what Ezra Hearts had begun.
“Haunted” Hearts Castle had never been anyone’s idea of a name for the property, but during the 1950s reconstruction so many workers reported seeing odd, unexplainable things during their time there that the name just stuck. Donald Ali had taken it all in stride, even commissioning a large ranch sign with the words HAUNTED HEARTS CASTLE in swirling wrought iron above the entrance to the private road leading to the grounds.
I was keen on picking up one of the battery-powered golf carts they kept for guests and going on a trip down the long private road so I could see the sign for myself. Gossip had it that the HEARTS —and only the HEARTS —part of the sign stayed a toxic rust red, no matter what anyone did to prevent it.
Spooky!
I followed the footpath until I reached Casa de la Luna, my emotions still running high as I threw open the door and found Jarvis sitting at the antique oak desk talking to Runt.
“There’s a crazy lady attending this Death Dinner, isn’t there?” I asked as I stood in the doorway, hoping I didn’t look as unhinged as I felt.
Jarvis crooked an eyebrow in my direction.
“Describe her, please?” he said, crossing his legs and leaning forward thoughtfully.
“Uhm, she’s crazy—”
“You already said that,” Jarvis reminded me.
“Okay, sorry. Uhm, she’s Australian and she has an owlet thing—”
Runt sat up on her bed and barked.
“Oh, oh! I know this one,” she said, her tail wagging a mile a minute. “It’s Anjea. She’s the Vice-President in Charge of the Australian continent. And the owlet is really a mud baby.”
“A mud-what?” I said, wrinkling my brow in confusion—though all I really wanted to know was if I was going to haveto sit next to the woman at the dinner table and make awkward conversation.
“Her purveyance is mud, the creation of life from the primordial ooze if you will,” Jarvis said, looking at me like I was slow.
I rolled my eyes.
“That means I am totally gonna have to shoot the shit with her at dinner, doesn’t it?” I said, flopping down on the other bed and kicking my shoes off.
“Actually,” Jarvis continued, “you will be sitting at the head of the table next to Kali—”
I sat up, feeling excited about something for the first time since we’d arrived.
“I didn’t know she was coming tonight,” I said, giddy that Kali was on board for the Death Dinner. If the Hindu Goddess of Death and Destruction was gonna be there, then the night was bound to get interesting.
“She wasn’t supposed to attend, but Wodin found himself indisposed and Kali was selected to represent the Board of Death,” Jarvis said, pulling a pair of pince-nez from his suit coat pocket and sliding them up his proboscis of a nose.
“Oh, please, not the pince-nez.” I squirmed, disliking the tiny, templeless glasses a little more each time I saw them. I hadn’t minded them so much when Jarvis was in his faun’s body—the Tom Selleck visage and small stature actually made the pince-nez seem kind of roguish—but on his new Brooklyn-hipster-cool face, they just looked ridiculous.
“Am I going to have to use ‘the hand,’ Calliope?” Jarvis intoned, looking down his nose—and pince-nez—at me.
Jarvis was referring to his favorite quote of all time: a Fran Drescher,
Nanny
-era bon mot he liked to whip out whenever possible, regardless of the fact it was about as très passé as Vanilla Ice. Now, as much as I loved to tease my Executive Assistant, I’d actually been dying for him to trot out the Drescher quote because I’d had a little “surprise” made for him and it was best shared while “in context.”
“Runt?” I said, turning to the hellhound. “Can you get that, uhm,
thing
for Jarvis, please?”
Runt, who was in on the surprise, hopped down from herspot on the bed and began to nose around inside
“Haunted” Hearts Castle had never been anyone’s idea of a name for the property, but during the 1950s reconstruction so many workers reported seeing odd, unexplainable things during their time there that the name just stuck. Donald Ali had taken it all in stride, even commissioning a large ranch sign with the words HAUNTED HEARTS CASTLE in swirling wrought iron above the entrance to the private road leading to the grounds.
I was keen on picking up one of the battery-powered golf carts they kept for guests and going on a trip down the long private road so I could see the sign for myself. Gossip had it that the HEARTS —and only the HEARTS —part of the sign stayed a toxic rust red, no matter what anyone did to prevent it.
Spooky!
I followed the footpath until I reached Casa de la Luna, my emotions still running high as I threw open the door and found Jarvis sitting at the antique oak desk talking to Runt.
“There’s a crazy lady attending this Death Dinner, isn’t there?” I asked as I stood in the doorway, hoping I didn’t look as unhinged as I felt.
Jarvis crooked an eyebrow in my direction.
“Describe her, please?” he said, crossing his legs and leaning forward thoughtfully.
“Uhm, she’s crazy—”
“You already said that,” Jarvis reminded me.
“Okay, sorry. Uhm, she’s Australian and she has an owlet thing—”
Runt sat up on her bed and barked.
“Oh, oh! I know this one,” she said, her tail wagging a mile a minute. “It’s Anjea. She’s the Vice-President in Charge of the Australian continent. And the owlet is really a mud baby.”
“A mud-what?” I said, wrinkling my brow in confusion—though all I really wanted to know was if I was going to haveto sit next to the woman at the dinner table and make awkward conversation.
“Her purveyance is mud, the creation of life from the primordial ooze if you will,” Jarvis said, looking at me like I was slow.
I rolled my eyes.
“That means I am totally gonna have to shoot the shit with her at dinner, doesn’t it?” I said, flopping down on the other bed and kicking my shoes off.
“Actually,” Jarvis continued, “you will be sitting at the head of the table next to Kali—”
I sat up, feeling excited about something for the first time since we’d arrived.
“I didn’t know she was coming tonight,” I said, giddy that Kali was on board for the Death Dinner. If the Hindu Goddess of Death and Destruction was gonna be there, then the night was bound to get interesting.
“She wasn’t supposed to attend, but Wodin found himself indisposed and Kali was selected to represent the Board of Death,” Jarvis said, pulling a pair of pince-nez from his suit coat pocket and sliding them up his proboscis of a nose.
“Oh, please, not the pince-nez.” I squirmed, disliking the tiny, templeless glasses a little more each time I saw them. I hadn’t minded them so much when Jarvis was in his faun’s body—the Tom Selleck visage and small stature actually made the pince-nez seem kind of roguish—but on his new Brooklyn-hipster-cool face, they just looked ridiculous.
“Am I going to have to use ‘the hand,’ Calliope?” Jarvis intoned, looking down his nose—and pince-nez—at me.
Jarvis was referring to his favorite quote of all time: a Fran Drescher,
Nanny
-era bon mot he liked to whip out whenever possible, regardless of the fact it was about as très passé as Vanilla Ice. Now, as much as I loved to tease my Executive Assistant, I’d actually been dying for him to trot out the Drescher quote because I’d had a little “surprise” made for him and it was best shared while “in context.”
“Runt?” I said, turning to the hellhound. “Can you get that, uhm,
thing
for Jarvis, please?”
Runt, who was in on the surprise, hopped down from herspot on the bed and began to nose around inside
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