The Last of the Red-Hot Vampires

Chapter 5

"Could you have possibly been any ruder to poor Theo?"

"Shhh. Madame What's-her-face is gesturing for you. No doubt she wants to anoint you or something."

"It's Mystic, not Madame. Mystic Bettina, as you know well. Oooh! She must have picked me to be one of her assistants! Fabulous! I'll be in a perfect position for unbiased observation." Sarah jumped out of her seat and hurried over to where the local medium was standing with two women.

"Very unbiased," I said to myself, then smiled reassuringly at the man on my left as he glanced at me.

He leaned over and whispered, "Is this your first séance?"

I nodded.

"Mine too," he said in a confiding tone, and hazarded a shy smile. "My wife—that's her there with the others—is a member of the local ghost hunter's group, so she's been wanting to come to a séance for a long time. I'm not sure I believe in all this." He chuckled a little, watching me carefully to see if I was going to mock him for his skepticism.

"I'm a scientist by trade, and a natural-born skeptic," I assured him. I dropped my voice a little so the other four people in the room couldn't overhear us. "To be honest, I'm just here to explain to my friend how all the tricks are done. She's one of those people who is ready to give anyone the benefit of the doubt, no matter how unlikely the situation."

"Ah, a true believer," my new friend said, nodding. "There are a lot of those in the ghost hunter's group. I'm Milo, by the way."

"Portia," I said, shaking his hand. "Shall we join forces to bring reason to our loved ones?"

He glanced nervously at his wife, who was approaching the table with the small woman who claimed she was a "world-renowned medium." "Indeed we could, although I hesitate to disappoint my wife. She wants so much to contact her father, you see. He passed on when she was quite young. Still, I've told her that to have so much faith in such things is sheer folly."

"I've found that faith is vastly overrated," I said softly, then turned to Sarah as she slid into the seat next to me. "So are you to hold the ghostly tambourine, or rap on the table at the appropriate time?"

She whapped me on the arm and whispered at me to behave myself.

"Considering all that we've been through today, I think I'm behaving with complete circumspection," I said just as quietly, gingerly moving my shoulder. The muscles, which had been strained but not torn, protested the movement.

Sarah noticed my grimace of pain, and leaned even closer. "Are you sure you're all right? Maybe I shouldn't have brought you tonight. What with the virtue and Theo and that horrible storm you conjured up—"

"Will you stop? I didn't conjure up anything. The pub owner himself said it was perfectly normal for storms to whip up like that."

"Yes, but he couldn't explain the way it completely disappeared a minute later. Nor why just the lights at the pub went out, and none of the other buildings nearby."

"The fuses were blown, nothing more. It's quite common in buildings close to a ground lightning strike."

"Hrmph."

Mystic Bettina (the name had me snickering softly to myself when we were introduced) returned to the round glass table with the others. Milo, Sarah, and I were already seated; Mystic Bettina took an elaborately carved chair I mentally dubbed "the throne," flashing a smile around the table. There were only five of us attending the séance—Milo and his wife, an elegant black woman who clutched a tattered bible, Sarah, and me. "Are we all settled, then? Very good. I'd like to welcome all of you to my mystic circle. I am sure that we will have a very good experience tonight with the spirits. They always know when people sympathetic to their beings are present."

I was going to say something, but Sarah was still miffed at me for the way I had driven off Theo the kidnapper.

"I'm afraid one of us here is a skeptic," she said, shooting me an accusatory look.

"Oh, but everyone is welcome at my table," Bettina said quickly, turning her overbright smile on me. "Even non-believers. Especially non-believers! It is perfectly healthy to be skeptical of something so beyond our grasp as the spirit world."

"See?" I said softly to Sarah, nudging her with my elbow. "Skepticism is good!"

She made a sour face.

"It is one reason why I have a glass table," Bettina continued, nodding toward the table upon which were spread a number of tiles painted with the letters of the alphabet, like oversized Scrabble tiles. In the center, a normal-looking drinking glass sat upside down on a small square of crimson silk. "I do not want anyone to be able to claim the events they witness have a mundane explanation. There is no trickery performed here!"

Sarah elbowed me back. I ignored it and carefully examined the table. Despite the dim lighting of the small séance room, everyone's legs were clearly visible beneath the table.

"Now, if we're ready, perhaps we can begin with a prayer."

I bit my lip and said nothing as Bettina clasped her hands together and bowed her head before offering up a prayer of understanding and protection. Everyone followed suit except me—I took the opportunity to look around the room, trying to find anywhere an accomplice could hide, locations of possible hidden projectors, and anything out of the ordinary.

"Atheist?" a soft voice to my left asked.

"More a skeptical agnostic," I answered Milo in a whisper. "I grew up in a strictly religious household, but it didn't stick with me after I left home."

"Me, too," he said with a conspiratorial smile.

"If everyone would take a few moments to write down a couple of questions you would like asked of any spirits who may visit us, that would be very helpful." Bettina passed out small squares of paper and tiny pencils. "Please don't sign your name to the questions. The spirits will know who asked what."

I toyed with my pencil for a moment, debating whether I should pose questions that physicists have yet to answer, but decided it was hardly fair to expect anyone, even supposed spirits, to solve all the mysteries of the universe. I contented myself with asking a few simple questions instead, passing my paper along with everyone else's.

Sarah leaned closer and whispered, "I hope you didn't embarrass me by asking something impossible to answer, like what the meaning of life is, or what Einstein's favorite color was, or what that gnu thing is."

"Gnu?" I whispered back, confused. I'd never had any questions about cattle of any form, let alone exotic ones.

"That theory thing you're always talking about."

I stifled a giggle. "That would be GUT, the grand unification theory, but I've long since moved on to string theory—"

"Excellent," Bettina said, shooting me a glance that indicated she'd love it if I shut up. "For our new friends who haven't been here before, I'll explain what will happen during this séance. First, everyone will place their fingertips upon the edge of the glass. We will clear our minds of the trivialities of everyday life, and focus on creating a welcoming environment for any spirit who wishes to join us."

"Short of baking cookies and laying out a 'Welcome, Spirits' doormat, how are we supposed to do that?" I asked Sarah in a nearly inaudible voice.

"Shh!"

"Once a spirit has indicated that he or she is present, I will begin reading your questions. I ask that you be silent until the spirit has answered the question, at which point you may ask for clarification if needed, or if you have a follow-up. In order to keep the séance to a reasonable length, there will be only one additional question per person."

Well, at least this was going to be fairly short, I thought to myself as I prepared to clear my mind of whatever trivialities were lurking there. "Begone, value of pi to ten decimal points," I murmured softly. "Shoo, velocity of the pion. Take a hike, plum pudding model of the atom."

"Portia!"

I composed my face into one of absolute innocence, and placed two fingertips on the circular walls of the glass. Bettina did a few moments of communing with who knew what, swaying slightly, her eyelids fluttering in a suitably dramatic fashion.

"Spirits, entities, and loved ones who have passed on before us," she intoned, still doing the swaying and fluttering thing. "Heed our plea, and grace us now with your presence."

Milo's arm brushed mine. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His lips were twitching. I fought hard to keep from grinning at him, and was mostly successful, but Sarah glared at me nonetheless.

"We beseech you who have gone beyond the beyond—"

I bit my lip hard, using the pain to distract me from the need to burst into unseemly laughter.

"—share with us your knowledge and advice." Bettina took a couple of deep breaths, swayed forward, swayed backward, swayed forward again, then sat upright and opened her eyes. "Is there a spirit with us now?"

Beneath my fingers, the glass moved slowly to a tile upon which had been printed the word YES in bright red letters. I wasn't surprised the glass moved, being tolerably familiar with the concepts of autosuggestion and self-delusion, although I had been content to simply rest my fingers on the glass and do no more. No doubt an overeager participant had nudged the glass across the table, possibly quite unaware that he or she was doing so.

"Very good. Let us see what the spirits have to share with us tonight." Mystic Bettina pulled a piece of paper from the stack, and opened it. "Does the velocity of an object in space determine the force of the vacuum through which it travels?"

Everyone looked at me. I cleared my throat and smiled. "It was the only thing I could think of offhand."

Behind my arm, Sarah pinched me.

Bettina gave me a stern look, and pulled another piece of paper from the pile. "I believe we will try a question a little less confusing. Here is one: is my brother James happy—"

"Sorry we're late," a voice interrupted as the door to the séance room was opened. Sarah gave a startled yelp, and jumped in her chair.

Silhouetted in the doorway were two shapes, the voice female. "Bloody badgers, it's dark in here. Tansy, find the switch, will you?"

We all blinked as an overhead light suddenly flooded the room with light. Two middle-aged women, both with close-cropped, greying hair, stood smiling at us. One was very short and rather round; the other was tall and had a brusque manner about her that reminded me of the late British actress Dame Margaret Rutherford. The Dame Margaret woman peered nearsightedly around the room, her frown clearing when she spotted me. "There you are! Knew we'd run you to earth somewhere around town. All ready, are you? That your champion?"

She looked at Milo, who appeared just as startled as the rest of us.

"Um…no, this a gentleman named Milo."

"Ah, it's the lady then? Excellent! Equality of the sexes and all that."

I scooted my chair back and got to my feet, feeling it necessary to clear up a misunderstanding that evidently involved me. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong person. I'm not expecting to meet anyone this evening."

"Bloody badgers," Dame Margaret swore, turning to her companion. "Did we bollocks it up again?"

"Excuse me, but this is a private session," Bettina said with a determined smile, rising from her seat. "If you wish to book one of your own, you can do so tomorrow between the hours of nine and—"

"Where's the bloody card…I know I had it." Dame Margaret patted her navy jacket. "Had it when we left Court. Tansy, you pick it up?"

"Oh, let me check." The smaller woman rustled around in a voluminous purse, extracting a small gold card. She had a grandmotherly look about her, with twinkling brown eyes, a little pink nose that twitched ever so slightly, and soft grey curls that bobbed as she fussed in her purse. "Yes, I do. Here it is. The name is Portia Harding. Such a pretty name, Portia. I had a cat named Portia, once. Do you remember it, Letty? She was orange and white, and had a nasty habit of piddling in my shoes, but otherwise was a very smart cat. I was devastated when she was trampled by a contingent of Cromwell's men."

You could have cut the silence in the room with a mackerel.

"Honest to Pete, I know the English are supposed to be eccentric, but this is just ludicrous," I whispered to Sarah.

"They certainly are…different here," Sarah agreed, watching with interested eyes as the two women continued.

"That wasn't Cromwell's men. You have your history mixed up again. It was James II's party that fired the town and killed everyone, your piddling cat included."

"Ladies, I'm sorry, you're going to have to leave. We're in the middle of an important séance here, and we've just made contact."

"James II?" The short woman named Tansy wrinkled her brow, ignoring Bettina's plea. "Are you sure? I distinctly remember cursing Cromwell."

Dame Margaret shook her head. "Of course you cursed him; we all did. Don't you remember the group cursing parties we used to have with the powers and virtues? All that thunder and lightning and those absolutely glorious bonfires that lit up the countryside for miles."

"Ladies!" Bettina strode forward with a smile that was a bit tattered around the edges. "I must insist that you leave now."

"I liked the wine back then," Tansy said with a sad little sigh. "You just don't find wine like that anymore."

"You don't find plague anymore either, but you won't catch me bemoaning the loss of those days. Yes, yes, we hear you, whatever your name is." Dame Margaret turned to Bettina, who was standing at the opened door. "This won't take long at all."

"We're quite experienced at conducting trials," Tansy said as she bustled over to the door, patting Bettina's arm. "Why don't you take a seat, dear. It will all be over before you know it."

"She said trial," Sarah whispered, gripping my forearm. "Didn't Theo say something about a trial before you scared him off?"

"And a champion," I answered, nibbling my bottom lip. It was a bad habit from youth, but one I couldn't help in times of stress…and whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was suddenly a bit worried about the two women who were even now escorting an overwhelmed-looking Bettina back to her seat.

"What do you think it means?" Sarah asked.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Dame Margaret clapped her hands and, without warning, the room was filled with an intense bluish light, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. It must have dazzled me more than I realized, because without being aware of moving, I suddenly found myself standing in the center of the room, facing the two women, Sarah at my side. "We commence with the first trial of the virtue known as Portia Harding."

"I have a feeling this evening is going to end up being just as strange as the afternoon," I told my friend.

She nodded.

"Is your champion ready?" Dame Margaret asked me.

Sarah and I looked at each other. "I'm a champion? Isn't that like a knight-errant or something?"

"So I gather." I turned back to face the two women. Beyond them, Bettina, Milo and his wife, and the elegant lady watched us with startled eyes. They were oddly silent given the unexpected interruption. "I'm really sorry, but this has to stop."

Dame Margaret frowned. "You're not Portia Harding?"

"Yes, I am, but—"

"And this is your champion?"

"No, she's my friend, not a champion, but—"

"It is your right to waive the presence of a champion, although I can't imagine why you would do so," Dame Margaret said with a shrug.

"Look, this has gone far enough," I said, getting angry. "As I explained to Theo, we are not the gullible, helpless tourists we may look to be, and frankly, we've had a hell of a day and I'm really not going to put up with any more fun and games a la Theo. Feel free to trot back to him and tell him that your little scheme didn't work, and the police will be contacting him about this continued harassment."

Tansy pursed her lips. Dame Margaret frowned. Sarah clutched my arm even tighter.

"We are already late, Portia Harding. I don't understand the purpose of your little joke, but we have a job to do. Tansy, if you please?"

"This is absolutely insaaaaaaaaa—"

Before I knew what was happening, little round butterball Tansy threw herself at me, slamming into me with a force that knocked me backward several feet onto my butt. I stared in stunned disbelief at her as she did the flying dive toward me, knocking the breath out of me as her not-insubstantial form squashed me like a ripe bug. My head hit the ground, making me see stars for a few seconds, my already injured shoulder screaming with reawakened pain.

"Sweet mother of reason, what do you think you're doing?" I shrieked as Tansy grabbed my hair and started slamming my head against the floor. "Sarah, call the cops!"

"I can't move," Sarah yelled back, her voice strained. "Something seems to be holding me back."

"You are not the champion," Dame Margaret said with irritating calm. "Only a champion can assist a subject."

"Stop it, you crazy old lady!" I screamed as Tansy sat on me and continued to pound my head against the floor. I struggled against her, trying to push her off me, but for an old woman, she was remarkably strong. It didn't help that one of my arms was just about incapacitated due to my sore shoulder, or that my head was becoming more and more befuddled with each wallop on the floor. "Someone help me!"

Tansy's face was twisted with concentration, her teeth bared in a grotesque parody of a smile.

"Fifteen seconds," Dame Margaret said in a bored voice. "I suggest that you make your move soon, Portia Harding."

"Arrrrrrrgh!" I bellowed, trying to twist my way out of Tansy's vicious grip. Part of my mind, the part that annoys me the most, pointed out with abstracted amusement the irony of being beaten up by an overweight, elderly lady after having earlier survived attacks by an extremely fit man.

"Ten seconds."

"Are you all right, Portia?" Sarah called.

"No…I…am…not…" I answered in between head bangings. "Gaaaarr!"

"Can't you just push her off you?" she asked. "It's just one old lady."

"This isn't an old lady; it's a big-time wrestler in disguise," I snarled, trying to pry Tansy's hands from my head.

"Five seconds."

"Well then…you're just going to have to persuade her to stop," Sarah said, quite unreasonably in my opinion. "Without striking her, of course. I do not condone physical abuse of the elderly."

"Granng!"

"And…cease."

In a twinkling, Tansy released me and hopped up, immediately straightening her shapeless wool skirt and blouse, the former of which had been somewhat rumpled during her attack on me. "What happened?" she asked, peering down at me.

"That's what I'd like to know," I answered a bit woozily. With slow, careful movements, I sat up, feeling the back of my head. There was a horribly tender spot, from which tendrils of pain snaked out and wrapped themselves around my brain. "I'm going to have a hell of a goose egg back there. What have I ever done to you that you'd attack me like that?"

"Why didn't you defend yourself?" Tansy asked, looking confused.

Sarah rushed over and helped me to my feet, her face red with anger. "You people are insane—insane! How dare you assault us! You may be elderly, but that does not give you the right to beat up whom soever you feel like!"

The ground dipped beneath my feet for a moment. I clutched Sarah and tried to blink away the dizziness.

"Subject failed to manifest any sort of defense whatsoever," Dame Margaret said as she wrote in a small notebook. She tucked the pencil into the book and put both away in her pocket, cocking an eyebrow at me. "Let's hope you do better on the second trial. That will commence tomorrow."

"Could someone call the police?" Sarah asked, gently pushing me toward my chair. Bettina and the others still sat around the table, as still as statues. "And an aid unit. Portia looks very pale."

"I don't understand why she didn't protect herself," Tansy said, back to looking like a fluffy-haired, jolly grandmother. I knew just how deceptive that appearance was. "Why didn't she do something, Letty?"

"No idea," Dame Margaret answered, pursing her lips again. "But it's no concern of ours. Who's next on the list?"

Tansy pulled a piece of paper from her purse. "A throne applicant."

"Oh, good. Always like testing them. They have such polite manners. Good evening!"

"Someone stop them," Sarah said, heading for the door, but it did no good. The bright bluish light that had filled the room suddenly went off, plunging us into relative darkness. We were light blind for a moment or two, moments which the two women used to hurry out the door before anyone could stop them.

"What is wrong with everyone here?" I asked, rubbing my head and glaring at the people around the table. "Couldn't someone have pulled that old lady off me?"

Bettina gave me an odd look. "Pardon? What old lady are you speaking about?"

"What old lady? The one who just tried to bash my brains into mush on the floor!"

Four sets of eyes watched me warily, as if I was the one who was behaving oddly.

"Perhaps you would like to lie down for a few minutes while we continue with the séance," Bettina said kindly. "There is a sofa in the reception room which you are welcome to use."

I looked from person to person, then to Sarah.

"Didn't you just see the two women who came in here?" she asked them all.

All four of them shook their heads.

"No one? You're telling us you didn't see anyone else come into the room?" Sarah asked, her hands on her hips.

"No," Milo said. "No one but the six of us."

"Unauthorized visitors are not allowed at client séances," Bettina added. "Shall we continue?"

"What's going on?" Sarah asked, confusion written all over her face. It probably mirrored mine.

I shook my head very, very carefully. "I have no idea, but I think it's time to leave."

"Definitely," she said, helping me to my feet and opening the door for me. I felt like I had been run down by a steam roller. My head and shoulder were hurting so much it was making me sick to my stomach. Sarah paused at the doorway and looked back at the four people at the séance table. "You English are just downright mean sometimes!"