Chapter Seventeen #3
“No, of course not really,” I say, because I know that Glenda is about to drill down into my cooking methods, and anything beyond opening a tin and upending it into a saucepan is beyond me.
“The cook is very precious about her ovens. No one else is allowed to cook in there or I totally would have taken over tonight.”
I send Glenda a secret little triumphant smile and she sends me one right back. No one ever gets the better of Glenda Jackson. She’ll bide her time, but she’ll strike back.
“How’s the case going, darling?” Gran asks, and I fill them in, relieved to be able to share the details openly with people who completely understand. They’re as startled as I was when I tell them about the turn of events between Leo and Britannia, my gran in particular.
“You need to take care of that situation quickly,” she says, suddenly serious. “If she can connect to him physically, she just got a whole lot more powerful.”
I nod, troubled. “I know. And he just got a whole lot less useful.”
“Perhaps you could show us the ballroom after dinner,” Glenda says.
I don’t know if she’s being genuinely helpful or she wants to imagine herself doing a frisky fox-trot with Colin Firth but, either way, it’s a good suggestion.
Instinct tells me that that’s where this case is going to succeed or fail.
I like the room less and less every time I go in there, but having my folks take a look is too good an opportunity to pass up.
I clear away the soup bowls, all of them empty aside from my gran’s.
“Chicken casserole,” I say as I open up the hostess cart.
“Coq au vin,” Glenda says behind me.
“Could I possibly have the vin without the coq?” Gran inquires sweetly, topping off her champagne flute.
“I think you’d be better off having just coq, actually,” I mutter, and then feel slightly queasy, because there’s so much wrong about that sentence that I don’t know what to say next.
I load our plates, including a small one for my gran, because despite her insistence on trying to prove otherwise, humans cannot exist solely on champagne and fresh air.
Besides, I need her to soak up that champagne, because regardless her age and apparent flightiness, she’s actually the most gifted of all of us.
We’re like fine wine, us Bittersweet women. We get more powerful with age.
“Ready?” I say as we all cluster outside the ballroom door.
“Geronimo!” Gran sways and waves around her champagne glass. I tried to take it from her as we left the dining room, but she gripped it like an eagle might clutch a mouse it’s just caught for its dinner.
“An apt word choice, Dicey, given that the ghosts swing freely from the chandeliers,” Glenda says.
Gran lifts her shoulders in a manner that suggests she knew that all along as I push the door open.
I haven’t been in here at night before. Moonlight filters through the tall windows, throwing long shadows and shading the corners for monsters to lurk in unseen.
I don’t know where the light switches are.
For a moment I feel engulfed by the inky-blue darkness, and icy fingertips trail down my spine.
Fear isn’t something I feel very often; ghosts and ghouls are just other people to me, so I’m thrown by my own irrationality.
I spin, and at the same moment, the chandeliers blaze into life and Glenda strolls back in from the hall.
“Switches are by the doorframe,” she says, matter-of-factly.
My irrational fears settle now that the room is illuminated, and I wait while they all experience that same gut reaction Marina and I did the first time we walked in here.
It’s different by night, a little less fairy tale, a little more sophisticated soiree, thanks to the glittering chandeliers, but it’s no less awe-inspiring.
They don’t have much time to fancy themselves being whisked around the floor by Mr. Darcy though, because Bohemia Lovell and his magnificent lion come blazing through the far wall straight toward us.
“Where is she?” he yells, ignoring everyone but me. Goliath lets out an ear-splitting roar to add emphasis. I assume he means Britannia.
My mother, who up to now had been gazing dreamily around the ballroom, rears up like a cobra about to strike and steps in front of me.
Have I told you that I love her? She’s understated and demure but cross her and she’s a fearless warrior.
I can only hope that I’ve inherited even half of her quiet moxie.
“Don’t you dare speak to my daughter like that and kindly control your lion!”
Bohemia lays a hand on Goliath’s mane to quieten him, momentarily pulled up short by the fact that she can see him.
“That’s right, I can see you perfectly well,” she says, crossing her arms across her chest and eyeballing him.
“So can I, and that, sir, is a very fetching jacket,” my gran says, waving her glass toward his scarlet ringmaster’s coat with gleaming brass buttons.
He looks toward Glenda. I do too, and she must sense he’s waiting to hear from her, because she shakes her head. “Thankfully, I cannot see you, although from what I gather, you’re a rather pompous ass with a dangerous animal and bold sartorial tastes.”
Bohemia blinks rapidly. I doubt he’s met the likes of Glenda Jackson before, even if he has been around for more than a century.
I step out from behind my mother and stand beside her.
“This is my mother, Silvana Bittersweet, and my gran, Paradise.” I’m about to introduce Glenda when Dino hurtles through the wall at the same alarming speed as Bohemia a couple of minutes earlier.
“Where is she?” he shouts, tempestuous.
My mother looks at me with arched brows. “Is it Groundhog Day?”
Gran sips her champagne. “The Dynamo, I presume, going on the tights.”
Dino glares at her and then at me. “Who is this old lady dressed in her mother’s curtains to be so rude to me?”
“That’s no way to speak about someone three times your age,” I say, jumping to Gran’s defense.
“Barely twice, if that, darling,” Gran murmurs, more offended by my comment than by Dino’s.
“I’m one hundred and twenty-nine,” he spits, and Bohemia laughs nastily.
“And the rest. You were easily forty-five when you died.”
Dino puffs out his chest and puts his fists up in a way that looks curiously outdated to my eyes, but then I’ve grown up on a diet of Thor bashing people over the head with his hammer.
Dino suddenly drops his arms and narrows his eyes at Bohemia. “She’s not with you.”
Bohemia shakes his head. “And she’s not with you either.”
This is like pulling teeth. Surely they can put two and two together.
But then, of course, I know something they don’t know yet; or at least, I sincerely hope they don’t.
I know that Britannia Lovell has managed to go and ground herself to Leo Dark, and there’s every chance she’s over in the tower right now reacquainting herself with the pleasures of the flesh.
“You’ve just missed her,” I say, trying to throw them off the scent. “She was right here a few seconds ago and now she’s…er, popped off again.”
Man, that was lame. I wouldn’t believe me. My mother flicks her eyes at me, a clear WTF that I hope Dino and Bohemia miss.
Even the lion must sense I’m lying through my teeth, because he’s staring at me and has started to low-level growl, as if he wants to bite my head clean off.
I’m not scared of him anymore. Well, actually I am—I’m terrified—but I’ve got Mum and my gran beside me this time, and I’ve never seen either of them run from anything in my life.
Besides, Glenda Jackson’s here too. The woman can’t even see Goliath, but I’ve no doubt that she’d make an even better job of slaying him than David did if he puts so much as a paw out of line.
“She popped off?” Dino says, confused.
“Watch and learn, darling,” Gran murmurs, handing me her empty champagne glass and stepping forward into the breach.
“What a fabulous animal,” she says admiringly, approaching Goliath as if he’s a cute kitten.
Bohemia preens. “A killer. I was the only man on earth who could control him.”
“What happened to him?” she asks, walking around Goliath.
It’s horrifying to watch, because she’s rail thin and wispy and he’s a golden muscle-bound monster, but I school myself to stay completely still because Gran isn’t in any actual danger.
Or is she? Lestat wasn’t in physical danger, but he still nearly died of panic.
A dark frown crosses Bohemia Lovell’s face.
Gran elaborates, even though there’s clearly no need. “How did he die? Your lion, I mean?” If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was goading him. Oh, hang on. I do know her better. She is goading him.
“He shot him!” Dino declares, pointing at Bohemia like Columbo doing his big end-of-show reveal. “He took his leetle pistol out and he blew out that animal’s brain.” He pauses to wave both hands at the parquet. “Right here all over this floor.”
I relay all of this quietly to Glenda to keep her in the loop. She scans the floor, and then a look of frank admiration crosses her face. “Well, I don’t know what they used to clear the mess up, but I want some. Blood on wood is a nightmare.”
My mother tips her head to the side and stares at Bohemia. “You killed your own lion?”
Contempt pours from the ringmaster, and if he were able, I’m sure he’d be sweating profusely.
“It was kinder than leaving him behind,” he says.
“Where were you going?” I ask quietly, and we all wait for his answer.
“To her, as always.”
He sighs, and then he’s gone, taking Goliath with him. Dino’s laugh is hollow and macabre. “He always rode her coattails, but it was I who let her fly.” He stalks away, disappearing, leaving us staring after him, more confused than ever.
“I’ve never seen the likes of that lion,” my mother says wonderingly.
I almost feel sorry for Goliath now that I know how he met his end, and I have to commend him on his unerring loyalty to the man who blew his brains out.
“So we know that Bohemia killed the lion, but how did Bohemia himself die? And what happened to Dino?” I seem to have come away with more questions than answers today.
I can sense the pieces of the puzzle hovering around my head like hornets, and I know that this case isn’t likely to get resolved without someone getting badly stung.
Gran takes her glass back from my fingers. “Such a shame to waste good champagne, darling. Anyone for a fizzy little nightcap?”