Escort For The Witch: The Mystery of Psyche's Ruby

"Well, this is a surprise. What are you doing here?" I asked, annoyed.

"Hi, Jack," Brenda sung and stared at me shamelessly the way only a person with her non-existent scruples could. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you aren’t exactly unlike a goblin right now, looks wise!" she chirped, bursting into headache-causing laughter.

"Come on! Spit it out! What the hell was I doing at the police station last night? You’ve already been inside in my head while I was… asleep, haven’t you?"

" Yeah, I have. And you know what? You’ll never guess…"

" Brenda! Spit it out, will you? Or I might get physical!"

" What, again?", she chuckled, perching herself on the edge of the coffee table next to my mom. "Alright, don’t get mad, mind your headache. Your boys' night just got out of hand."

"Very informative," I remarked sourly.

"You were playing pool. And you hit the ball so hard that it bounced off and smacked Derek right in the forehead. The impact sent him reeling backwards right into some huge guy by the bar. The latter spilled his beer, too. Of course, the guy got mad and asked Derek what his problem was and all that. And you were so drunk that you decided to stand up for him. That’s how it all started…Yelling, brawling… But the big bar guy turned out to be a cop."

" Oh, damn it!" I muttered and dropped my aching head into my hands.

"Yep. And you also threatened to kick everyone’s ass down at the station."

"And how did you know I was at the station?" I turned to mom, who had been quiet the whole time, putting on airs.

"You know, my dear son, sometimes I look at you and wonder what lucky stars had aligned when you were born?"

"Guess that’s your area of expertise… Mom, come on, enough already! So then I used my post-booking phone call right, didn’t I? "

"No, my dear! You weren’t exactly fit to do so at the time," she quipped. " It was your luck that last night, the father of one of my top students was on duty. He was kind enough to call me and ask me to pick my terribly ill-mannered, hopelessly drunk child up."

"Actually, he just asked her to pick you up," Brenda corrected, hoping to make me feel better and earning a sharp glance from Mrs. Renton.

"Well, as they say, all is well that ends well!" I said amiably, forcing a feeble semblance of a smile. " Anyway, the point is Dad doesn’t know… It would hurt him to not have been invited."

" He does," Brenda whispered, fear returning to her eyes.

There it was: the guilt of not inviting my own father to my, his only son’s, bachelor party came crashing down on my already throbbing head like a sledgehammer. He will never live this down, even though this was probably the most disastrous stag do in the history of New Orleans – which, of course, will be readily confirmed by my eccentric

“friend” Derek, who has now firmly secured his position as a valid member of our small family and…

“Where’s Derek?” I asked Brenda, suddenly remembering my cheerful hippie bloodsucker. After all, he was the reason why our innocent boys’ night out at the bar had turned into a “bachelor brawl.” I stared at Brenda, who, by the looks of it, was on the verge of crying. “Brenda, what else don’t I remember?” I asked, relieved to notice that the whiskey I had downed was finally doing its job. The ringing in my head ceased, the nausea subsided, and my mind cleared up a bit. “Spit it out already!”

“Yes, Brenda. Tell him. Tell him everything! Let him feel ashamed for once,” Mrs.

Renton interjected.

“Mom…”

“Shame on you, son!”

“Well, I don’t even know if I should…” Brenda began, but Mrs. Renton wasn’t having it.

“Do you have any idea what your father and I went through after that police phone call in the middle of the night, telling us to come to the police station at once? We raced there, only to find you completely drunk and disorderly and shouting profanities, and it made me feel sick just realizing we were… directly related.”

“Oh, Mom, please!”

“And then an officer came up to us and said, ‘Brace yourselves. We have bad news. Your son Derek passed away on the way to the hospital!”

I couldn’t believe my ears! The last sentence, uttered by my mother, hit me so hard that I instantly sobered up, gaping in shock.

“What? Your who? Passed away? On the way to the hospital? What hospital? And what do you mean ‘passed away’? He can’t pass away! He’s a vampire!”

“That’s exactly our problem,” Brenda noted quietly. “Your dad’s been racking his brains over how we sneak ‘the body’ out of the morgue unnoticed and without the body breaking into song.”

“Out of the morgue?” I repeated. So much for thinking that after last year’s events, nothing could surprise me anymore! Turns out, I was wrong. “Well, he really outdid himself this time!”

“Aren’t you even a little ashamed, son?” Mrs. Renton lashed out again, throwing her hands up in desperation. Apparently, she really wanted to see me suffer.

I stared at her. She looked determined to give me a good smack on the bottom. The last time I’d seen her like this was when I was eight, and my best friend Eric and I had just accidentally set the living room carpet on fire.

“Brenda,” I whispered, tilting my head slightly to the side. “Save me!”

“It was your idea, after all,” she replied mysteriously, her hazel eyes boring into me.

“Brenda, I’m not in a frame of mind to read between the lines right now!” I barked, instantly rewarded with a sharp pain in my head and jaw.

“It was you who got into a fight with the big cop guy, which landed all of you in the police station. Apparently, Derek’s appearance left the officers somewhat… confused. That’s why they called an ambulance…”

“Well, as far as I remember, he wasn’t wearing flashy clothes.”

“No, it wasn’t about the clothes. Turns out, he doesn’t handle alcohol very well either,” Brenda remarked, throwing another judgmental look my way. “Apparently he was mixing his ‘juice’ with whiskey, in undisclosed proportions, so by the time you had gotten to the police station, he was looking like a three days old corpse! My poor baby!” Brenda squealed and, to my and mom’s surprise, burst into tears.

“Brenda, what are you on about? He’s a vampire! He doesn’t drink whiskey. As for having one too many, moderation is not a concept he’s familiar with.” My eyes moved over to mom, who had walked over to the fireplace and demonstratively lit one of dad’s cigars. “What are you doing, mom? You don’t smoke!”

“I don’t smoke, and my son is an angel. At least you graduated from university – only just… For that, I’m grateful,” she retorted before elegantly sinking into a high-backed leather chair like a vintage Hollywood sweetheart.

“So why is he in the morgue?”

“Because some smarty-pants had reasoned that when the ambulance arrived and the doctors saw a swollen, black-and-blue form that Derek was, they’d rush to save his life,” Mom explained. “And the first thing they’d do is check his pulse. Imagine the commotion when they found out he didn’t actually have one? So you, smarty-pants, came up with nothing better than to suggest to Derek that ‘passes away’ in the ambulance, which he did.”

“What a champ!” I exclaimed, mentally addressing myself, rather than Derek even. “And why are you crying, Brenda? Your little leech will be home soon, practically ‘alive’ and reasonably healthy.”

“He’s not going out with you ever again! I swear, Cornell,” she squealed, wiping away the tears. “When the two of you get together, there’s always trouble. I’ll do everything in my power to – ”

There was a sudden knock on the door, cutting Brenda’s fiery sermon short.

“Ah! There’s Sabrina!” mom sang, dragging out the words for emotional impact. “I still don’t get what she sees in you, son. Such a clever, beautiful girl…” “And then there’s you,” she added, stubbing out her cigar in the ashtray before hurrying to the door.

And there she was, standing in the doorway, like a ray of spring sunshine in a dark room. The girl who wanted to spend the rest of her life with me. A decision she had made entirely on her own. And it looked like she might well make another independent decision now to send me packing. I assumed a most innocent expression and started looking around for the hoodie I remembered wearing the night before.

“It’s behind the couch,” Brenda grumbled and headed toward the kitchen, where Mrs. Renton could already be heard bustling about.

Sabrina glided past me silently to take the spot where Brenda, who I’d apparently offended, had been wailing just a minute ago. I couldn’t think of anything more original than ‘attack is the best defence’, so right in I went.

“Okay, so I screwed up,” I declared, looking into the blue eyes of my beloved witch.

She sat opposite me, arms crossed, scanning every inch of my swollen face.

“Not the phrase Eric would use. You have a lot of apologising to do. He was furious when he found out you had ‘slayed’ a vampire – without his help!” Sabrina noted quietly, then burst into laughter.

“And just yesterday morning, you told me off for being wicked! Compared to you, I’m practically an earth angel! How are you feeling after your binge drinking? And then that fight… Are you really that bored with me? I can fix that easily.”

“It’s just that the drinks were too strong. And honestly, I hadn’t even had that much,” I stared at the floor to avoid looking at Sabrina who, I know, was enjoying tormenting me.

“No, sweetie, you had had much. And yes, the booze was strong. Tricia told me all about it—I began my shift right after you, idiots, had gotten hauled off to the police station.”

Seeing my reaction, she had to bite her lip to avoid bursting into another raucous laughter. To think of it! Organise a beer party at a bar where your girlfriend works and drink yourself into being booked for a brawl… That’s proper cringe material.

“Did Tricia call the cops then?” I enquired civilly, my eyes still riveted to the floor in front of me.

“No, she was curious to see how your little one-man show would end. But you really annoyed one of the frequenters, so he decided to turn you in.”

“Alright, forget that guy. So, when are you going to start chastising me for being a complete and utter jerk about Derek? It was my idea to ‘kill’ him, by the way. And do it behind Eric’s back, too”

“I’m not. You’re already feeling – and looking – bad enough,” Sabrina said softly, brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from her angelic face. “Besides, my bachelorette is coming up soon,” she added with a mysterious smile, seeing a surprised look in my now-almost-sober eyes.

“So you’re planning to one-up me?”

“Anything’s possible…” my bride-to-be whispered ominously, then smiled again. But, Jack, if Derek doesn’t finish my dress in time for the wedding, I’ll kill you. And I won’t care that you’re my fiancé,”. I kept staring at her in disbelief.

“Are you for real? You have entrusted your wedding gown to a laid-back leech?” I boomed, drawing mom’s attention.

“He has excellent taste,” Mrs. Renton chimed in, coming to Sabrina’s (or rather Derek’s) defence.

“Sure, when it comes to friendship bracelets and other hippie crap – I mean, accessories, then I suppose he does…”

“Weren’t you the one telling me you didn’t care much what dress I wore?” Sabrina asked teasingly.

“Sabi, it’s my wedding, too! How could I not care?” I even threw up my hands, which earned me one of the warmest smiles from Sabrina to date and gave me a fresh wave of headache.

“You should go clean yourself up. You smell like you just crawled out of a dumpster. And your face… Come here,” Sabrina chirped, sitting down next to me on the couch. She gently touched my battered face. I heard a faint crack and felt a sharp pain come and go. “There, that’s better,” she said, planting a soft kiss on my stubbly cheek.

“That’s why I adore you,” I whispered. The next moment my attention was drawn to the front door, behind which loud, incoherent singing could be heard…

Chapter 3

Back from the Other Side

The singing intensified. A few minutes later, the front door opened, and a tall, stout, burly man with thick, silver-grey hair and matching moustache appeared on the threshold. He was breathing and snorting heavily, while constantly clenching and unclenching his fists. This could only mean one thing: Mr. Cornell Sr. was beside himself with rage.

“Gabriel, dear! I think I’m about to kill someone!” my father said through gritted teeth as he walked into the living room. On seeing me, he smiled and was about to step into the room when a long, drawn-out wail sounded behind him from the direction of the front door. “Derek! Stop howling!” father exclaimed, throwing up his hands, and then silently walked past Sabrina and me, collapsing wearily into his favorite high-backed leather armchair.

“I’m not howling, I’m singing, Mr. Cornell. The difference between the two is colossal,” the vampire declared, finally entering the house. “Let me explain it to you.”

“My God!” came a cry from the kitchen. Sabrina and I exchanged glances and, our mouths agape, stared at the strange creature that was cuddling and stroking his beloved dog.

“Abby! Ugh!” father barked. “Derek, leave the dog alone. She’s not a stuffed toy, you know.”

Derek hesitated but finally released the excited canine from his tight embrace and marched into the living room, grinning broadly. I felt Sabrina freeze in place, gripping my hand tightly. Brenda burst into even louder sobs and disappeared into the kitchen again. Mom clicked her tongue disapprovingly, while Dad, unable to control his emotions, stood up and began pacing the room. As for me, I stared wide-eyed at what used to be my drinking buddy from the night before. Standing before me now was a tall, bloated, blackened corpse, his skin covered in dried blood, wrapped in my father’s old brown dustcoat. Underneath the dustcoat, apparently, there was nothing else. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes resembling two overripe plums that someone had trampled on. The long claws that had adorned his bony fingers just the day before were now gone. On his bare feet sat a pair of tattered hospital overshoes, and a name tag was still attached to his left toe, sticking out ominously.

“Hey, buddy!” the vampire greeted me. “Looks like you’ve regained your senses, too! What a night, huh? I’m still buzzing that I managed to get drunk! I just had to keep you company. I always thought the stuff would just transit through, leaving me unaffected… Should have thought again, should have known better! Getting sloshed for the first time in a hundred years… Wish I’d known sooner. So much fun wasted.”

Derek chirped cheerfully, breaking into a blissful smile that revealed his blood-stained fangs.

“What do you mean, ‘known better’?” Sabrina enquired judgementally, watching her “fashion designer” float around the room, mimicking Cornell Sr.

“Dad, how did you get him out?”

“He threw up right in the morgue,” Dad remarked, ignoring my question. “Can you imagine? Right there! Threw up! A vampire! And you know what happened to the doctor who tried to examine him?”

“Me!” the vampire in question interjected. “I happened to the doctor,” he chuckled. “Like in the good old horror movies. I open my eyes, push the dude in the white scrubs aside and dash to the sink! I heard the loud thud behind me as he fainted, of course, but I didn’t think he’d be so impressionable. He deals with stiffs daily, after all…So unprofessional of him. People used to be different back in the day. They weren’t afraid of anything! But now? Everyone’s gone soft,” the bloodsucker mused, settling into my father’s armchair.

“And what about you, Cornell? You did show your true colors last night: ‘Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall make a toast!’” the vampire mimicked me and guffawed. “Your toasting skills leave a lot to be desired. And – you’re hardly Archimedes.”

“Anyways, Jack, the next time you decide to get drunk—and I hope there won’t be a next time—choose a more mortal companion, will you,” uttered a quiet, unfamiliar voice behind us. “You’re drawing too much attention. To yourselves, and to the things regular people shouldn’t know about.”

I turned around to face a tall stranger standing in the dark corner of the hallway. The man stood like a statue, observing us silently and intently, barely moving. How did he enter the house unnoticed?

“Felix, if my memory serves me right, you haven’t met my son, have you?” my father addressed the stranger.

“No, Elliot. But I assume you’ll introduce us now. Although I’ve heard quite a lot about the exploits of Mr. Cornell Jr.,” the man said in the same quiet, raspy voice, moving further into the living room and allowing the rays of the setting sun to give us a better view of our new acquaintance.

Before us stood a tall, stately man in his mid-forties. Clean-shaven, neatly combed, and elegantly dressed. He looked and carried himself like a typical, successful businessman, except for one small detail: his unnaturally greyish skin and a thin, slightly opaque film covering the whites and pupils of his eyes. The stranger stepped closer, tilting his head slightly to greet us, then smiled broadly, revealing a row of sharp, razor-like fangs.

“Felix Timmons,” he introduced himself. “Curator of the Ancient Letters Department at the ‘Guardian.’ And, incidentally, chief mentor of this… misfit,” he nodded toward the armchair in which Derek was lounging, feeling a little too comfortable. “I’ve spent centuries trying to hammer some sense into him – all in vain.”

“Don’t take it to heart, Felix. This guy here, my son (God help us), is also a walking disaster,” my father chimed in, pointing his index finger at me. “I can’t even imagine what would have happened if Eric had been there too. Sabi, sweetheart, no offense, but that would be quite a crew. I’m almost afraid to think what they’d have gotten up to. We’d have to declare a state of emergency across the entire state!”

“That’s exaggerating, Dad,” I muttered.

“Not in the least! And do try to ensure a party like this never happens again!”

“I promise, Mr. Cornell, it won’t happen again,” Sabrina reassured, cutting in before me. “And if it does, I’ll be the reason why someone ends up with a sore jaw,” she looked me straight in the eye and smiled suggestively.

“Let’s hope it won’t come to that,” my father grumbled, glaring at Derek. “And that goes for you too, ‘son.’ What were you even thinking… You bunch of fools.”

“So how did you get him out of the morgue?” I’ve been itching to know the whole time. It must have been an extraordinary feat of planning: to extract this shaggy excuse for a human from the hospital freezer, and without anyone noticing.

“Felix and I went to ‘identify the body.’ We walked into the morgue to find the doctor unconscious on the floor. Meanwhile, Derek was belting out songs and rummaging around in a little side office for something to wear. I then darted back to the car for my coat, and while Felix was charming the pants off a nurse, I managed to sneak Derek off the premises. I must admit, we got damn lucky,” Mr. Cornell Sr. concluded with a smirk. “Yeah, boys, you must have conspired there to spice up our quiet lives. And you nailed it. Pray my grandchildren won’t inherit their parents’ ways, right, Felix?”

“That’s true. Elliot won’t survive this,” Derek the chill guy vampire chimed in, glancing curiously at my girlfriend.

“Solange de Manshand!” Felix exclaimed, once again nodding his head in greeting.

“Or, as your friends call you, Sabrina! It’s a great honor to meet such a talented descendant of a legendary family! I’ve known many women from your lineage, but I must admit, none of them were as charming and talented as you!” Felix proclaimed with undisguised admiration. I didn’t fail to notice how his previously lifeless, dead eyes glinted with near-human passion. “Derek told me he designed your wedding dress for you. Honestly, I was surprised…”

“You know, so was I. Surprised is putting it mildly. In fact, I was shocked!” I thought it appropriate to join the discussion at this point. I instantly regretted my decision, seeing Sabrina knit her beautiful, arched brows at my remark. A sure sign she was starting to get angry.

“What do you mean, Jack?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I expected anything and was prepared for everything – except a hippie-style wedding.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean, Jack? Have you absolutely no faith in me?”

Derek exclaimed, offended, and slowly rose from his armchair. “So, you think braided friendship bracelets are my limit, huh? Sabrina! Come on, tell him!”

Felix looked at everyone in confusion. A tense silence fell over the room. Considering that Sabrina had so far remained silent and avoided getting into spats, now was the moment when her patience could finally snap. Sensing that a controversial subject had been raised, Felix excused himself and, following my father’s example, disappeared into the kitchen, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“You two are driving me crazy!” the girl said coldly and took a deep breath. “You!” she barked, pointing a finger at Derek. “If my dress isn’t ready in four days’ time, I’ll cremate you alive! And no amount of Brenda’s sobs will save you! Rest assured. And you!” Sabrina turned to me, striking a warrior pose with her hands on her hips. “You’re not getting off lightly either! Don’t you doubt it for a second! Now get your things! We’re going home!”

She spun sharply on her heels and headed for the front door. Derek and I exchanged understanding glances.

“Tell dad that mom’s now smoking,” I instructed the now-quiet bloodsucker.

Pulling on my hoodie and swaying slightly, I shuffled after Sabrina.

Chapter 4

Pre-Wedding Torture

Two days later, our small family safely landed in Paris. It was here, in the province of Île-de-France, at the ancestral home of the de Manshands, that our grand wedding ceremony was to take place. Mom kept trying to lift my spirits, and every now and then, she would tug me at my sleeve and dreamily go over the details of her own wedding decades ago. She chattered nonstop about how, not so long ago, Sabrina and I hated each other so much that we were ready to tear each other’s throats out. So considerate of her!

I endured her babbling stoically, all while stealing glances at my beloved out of the corner of my eye. In fact, I have been trying to keep my distance for now – to avoid idle arguments about the wedding’s insignificant, minute details, thus souring everyone’s festive mood. My nervousness didn’t escape dad, when, just before boarding, I had politely asked mom to swap seats with me so she could sit next to Sabrina. Mr. Cornell Sr. tried hard to keep his composure and not give me a lecture, but in the end, he couldn’t hold back.

“Don’t stress so much, son. It’s just a wedding,” was his idea of cheering me up. “It’s natural to be nervous in the run-up to it. But there’s no need to torture yourself like that.”

I didn’t argue but just smiled back and turned on my MP3 player, signalling the end of the conversation.

“It’s just a wedding…” The words weighed heavy on my heart, and I turned even gloomier. I had naively hoped that our wedding would be a modest affair: a small chapel in my hometown, only close friends and family. Not some grandiose ball type gathering with a bunch of strangers, “thanks to whom you haven’t been kicked out of the Order yet,” – quoting dad. With my reputation in the Order being, putting it mildly, not-so-great, I was genuinely worried that I may not be able to keep my cool on my own wedding day. And Sabrina… Oddly enough, although it was entirely expected, all Sabrina was fretting over was her wedding gown. After all, the long-awaited masterpiece was being created by none other than the greatest fashion designer of all time, Derek. But Derek, as I had thought he might, had disappeared from our radar more than 24 hours prior, after first switching off his mobile.

We stood in silence at the baggage carousel at Charles de Gaulle Airport. My parents were discussing something in hushed voices; Sabrina was glancing around nervously, searching for her self-confessed couturier. Whereas I was biting my tongue not to deliver another round of “Didn’t I tell you so?”