House of Bathory(28)
“Countess. I have the pleasure to—”
“What has taken you so much time! The fire in the grate has gone out. I am chilled and will most likely take ill, like the wretched pox-faced girl who left me here.”
“Madame, I came as soon as I understood the ways of Zuzana’s toilette methods,” said Vida, turning white. She hurried to the grate, feeding the faint embers with dried twigs.
“I will have the fire ablaze in no time,” she said, coaxing flames with her breath.
“Bring me the ermine furs, girl!” said the Countess, shivering.
Vida glanced at the embers, still dull and stubborn. The little twigs only smoked. The Countess coughed, waving the smoke from her face.
“You are really quite useless. My furs, at once—”
“Yes, Countess.”
Vida opened the cedar chest, pulling out the sleek fur cloak. She draped it over the Countess’s shoulders.
The Countess saw Vida’s soft white hands in the mirror as the girl adjusted the cloak. Vida’s hands grazed the Countess’s.
Small, pale hands, supple with youth. As white a porcelain. As perfect as a doll’s.
The Countess looked down at her own hands, which, unlike her face, showed the march of time. Thick ropey veins meandered across the backs, punctuated by the white boney knuckles, wrinkled with age.
She snatched her hands away, hiding them under the ermine cloak.
“Clumsy girl! How dare you touch me with your peasant hands.”
“I am sorry—”
“Fetch me a hot mulled wine, boiled and steaming. At once!”
“Yes, Countess.”
Countess Bathory searched out the girl’s face in the mirror.
Vida’s skin was flawless and moist, like so many of the Slovak maidens. Her cheeks were flushed from her efforts at the fire. Her young bosom heaved, like an injured bird the Countess had once held in her hand as a little girl. The small bird flew against the leaded glass of the castle in Ecsed, her childhood home.
She had gathered the bird up in her hands, examining it. The dazed bird opened his beak, gasping for air. After a few moments it had regained its wits, breathing hard with fright. She squeezed it, smiling as she felt the tiny heart palpate under her fingers.
The Countess’s eyes turned cold, their amber color frightening the handmaiden.
She had squeezed it until the tiny heart stopped.
“Did I not urge you to stir the fire to flame? Did I not tell you I was chilled to the bone? What is the matter with you, stupid, stupid girl?” she hissed. “You shall be punished. I shall tell Brona the cook to withhold your food. You look too fat and lazy to me.”
“Yes, Countess. I shall make the flame blaze and call for hot mendovino to chase away the chill.”
The girl knelt at the fire, blowing with all her might. The twigs caught flame. She fed it small branches, one by one. Then she ran to the door.
She caught Zuzana in the hall.
“She detests me!” cried Vida. “She will tell Cook to starve me.”
“I heard what transpired,” said Zuzana, wiping at her nose with her soggy handkerchief. “I had my ear pressed to the door the whole time.”
“Then fetch the mendovino, hurry!” said Vida. “I must return before the fire burns out.”
“Ambergris oil first,” called Zuzana over her shoulder as she ran down the corridor. “Mind whatever you do, and do not drip anything on her ermine cape or you will be done for!”
Chapter 16
ASPEN, COLORADO
DECEMBER 8, 2010
So what are you doing for the solstice?” Kyle said, stopping by Daisy’s locker. “What do Goths do on their special holiday?”
Daisy had been avoiding him since he crashed into her that day on the Rio Grande trail.
“Kyle? Right?”
He shook his head.
“You know it is. We’ve been in the same class since August. Come on!”
Daisy raised her chin defensively. How was she supposed to keep track of his name? They had nothing in common, right? He was a jock, she was a Goth. Period.
“Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. What do you do?”
“The solstice? Dude, that’s not for a couple weeks.”
“But what do you Goths do?”
“Not much,” she said, banging her locker closed. “Listen to music, hang with a few Goth friends, maybe. Stay at home and channel energy.”
He looked disappointed. Daisy didn’t know why it bothered her.
“And visit the cemetery at midnight,” she offered.
His face lit up. Like a freakin’ Christmas tree, she thought.
“Hey, can I come with you?”
Daisy threw him a what-the-fuck look.
“Why? You aren’t into the Goth scene.”
“Maybe…I’m curious. And I read your blog about Goth stuff.”