, girl? I've been searching this house from top to bottom – I even checked the bench by those stupid flowers of yours!" Lord Marcus Dudley kicked the door open and limped in, his cane scuffling like a hummingbird.
"Hello, Father," Margaret said coolly.
"Don't 'hello, Father,' me, Margaret! You put something in my mead again, didn't you? Didn't you! "
Margaret wrinkled her nose at the spittle. The reek of alcohol was strong. He was not drunk, but he planned to be. "Now, why would you accuse me of a thing like that?"
"So you could fiddle around with those stupid plants of yours and leave me defenseless!"
Margaret would have rolled her eyes if she could. Her father had been a strong and loyal subject in Queen Victoria's court. After being stationed in India for a brief period, he'd been given lordship over land in Ireland before she had been born. Marcus made further use of this power and strength with the Irish Home Rule problem. It was his drinking that crippled him after Mother had sickened and died. With one love in the ground, he took up another to soothe his inability to deal with disappointment.
And Margaret had always been his favorite disappointment.
They're herbs, she thought bitterly. And beautiful flowers, unlike me. Honestly, her looks had never mattered much to her. But she had never had a suitor. Her father didn't share her existence with the world, not since she was a child. So here at home she stayed, serving her father for some flawed and hated notion of worth.
"Only the saints know why I'm cursed with you for a daughter! My whole life I've worked hard and been loyal to the Queen, and I get nothing out of it!" Marcus panted, and clutched his chest with his free hand, sputtering as he did so.
"It looks like you are not as useful as you think, Father. No wonder Mother stopped loving you," Margaret sneered. It was time.
Marcus' eyes narrowed, trembling like an angry viper. "You ungrateful witch!" He loomed over his daughter and raised his cane in the air like a club. "I'll teach you to speak to me in that manner!" He swung at Margaret's head but she was still, unmoved by the danger at hand. The cane was within an inch of Margaret's skull when a pale hand shot out of the shadows of the table lamp, wrenched the cane away, and broke it in two.
"That," Antonio hissed, his face contorted with a vampire's fury, "is not the proper way to discipline your daughter, Lord Dudley." But then Antonio grinned, his eyes harboring a secret. "Or should I say, former, Lord?"
The vengeful expression dropped from Marcus' face like a stone and was replaced with shock. "What is this?" he spat. He puffed himself up and snarled, "Who is this stranger you brought in, Margaret? Has the little shrew become a slut?"
Antonio's brown eyes flashed red. "It is not nice to call names."
Marcus saw the wicked miracle. The blood fled his face, cowering from a predator it had no name for but knew by instinct that danger was all too near. "Margaret," Marcus whispered, stunned and terrified. "What did you bring into the house?" His back felt the solidity of the merciless wall before he had even realized that he was being hunted.
"Do you remember when Mother used to read to me aloud?" Margaret asked icily. Her hand rested on the arm of her mother's rocking chair. She slowly sank into the chair and softly pushed off the floor. "She once told me the story of Faust."
"Isolde would read you that one," he murmured, momentarily forgetting the demon in his house.
"Faust fell from grace for his desires. I, on the other hand, will not." Margaret smiled. "I will rise. I will get everything I want."
"And what price will you pay, hmm? What is it you want?"
The dreamy smile melted and a hideous smirk took its place. "You're about to find out, Father." She continued to rock evenly back and forth.
Antonio appeared inches from Marcus' nose. His smile was kind but his eyes were pools of trickery. "This is nothing personal, Former Lord Dudley." Marcus could not stop his coughing fit if it would have saved his life. "Margaret," he wheezed. "Margaret!" His screams became strangled cries as Antonio hoisted him into the air by his shoulders and teeth ripped into his neck.
"Pah!" Antonio spat. "Margarita, how much does your padre drink?" He spat again. "He was dying long before I arrived." He licked his lips, swallowed, and returned to feeding on Marcus Dudley.
"Margaret… Margaret…" Marcus groaned. It was so dark. And his head ached. How could his daughter have made such a deal? His daughter had asked for the devil's help and in the end, she would go home with him, too. "Jezebel! What have you done? What have you done?" The lamp burnt out, its wick expired, and so did Lord Marcus Dudley.
For the first time in years, Margaret felt true satisfaction. She never stopped smiling even as her father's screams faded into nothing.
But now she did not smile. Now, two months later, she had an argument to win.
"Control myself? You should have seen our Irish guest. She lost her temper, not I."
"Really?" asked Antonio. "And if I were to ask Señorita Reilly, would she agree with you?"
Margaret pursed her lips, her shoulders falling slack. "Of course, you would side with her," she whispered, facing the window.
"Oh, no, no, no, I do not side with her. I side with the master, and in order for his plans to succeed Señorita Reilly must feel at home here! Lord Dracula told us himself. Remember?" He placed a reassuring hand on Margaret's shoulder, slowly drawing her to face him. Margaret sighed.
"I remember."
"Good. Now cheer up. You have the face of a – eh – bitter pussycat."
Margaret laughed softly. "You mean sour puss, Antonio."
"That is what I said, wasn't it?"
"Antonio…"
"Do not fret, Margarita. The master's plans will succeed and all will be well. You will see."
Margaret inhaled abruptly. "Listen, Antonio. About –" She paused, " - the other night. What happened with Lord Dracula did – "
"Ah, there you are." Dracula strolled into the billiard room with a confident grin framing his lips. "Lady Margaret," he drawled and placed a chaste kiss on her hand.
"My lord," she responded. She smiled lightly. Here was the second man in her life to call her beautiful. Dracula turned to the Spaniard.
"Antonio, has there been any progress?" With Miss Reilly and her distrust of him presently assuaged by Felim, he could now focus on other important matters.
Antonio shook his head. "No, master. But perhaps after he has finished conversing with Miss Reilly we can try again? The cauldron will not – "
"Antonio, will you first see Lady Margaret to her room? She looks exhausted."
"Of course, master." Without a blink of an eye Antonio was at Margaret's side again.
"I can find my way," she said curtly. "I grew up in this house. I'll leave you to your plans." I'm still important. I'm still important. I don't need to know everything to know that.
"Good night, my dear." Perhaps I said that with too much … bite, Dracula mused after seeing Margaret frown. He needed Margaret Dudley happy, just as he needed Maeve Reilly happy. Oh well. I'll erase any of her annoyance with me later.
"Good night, Lord Dracula." Margaret opened the door and stepped through the doorway. "Good night, Antonio," she called over her shoulder. Antonio replied with an unseen smile and shut the door. Once her heartbeat could be heard near the staircase, Dracula turned to his servant.
"Now, tell me of progress." The count stared expectantly with his arms folded behind his back.
Antonio nodded. "Of course, master. As I said, I have every assurance that Dagda's cauldron will be the first step towards your success. The fledglings know how to feed themselves. They now only require limited supervision."
"Good. Success is far, but at hand. And there are no weak links to tease the Vatican's hounds with their scent." Dracula wandered over to the table in the center of the room. He'd have it all: the trust and blood of an innocent girl, the keys to his freedom, and limitless magical power. World domination occurred somewhere along that path. He had his work cut out for him to be certain. But he had a pawn for every place on the board. Miss Reilly, of course, was crucial, but he had Margaret for her experience with those damn Faeries, among other things. His smirk deepened. Oh yes, the women close to him were most helpful. Two lovely puppets, one for each hand. However, all things concerned, the pretty little fairy, Miss Reilly, would prove to be a very interesting experiment. Simple, but interesting, and he win her over in the end. He harbored no doubts. Dracula lazily set his hands on the table and picked up the cue. Nothing more could be done tonight, so why not have a little fun? He had time.
"Care for a game of snooker, Antonio?"
AN: Information regarding this chapter: Dagda= Powerful Fae dude. Not the sharpest crayon in the box, but powerful. Isolde, Margaret's mother's name, is pronounced Izolda. Also, I know that Marcus is a very popular name, especially in vampire genre, (Underworld's got one, for example) but I chose the name for two reasons: 1) Whenever I thought about him, Marcus always came to mind no matter how many names I tried for him. 2) Marcus is another form of the name, Mark, that along with Isolde, is a reference to a couple in Arthurian mythology.
Margaret's last name is not a reference to the Dudley in Harry Potter. It isn't. Yes I know she and Maeve are not buddies so it would be very easy to make that connection. When writing about Margaret and outlining her importance to the story, Dudley just sounded right and when characters tell you what their names are, you don't ignore them. :) Also it's a popular British name and there's a historical figure with the last name Dudley that Margaret is related to: Anne Dudley Bradstreet. Any other questions, comments, concerns, let me know.
I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter. I cut it in half so the focus was on the villains/minions. Next time, we'll see what's up with Maeve. Funny how Dracula can be both antagonist/protagonist's love interest. He's got wicked skills. ;)
