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33: FAMILY TIES

In which we learn a lesson about patriarchal family structures.

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When they had first set out on this journey, Elizabeth had warned Pim about whining, which, at the time, had appeared to be her niece's pastime of choice. It should therefore have felt gratifying that Pim seemed to have abandoned whining altogether. It turned out that Elizabeth had not anticipated how trying the alternative might be.

Pim could not shut up about the godmothers.

"They were just magnificent, don't you think, Aunt Lizzie? The way they just zapped the witch like that. Pow."

"Pow," echoed Edmund sleepily.

"Don't you think, Aunt Lizzie?"

"Yes, dear," said Elizabeth. "Very impressive."

"And weren't they kind?" Pim clasped her hands. "You'd think fairy godmothers wouldn't like vampires very much, but they were so nice. Weren't they, Aunt Lizzie? I mean, just look at these cloaks they made for us!" She held up the soft black fabric, nuzzling it with her cheek. "So stylish! And so soft. Who'd have thought you could magic cloaks out of oak leaves?"

"Who indeed."

"And this coach," Pim marvelled. "It's quite the nicest coach I've ever been in. So much space."

This, Elizabeth had to admit, was entirely true. The Morbid-Hilt family coach had disintegrated at the gates of Barthane while the gig they'd commandeered had been absurdly cramped. This, however... this was luxury. Velvet seats, tasselled cushions, thick drapes for daytime travel, as well as little fold-out foot-stools inlaid with green leather. The seats were wide enough for Pim to lie down stretched from head to toe across the coach, something she was currently making the most of.

It was, overall, pretty impressive for something magicked from an acorn. The squirrel to whom the acorn had belonged before the R.G.N.T plucked it from the ground had been less impressed, chittering its anger from the highest branch of its tree. So the godmothers had decided not to part the creature from its precious nut after all, and after a zap! and flash of light said squirrel had become the vampires' new coachman—a little jittery for Elizabeth's taste but otherwise passable enough, as long as you ignored the fellow's overlarge front teeth. Elizabeth had nothing against elongated teeth, after all.

"Yes, dear," she sighed. "It's very comfortable."

Pim pulled herself upright and proceeded to stare out of the window at the moonlit landscape speeding past, head propped wistfully on her palm. "Do you think I could be a fairy godmother, Aunt Lizzie?"

"I daresay," Elizabeth said, only half listening. As diverting as the incident with the R.G.N.T had been, her mind was focussed less on the godmothers and more on her son. Poor Rupert! Not only had that dreadful witch turned him into a doll, but that awful Winkton man had done something terrible to him as well. She may have helped undo the former spell, but the latter still had to be dealt with. If only her darling bloodsucker had come to her instead of haring off—with a Middler no less. Elizabeth couldn't understand it. From the day he was born she had shown Rupert nothing but love. So much love! She'd practically lavished him with it. Why had he not trusted her with his predicament?

Fang, of course, would say that she had smothered him. Was he right? Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably despite the plush velvet seat. But no, her brother could not be correct. One couldn't smother a vampire anyway.