A Doctor Woodard visited, quite keen on getting the blood of Young Loomis. You’d think he were the vampire. Also was overwhelmed with the boiled-potato-and-lard scent of the Celtic Cretin, visiting again.
I have too much work to do, but not so much as to delay me from counting the silver.
BC
Dear Dr. Julia Hoffman,
Yes, your services are very much in need. We had a break-in last night and have lost the samples. Yet, your help is more necessary than ever.
One small oops on my part. When we met at the ’59 AMA convention in New Orleans, I’d bent an elbow one too many times. Somehow, I got your talk confused with Julius Helman’s keynote. So, if people in town keep referring to you as “Julius,” that’s why. (By the way, your talk was better.)
Apologies,
Dave W.
I found Young Loomis eating the foie gras between two slices of spongy bread, slathered with white sauce. Any dyspepsia he experiences is of his own creation, and I look forward to extracting the cost from his wage.
Akin to the most irksome of French farces, just as I was reorienting Josette, who should come traipsing about but young Master David Collins. David? Hardly a name for a Collins. But we live in times with more expansive views on marriage between cultures, and bully for that. I digress. We entered into a bit of a word duel over whether or not Josette were in the house, he thinking ghost, me thinking girl. Tiring of it, I sent him scampering along.
BC
My romantic evening with Josette was completely ruined by the figures using the faces of Forbes and Andre Dupres. Josette’s awakening from the dream of being Margaret Evans was moving along so very well, and now this? We seem to be back where we began. Josette is now frightened and confused, and my temper beginning to surge. All of the elements are here! It should be so very simple — well, simple insofar as tasks like these go.
I’m beginning to lose optimism and make threats. In my life, I have either dealt with people so rational that they may be swayed by gentle conversation or so complex that the end of my cane is the only apt ambassador. But these challenges are beyond me.
BC
I’ve spent well over two nights preparing Young Loomis, still whimpering at the thought of my instructive reprimands, to properly execute Josette’s favorite meal. While tutoring her in Martinique, hurricane damage forced us to conduct classes in the kitchen, where I observed her cooks and their precise methods with great care. Duck foie gras, haricot verts, and a plump Scottish lobster that almost got Young Loomis lynched by jealous fisher-men when he purchased it.
All will be well worth it! I was hoping that Young Loomis might have some skill on the harpsichord, but his odd rhythms and chaotic melodies sounded like iron kettles filled with loose coin and anguished kittens being hurled down the stairs and certainly put the ‘cac’ in cacophony! Very well, we have yet another goal and another opportunity to hone perfection. Courage, Young Loomis!
FROM THE DESK OF GEORGE PATTERSON
Tried getting information from Loomis. Was stonewalled. Turn over to the FBI? MBI? How soon? Let them deal with Liz Stoddard.
Today was day in my life that I shall never forget.
I have suffered. I have lost loved ones and taken lives. I have seem my family, hopes, and highest aspirations come to dust. I languished, starving, for nearly two centuries.
In all of my wild, caged delusions, never did I dream that there would be a reward.
Miss Margaret Evans is Josette Dupres. I have fused minds with her and am slowly lifting the illusion that is this world. Her dress, her delight at her music box, the perfection of seeing the jewel that is she in the setting that is her room? These are the most sublime confections for the heart I could ever desire.
Life is a relentless struggle of disappointments and frustrations. But then there are those rare moments of victory, and they are so delicious that we soldier on against untold new battles to seize them again.
Today saw such a victory of hope and heart.
3:25am
Sheriff Patterson:
Margaret Evans both seemingly died this evening and then vanished. She must be found. Take precautions; she may be a vector for some new kind of virus.
Dr. David Woodard
Young Loomis has sworn to allow me to protect Miss Evans, although I’ve yet to inform him of the full scope of the threat of Angelique. I have given him the opportunity to set the matter right, and I sincerely hope that he makes the most of it.
There seems to be an plague of canines of all varieties in town. This is a first for Angelique, and she savors the irony — the wolf is on the crest of the family (as well as my cane) and I happen to be (or used to happen to be) horribly allergic to the drooling beasts. They’ve retarded my speed toward helping Miss Evans and her conversion and caused no shortage of emotional suffering among many. I’ve had to will myself to assume a canine shape on several occasions just to avoid detection. Unfortunately, I also gained the ardor of an amorous dalmatian.
I escaped.
Kelly…
You didn’t hear it from me, but Joe is back on the market. Probably half off, if I hear right about the way Maggie ripped into him.
Carrie
Collins Chronicles Reader 