one of us."
Margaret leaned back against the headboard and stretched out in a languid manner, her arms folded behind her head. "I doubt that would be a problem for me." They were both fifteen, but she had matured faster. She already sported a prominent bosom for her age and the rest of her figure had started to fill out. Her bouncy, billowing cinnamon-sorrel hair, cute round face, and exotic copperish eyes added to the allure. Differel had no doubt she would be very sexy when she finished growing up.
In contrast, her own stick-figure body had undergone a recent growth spurt that obscured whatever slight development had accompanied it. She was all arms, legs, waist, and neck, with a flat chest and scrawny thighs. She looked too much like a boy to like it, especially from the back. Her bullet-shaped face was too striking to be pretty, with its pointed nose and chin and prominent cheekbones, and not only did her gray hair and eyes make her resemble an elderly matron, the former was so lifeless and stringy she couldn't do anything with it except let it hang straight and loose down to her hips. Her big round glasses certainly didn't help.
She smirked. "Like you have much experience being a charver."
Margaret laughed as she lowered her hands to her stomach. "Oh, Dribble! I was deflowered on my last birthday!" She rubbed her hands over her belly. "A little gift I gave myself when father refused to buy me that Ferrari 348 I wanted. Since then, I haven't had any problem finding boys to jump."
Embarrassed, Differel blushed and glanced away. Margaret was the daughter and only child of the Duke of Anglin, the premier peer of the United Kingdom and the third most powerful government official after Her Majesty and the Lord President of the Privy Council.
And she never let anyone forget it.
Margaret sat up and crossed her legs. "I think it's about time you were, too. You don't want to die an old maid, do you?"
"I have a few years yet before that becomes a threat."
Margaret flashed a lopsided grin. "In your line of work? You could be dead tomorrow." She referred to her being head of the Caerleon Order, Britain's premier monster hunting organization.
"Not if I can help it," a deep bass voice rumbled. A cloud of shadow flowed out from under the bed, rose up, and coalesced into a humanoid figure. It dissipated to reveal her quasi-slave, Vlad Drakulya. Despite the quality of his voice, he was very tall and rail-thin, with a block-shaped face, domed forehead, square jaw, blunt chin, Alexandrian nose, and long ropey iron-gray hair and moustache. He was dressed in a great coat over a shirt, vest, and trousers, and a wide-brimmed hat, all black, with the only spots of color being his blood-red hatband, cravat, and gloves, which matched his ruddy complexion.
"Do you mind?!" She and Margaret only wore nightshirts and socks. It had been a few years since either of them wore pajamas.
"Not at all." He gave her an insolent grin.
"Just get the bloody hell out!"
"No, let him stay." Despite her shock and terror when she first met the Vampire two and a half years before, Margaret had warmed to him since. Differel sometimes wondered what her exact interest was, but they did seem to be kindred spirits. In some ways, he was as big a bully as she was, though for different reasons.
"Oh, bother. Very well, but behave yourself, Thrall. Clear?"
"Crystal, My Master."
"I really think it would do you a world of good, Dribble."
"Hmph. Maybe; someday."
"Why not tonight?"
Her heart stuttered. "Tonight?! You must be off your nut!"
"No, I'm serious. This would be the best time. If you put if off until later, you may get cold feet and chicken out."
"I believe she is right," Vlad said.
"If I want your opinion I'll ask for it."
"I am not expressing an opinion, I am supporting Lady Margaret's."
She palmed her face. "Oh, shut it, you bloodsucking wanker."
She directed her attention back to Margaret. "I appreciate your concern, Maggot, but it's not something I'm prepared to discuss."
"Why not? You're not scared, are you?"
"Oh, please. You really think you can goad me into this with such a childish taunt?"
"Hey, whatever works. But you sidestepped the question: why not?"
"All right. First of all, where would this occur?"
Margaret spread her hands. "Why not here?"
Differel gazed around out of reflex. They were in the children's bedroom on the third story of her ancestral manor. Every time Margaret came to visit, Aelfraed and Mrs. Widget had an extra bed moved in so she could stay with her.
"It would look suspicious if you slept in another room."
She flashed a grinning leer. "I plan on staying right here."
She felt her indignation flare. "If you think I'd let you watch, you're moony!"
"Actually, I thought I'd join you."
Her mind skipped a track. "Not in the same bed!?"
She sneered. "You're not my type, Dribble. I meant if you're getting stuffed, there's no reason why I can't either. Besides, I don't do menages; I don't like sharing."
She willed herself to be calm. "Hmph. And just where are we supposed to find our partners? Unlike you, I don't have my own stable of studs."
"What about him?" She gestured at Vlad.
She felt her outrage flare. "Bugger that!"
"I am afraid My Master is right. That would be entirely inappropriate."
Margaret shrugged. "Whatever. You have an entire household of fit young footmen. Surely there's at least one who makes you excited?"
She scowled. "You've probably got one in mind for yourself."
She gave her a lecherous half-smile. "There are a few I wouldn't mind bedding."
"It doesn't matter in any event. There's no way we could keep this a secret."
She looked at Vlad. "With your knowledge of the Dark Arts, couldn't you hide us?"
"Indeed, but I could do more than that. I could isolate this room from time, so that what might seem like hours to you would only pass as a few minutes outside."
"Great! So, how about it, Dribble? You can't have any objections now."
"Just a moment, Maggot. The footmen we select; how would we get them here?"
Margaret laughed. "Are you serious? All we have to do is ask; they'll fall all over each other."
Her irritation grated at her nerves. "Yes, but how? If we go out there Aelfraed and Mrs. Widget will know something's up."
"He can bring them here."
"I won't have them kidnapped!"
"That will not be necessary, Master. I can approach them discreetly. I will transport them here only if they agree."
"And what if they refuse? What's to keep them from alerting Aelfraed?"
"I can cloud their memories so they do not remember; I will do the same once the dirty deed is done."
"There, you see?" Margaret said. "Everything's solved."
"What about pregnancy, and STDs?"
"Oh, I always carry a pack of rubber Johnnies with me. Now, quit stalling! Nothing can go wrong, and we three will be the only one's who'll know what happened."
She shook her head. "Doctor LeClerc will find out the next time he examines me."
"Well, of course it'll come out eventually, but by then there won't be a thing anyone can do about it. Come on, this is a golden opportunity here! And I think you'll like it if you give it a chance."
"Oh, shut it, you git."
"Now, now, there's nothing wrong with being nervous. I was too the first time, can you believe it? But I know what will calm you down, and put you in the proper mood. Are there any spirits we can get a hold of?"
She felt her gut clench. "I don't want to get drunk."
"No, of course not, not for your first time at any rate. You just need enough to take the edge off. It'll help with the pain, too."
"Pain?"
"Yes, when your hymen breaks. Don't worry, a paper cut's worse, and that's nothing. Surely a brave monster hunter like yourself can tolerate a little discomfort."
/> "Hmph. It's still no good. The only alcoholic beverages I know of are in the buttery, off the butler's pantry, and Aelfraed has the only key."
Margaret look at Vlad. "What about it, Dracs? Care to nick a bottle for us?"
"Alas, that is one thing I cannot do."
Margaret's eyes bulged with surprise. "Why not?"
"Aelfraed placed garlic in the buttery, and Vlad hates garlic."
"That's no problem." Margaret jumped off the bed and sprinted towards the chifforobe that contained her clothes. "We'll get it ourselves." She reached in and pulled out her purse, then went to the play table and opened it.
Differel watched her with a sense of growing concern. Margaret wasn't a bad seed, but she had been so privileged all her life that, even if not quite spoiled, she still expected to have everything her way. Her visits were no exception. Though they could socialize without clawing each other's eyes out, Differel wasn't particularly eager to do so. They had only seen each other fourteen times in the past couple of years, but most of them were sleepovers like her current visit. Margaret had just called her up out of the blue and asked if she could spend the weekend. Differel had agreed only because that usually meant Margaret needed someone to talk to about a problem, and she was the only person she trusted.
Truth be told though, sometimes she needed someone to talk to as well, and Margaret was the only person she could trust, despite her bullying manner. She sometimes wondered if their mutual antagonism lay at the heart of that, but that seemed contradictory.
Margaret dumped the contents of her purse on the table and sorted through it. "Aha! I knew I had them." She turned around and held up a small packet.
"And pray tell, what is that?"
She came back to the bed and opened the packet. Inside were a dozen long, thin metal instruments. Two looked like torsion wrenches; the rest had oddly-shaped ends, such as tiny hooks, round knobs, half-triangles, or S-curves.
"It's a set of lock picks."
Differel raised her eyebrows in surprise. "What are you doing with lock picks?"
"I've had them since I was thirteen. One of the servants gave them to me and showed me how to use them. They're very handy for getting into places I'm not supposed to." She flashed a conspiratorial grin.
For a moment, she felt a devilish urge. "You could actually get in?"
"It doesn't have a combination lock, does it?"
"No, just a regular key lock."
Margaret grinned. "Then it'd be a doddle."
Then, maybe we could, she thought, but then squelched it and shook her head. She glanced at the alarm clock; it was well past eleven. "Even at this late hour there would be servants around at work, not to mention the guards."
"I could reconnoiter," Vlad said.
"What about the guard in the hallway?" Ever since she could remember, an armed soldier stood stationed outside the bedroom whenever she was inside.
"I can deal with him." And he turned to shadow.
"What? No, wait!" The shadow dwindled in size and coalesced into a rat. It ran for the door that led into the nurse's room and vanished through it in a puff of black fog.
"Oh, bloody hell! See what you've started? Come on, if we're going to do this, now's the best time."
From "Far-Sight"
Laban Shrewsbury found Jeremiah and Kathleen Arkenton standing beside the fiberglass skeleton of Tyrannosaurus rex in the lobby of the Natural History Museum. He always felt amazed that two such different people had ever found anything in common, much less gotten married and produced a gifted son. Jeremiah was tall but well built, almost muscular, with hawkish features and a shock of unruly salt and pepper hair. Kathleen was short and petite but curvy, with long copper-red hair and classic Irish features, including green eyes and freckles. Physical appearances aside, the wife was spontaneous, outgoing, and mischievous, while the husband was introverted, coldly rational, and taciturn except when lecturing about some scientific or technological subject. Yet by all accounts their marriage was a happy one, and Kathleen had confided to him that she and Jeremiah had an active, even boisterous, sex life.
Kathleen