Chapter 62: In A Corner
In which Philippe demonstrates a novel use of echolocation and a lot of running occurs
Cassandra had been watching the fight apprehensively through the front parlor window. She felt almost as helpless as she had trapped in Morrigan's cage. She hated to be stuck watching while others were fighting to protect her. Half of them weren't even her friends, they were strangers she barely knew. She wished that Cecily were with her to talk to, but Cecily had gone to help Theodora set up her music system in the upstairs window. All Cassandra had was her fireplace poker. It felt heavy and dangerous in her hand, but would it be adequate to defend herself? If Strephon were here... but he would doubtless insist she stay someplace safe. Was there any place safe any more?
Then she saw the tide of battle turn. She saw Philippe disarm Theodora and saw the werewolves attack Grandma Simms as she came to her granddaughter's rescue. Cassandra gave a squeak of terror and ran to the front door.
Through Strephon's magic peephole, she saw Theodora help her grandmother onto the porch. The wolves were holding back. Why? Philippe was slowly advancing towards the door and the wolves had gathered around him like a great furry cloak full of teeth, but they were taking their time. And where were the others; the werewolves from the other packs who had remained in human form? Cassandra knew there were a few out there, but she wasn't seeing any now. Had they run off, or were they involved in the fighting in the back?
Theodora banged on the front door. “Let us in!” she shouted. “Gran's been hurt!”
“No, don't!” Grandma Simms argued. “It's too risky!
Her warning went unheeded. Cassandra was already unbolting the door. She opened it and helped Theodora hustle Mrs. Simms into the foyer.
Not quickly enough. Seemingly out of nowhere, one of the human-shape werewolves dashed up the wheelchair ramp onto the porch and barreled through the Simms women. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he turned around and shouted, “Hey, Phil! I'm in! Come on! I invite thee...”
That was as far as he got before Cassandra whacked him with the poker, but it was enough. Cassandra felt the temperature in the hall drop and saw the sea of mist shrouding the front lawn rise like a tide up the porch steps.
“Run, child!” Grandma Simms said. “Run and hide! There's not much more you can do here.”
Cassandra ran down the hallway. She hadn't done a whole lot of exploring in Strephon's house that weekend, but she had found the steps leading down to the basement. That would be the safest place. Or would it? It would be safe in a tropical hurricane or if the Germans were dropping bombs on her, but it occurred to her that deep underground with no place left to flee was the last place she wanted to be cornered by a vampire. She tried the door next to the basement door. It opened onto a flight of stairs going up, probably for the use of the servants back when Strephon had servants. No matter. Up sounded good.
The door at the top of the stair opened up onto the upper floor hallway. Now she was back in familiar territory. She just needed to find a good hiding place.
“Cassandra...”
The voice came softly, like a whisper, but as clear as if it came from right behind her, but when Cassandra looked wildly about her, she was still alone. Damn, that Philippe! She had to find a hiding place now! She darted into one of the rooms and shut the door.
She hadn't intended to go into Strephon's room; she had no conscious thought as to her selection. Nevertheless, somehow the fact that the room she was in was his made her feel safer. Cecily would probably put some kind of Freudian interpretation on that, but she wasn't here now. She still needed a good hiding place. The bed, with the bed curtains drawn? Too suggestive. Under the bed? Too obvious. Inside the wardrobe? Too Narnian. When it came right to it, she was in another dead end with no way to escape. Except...
The window. She had climbed in that way once; she could climb out again. The wolves were out there, but right now she felt less afraid of the wolves than of...
“Cassandra...”
There it was again; that insistent psychic whisper insinuating itself into her mind. It gave her an involuntary shiver of fear. Or was it anticipation? No. Don't think along those lines; it's what he wants you to do. The dreadful thought struck her that as she could sense his calling to her, he could probably sense her reaction. The crafty bastard was using echolocation to trail her, just like a bat. That was interesting. She'd have to tell Strephon about that. If she saw him again. No, she'd hide behind the bed, next to the window. That way if Philippe came into the room, she'd have a way...
“CASSANDRA!”
She dropped her poker and it made a noisy clatter on the hardwood floor. As she stooped to recover it, the door creaked open – why hadn't she locked it? She should have locked it! – and Philippe stood in the doorway.
“I have traveled an eternity across time and space to see you again, Cassandra.”
The poker lay between her and Philippe, just out of her reach. It might as well have been an eternity of time and space. Slowly she straightened. “You've seen me. No you can go the way you came. And don't let the door hit your bum on the way out.” Cassandra tried to sound glib and defiant, but couldn't quite keep the quaver out of her voice.
“You know you are destined for me.” He took a step closer.
This was precisely the moment to make a break for the window, the rational part of her brain screamed. She'd rather take her chances with the wolves outside than stay another moment with him. The part of her brain controlling motor functions, however, seemed stubbornly frozen.
She put her hand on the amulet Grandma Simms had given her when she'd gone to the Club Cyba-Netsu and which she had loaned to Cecily. It gave her a bit of stability in the swirling emotions that seemed to surround her. “Why are you doing this, Philippe? Why the circus with the werewolves and all the dramatic fog and everything? Why me? There must be lots of women in this city who would love to have you, who would gladly give you their soul. Why do you insist on coming for me?”
“Because you are unattainable. It is precisely because you are unattainable that I feel the need to attain you.”
There had to be a sarcastic remark she could make to that, but for the life of her Cassandra could not think of one. So she took another step back and found herself right up against the bed.
He was very close to her now, but she couldn't back up any further without toppling backwards onto the bed, which was the last place she wanted to be. He reached out to her and placed his hand on her cheek; his fingertips cool against her jaw, his lips so close to hers. She tried to remember what her self-defense classes recommended in situations like this, but the class tended to focus on muggers and rapists and was less helpful on the subject of vampires.
“And another thing,” Philippe said, “You took Cecily from me. I cannot allow that to pass.”
“Well, it's nice that you remember my name. I thought maybe you forgot about me.”
Philippe whipped around. There, in the doorway where Philippe had been just a minute before, stood Cecily. She leaned casually against the door-frame, but her right hand was clenched in a fist.
“Cecily.” Philippe quickly composed himself. “My darling one! I thought I had lost you forever. I suffered hell when you abandoned me!”
“Yes, I could see how much you were suffering just now.”
Philippe gave a dismissive laugh. “Oh, that. Surely you must realize that it was only the crushing weight of despair that forced me to seek solace in the arms of another.” He advanced towards Cecily.
“What are you doing?” Cassandra wondered. Cecily came to meet him. “No, Cecily!”
“You're doing it again, aren't you, Philippe. You know, you could'a had me. You did have me. I was yours, body and soul. But the bird in the hand wasn't good enough for you. You had to try for Cassandra too, and you wound up losing both.” She and Philippe were drawing closer now, warily, but inexorably closer. “And you still haven't learned, have you. You just about have Sandy in your power. You could probably take her easily and fly off with her and probably none of us would be able to stop you. But I bet you won't. I'll bet you're willing to take a chance and try of two for the price of one.”
Cecily leaned forward with her chin upraised and pulled the collar of her T-shirt down to expose as much of her throat as possible. “How about it, luv? Fancy a little nip?”
She was toying with Philippe, and it was working. She had him fascinated. But was that a good thing? He moved closer yet, then halted.
“Is that garlic I smell? Really Cecily, please tell me you haven't been listening to old wives' tales.”
Cecily straightened and regarded her other hand, still clenched in a fist. “Oh this? Just a little seasoning I found in Strephon's kitchen. I thought it might be useful.”
“I thought you knew better than to believe such --- AAAAGH! MY EYES!” Cecily tossed her handful of garlic powder right in Philippe's face. “You BITCH! That stings!” Philippe staggered backwards, rubbing his watering eyes. “I'll rip your throat out!” he howled.
He didn't have the chance. Something heavy and iron smote him in the back of his head.
“Took you long enough,” Cecily said. “Did you think I could stall him all night?”
“I dropped my poker,” Cassandra said, hefting it in her hand. “It wasn't easy retrieving it without Philippe noticing.”
Philippe began to stir. “C'mon, let's go!” Cecily grabbed Cassandra's hand and together they dashed out into the hallway.
- - - - -
Philippe lurched to his feet. His head rang like a church-house bell. He hated church-house bells. He put his hand up to the place where Cassandra's poker connected his skull and withdrew it wet and red with blood. His own blood. Not somebody else's. He rather delighted in the blood of others, but seeing his own oozing from his body made him squeamish. It wasn't natural. They would pay for this. He glimpsed Cassandra and Cecily out in the hallway. It was not too late to get them. He staggered out in pursuit, madder than a wet bat.
The two girls had halted at the top of the stairs, as a large, lupine form padded up the staircase towards them. One of his wolves had blocked their escape. Now he had them.
But as the wolf ascended to the landing, Philippe saw he was mistaken. Instead of a silver collar, this wolf wore a crucifix around his neck.
“It's Pastor Shepherd,! Casssandra gasped.
The wolf nodded in acknowledgment and nosed his way past the two, taking up a position between them. Cassandra rested her hand on the back of his neck.
“So it's you,” Philippe sneer. “You have no command over me, foolish curate!”
“You are mistaken, carrion,” the wolf bared his fangs. He had a lot more teeth than Philippe did, and almost as sharp. Philippe felt a lot less confident than he had a minute or two before. If only his head didn't hurt so much! But he could still sense the Essence in his blood. He wasn't down yet. He just needed another feeding.
Philippe gave a grim chuckle, more bestial than the wolf's snarl, and a fresh miasma of fear began to build around him. “I will turn both of your friends, and the three of us will drink your blood before the night is over,” Philippe vowed.
“It is you who has no power, beast,” Shepherd growled, his muscles tensing to spring. “What power I have is the Lord’s, and I will use it to protect those in my care. You will leave this place no and molest them no more, else by Heaven, I will send thee to the place prepared for you.” He lowered his body into a crouch.
Philippe heard the whir of Bellman's lift. Surely this must be his allies, come to his aid. No, again he was mistaken. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the Simms woman and the Vicar's wife opening the lift gate.
Mrs. Simms's arm was bandaged where the wolves had wounded her, but she gripped her carved skull staff in her good hand. Her other hand was wrapped in beads and charms making her fist look like a cudgel. Mrs. Palmer wielded a small crucifix that dangled from the zipper pull of her purse, and confronted Philippe with a look of righteous disapproval and disappointment that only a Sunday School teacher can muster.
They emerged from the lift with a blistering volley of spells that were half prayers, and prayers that were half spells. As they did so, Pastor Shepherd leaped to attack, but his jaws clamped down on nothing.
Surrounded by enemies on all sides, Philippe chose the better part of valor. He transformed into a mist and fled Bellman House.
NEXT: Cold Meat Sandwiches
