Three Bricks Shy-Alias, PG-13 (A touch of the occult and some humor)
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions
Vaughn visits his crazy aunt Trish.
*****
Chapter Nine
"What does she have in here, rocks?" Weiss complained as we hauled crates to the trunk of our rental car.
"Maybe they're from the moon," I suggested flippantly, knowing how far out my weird aunt could be.
Her laugh tinkled near my elbow and she handed me the freaking ugly vase from the front seat of her equally revolting truck . "Make sure this gets packed," Trish said firmly with another twinkle of that inner amusement I was learning to recognize. Was it a joke at our expense, or some other poor slob? I guess there was only one way to find out.
"Are we done here?" I asked as sweat poured down my back and slicked my face.
"Please say yes," Eric begged as he unknotted his tie, looking distinctly uncomfortable in the humid air.
"Let's go," Trish said with a nod as she opened the door and made herself at home in the front seat.
"Where to?" I slid behind the wheel and watched as Weiss contorted himself into a pretzel and made like a Chinese acrobat as he squeezed into what passed for a back seat.
"Downtown to the Convention Center."
It didn't take a psychic to realize this was bad news for me and Weiss. "Special event?" I asked lightly.
She snickered. "You could say that."
Trish gave me directions and Weiss mumbled, "Aren't you supposed to dispose of the vase?"
"Why, yes," Trish answered with mock innocence. "And what better place than the Antiques Road Show?"
"What?" I cried in unison with Eric as I came skidding to a halt, nearly colliding with the bus in front of me.
"You're kidding, right?" Weiss pleaded from under one arm as he tried to restore circulation to his nearly lifeless limb.
"Park here," Trish ordered, directing me to a handicapped spot. When I looked at her in disbelief, she shrugged and placed a fake license plate on the dashboard.
"We'll get towed," I pointed out, slightly irritated that she was so cavalier about our rental car.
"Whatever." Trish jumped out and was off at a fast trot.
"This is so not happening," Weiss grumbled as Trish disappeared through the door of the convention center's lower hall. "How much worse can this night get?"
"Trust me," I confided as she emerged with a hand cart. "It can get much worse."
"That's the problem," Weiss cracked. "I do trust you."
I smiled and helped him load up the last of the crates. Trish was smiling and waving to a bunch of uptight looking people as we trudged along behind her, and judging from the rods stuck straight up their butts, I guessed that some of them were snooty antiques dealers. I swear I heard some of them sniff with disdain as she found a table and started to uncrate her treasures. "This is the last of it," she proclaimed as she put up a sign and waited for the vultures.
"This is a joke, right?" I said, pointing to her sign. Verite Antiquities.
"This was a sideline for Robert," she said, dusting and straightening the pile of junk on the table.
Weiss looked at me blankly and I hissed, "I'll explain later."
Trish's fugly vase was prominently displayed and I swear it winked at me as I helped her make things look presentable. Eric hung back and sat on one of the crates, trying and failing to look inconspicuous. Throngs of people passed us by and didn't spare a glance to any of Robert's antiques, and just when I thought this was a wasted effort, I spotted a rather small and effete man making his way in our direction.
"Parfait," Trish muttered, rubbing her hands together with glee. "Christophe, how are you?"
"It's a slow night," he replied in utter boredom, his French accent as fake as the overly waxed mustache that adorned his upper lip.
"Sorry to hear that. Perhaps I could interest you in a Sevres vase that I encountered in my travels," Trish drawled in a treacly tone that made my teeth ache.
Eric's ears perked up with interest as she described the vase and what she knew of its history. He came over to me and whispered, "I thought she was going to dispose of this somewhere."
"More like dump it on some unsuspecting fool, " I muttered.
The man took out a monocle and peered at the vase. "Interesting," he said through his nose, examining the bottom and growing visibly excited. He drew a cell phone out of his pocket and spoke into it softly. The gist of the conversation, which he assumed we couldn't follow since he spoke in Creole, was that he and his partner planned on deceiving Trish and offering her a price that was far less than its true value. Not a moment later, his partner rushed over and made a huge fuss over Trish and offered his sympathies for her recent loss. Once the formalities were over, he and Christophe argued back and forth with Trish over price.
"Wait a moment." Trish held up her hands. "Do you still have that lovely beaded necklace I noticed on my last visit to New Orleans?"
The two men exchanged glances and I could see the greed shining in their eyes. "I believe so," Christophe stated evenly. "Why do you ask?"
"Excellent. Why don't we make it an even trade?" Trish suggested with an innocent face.
Christophe almost passed out with excitement. "Etienne, please get the necklace," he ordered as his partner scurried off like the rat that he was. "It'll be just a moment," he promised, wandering over to the end of the table and staring at a book with feigned interest.
"Do you make a habit of this?" I queried, not entirely comfortable with her tactics.
"Selling antiques?" Trish pretended not to understand my question.
"That wasn't my question."
"They are poachers," she said simply.
"And you think that absolves you from what you're about to do?" Dropping a haunted object on an unsuspecting victim was hardly fair play.
"I won't lose any sleep over it," Trish replied, nudging me in the side as Etienne returned with a cheap looking set of glass beads and placed them gently in her hands.
"Yes," she breathed with reverence. "May I try them on?"
"But of course," Christophe said in an oily tone that made me want to smack him.
Trish fastened the clasp and nearly swooned as she looked down at her latest acquisition. "Oh, they are just as I remember them."
Where did she remember them from, the five and ten cent store? The beads were transparent spheres mottled with black nodules and looked more like the figurative moon rocks in her crates than anything worn by a self- respecting woman. "So it's a deal?" Etienne said, itching to be off to swindle some other unsuspecting buyer.
"It is all yours," Trish agreed, shoving the Sevres vase at him and watching as he and Christophe slapped each other on the back, thinking they had gotten the deal of the century.
Trish giggled like a schoolgirl and grabbed Robert's sign from the center of the table. "What fools," she said as she turned the sign around and jotted something down.
Eric had watched her performance with a mixture of outrage and admiration and I could see that he really liked her. "That was pretty slick," he said with a grin.
"Thank you. Shall we go and celebrate?" Trish suggested, pouring on the charm. "It's on me."
"With an offer like that, how can I refuse?" Weiss was falling under her spell, just as I had predicted. She'd changed, but at her core was the same woman who worked her sex magic when it suited her purpose.
"Wait a sec," I protested as she placed the sign back on the table. "You hauled us all the way down here and put us to all this trouble over one vase?"
"You have a problem with this?" Trish challenged, raising an eyebrow and looking at me crossly.
I suddenly remembered why we were here and I shook my head, knowing this was her price for helping me.
"Good. Then let's go," she said with a touch of impatience.
"Hold on. What about the rest of…." I read her sign and my words trailed off as a pack of wolves descended on us in a feeding frenzy, kicking and shrieking and clawing each other over Robert's treasure trove of free antiques.
"You were saying?" Trish countered with a raise of one eyebrow. With a triumphant smile, she offered each of us an arm and practically dragged us from the exhibition hall.
*******
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions
Vaughn visits his crazy aunt Trish.
*****
Chapter Nine
"What does she have in here, rocks?" Weiss complained as we hauled crates to the trunk of our rental car.
"Maybe they're from the moon," I suggested flippantly, knowing how far out my weird aunt could be.
Her laugh tinkled near my elbow and she handed me the freaking ugly vase from the front seat of her equally revolting truck . "Make sure this gets packed," Trish said firmly with another twinkle of that inner amusement I was learning to recognize. Was it a joke at our expense, or some other poor slob? I guess there was only one way to find out.
"Are we done here?" I asked as sweat poured down my back and slicked my face.
"Please say yes," Eric begged as he unknotted his tie, looking distinctly uncomfortable in the humid air.
"Let's go," Trish said with a nod as she opened the door and made herself at home in the front seat.
"Where to?" I slid behind the wheel and watched as Weiss contorted himself into a pretzel and made like a Chinese acrobat as he squeezed into what passed for a back seat.
"Downtown to the Convention Center."
It didn't take a psychic to realize this was bad news for me and Weiss. "Special event?" I asked lightly.
She snickered. "You could say that."
Trish gave me directions and Weiss mumbled, "Aren't you supposed to dispose of the vase?"
"Why, yes," Trish answered with mock innocence. "And what better place than the Antiques Road Show?"
"What?" I cried in unison with Eric as I came skidding to a halt, nearly colliding with the bus in front of me.
"You're kidding, right?" Weiss pleaded from under one arm as he tried to restore circulation to his nearly lifeless limb.
"Park here," Trish ordered, directing me to a handicapped spot. When I looked at her in disbelief, she shrugged and placed a fake license plate on the dashboard.
"We'll get towed," I pointed out, slightly irritated that she was so cavalier about our rental car.
"Whatever." Trish jumped out and was off at a fast trot.
"This is so not happening," Weiss grumbled as Trish disappeared through the door of the convention center's lower hall. "How much worse can this night get?"
"Trust me," I confided as she emerged with a hand cart. "It can get much worse."
"That's the problem," Weiss cracked. "I do trust you."
I smiled and helped him load up the last of the crates. Trish was smiling and waving to a bunch of uptight looking people as we trudged along behind her, and judging from the rods stuck straight up their butts, I guessed that some of them were snooty antiques dealers. I swear I heard some of them sniff with disdain as she found a table and started to uncrate her treasures. "This is the last of it," she proclaimed as she put up a sign and waited for the vultures.
"This is a joke, right?" I said, pointing to her sign. Verite Antiquities.
"This was a sideline for Robert," she said, dusting and straightening the pile of junk on the table.
Weiss looked at me blankly and I hissed, "I'll explain later."
Trish's fugly vase was prominently displayed and I swear it winked at me as I helped her make things look presentable. Eric hung back and sat on one of the crates, trying and failing to look inconspicuous. Throngs of people passed us by and didn't spare a glance to any of Robert's antiques, and just when I thought this was a wasted effort, I spotted a rather small and effete man making his way in our direction.
"Parfait," Trish muttered, rubbing her hands together with glee. "Christophe, how are you?"
"It's a slow night," he replied in utter boredom, his French accent as fake as the overly waxed mustache that adorned his upper lip.
"Sorry to hear that. Perhaps I could interest you in a Sevres vase that I encountered in my travels," Trish drawled in a treacly tone that made my teeth ache.
Eric's ears perked up with interest as she described the vase and what she knew of its history. He came over to me and whispered, "I thought she was going to dispose of this somewhere."
"More like dump it on some unsuspecting fool, " I muttered.
The man took out a monocle and peered at the vase. "Interesting," he said through his nose, examining the bottom and growing visibly excited. He drew a cell phone out of his pocket and spoke into it softly. The gist of the conversation, which he assumed we couldn't follow since he spoke in Creole, was that he and his partner planned on deceiving Trish and offering her a price that was far less than its true value. Not a moment later, his partner rushed over and made a huge fuss over Trish and offered his sympathies for her recent loss. Once the formalities were over, he and Christophe argued back and forth with Trish over price.
"Wait a moment." Trish held up her hands. "Do you still have that lovely beaded necklace I noticed on my last visit to New Orleans?"
The two men exchanged glances and I could see the greed shining in their eyes. "I believe so," Christophe stated evenly. "Why do you ask?"
"Excellent. Why don't we make it an even trade?" Trish suggested with an innocent face.
Christophe almost passed out with excitement. "Etienne, please get the necklace," he ordered as his partner scurried off like the rat that he was. "It'll be just a moment," he promised, wandering over to the end of the table and staring at a book with feigned interest.
"Do you make a habit of this?" I queried, not entirely comfortable with her tactics.
"Selling antiques?" Trish pretended not to understand my question.
"That wasn't my question."
"They are poachers," she said simply.
"And you think that absolves you from what you're about to do?" Dropping a haunted object on an unsuspecting victim was hardly fair play.
"I won't lose any sleep over it," Trish replied, nudging me in the side as Etienne returned with a cheap looking set of glass beads and placed them gently in her hands.
"Yes," she breathed with reverence. "May I try them on?"
"But of course," Christophe said in an oily tone that made me want to smack him.
Trish fastened the clasp and nearly swooned as she looked down at her latest acquisition. "Oh, they are just as I remember them."
Where did she remember them from, the five and ten cent store? The beads were transparent spheres mottled with black nodules and looked more like the figurative moon rocks in her crates than anything worn by a self- respecting woman. "So it's a deal?" Etienne said, itching to be off to swindle some other unsuspecting buyer.
"It is all yours," Trish agreed, shoving the Sevres vase at him and watching as he and Christophe slapped each other on the back, thinking they had gotten the deal of the century.
Trish giggled like a schoolgirl and grabbed Robert's sign from the center of the table. "What fools," she said as she turned the sign around and jotted something down.
Eric had watched her performance with a mixture of outrage and admiration and I could see that he really liked her. "That was pretty slick," he said with a grin.
"Thank you. Shall we go and celebrate?" Trish suggested, pouring on the charm. "It's on me."
"With an offer like that, how can I refuse?" Weiss was falling under her spell, just as I had predicted. She'd changed, but at her core was the same woman who worked her sex magic when it suited her purpose.
"Wait a sec," I protested as she placed the sign back on the table. "You hauled us all the way down here and put us to all this trouble over one vase?"
"You have a problem with this?" Trish challenged, raising an eyebrow and looking at me crossly.
I suddenly remembered why we were here and I shook my head, knowing this was her price for helping me.
"Good. Then let's go," she said with a touch of impatience.
"Hold on. What about the rest of…." I read her sign and my words trailed off as a pack of wolves descended on us in a feeding frenzy, kicking and shrieking and clawing each other over Robert's treasure trove of free antiques.
"You were saying?" Trish countered with a raise of one eyebrow. With a triumphant smile, she offered each of us an arm and practically dragged us from the exhibition hall.
*******