Chapter 6: 6 – Amerie

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“Come along.” The woman stepped back, in a sweep of softly-draped layers of dark skirts, and offered a hand.

With her mind spinning, Amerie obeyed, sliding her tanned hand into that of the lady and letting herself be drawn to her feet. Something about the woman’s voice made it impossible to resist.

Belatedly, she realized that it wasn’t dark at all. The room was clearly illuminated. The source seemed to be the old gas fixtures on the walls, although she doubted that the gas lines were still connected.

There were no longer sheets over the furniture, and the wallpaper, the rug, the furnishings, all looked clean and pristine.

She was losing her mind, obviously.

Looking at the lady only reinforced the idea. Had that sort of deep ultra-saturated amethyst purple satin and utterly black velvet been available when a dress like that would have been fashionable? She had to be wearing a corset to get sleek smooth curves like that, under a dress that had a very full ankle-length skirt, a wide square neckline, three-quarter sleeves. All that jewellery looked old, and probably expensive, elaborate silver pieces in the form of dangly earrings and a bangle-like bracelet and a wide choker with a pendant, all winking with purple stones that looked like amethysts. Her black hair was styled in a way Amerie could never have replicated with her own walnut-brown unruly mess, complicated braids winking with silver pins.

Her skin was smooth and pale as milk, sharp contrast with her deep purple lips and heavily-emphasized eyes. Amerie had no idea how old she was. She did know that she personally felt small and grubby and awkward.

“I’m Ségolène,” the lady said, escorting her back to the front door, then deeper into the building.

“Amerie.”

“That’s a very pretty name.”

Amerie was certain she’d lost her mind somehow—this had to be a delusion. Everything was lit softly by the gas lamps, and everything was spotlessly clean, in perfect repair. They went through that wide doorway that had looked so dark and alarming, into an even wider hallway with a few elegant chairs on either side, alternating with pale statues that somehow looked... not quite right to be classical.

Ségolène led her to a dining room with an enormous table, and urged her to sit down, then sat beside her at the very end herself.

“You look famished, you poor dear. The household cook is positively supernatural in the kitchen. Let’s get some proper hot food into you. Humans come in a wide array of colours but that greyish tinge isn’t usually a sign of good health in any of them.”

“I, um... I really appreciate it, but I...”

“I’m not going to ask you for anything in return. Consider it an act of sympathy, if you like. I’ve found myself seeking shelter anywhere available a time or two, although not recently. If you’d like to tell me what led you to falling asleep on the sofa in my reception room, I’d be happy to listen, but I will not pry. You will have a good meal and safe shelter for the night regardless.”

“There’s, um, not much to tell.” Amerie looked down at her hands, twisting them together in her lap. The dining room was very fine, richly decorated with patterned hangings over the textured pale-blue wallpaper, a matched pair of sideboard cabinets exactly the same highly-polished mahogany as the great table; even the seats of the chairs were upholstered with something satiny and deep blue. The table was already set, with immaculate white linen, gleaming silver, spotless glass. There was even a fire in the large stone fireplace. She’d have felt uncomfortable here even if she’d had reason to dress for it, let alone in her current old clothes and rumpled state.

“My boyfriend got some bad news at work, so he had kind of a lot to drink even before he got home, and then he had more. The last time he got that drunk, he... he scared me.” It hadn’t been the first time, but each felt like it was worse. Nothing had suggested that this time would somehow be an improvement.

Ségolène sighed heavily. “I have only contempt for anyone who resorts so heavily to alcohol and who then abuses those who should be able to trust them. Or who abuses anyone vulnerable, for that matter, intoxicated or otherwise. Ah, and here’s our dinner. Please, forgive us if it’s a relatively simple affair. Not everyone in this household shares the same tastes or needs, or eats at the same time, and it feels excessively old-fashioned to expect a separate meal without a compelling reason.”

“I, um, I’m sure it’ll be better than anything I’m used to.”

This was utterly mad. She was sitting in a house that should have been empty, a house she had seen neglected and in disrepair, dark and with dust sheets over everything. Now, that same building was bright and warm, and she was about to eat a meal with a woman who seemed somehow, but not entirely, out of time. She could maybe have explained Ségolène away as a die-hard fan of a romanticized past, those certainly existed and dressed up to try to relive it, or even as being a bit delusional, or conversely, just someone really enthusiastic about Hallowe’en. That would not, however, explain the house.

Could stress make you hallucinate? Or maybe it was just a particularly vivid and peculiar dream, triggered by falling asleep in such an odd place when cold and tired and hungry?

That made more sense than anything else. She must be dreaming.

A maid appeared, through a doorway near the fireplace, with a silver tray held in both hands.

Amerie knew she was a maid because she was wearing a black and white uniform with short puffy sleeves, a very low rounded neckline, and a short fluffy skirt, plus black ankle boots with heels, and even she knew that there was absolutely nothing historically accurate about that, rather than pop culture fantasy. She was even wearing something under the uniform dress that accentuated her waist and her cleavage quite dramatically.

Besides, the maid had black-tipped white feline ears peeking out of her neat black ringlets, swivelling in response to sounds, and a white feline tail swaying behind her, its black tip upwards.

That confirmed it. Amerie was dreaming.

Well, as dreams went, it was rather a nice one, so she decided to go along with it. There were no consequences in dreams that outlasted the dream.

The maid set the tray on the sideboard, and deftly served them each a glass of white wine, then a bowl of soup, and set a basket of rolls on the table as well.

“Anything else, Mistress?” the cat-maid asked.

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“That’s everything, cherie,” Ségolène said. “I’m sure Amerie and I will be fine for the moment.”

The cat-maid curtseyed and departed the way she’d come.

“Maggie has her little ways.” Ségolène sounded amused. “Eat your soup, it will warm you and help you get some colour back. So what’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Um... Pete.” Cautiously, she picked up her spoon and took a small bite of the soup. It had chicken in it, and vegetables, and rice. It was delicious, and she immediately took a larger bite.

“And you’ve been with him how long?”

“A couple of years.” She could feel the warmth of the soup spreading through her, chasing away the chill.

“Has he hit you before, dear?”

“Yes.” Amerie blinked, keeping her gaze on her bowl. Why had she admitted that?

Why did it matter, anyway?

“Was he the first?”

“Um... no. I have bad luck. Or bad taste. Not sure which.”

“And you have no family to step in to protect you?”

“No, not really. Not anymore.”

“Hm. Feeling better?”

“Oh, yes. Much.”

“That’s good.” Ségolène picked up her own spoon and took a delicate bite. “Make sure you eat all of it.”

“I will. It’s really, really good. I don’t think I’ve ever had soup that tasted this wonderful.”

Ségolène smiled. “My household is full of talented and unique individuals. My cook can make even something as simple as soup surprisingly restorative.”

“I... oh. It’s all gone.” Had she been eating it that quickly?

“Maggie!” Ségolène called.

The cat-maid reappeared, with another tray. This time she brought plates with slightly raised edges, each bearing a golden-brown pie surrounded by several varieties of cooked vegetables.

“It’s turkey with bacon, Mistress,” feline Maggie said. She curtsied again, and hastened off.

It tasted every bit as good as the soup. Maybe better.

That was so distracting that Amerie kept answering Ségolène’s questions without really thinking about it: questions about her family, her job history, her relationships.

“Finished eating?” Ségolène said. “Good. That will mean you get a fair chance.”

“A what? What do you mean?”

“This is Hallowe’en. You’re in a haunted house. I give you my word that at sunrise, when it is possible to return to your own world, you will be free to walk out of here completely unharmed.” Ségolène rose gracefully from her seat. “But nights are long at this time of year, and it’s still more than twelve hours until sunrise. I wanted to be certain that you were not at a disadvantage due to hunger and fatigue. The meal you just had will compensate for both. I cannot promise that nothing will frighten you, but no one in my family has any interest in death or torture. Feel free to explore. I’ll see you again—at sunrise if not before. Do finish your wine, dear, it’s a special vintage and it will help you.”

While Amerie watched, with absolutely no idea how to respond to any of that, Ségolène strolled out of the room, her long skirts swishing around her legs.

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