Singing For His Supper, Part II
Renny reminded himself for the 10th time that his heart stopped beating years ago, so that feeling was nothing more than that, but it didn’t go away. His fingers trembled as he punched the buttons on the phone, though he worked to remain outward composure. Time to sing for my supper again and it’s gotta be perfect.
“Beauchamp,” announced the voice on the other end.
“Yeah, this is Renny. Look, I didn’t pay proper obeisance last time we met and that was wrong a’me. Could we meet and take care of that?”
"Drive up to my house. I do not care for the telephone."
“Fine with me. I’ll be there in a minute.” Renny pushed the button to end the call. He didn’t bother to mention that he was standing less than a block away.
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The house of Miss Eliza's Beauchamp stood lonely and hulking on the promontory above the river. In all of Natchez, no other house gave the appearance of being the dwelling of an unnatural creature quite like hers. Crepe myrtles hung lazily over the twisting turning driveway beyond the rusty iron gates. The house loomed, only one light in an upper window revealing any sign that the house was not completely abandoned. The front door stood cracked open, but in a particularly uninviting way. The walk up the overgrown pathway from the car to the door was intended to give visitors the chance to reconsider before breaking the solitude of the place.
Renny grinned ruefully as he picked his way up the driveway. Great. Southern gothic. Just need the fog machine set on Death Metal.
Their earlier meeting had been at Eliza’s downtown offices and while the pictures of mossy mansions on the walls might have been a bit faded and the copies of “Southern Living” might have been a bit old and uninteresting to Renny at least it seemed a place of business he could relate to, like a dentist’s office if you needed an emergency root canal in Mayberry.
This, this was a statement of an entirely different sort writ large and in stone. It said, ‘Stay the hell out unless you want to be dinner for the unspeakable horror that lies within.’ Having dealt with a few unspeakable horrors, this is also a message I can relate to.
Upon reaching the door Renny pulled out his third handkerchief of the night and dabbed his eyes again to make sure that there wasn’t any stray blood left from earlier. It’s been a long night.
He stood momentarily and opened his senses, soaking in the gestalt. Kind of a” Night of the Demons” or “Legend of Hell House” vibe. I doubt she gets many walk ins, except the odd high school dare or Frat Initiation.
Rather than enter, he knocked on the door.
The sound of someone walking down the stairs was loud enough for anyone at the door to hear; not so evident were the muffled cries of, "We're down here! Oh, God, please! Help us!" from the depth of the house. The door opened, and Eliza stood in the doorway, quickly glancing around Renny, left and right. "You came alone? No one else with you? Get in." She stepped out of the door frame, and the interior of the house became visible. The dining room table was covered with a large drop cloth, the chandelier draped in cob webs and dust. Through the arched doorway on the right, the front parlor could be seen, several sofas and wing backed chairs, all covered with white drop cloths, the entire room looking like it hadn't been occupied in many years.
Renny pulled back his senses, willing them into silence as best he could. I can’t afford to freak out right now. “Redecorating I see,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Eliza gave a sallow smile. "I do most of my business in town, at the office. Your recent... misadventure is too sensitive to risk contaminating my other business." She turned, and rested her hand on the railing of the staircase. "I have a private office upstairs, where I conduct private affairs. I trust my honor will be safe with you?" Not waiting for a replay, she went upstairs. At the top of the landing, to the left was a large space with windows all painted over on the inside, and a long ornate cherry wood coffin with the hood listed, resting on a bier some three feet from the ground. To the right was an open door, the source of the only visible light. Eliza walked into the dimly lit room, and sat in one of the two overstuffed recliners. Between the chairs was a small dorm sized refrigerator. She opened the fridge door and pulled out two blood bank bags. "You are probably not so particular in your dining habits. Refresh yourself, and then express yourself, sir."
Renny couldn’t deny that he was feeling the lack, but the voices from downstairs suggested a provenance that kept him from partaking. Did she do that on purpose? It didn’t matter I suppose.
Renny debated sitting momentarily. As on edge as he was he’d have preferred to stand for his speech, but given that Eliza had both sat and offered him a seat etiquette demanded the same of him, so he did. The chairs were Chesterfields, over 100 years old, maybe all the way back to the 1870’s; well preserved, but smelling of dust and dried blood.
The blood bags in the open fridge sat between them. Renny overcame the urge to stare at them. Instead he looked straight at his benefactor and started the speech he had been preparing since he crawled out of the back of the limo. “Miss Beauchamp, you hired me to find out certain things and I have done so, and I hope to continue to do so.
“But when you’re in the business of information, sometimes you find out stuff that, you know, ain’t your business and it may well be that I have uncovered some things that’re exactly that, ‘not my business,’ and if that’s the case, I don’t mind forgetting stuff.
“But you hired me for info, so I figure I at least ought to tell you this, even if it wasn’t exactly part of our original deal. Also, I’m gonna ask a couple of questions. You don’t gotta tell me the answers.”
Renny paused to gauge his audience. Eliza continued to drink and hadn’t spoken. It might be considered rude not to partake of the offered bag, but drinking blood in front of a client seemed rude, even if the client were a vampire.
“You already heard about our little escapade this evening. Rogue ghouls.” And their innocent families. “It seems that the dead doctor was not only a Tremere, but a lazy one who figured ghouling everyone he worked with would make his life easier.
“So somebody offed the Doc. His ghouls get hungry. Go feral. Get Killed. No big deal at that point other than the ruckus that happened at the ghoul’s house.”
The blood continued to sit between them. Renny took pains to ignore it, leaning forward to better engage his audience and avoid looking at it.
“But here’s where it gets weird. The Doc’s spirit ain’t gone. It’s trapped in the house ‘cause someone sigilled all the mirrors so the spirit can’t leave and they also warded the house so Vamps can’t enter.
“At first I’m thinking, ‘another Tremere’ but why trap the spirit? Tremere ain’t got the stones or the spells to play Wraith Master. The Sigil’s weird too. The only place I’ve ever seen something like it was a notebook my uncle gave me. Magical symbols placed on the tomb of Hatshepsut by Thutmose III as part of a Middle kingdom Egypt turf war.”
He let that sink in for a second before continuing, “So here’s where the questions come in. I’m just gonna ask, you don’t have to answer, but here goes. One: Who around here would know ancient Egyptian Sigils? Two: Who is Midnight’s sire? Three: Who in this town has the stones to blood bond the Prince of the city?”
Eliza sipped decorously from the bag as casually as a child would drink a Capri Sun. She listened with equanimity, watching politely as her new spy twitched and squirmed. "Mr. Jacobson, I declare. You are the very fount of knowledge and inquisition! It would seem you've had a very busy few evenings here in our fair burg." She leaned forward, one well manicured hand held upright as she counted items off one by one. "There are no known Gypsy spellcrafters in Natchez. Please discover for me who the malefactor is. Two, Midnight's sire was a Sabbat New Orleans Nosferatu who was trying to use him to kill our beloved prince. Three, if there is a party who has successfully blood bound Cotton, we must discover who and make friends with this cunning schemer." She smiled charmingly. "Four, the house you went to, Murphrey's house... bad, bad spy. Fingerprints, dug up yard, signs of evidence being touched. I should have thought you're little human gunslinger would have known better. It shows ill breeding for a Yankee to come down here and demonstrate such contempt for local law enforcement." As she extended her thumb, she continued. "Five, I have contacted mortal law enforcement and informed them that Zadie Calhoun and my nieces were in the Murphrey house, having a seance. They hired Franklin Agency for security while there. Campaign contributions for sheriff election in November. Misdemeanor charges against my family will result in the local business community putting forward another candidate."
Eliza frowned as she looked down at her hand, fingers spread wide, thumb extending. "Pity, I've run out of fingers." She looked up, staring directly into Renny's eyes. "Pray I do not run out of pity." She stood, and brushed invisible crumbs from her stark black dress. "Shall we go downstairs so you may meet the nieces who made so much fuss and bother?"
Renny gulped slightly but stood to follow Eliza . “Look, though, not meaning any disrespect but if Midnight’s a Nozzie then I’m the King of Siam, which I was back in High School. We did the “The King and I” but since everyone was from Brooklyn we called it ‘Da King and Me” and I did the whole thing in this Elvis get-up and the students playin’ kids did likewise”
The ensuing glare from Eliza made him alter his tack. “Look, this may fall into ‘stuff that ain’t my business’, but I’m serious. There ain’t a person with Obfuscate that I ain’t seen right through. That detective guy, Marcus, fer instance. Underneath that brit actor exterior he looks like a refugee from a comic book convention. That chi- er – young woman who works for Midnight, she’s a Nozzie, but not Midnight. That isn’t any projected image you’re seeing.
Eliza laid a comforting hand on Renny's forearm. "Why, Mr. Jacobson, I do believe you have never had the misfortune of being so close to vampires so very old," she said. "Trust me when I say this. Midnight is even uglier then you would think. YOU just can't see it. I remember well what he used to look like before he became so very good at what it is he does." She lit a lantern, and led the way down the darkened stairs, through the abandoned parlor to the butler's pantry, and the stairs down.
Renny paid close attention to Eliza as she spoke noting her words' stresses and slight flares in the energies that surrounded her. Your words say ‘no’, but your aura says ‘yes’, toots. He frowned “So you say, and if that’s the way you want it handled, fine. But there’s more to it than that. You know it and so do I.”
Two steps down the basement steps, and the sound of crying could be heard. Eliza stopped, and still not turning back to look at Renny, she replied. "You are very perceptive, Mr. Jacobson. Yes... at one time, we felt we knew Midnight." Slowly her head turned, her torso remaining immoblle in a way that would be impossible for a mortal woman. "Midnight has learned something, something VILE, Mr. Jacobson. Or," she shuddered. "The darky has been replaced by something. Something from out of some ancient nightmare."
Renny tried to hold his mien at slightly annoyed even as his nerves began to jump in sympathetic fear from people in the basement. Ancient nightmares, I’ve met but the stress coming from the next room is starting to get on my nerves. “OK, but is there something bein’ done about it, or is everyone just too polite and civilized? If no one cares, then fine I’ll shut up about it. There’s still a couple of other things I’d like to talk to you about.”
"In due time, Mr. Jacobson," Eliza said, as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She pulled a ring of keys from a pocket and fumbled for the right one. "You might well wish to look at Mr. Johnson's house while he's away doing sheriff things. If there is an answer, he probably keeps it close." With obvious strain, she pulled open the door.
On the other side of the door, in dim light, two young girls, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, huddled together on a bed. The room was somewhat stark and plain, and only dimly lit by nightlights around the baseboard. The other bed was neatly made, and several stylish, age appropriate outfits were hung on a rolling garment rack. The girls were both dark haired, dark eyed, and bore an uncanny resemblance to Eliza. "Mr. Jacobson, may I introduce my nieces, the future Eliza and Evangeline Beauchamp.
Desperation and fear poured from their auras in a way that was physically painful to Renny. He tried to distance it, to evaluate the situation. Doppelgangers, of course. Eliza and Evangeline wouldn’t be the first to have human duplicates that would enable them re-enter and attend on Mortal society. Given their appearance, and age it was a few years off yet. The girls would likely go off to college, then come back and the switch would be complete. If the girls were lucky, they’d be ghouls for a few decades, until they were too old to be useful; if not so lucky a lonely ditch or swamp awaited them. He forced a concerned calm onto his face and Brooklyn out of his speech, “Charmed, I’m sure.”
Eliza smiled, and batted her eyes. "You do go on, Mr. Jacobson." She gripped the girls by the chin, squeezing hard, to make them open their eyes and look into her yes. "You will answer to this man like he was your father, Eliza, Evangeline. You'll live so much longer if you keep this mean, bad man happy." She reached into her pocket again, and took out a wet wipe, and cleaned her hands meticulously. "You feel you can identify these little malefactors, Mr. Jacobson? If so, we can return upstairs and I will answer your remaining questions."
Renny reached out and briefly touched the girls’ minds. Unbidden came a flood of images: a small few of a fairly normal childhood followed by imprisonment in the basement under the excuse that they had been bad, expensive children that needed to be farmed out to an elderly, rich, eccentric aunt. They were old enough and hip enough to know it was all BS, but that didn’t help them in the situation.
Crap, my benefactor’s got her own reimaging of “Flowers in the Attic” going on. So much for the kids being lucky.
He began sending rather than receiving thoughts, engaging both of them directly, It’s OK. I know you’re scared, but really I ain’t so bad and you aren’t in as much danger as you think you are. Not right now anyway. If you can understand me, nod.
The girls clutched each other tightly, and the younger one began to cry, tears running down her cheeks. Hesitantly, almost imperceptibly, they both nodded in unison. "We'll be good, mister. We're sorry we're so much expense and bother."
Renny nodded back and smiled, radiating a serenity he hardly felt, but knew was necessary. “Yeah, I think we’re good. We should probably go upstairs.”
Eliza led the way upstairs, the electric lantern throwing weird patterns of shadows on the walls. "I normally have ghouls to handle things like that, Mr. Jacobson," she said, off-handedly. "One must give them time off sometime, and your presence in our town has already caused such a stir. So, now that you've met the girls, what other questions do you have? I have financial matters to attend to, and I left my lap top at the office."
Renny followed Eliza upstairs trying to forget what he had seen in the basement while simultaneously wondering what he should do about it . “Yeah, there were a couple of other things.”
Eliza led Renny upstairs, to a stark white kitchen. A stretcher with blood collection equipment and a commercial refrigerator took up most of the space. Eliza's aura shimmered with worry and fear. She set the electric lantern on the stretcher, and went to the laundry room style sink to wash her hands with medical grade soap. "So, ask away, my curious friend."
“First up, ancillary to what I was talking about before, I think your sister must know some or mebbe all of it. She was certainly not at all pleased with my appearance at Court and I gotta think that anyone with even a basic understandin’ of the Sight’s gonna notice the same things that I did.”
Eliza nodded in agreement. She opened the refrigerator door, and peered inside. A score or more bags of blood were arrayed inside. She selected apparently at random, and began to sip from the bag. “Evangeline has commented that Midnight has new powers, and has hinted that she knows of his teacher," she said. "We have a bit of rivalry between us, sir. I fear that with expert observers, no one has been seen to enter or leave Midnight's shack in poor town other than himself and that awful girl of his."
Sheesh, she’s suckin’ down blood like a Tremere at an all-night Dark One summoning.
“You know who the teacher might be? Cause I know a thing or two about occult stuff and I ain’t never seen someone who could eliminate a Nozzie’s ‘time of the day’ issues, if you get my meaning.” Perhaps I could have used a better metaphor there.
Eliza’s glare indicated the correctness of that thought. Change the subject, boyo. “Can you give me the address to Midnight’s place? There’s more than one way to look at a place. I don’t need to actually get in to take a look.”
"Certainly, Mr. Jacobson," she said curtly. Again, reaching into the same pocket, she produced a small tablet and a pen. In very neat but archaic penmanship, she wrote an address. "Shall I have driver drop you at your pensionare? I do not care to have my car seen in such a neighborhood." She pulled the sheet free, and handed it curtly to Renny. "You may sit up front with driver," she said. "I must think. I have planning to complete." She led the way to the front door, and out to the antique Cadillac.
Renny took the paper as he walked past Eliza. Guess I know when I’m dissed and dismissed.
He was halfway to the car when he turned, “Two things before I go. One. When I called you I said that I hadn’t paid my obeisance to you. I meant that literally. Since I had to drink for the Prince, I thought that balancin’ that with you might be in order, but that can wait.” Maybe forever.
“Two, it ain’t none of my business, but you might wanna let those girls out once in a while. Otherwise you’ll never be able to use them during the day, which I’d think you’d wanna.”
Eliza smiled as she locked the door behind herself, following Renny out to the car for the drive into town. "I'm flattered, Mr. Jacobson. I do not wish to bind you by blood but by honor. The girls," she shrugged. "Over time, they will become conditioned. I have learned not to rely on the gratitude of mortals."
You know, Pieter DeVerhagen is a 500 year old Dutchman who only leaves his house once a year, but he ain’t near as fossilized as you, shiksa. Renny bowed slightly, nodding his head a bit further. Might as well end with a proper flourish. “As you say. Good night then.”
It was a Cadillac, not a Mercedes, but it the age and smell reminded Renny of his grandmother’s car. He climbed into the driver’s side passenger seat, “like a proper tradesman” he thought ruefully. He turned to the driver, “Home Jeeves.”
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