"Ah, the poor man," Roderick sighed. "How horrible to be a vampire, but feel your stomach turn at the sight of blood." Shaking his head, he limped on into the kitchen.
"Did you get it?" called Auntie Dil.
"Of course I got it," Roderick grumbled as he hobbled over to his wife. "What was he to do—leap up and fight me off? When he's been in a coma these two years now? The poor lad!"
"Poor lad, my great toenail!" Auntie cried. "Who gave him the blow that first laid him cold, eh? Yourself!"
"Well, yes—but who'd have thought he'd never waken? Besides, what would you have had me do, when his mother and his uncle were stepping in through our front door without so much as a by-your-leave, to tell us this was their house now, and we'd have to serve them forevermore, or serve as entrees?"
"So, of course, you smashed your club into the only one who wasn't threatening us!"
"But he was the only one who looked strong enough to do any damage," Roderick protested. He pulled the step-stool over to the doorway and climbed up with two boards and a string.
"And what are you doing now, you old fool? You know your traps never work!"
"Well, we must keep trying, mustn't we?" Roderick glared pointedly at her steaming cauldron. "Or do you intend to give over stirring up witch's brews?"
Auntie stepped in front of the cauldron as though to defend it. "What else should I do? I'm a witch, aren't I?"
"No. You're a fortune-teller." Roderick used the one board to prop up the other. "Only an old Gypsy fortuneteller. Which might be why none of your brews ever work. But if you don't deride my traps, I'll say nothing of your potions. What's the secret ingredient this time?"
"Silver salts," Auntie Dil snapped. "What's in the bucket?"
"Water." Roderick climbed back up the step stool and hefted a pail up onto his impromptu shelf. "Only water."
"What good will that do?"
"Probably none, but I've tried everything else." Roderick tied the string to the bucket handle and led it over to a thumbtack in the door-corner. "Besides, I read a story when I was a boy…"
"That was a witch, you idiot, not a vampire!"
"Oh, that's why the salts! But doesn't it have to be pure silver?"
"Look out!" Auntie Dil cried, but the door crashed open, and Roderick went flying. So did the bucket, but it only flipped over once and clanged down over the head of the monster coming through. He froze for a second in stunned astonishment, then tore the bucket off with a roar.
"Now, now, nephew." Auntie Dil slipped between the giant and Roderick. "I know it's nasty to be drenched like that, Frank, but it was just an accident. He meant it for that old biddy and her uncle."
The monster grumbled and growled, rubbing the contacts in his neck.
"Yes, I know it could have short-circuited you, and I'm sure he's sorry." Auntie Dil turned to glare over her shoulder. "Aren't you, Roderick?"
"Oh, indubitably," Roderick moaned, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing his back.
The monster glowered at him, grumbling something deep in its throat. Then it turned back to Auntie Dil and grunted a question.
"The tomato juice? Yes, it's ready." Auntie Dil poured the contents of the beaker into a small glass and set it on a tray with the tea service. She took down a shaker and started to sprinkle something into the glass, but Frank caught her hand and shook his head, rumbling negatives.
"Oh, all right, I'll leave out the arsenic," Auntie Dil grumbled. "But we do need some lemon slices. Be a dear and fetch them from the icebox, won't you, Frank?"
The monster turned away, and Auntie Dil whirled to snatch up a pharmacist's toottte. "Now! Just a pinch of the her brow. "Nay! Wherefore do I such deeds? 'Tis naught that I would ever consider…"
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Roderick squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. "I get the feeling that I'm not really Roderick. Some name like that, maybe, but…"
"Oh, we all get these feelings from time to time," said a smooth, urbane voice. "Nothing to worry about, really— just a trick our neurons are playing on us, like dejti vu."
"Oh, no!" Roderick recoiled in horror. "It's Old Nick!"
"Not old at all." The suave, debonair devil stroked his goatee. "And not Old Nick, just Old Nick's son. But you can call me 'Buzzabeez.'"
"Well, that's just fine for you," Roderick said, with a truculent frown, "but what do I call myself?"
"Roderick," the devil said, with steel in his tone, "and don't you dare try to be anything different!" Then he smiled, softening his approach. "I know how it is—you keep having these flashes, snatches of feeling that you're really someone else. Don't let it bother you; it's just a symptom of an internal conflict. I have them myself. You wouldn't believe it, but every now and then I find myself muttering in Church Latin!"
"You're right," Roderick growled, "I don't believe it."
"Whether you believe it or not, you'll do it!" Buzzabeez glared around at the three of them. "I'd like to make one thing perfectly clear: You're under my power, and you'll damned well do as you're told!"
"'Damned' is right," Roderick snorted.
"And that'll be enough out of you!" Buzzabeez stabbed a finger at Roderick, and a half-dozen little red dots blossomed on his cheeks and forehead. He howled with pain, bowing away and covering his face with his hands, and Buzzabeez chuckled. "Phantom hornets—gets 'em every time. Don't worry, though; a little vinegar and some ice cubes will get you through it… Uh, uh. there!" He whirled to stab a finger at Auntie Dil, who'd been trying to sneak xtve staaket vtfto 'tY'te mslebasYsX. '"NovC S&'t& 'tS't't17k'tKftL, "sprinVte it 'tnV He moved his finger slowly, and Auntie Dil's hand tracked with it, back to the juice glass, upending the shaker and sprinkling. Buzzabeez nodded, satisfied. "That's a good old girl. Now then, you!" He pointed to Frank. "Take the tray back out to the ladies, right away!" Frank shuffled over, muttering and groaning, but he picked up the tray and turned toward the door.
"Better," Buzzabeez nodded. "Much better. All right, you just do as you're told from now on. And no more of this subversive individualism, do you hear? Because I'll be watching!" He waved a hand over himself and disappeared. For a moment, the kitchen was filled with the faint sound of distant buzzing; then that faded, too, and Frank went on out the door.
Roderick groaned and finished dabbing his face with little plasters. Then he turned to set the step stool against the doorframe again, and hobbled back up with his two boards and bucket.
"You forgot to refill it," Auntie Dil snapped. Roderick groaned again, and started back down.
Frank shuffled into the drawing room and set the tray on the little table between L'Age and Petty.
"That'll do," L'Age snapped. "You can go now."
Grumbling, Frank went.
Uncle Sucar leaned forward, smacking his lips.
"Patience, Uncle," L'Age said sternly, "you'll have your refreshment. But our young guest first."
"But of course," Sucar breathed, "of course."
"What a beautiful service," Petty murmured. "Pewter, isn't it?"
"Why, thank you, my dear." L'Age added cream to Petty's cup. "Yes, it is pewter. Silver is so terribly flamboyant, really… There." She handed Petty a fragile china cup and saucer. "Feel free to sip. You'll excuse me if I don't, though."
"She has to drink her tomato juice before it clots," Uncle Sucar explained.
"Oh, of course," Petty agreed, then frowned. "What?"
"Uh, Frank!" L'Age called quickly.
The butler shambled forward, grumbling again.
"My cigarette." L'Age flourished a 100 mm Russian at the end of an immense ebony holder.