"Do you know the meaning behind Yvette's eyes?"
"There's meaning?" I asked.
"I can't tell if you're being snarky, or you're just not aware…" she continued. "It's her gaze. There's something about it. But, since I can't risk you not knowing on the off chance you really, truly, don't know —I'll tell you."
I pursed my lips and reached my hands over the table, leaning in. She really was selling me on this story.
"Yvette. The lady dressed in all black, with no other color. When she was gazing at you, she was trying to seduce you."
"Oh…" I said.
"You think that's good." She started.
"What, no! I didn't say that, I was just…" Chrisanta saw right through me once more.
"No, it's fine. I understand. But, seeing as I refused to provide any help with moving your expensive marble, you should know I'm not nice. You know I'm not going to end this with good news."
"Yeah… that's fair." I said.
Chrisanta took a bite of the pumpkin seed bread. It made the nice crunching noise that signifies good freshly baked bread: the kind that makes the cackling noises when the crunchy surface breaks and reveals the steamy, white, soft interior... before she waved over the angry-looking and unaware owl-like waiter dressed in Earthly tones to request "steamed clams in white wine sauce" to "do this bread the justice it deserves…" to which comfy owl-girl carried her order over yonder.
"Where were we?" she started, "ahh yes. Seduction."
She proceeded.
"You may not be so aware of this stuff. But, there are spectrums of meaning behind seduction —especially in the case of a lady. There's a malevolence to seduction. And Yvette, especially Yvette, is malevolent. Don't you see how tightly Mr. Rutherford clutches onto her?"
"He doesn't seem that inclined. She's a grieving widow and he's… well, unsavory."
"That's what you think. But, why else would they have been arguing for so long? He could have just walked away. Instead, the two kept going on, and on, and on. She has him wrapped around her finger. Do you notice her manner of dress? Her all-black clothing? Her conveniently deceased husband? How her amber eyes just dig deep into your soul? How deathly pale she is? How…"
*Hissss*
The black salamander from earlier. He greeted us with a split tongue and a generous portion of plated steamed clams in white wine sauce on his back. The shape of his mouth made him look like he was constantly smiling.
"Ahh, thank you." I said.
"Thanks." said Chrisanta.
"Well, anyway, from this I'm sure you can infer what is going on. But, in case you can't, she's a vampire."
"I… oh…"
That was the thing about Chrisanta. She just dropped such a heavy conclusion on me that I couldn't really continue without first connecting the dots properly and processing it. Black veil. Black dress. Pale. Ethereal presence. Grieving eyes that seemed, now that I think of it, half seductive at most. But, judging by Chrisanta's confidence and her extensive knowledge of the arcane as a priestess, I'd've been a fool not to consider her opinion on this matter. But, I mean, really? A vampire?
"You're hesitant."
"I'm not doubting you. Well, there's a small percent of me that does."
"One percent."
"Yeah…" I don't know how she just sees through me like this.
"It's not wrong to doubt me. You wouldn't want to jump to the wrong conclusion and damn a grieving widow with an accusation as heavy as that. And, well, if I weren't a priestess, i'd've doubted like you. But, I am. And I'm certain. That's why I was prepared for this."
She pulled out a paper that was folded many times. It expanded on the table and spilled over the sides.
"This is the plan. I know within a few days Yvette is going to do the same thing she did with her father to those two poor souls back there. She'll devour them, and leave their corpses to rot without even the honors of a burial rite. You have a little doubt that she's really a danger. So, I'll send you out to see for yourself. It's a scouting mission."
"You're telling me to go out and visit a vampire?!" I exclaimed.
"I thought you had some doubt in you."
"I did! No, I do!"
"Good. And you won't breathe further life into this doubt by going to her chambers and seeing for yourself. Look here."
She pointed to the top left corner spot of her paper. I'm it was marked the letters NZ and TB.
"This is Nazarus, and this is The Beyond. As you can see, Nazarus, eyesore of a castle as it is, stands as an impenetrable fortress of stone between us and The Beyond —and, well, thank god for them; we can't handle another dragon attack... those things."
Chrisanta called out to the Salamander. "No offense!" The Salamander turned back, looking confused, then, pretending to understand, nodded and crawled back to the kitchen.
"Anyway, Nazarus isn't what's important. But, this is just so you know where we're at. We were right here earlier. It's where we met our poor little widow."
She pointed a good ways south from Nazarus, leaving the dreary fort of black stone and leading down to a poorly-drawn windmill.
"And if you look here..."
Chrisanta dragged her finger once more a ways away to a better-drawn hill with the letter "F" scribbled above it.
"This is where we're at now."
"What's F?" I asked.
"Food."
"Oh."
Chrisanta, in a bout of clairvoyance, once again read my mind. "You probably think I'm going to ask for you to go back to those windmills, huh?"
"Well," I started. "Yeah. I mean, where else would she be?"
"Not there, that's for sure."
"What? Why?" I asked.
"Vampires are not exactly known for their low-cunning. You can be certain they think a step ahead. And, I'm confident she smelt my suspicion. If she's going to devour Mr. Rutherford, it's not in the windmills. No. That's too obvious.
"Then, where?" I asked.
"Like all vampires, she'll do it right under our noses."
Chrisanta pointed to a structure right next to the windmill. I didn't notice it then, but it was a small square with a labyrinth of lines and curves inside it. It looked like an underground system.
"So, what? There's like an underground city beneath..."
"Hey!" The priestess of the water goddess once again broke her feminine composure, giving the table a light smack. "You have to keep it down about this stuff!" She took another slice of bread; this time, it was the ancient grains one. She dipped it in the white wine clam sauce and took a bite.
"Now," she continued, wiping her mouth and chin of the dripping clam juices, "you're right. There's an underground city beneath the windmill. Why else do you think there are guards posted around such a desolate area? And, why else would they be academy-educated guards and not your typical low-born guards who were given sticks and pitchforks to fight with? Of course, they're guarding an underground city beneath!"
I listened with bread in hand, dipping the slice and mopping up the precious clam meat and juices to soak up the bread with green herbs.
*crunch*
"Well, anyway," she continued, "they can keep their underground city and their secrets. What would they even have to offer? Spells on how to grow wheat faster? Regardless, if there's anywhere to hide, it's going to be there. In the middle of the night, when the moon is fullest, you'll sneak into the backend of the windmill and go upstairs. Mr. Rutherford's master bedroom is there, along with the key to his treasure chest. Take the key but don't open the chest. The treasure is a distraction. Instead, use the key to get into the basement's trapdoor and keep crawling. You'll know where she is by the scent of her. Follow it. Then..."
Chrisanta raised her butter knife dramatically and sunk it into a clam, releasing its juices and letting the wine and butter sauce drain into the cavity.
"You are going to kill the baby in its crib. You'll stop this unholy relationship and put an end to this madness."
"Do you know how crazy this sounds?"
Chrisanta looked at me once more; and, for a moment the dazzle in her emerald eyes glimmered once more. Time stopped for a second, and two, and three. She resembled an idol with how pale her skin looked, how sharply her eyebrows narrowed, and how deeply she looked at me in that instance.
"Of course I do."