Chapter 2: The Men's Club

Even this lower part of the mansion seemed to be without any blemish of dust whatsoever. He wondered how Ceridwen was keeping the mansion so spotless without servants, she really was amazing. He shook that away from his mind. It seemed that everytime he concentrated on Ceridwen for even a brief moment, he would begin to feel something like sisterly affection. While Dwight had never had a sister in his youth, he had in fact had a young cousin that he adored as a sister before losing her to the polio that had nearly taken him. He missed her terribly and it was as if he could feel her presence in Ceridwen. In some small way that became a comfort. He and Ceridwen arrived at a door that had obviously been out of comission for a little over a decade. Dwight frowned and looked carefully at the lock on the door. He smiled and leaned forward, blowing the dust fully away from it. Ceridwen took a step backwards and looked up at the large, rounded, oak door. This must have led to something as special as the wine cellar. Being a full t-totaller, Ceridwen had never bothered to check for such a thing, which really would have been something that any other resident of such a dwelling would have sought out first if for nothing else than to see what kind of taste the previous denizens had. Dwight reached forward, but slid his hand past the lock. A small piece of one of the woodboards moved inward. Dwight's hand was now enveloped to the wrist in the door and a nostalgic smile was on his ageless face. Ceridwen continued to stare at him in amazement. He turned his hand one slight twist to the left and the door clicked, opening a fraction as a small cloud of dust flew out of the facing. Ceridwen turned her head and coughed. Dwight lifted his jacket in front of her protectively. This was simply a gesture of a gentleman, not due to the fact that Dwight knew about Ceridwen's terrible allergy to dust (which was, in fact, why the mansion was kept immaculate). After a moment, Dwight lowered his arm and turned to look at the girl. She gazed back up at him in awe and confusion. He chuckled softly and then pulled the door open a little more.

"My father was a genius, Miss Nistuart. Instead of having complicated locks and so on that would eventually allow the dedicated thieves entrance to something protected, he had secret entrances." He laughed softly as they entered the room. Ceridwen kept her arm over her face protectively, the fierce look in her eyes now replaced by redness. "I suppose my father might have been happier as a detective in a Sherlock Holmes novel. How he loved to purchase the novellas from the local shoppes and have them solved by the third page. Mother found it tiring at times, but I was always fascinated and begged him to teach me how he did it."

"Did he ever teach you?" Ceridwen asked half coughing. Dwight turned to her and gave a half smile.

"If he had, then he would have included the lesson where you never share your secrets with others." Dwight reached over to the right side of the wall and felt around the masonry for a moment. He smiled brightly and pulled down the switch that illuminated the large stairway into the cellar. Unlike the stairways into cellars that Ceridwen had seen in films (or read about in books like this one), the stairway was not wound downward. It was a straight descent into the cellar itself. It looked to be about twenty feet down. The stairs had sturdy oak railings and seemed to be just as sturdy themselves. While the rest of the house still had problems with creaky doors and squeaky faucets, these stairs seemed to be silent in observance of the sacred contents of the cellar. Ceridwen frowned a little in confusion.

"What's down here?" she asked carefully as she tried to adjust her eyes. A line of small light bulbs led the path accross the cieling where the stairs themselves were, but it didn't seem like there were many more of them in the cellar to give light that would make identification of the room easy for even a young woman with cat vision. Dwight continued into this deeper cellar than the basement, saying nothing. After a few seconds of noting that Ceridwen was hesitating out of fear, he turned and smiled brightly.

"Things... wonderful things." He turned and looked around breathing deeply to draw in every possible memory of comfort and happiness. Ceridwen moved beside him and gasped. This must have been a wine cellar at some point, but the shelves on the walls looked more like they belonged in the Roman senatorial library. They were filled with rolls of paper. Several tables with papers, models, bits of string and wood, old bottles of old substances, and even a few completed projects lay all around this room. She smiled and moved towards the nearest table where an antique, and half finished, model of the Merrimack lay on a table with papers and bottles around it. Ceridwen admired it and went from table to table doing the same. She raced excitedly over to the walls and looked at one of the rolls of paper. Her eyes went wide with wonderment.

"1792? This is the oldest map of Topsail Island I've ever seen! This must have been made by..."

"Pirates? My father thought so. He and I were going to go looking for the lost treasure of Blackbeard after I completed at Yale." Dwight smiled as the trace of sadness made its appearance on his eyes and lips. Ceridwen noted this and set the paper back down. "Detectives, pilots, soldiers, pirates; my father and I were all of these things when I was a boy."

"That must have been wonderful," Ceridwen said softly as she approached him. Dwight looked straight ahead at her and then turned. Ceridwen had a bad habit of bringing up memories for him. While she always brought about the good ones, his own genetic codes always retrieved the bad ones as well. He sighed heavily and swiped one hand over his left eye so harshly that Ceridwen was afraid he might cut himself or push his eyeball into his own skull. He turned back to her.

"Back to why we're down here. Do you smell that animal?" he asked quickly. Ceridwen rubbed her arm nervously and cleared her throat. Dwight could hear the presence of muccus as she did so.

"I think my allergies are preventing that, actually. I probably should have warned you about that." She chuckled and then began to wander around the tables again. Dwight followed. If Ceridwen had terrible hayfever, then how had she survived being in that warehouse months ago? She was in distress and being tortured, you twit, his inner-cynic reminded. He growled at himself and ignored the remark. He watched her search the floors as carefully as possible. Her movements were so graceful, no matter what. Just how much of her even in human form adopted cat properties, he often wondered. Ceridwen seemed to be very cat-like in everything from eating to breathing. No, he thought to himself. She is more swan-like if you're going to think along those terms. Ceridwen suddenly stopped and froze. She breathed in sharply and sneezed violently four times. Dwight frowned and took hold of her shoulders, steadying her. She wiped her eyes and evened her breathing once more. "Sorry about that. I could have damaged one of your projects."

"Not an issue, there's nothing to apologize for unless you're out to undo the legacy of the Wrenn Men's Club," Dwight said with a laugh. Ceridwen laughed softly as she turned to face him. Her face was turning a slight shade of red and beginning to swell. He frowned more fully with incredible concern. "Ceridwen, I think you should go back upstairs. I can find whatever is making the noise."

"Are you sure?" Ceridwen asked. The words now came out as 'arb you zure' which demonstrated the further necessity of her leaving while she was still able to breathe. Dwight turned her around and gave her a shove towards the stairs. "You needn't be so pushy about it," she added now saying 'you deedn'd be zo bushy aboud id'.

"And there's no need for you to use an obvious and terrible pun. Go upstairs before you swell up like sponge," he instructed firmly. "The last thing I need is for Jeremiah to be put in charge of my treatments for several weeks while you recover."

"Zbonges do nod zwell, they zajurade do their full zize," Ceridwen said through slight coughs and sneezes. Dwight shook his head and chuckled. Even when slightly incapacitated, Ceridwen was a perfectionist. It seemed like she had to correct everything that was said or performed incorrectly. He pitied the poor man that lost his heart to her. Now that he was alone, Dwight turned to the tables of half made models and half dreamed visions. He dropped his expression for a moment and picked up an extremely old model of a Sopwith Camel. He affectionately ran his fingertips over the intricate woodwork in the skeleton and metallic pieces over the wings and nose. He had dreamed of flying these and taking down as many of the evil axis soldiers as possible. The military recruiter hadn't realized that Dwight was an only son when accepting him for a physical to begin with. It was after his slight victory over polio had been discovered that Dwight had recieved that wretched 4-f. He growled softly, but calmed himself at the memory of his mother holding him tightly and thanking God above that her baby hadn't been shipped off. His father had been livid at first and shouted incessantly. Dwight retreated here to the cellar where his father confronted him once more.

"Son, what I said was out of fear. Something you obviously don't have. My God, how incredible you are. Surviving illness, performing well in school, and instead of taking to a desk you want to take to the skies and drive the enemies of freedom into the sea. Dwight, I am in awe of you, my son. You're braver than I think I have ever been," his father had said in tears. Dwight had simply stared up at him in disbelief. At the rebellious age of seventeen, Dwight and his father had still managed to have somewhat of a close relationship and the consensous was that this cellar-club was the reason for it. His father had developed it when Dwight had been recovering from polio and had needed to be entertained without going outside. His father moved forward suddenly and embraced him. "God must have some incredible destiny planned for you to give you such a fiery spirit, my boy."

"Then why did he curse me with this leg?" Dwight said with tears of his own. He looked down feeling embarrassment and anger. Angus reached down and took his son firmly by the shoulder.

"Because you were never meant to have a body," he explained. Dwight stared at his father in total confusion. Angus smiled brightly. "You didn't start off like the rest of us as a soul waiting for an assignment, my son. You were a star. God plucked you right from the heavens and sent you here. I can't imagine why, but I'm sure it will be incredible to watch what happens. You'll never belong anywhere, Dwight, but you will have such a magnificent purpose."

Dwight stared at his father in tearful admiration. His father was often firm even when being playful. Dwight never found his father to be particularly cruel, unless he was disagreeing with him of course about a subject that Dwight was a full expert on, but he was also rarely this affectionate. Dwight remembered wrapping his arms around his father so tightly that he was sure they were breathing in the same air and were nearly pumping one another's blood. They had cried secretly and softly for a moment, then had set to work on the model of the Sopwith. Dwight's hands now trembled as he held this precious memory in his hands. He sighed and set it down carefully. Suddenly, the animalistic howl came from the corner of the cellar once more. Dwight whirled around quickly to face it. Now that he was much closer, he could clearly detect where it was originating. He walked hurriedly towards the howling as it began to intensify. In the corner, there were several crates and boxes that once held the bits and pieces of the models that the men had spent their affections with. Inside, the aged straw and wadded papers still remained. The howling was coming from these crates. He knelt and sniffed carefully. His eyes changed and his teeth began to sharpen a little as he detected blood. He moved one of the boxes aside and gasped. A bright smile crossed his face as he began removing his jacket and speaking softly.

Jeremy waited impatiently in Ceridwen's room. Ceridwen was sound asleep. Though the young girl hated, emphasis on hated, the effects of any sedative, she had begged for diphenhydramine as soon as she had made it to the other members of the team. Her face was fully swollen as well as her hands and her eyes were barely open, which was somewhat lucky since the redness in them made them sensitive to even the slightest amount of air. Jeremy and the medics had quickly administered a full dose of the medicine in an injection and set Ceridwen into her bed. Within moments, Ceridwen had fallen into a soundless, drug-induced sleep. Before her relieved eyes had closed entirely, she had told the men around her to make sure that Dwight recieved his next feeding as well as the fact that he was in the cellar taking care of something. She refused to tell them which cellar and emphasized to them that they were not to go in after him on pain of her personal wrath. While Ceridwen was not naturally a violent person, no one wanted to be on her bad side. Most of the team back at headquarters had learned the hard way that pacifists tend to be extremely volatile when angry and did more damage with their creativity than an average criminal. After an hour of Dwight being in the cellar and Ceridwen being in a peaceful slumber, Jeremy began to feel the agitation of impatience and lack of control. The fact that he didn't have immediate knowledge of where the little bloodsucker was and had been warned to not go after him was wearing on him. He sighed and looked down at Ceridwen once more. Even if he couldn't go into the very cellar where Dwight was, he could at least pace back and forth angrily in front of the basement itself. As Jeremy reached the basement door, Dwight appeared. His shirt was covered in some sort of fluid and blood and his jacket was missing. He looked extrememly excited, breathless, and his face was slightly vampiric. Jeremy snarled at him.

"What in the world have you been doing?!" he demanded. "Did you kill a rat's nest, you sicko? What were you thinking taking Ceridwen down there? She could have stopped breathing, you know! I should have you put in confinement for endangering your reformist!"

Dwight ignored Jeremy's rantings and headed past him towards the medical supply room. Jeremy frowned. Dwight hurriedly began gathering blankets, a basin, a first-aid kit, and a few other strange objects. He moved past Jeremy once more and headed back towards the cellar. Jeremy stopped him.

"Did you hear a word I just said? Ceridwen had a terrible reaction! What are you doing? Treating a victim?" Jeremy said angrily.

"No, I need to get back and help." Dwight pushed firmly past the boy.

"Why? What is going on?"

"I've had kittens," Dwight said quickly as he disappeared into the basement. Jeremy stood for a moment, his mouth gaping open in disbelief. Sure there were a plethora of unexplainable things that happened to him and people around him everyday; but a vampire having kittens, that was just ridiculous.