A Curious Beginning

“Yes! Precisely. Oh, you are clever,” I said. I brandished a bit of scarlet silk. “Salome gave me a castoff scarf. I think the scarlet will do quite well, don’t you? It ought to hide the blood quite nicely if you miss.”


He started at me, comprehension dawning slowly. “Holy Christ, you’re drunk as a lord!”

“I am not the slightest bit incoxitated! Really, Mr. Stoker, the very suggestion, the very idea. My aunts were on temperance committees.”

He reached for the flask of aguardiente and took a healthy draft for himself. “Did you at least eat something?”

“Oh yes. The hairy fellow, looks like a lion. He brought me something to eat.”

I was smiling broadly at him. For some unaccountable reason, I felt quite happy and very relaxed about the prospect of permitting him to throw knives at me, and I decided to tell him so.

“You know, Stoker, I am really quite content that you should throw knives at me. I have perfect faith in your abitilies.”

“My abitilies? Yes, they are quite remarkable,” he said. “Now, I want you to stay here. I have a quarter of an hour to sober you up and I guarantee you shall not like it. Do not move.”

He disappeared and returned again before I could find my slippers. Salome had given me a pair of high-heeled satin mules beaded with crystals. I swayed on them as I walked, but I fancied that was rather the idea. “Mr. Stoker. I cannot seem to find my slippers.”

“They are on your feet, you daft woman. Now, pay attention. I want you to drink this coffee. It is black as the devil and twice as strong. Drink it all.” I did as he bade, pulling a face at the taste of it. “Good girl. Now, pull back your hair,” he instructed as he placed a basin of water on the table in front of me.

I tried, but the locks kept slipping through my fingers. With a muttered curse, he strode behind me and gathered up the hair in his hands. There was no warning for what came next. He pushed me forward, holding my face under the cold water for a full ten seconds, then lifted me out. He did it twice more before I emerged, panting and a good deal more alert than I had been.

“I think that will do, Mr. Stoker. I am quite recovered,” I assured him. He did not release me immediately. No doubt he wished to ascertain for himself whether I was in full possession of my faculties. He merely stood behind me, his hands heavy in my hair. I turned my head slightly, regretting it instantly, for the room moved a little as I did so. “Mr. Stoker?”

He stepped backward very quickly, removing his hands as if I had suddenly scalded him. He flung a towel at me and I dried my face and hands. “Thank you. I am a little giddy, but I am quite sure that, too, will pass.”

“Good,” he said sharply. “The next remedy was slapping you across the face, and I doubt you would have thanked me for it. Now, can you stand?”

I did so slowly and with great deliberation. “Perfectly.”

He snorted. “Not by half, but it will have to do. I’ll support you as we walk. I had thought to let you walk around as I did a bit of conjuring, but it won’t do. I shall have to put you in restraints to begin with, so just stay there and smile mysteriously as if it were all part of the act. Whatever you do, do not say a word, do you understand?”