Chapter 6 #3
“What?!” I demand. “Do you like hearing him suffer? Is that it?”
“The rhythmic churning is a bit soothing.”
I snort, disgusted. “This from the man who once made poor Gregor scrub the dungeon with a toothbrush. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’d make him churn butter.”
“I am pleased that you understand,” he says in his infuriatingly composed English accent.
“No, I don’t understand. It’s horrible. Why give him such a needlessly inefficient task?”
“Efficiency is a human value.”
“As opposed to your superior vampire values of murder, and cruelty, and boasting about your sexual prowess?”
“If anything, I am under-reporting my sexual prowess.” Alexandru turns a page in his book. “As for Gregor, each and every task reminds him of what he is.”
“What he is is a human being with dreams and desires and a right to dignity.”
Sort of a human being, I amend to myself. Human-ish, considering he’s over 500 years old.
“Debatable,” Alexandru drawls in his English accent.
“Tell me, what did Gregor ever do to you?”
“Gregor is not your business.”
“Gregor’s not a Renfield or I’m sure you would’ve told me. Is he some other enemy of yours?”
“Perhaps he is not an enemy at all.”
I cross my arms, unsure what to think. But this opens the door to a question I’ve been circling for a while. “You said my dad came to work for you in 1921. Did he want to work for you? Or did you force it like you did with me? And then slowly drove him bonkers?”
Alexandru looks up, finally. “The latter, I would say.”
“And before that? What was he before that?” I’m hoping he can’t hear the eagerness in the question.
Alexandru closes his book. “Your father was a London-born lawyer. Quite a good one, I’m told.”
“And you just snatched him up?”
“His mother, Eleanor Vivian Renfield, summoned him when it was time.”
“So that’s who worked for you before him?”
“Yes. Eleanor was with me for over a century. She had been a lady’s companion earlier in her life, but her skills were rather wasted in that position. She instituted an elaborate filing system for my correspondence. Truly remarkable.”
“I don’t get it. She actually had a baby while she was working for you? And she sent for him to replace her?”
“As I have told you, it is one of the primary duties of a Renfield to replace themselves. Eleanor had several children, all placed in appropriate homes. She was honored to serve one such as myself and desperately hoped that privilege would transfer to one of her own rather than a cousin or some such. And indeed, your father proved quite sufficient. Until the end.”
“What was my father like when he first started working for you?”
“Methodical. Precise.” Alexandru stares into the middle distance. “He was accustomed to finer things, so the castle did not suit him at first, but he settled into his role soon enough.”
“Because you basically imprisoned him?”
“If you want,” he says casually.
Grr.
“And before my grandmother Eleanor?”
“That would be Bartholomew.” A faint smile crosses his face.
“He worked for the East India Company for some time before he came to me in 1702. He was the nephew of Millicent Renfield, once a lady-in-waiting to a German princess.” He pauses and folds his hands over his book, looking thoughtful.
“Before Millicent was Thaddeus Wilbur Renfield, a monastery recordkeeper. I brought him to me in 1502. Then there was Jonas, and before him, Edmund, who developed my first cataloging system.”
“And who was before that?” I ask.
He takes up his book again. “I tire of this line of inquiry.”
“Oh, come on. You were born in 1003. There had to be Renfields before Edmund.”
Alexandru looks up at me, and for a moment I see something behind his eyes that makes me wish I hadn’t asked. Something hot. Ancient. Like maybe fury.
It hits me then. Somewhere in those missing three hundred years was the Renfield who wronged him. The one who created a debt so vast it cursed my bloodline in his eyes forever.
The first Renfield, perhaps. The one who started it all.
Who was he?
Or she?
Just then, Gregor comes in with a tray bearing an Orangina and a selection of cheeses and olives and crackers, and a small bowl of Bugles.
I go and take my place at the far end of the table. If there were any mercy in this world, Alexandru would not join me. It’s not like he eats, anyway.
No such luck. He settles into one of the chairs at the side, laying his book in front of him.
I thank Gregor, and make much ado of the Bugles, even though I have a box of them in my desk drawer.
I inform Alexandru that the Snag Tooth Riders are expected at the Muddy Pint bar tonight, probably around ten or eleven.
We go over our plan, which is pretty simple: to find out if Dooley knew Razor Johnny or if Dooley had any kind of beef with the Snag Tooth Riders.
Maybe he did. Alexandru did sense some secret he was keeping.
Gregor brings out freshly baked bread along with freshly churned butter, and it is indeed delicious. More than delicious. It’s a warm, creamy, soft wonderland of tastes. Then comes the spaghetti. I don’t even want to ask if he made the noodles.