The Last of the Red Hot Vampires - By Katie MacAlister Page 0,21
I'm not expecting to meet anyone this evening."
"Bloody badgers," Dame Margaret swore, turning to her companion. "Did we bollocks it up again?"
"Excuse me, but this is a private session," Bettina said with a determined smile, rising from her seat. "If you wish to book one of your own, you can do so tomorrow between the hours of nine and - "
"Where's the bloody card...I know I had it." Dame Margaret patted her navy jacket. "Had it when we left Court. Tansy, you pick it up?"
"Oh, let me check." The smaller woman rustled around in a voluminous purse, extracting a small gold card. She had a grandmotherly look about her, with twinkling brown eyes, a little pink nose that twitched ever so slightly, and soft grey curls that bobbed as she fussed in her purse. "Yes, I do. Here it is. The name is Portia Harding. Such a pretty name, Portia. I had a cat named Portia, once. Do you remember it, Letty? She was orange and white, and had a nasty habit of piddling in my shoes, but otherwise was a very smart cat. I was devastated when she was trampled by a contingent of Cromwell's men."
You could have cut the silence in the room with a mackerel.
"Honest to Pete, I know the English are supposed to be eccentric, but this is just ludicrous," I whispered to Sarah.
"They certainly are...different here," Sarah agreed, watching with interested eyes as the two women continued.
"That wasn't Cromwell's men. You have your history mixed up again. It was James II's party that fired the town and killed everyone, your piddling cat included."
"James II?" The short woman named Tansy wrinkled her brow, ignoring Bettina's plea. "Are you sure? I distinctly remember cursing Cromwell."
Dame Margaret shook her head. "Of course you cursed him; we all did. Don't you remember the group cursing parties we used to have with the powers and virtues? All that thunder and lightning and those absolutely glorious bonfires that lit up the countryside for miles."
"Ladies!" Bettina strode forward with a smile that was a bit tattered around the edges. "I must insist that you leave now."
"I liked the wine back then," Tansy said with a sad little sigh. "You just don't find wine like that anymore."
"You don't find plague anymore either, but you won't catch me bemoaning the loss of those days. Yes, yes, we hear you, whatever your name is." Dame Margaret turned to Bettina, who was standing at the opened door. "This won't take long at all."
"We're quite experienced at conducting trials," Tansy said as she bustled over to the door, patting Bettina's arm. "Why don't you take a seat, dear. It will all be over before you know it."
"She said trial," Sarah whispered, gripping my forearm. "Didn't Theo say something about a trial before you scared him off?"
"And a champion," I answered, nibbling my bottom lip. It was a bad habit from youth, but one I couldn't help in times of stress...and whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was suddenly a bit worried about the two women who were even now escorting an overwhelmed-looking Bettina back to her seat.
"What do you think it means?" Sarah asked.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Dame Margaret clapped her hands and, without warning, the room was filled with an intense bluish light, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. It must have dazzled me more than I realized, because without being aware of moving, I suddenly found myself standing in the center of the room, facing the two women, Sarah at my side. "We commence with the first trial of the virtue known as Portia Harding."
"I have a feeling this evening is going to end up being just as strange as the afternoon," I told my friend.
She nodded.
"Is your champion ready?" Dame Margaret asked me.
Sarah and I looked at each other. "I'm a champion? Isn't that like a knight-errant or something?"
"So I gather." I turned back to face the two women. Beyond them, Bettina, Milo and his wife, and the elegant lady watched us with startled eyes. They were oddly silent given the unexpected interruption. "I'm really sorry, but this has to stop."
Dame Margaret frowned. "You're not Portia Harding?"
"Yes, I am, but - "
"And this is your champion?"
"No, she's my friend, not a champion, but - "
"It is your right to waive the presence of a champion, although I can't