Spell of the Black Unicorn

Chapter 2

Chapter 2“A vampire? You?” Zofia said, incredulous. “How could a vampire even get close enough to bite you?” A Knight of Witenagemont, Dorian had brought eighty vampires into rehab, and seventeen, or maybe eighteen Weres in his time, second to none. He was the best man his boss, Stephen Restormell, had as a Knight. He had a foolproof hex he could put on vamps and Weres to make them snooze, given to him by his great-great grandfather.

“It's a long story, but believe me, Vesselvod Blood was behind it,” Dorian explained.

“So, the dream was true,” she muttered to herself.

“Don't ask me how,” he sighed, plowing long fingers through his dark locks. “I still don't remember exactly what happened. I suffered temporary amnesia.”

“Really?”

“Really. I couldn't even remember my name, let alone that I had a wife. All I do remember is that when I came to I had a terrible headache as though a Troll had hit me over the head. Plus this terrible thirst for human blood.”

Zofia sucked in a noisy gasp, and back pedaled a few steps away from him.

“Don't worry,” he said, assuring palms up. “I've been through rehab.”

“Really? Where?” She squinted at him. There were good rehabs and there were awful ones that took money from the unsuspecting vampire and he wound up being even more addicted to human blood than before—if that were possible.

“RVR.”

Her eyes popped again. “You went to Radu's Vampire Rehab? Who took you in?”

“My brother.”

“Declan?”

“No. Raoul,” he said. “Impressive, really, RVR was. I met an eight-hundred year old vampire. It was his fifth time in. He just couldn't keep his fangs out of humans. It's just like any other addiction and takes a long time to get over the desire for human blood and replace it with animal blood, or the new Wizard's Brand. I couldn't go with the synthetic. I need the real thing. It's half the reason it took me so long in coming to find you,” he explained. Stepping further inside, his gaze moved to take in the house.

“Well, that's a big relief! At least I know you came out of it cured. Right?”

“Right,” he slurred, moving along. “Great digs, darling. How do you afford it in this Ugwump-run world?” He ambled toward the open staircase.

Watching his languid gate, her eyes slid to his butt. Imps! Didn't mean to go there. She couldn't claim him as her husband any more. He was an Undead, and under Code 136-7 (or was it Code 126-7?), the Undead could not return to their home and claim to be married, because it was Taboo to do it with a vampire. Taboos were definitely the biggest no-no's to break. Breaking Code was one thing—and people broke them on a daily bases—but breaking any Taboo brought some serious consequences. It could send you into Hamparzum's, which was filled with the most vile and wicked wizards, sorceresses, demons, Ghogals, and anything else they threw in there. You'd be lucky to survive it, and if you did, come back sane.

“We've a potions and herb shop uptown,” she explained, her face becoming warm. His sudden appearance threw her for a loop. “Look, you can't just reappear after all this time and not tell me what happened to you. It's not fair,” she said, following him to the stairs. “I mean, how did Blood turn you into a vampire? He has no Powers.”

Dorian chortled dryly. “Believe me, I've wondered that ever since. I mean, why turn me into a vampire at all? Why not simply kill me. Right?”

Zofia bit her lower lip. She wasn't going to go there. Bad enough he was Undead.

He yawned deep and loud.

“Like I said, not only was my soul taken, but also my memory. That's why I couldn't communicate to you what had happened.” He stifled another yawn with a fist to his mouth. “Sorry,” he said. Glancing at his watch he said, “Oracle of Zamora! No wonder I feel dead on my feet. I need my nap.” He surged up the stairs. Half way up he paused. Pivoting, he regarded her. “This is all your house isn't it? I mean, you don't share it with any Ugwumps, do you?”

“No. It's just Aunt Tillie, the children and I.”

“Children?” His brow arched. He looked stumped.

“Yes, Dorian. Our children. We have two. Did you forget them too?”

“No. Of course not!” He turned and briskly continued up the risers.

“You have forgotten them!” She gulped in air.

He stopped on the landing at the turn and fixed her with a look of profound annoyance. “I do recall some things, you know.”

“Prove it! What are their names?”

“Er… Brooke and—uh-uh—that's funny. The name's on the tip of my tongue.”

“Eldon! And it's not Brooke. It's Blanche!”

“Blanche and Eldon. Right.” He chugged up the remaining risers to the second floor. He strode toward the first door in a languid, predatory gate and stopped at the first door to his right. Grabbing the door knob, he opened the door.

“Bathroom,” she said. He looked inside without turning on the lights.

“Amazing what one can do with a water closet.” He turned to face her. “By the way, d'you know that your door bell gave me a zap?”

“A what?”

“It zapped me. Just a little one.”

“Oh, you mean it gave you a shock?” Zofia frowned, knowing the culprit behind this had to be Biddle. She'd have to speak with him later.

“No. I'd have said shock if I'd meant shock. Just a nice, pleasant, thrumming,” he said. “Just like when I used to tease you—” he touched her with the end of his index finger. “Zzzzz!”

“Oh!” she cried and jumped out of reflex. Of course she felt nothing when he touched her. But when Dorian was a wizard with full powers, he'd had a playful knack of giving her a little zap, not unlike the feel of a static electric charge in the dry winter months here on First World. He would do it when she was least expecting it, as a joke, and then titter about it like a school boy.

“Stop it!” She slapped his hand.

“I thought you rather enjoyed my zapping you.”

“Yes. Just about as much as I enjoy having my fingernails bent back.”

“I'll have to remember that.”

She rolled her eyes at him for a second time. If she had to do it a third time, she might get the head spins.

He turned to the door across the hallway. Pointing, he threw her a questioning look.

“My bedroom.”

He opened the door and peeked inside. “Nice big bed.” He inhaled several quick breaths, sounding like a dog on a scent.

“What?”

Turning, he flashed her a roguish grin. “I don't smell anyone's scent but yours in there.”

“Wow. You can smell that?”

He advanced on her. Startled, she backed into the wall. Large hands went flat against the wall on either side of her face, his arms caging her while he sniffed around her face and shoulders. Nothing is as unnerving as having a vampire sniff you like you were his next meal. What on Euphoria was he sniffing for? Blood type? Garlic? She wondered if the small silver ankh at the hollow of her neck would be enough to fend him off if he had a sudden relapse. A lot of people mistook it for a crucifix, at first glance. On her planet, it was used as a talisman, a form of protection, but it could be invoked for fertility, in all things, including plants. This one was made of silver, and vampires had an aversion toward silver. She worried its power too inconsequential to ward him off.

“Hmm,” Dorian said, looking as though he had found some interesting scent or pheromones on her.

“What?”

“Not what but who?” He arched an eyebrow.

“You mean—? Oh!” A twinge of guilt went through her. She'd broken it off with Richard months ago when he'd gotten serious. (How could she have explained that she could levitate herself, and dishes, with a mere thought? Never mind telling him she was from another planet.) Could he still smell Richard on her?

“An Ugwump? Really, darling, you could do better,” he sneered, releasing her as he backed off.

“Yes, an Ugwump. What else would I find on First World?” It wasn't as if wizards were in abundance here.

He squeezed his eyes at her. “So?”

“So?”

“So, who is he?”

She pressed her lips together. Her love life was none of his business. Even though she hadn't had a date in several weeks now.

“You don't want to tell me? Fine. I'll find out eventually. I'll match the scent with all the humans we come across,” he said, then turned and forged on up the hallway. “Which way to your attic?”

“Attic?” She pictured Dorian sniffing every man who came to her door like an overly ardent hound.

“You do have one, don't you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Which door leads—” His hand clutched Blanche's bedroom doorknob.

“Stop!” she wheezed, trying not to wake everyone up. “Not that one. The last door to the right… yes, that's the one.”

He followed her directions.

“Wait,” she surged forward, stopping a few feet from him. “You haven't told me what happened that night.”

“I promise. Just an hour or so—” He yawned into his fist. “We'll talk then. I need my nap.” He yanked open the door and plunged into the darkness.

She listened to his footsteps clamoring up, and then heard something tumble heavily to the floor.

“Oops,” his voice filtered down to her. “Sorry. I think I knocked somebody's arm off.”

Zofia frowned up into the dark stairway.

“She's rather stiff—”

“You mean the mannequin? That was up there when we moved in,” Zofia called up. “The only one you have to share space with is Biddle.”

“Who?”

“Biddle.”

“I don't see anyone else, darling.”

“You can't see Biddle. He's my Ghogal.”

“You're what?”

Zofia sighed. “Never mind. He'll make himself known to you soon enough.”

Zofia shut the door.

A sudden cackle made her spin around to meet the dried apricot face of her Aunt Tillie. Her teeth gleamed amber in the glow of the courting candle she held in her ganglion-veined hand. Gray-blue eyes twinkled with impish delight. Two braids framing her face tamed her lily-white, wiry hair.

“I told you he'd come back. You owe me a pound of fudge!” she said.

Chuckling to herself, she twirled about. Shuffling down the hall, her ruby-red robe fluttered like curtains in a storm. She disappeared back into her own room.

The peal of door chimes set Biddle off moaning once again.

“Oooo… aaaah… stop it! Make it stop!”

“Jumping imps and demons! Doesn't anyone sleep in on Saturdays anymore?” Zofia cried. She spun, and rushed back down the stairs.

This time her visitor was her neighbor, Eleanor Tuestad. Forty-something, with long, wavy brown hair swept back off her face, she wore a bronze and ocher-colored broomstick skirt and a matching blouse.

“Hi,” she said, her large blue eyes rounder than usual. She looked excited. “Your doorbell just gave me a shock!”

“Sorry. I-I'll have to get that fixed,” Zofia said, trying to hide her irritation. This made two times. There was no doubt Biddle had jinxed the doorbell to give a shock to anyone who used it.

“I saw you were up. Who was that handsome man at your door just a while ago?”

Zofia scratched her head to buy time. “Just my husband—”

“Husband?” Her large eyes went even larger. “I thought you'd said he was dead.”

Zofia bit down on her lower lip. “W-we thought he was dead. But as it turns out, he wasn't—er—isn't.” Goddess, I'm so lame sometimes.

“Wow,” Eleanore gasped with a reverent expression on her face. “That must have been a Karmic moment. What happened?”

Zofia blinked at the Ugwump woman. Eleanor Tuestad seemed to have caught Zofia in a lie. It wasn't exactly a lie. But now she had to make something plausible up. Fast.

“There was a fire, you see and somehow he'd managed to escape. But he lost his memory. He'd only recently gotten some of it back. Then it took him a while to find me.” Perspiration slithered from her armpits down her ribcage giving her a spidery feeling there. Goddess, she hated lying to people.

“Well, I think that's just wonderful,” Eleanor said, fingers laced together in front of her, pausing as though waiting for an invitation of some sort.

“Did you need something, Eleanor?”

A hurt expression came over her plain features. “I told you that I'm going by my new name, Natasha, now. I've changed it, after my re-birthing classes and aura readings with my Esoteric Counselor. That's how I learned that I've lived many past lives, in two of which my name was Natasha. You do remember, don't you? Anyway, I came over to remind you about the re-naming party today at eleven o'clock, at the Tea Room.” She took a breath, gazed high over Zofia's head and raising her hand she stretched invisible words across the air. “Now it'll be called, Natasha's Tea Room.”

Zofia closed her eyes against the head spinning induced by Natasha's long-winded speech.

“I just love what you've done to this place,” Natasha said, weaseling her way into the house. Her gaze took in Colonial blue walls, and ivory dental molding and door headers. She looked like a prospective buyer for the house. “It looks as it should, you know? Like it might have in its heyday.” She continued to weave her way through the great room and now stood in front of a dahlia quilt hanging over the brick fireplace.

“Is this old?” She pointed at the quilt, turning to look at Zofia.

“Not very—” Zofia said, stifling a yawn.

“Ohhh—and is that real-to-gosh pewter? Of course it is!” she answered her own question and went up on tiptoes to look more closely at the pewter mug and plate on the mantle. “Silly me.” She tipped back on her heals letting out with one of her hyena-like laughs. “Why, everything here must be antique.”

“Not everything,” Zofia said, slouching against the baluster she yawned more deeply. How good it would feel to climb back into bed. I wish Natasha would go away. If she were back on her world, this Ugwump wouldn't be pestering her at this hour. In fact, she would probably give Zofia wide birth, unless she needed a love philtre, or a decoction put together for some remedy.

Natasha gushed over the spinning wheel and butter churn next to the fireplace. Unable to take much more of this silly Ugwump's invasion, Zofia said, “Natasha, is there anything else? I'd really like to go back to bed.”

The woman's owl-round eyes darted back to Zofia. Natasha broke away from her perusal of the house. Gasping, her hand went to her almost flat chest. “Ohmigoodness! Certainly. I'm so sorry. You'd like to be with your husband, and here I am rambling on and on and on like a fool.” She retraced her steps back to the door and stopped. With a finger in the air she turned and said, “Now, don't forget, eleven o'clock at the Tea Room. And tonight at dusk, my house.”

“Tonight? What's happening tonight?”

“The séance, silly. B'bye.”