King Potato’s Big-Brain Plan

A grandfather clock chimed midafternoon, the bell sending shivers down everyone’s spines. Four residents—carrying two bodies—walked across the hallways, their voices bouncing across the red damask walls.

“Clover killed his mother just like that?” Cherry asked in horror, gawking at the doctor. “H-How?”

Solomon squeezed his nose bridge and heavily sighed. “That medicine he took contained alcohol,” he answered. “When we ingest it, we temporarily lose control of ourselves and fall into a mindless, violent state, attacking any living thing in sight. That is the curse both pure and hybrid vampires equally share.”

The doctor looked down at his palms, his gaze gloomy. “Aside from water, alcohol... is our greatest weakness, and to this day, I still don’t understand why it has to be alcohol of all things. I’ve spent years researching for that answer and finding a possible cure, only to end up with empty hands.”

“Huh.” Eloi clawed their mask. “Clover rewrote their memories to make them believe that they’re all deathly allergic to alcohol.”

“Is that so? Well, I suppose an allergic reaction isn’t too far off from reality.”

“By the way, I’ve forgotten to ask this earlier—Eloi, how are you not affected by the brainwashes?” Cherry asked.

They shrugged. “Beats me. This mask would put me to sleep, and that was it. I only managed to wake up in her body every time it was Penny’s turn to sleep.”

“I see…” Cherry rubbed her head. “Back on that alcohol subject… Even though I’ve forgotten all the vampire stuff, I do feel somewhat sick whenever I think about alcohol.”

“Then that must be your instinct kicking in,” said Solomon, “Even if any of you were never aware of the dangers of alcohol, a small whiff would instantly repel you away from it.”

“Then Clover, out of all people, should’ve had that instinct before he took that medicine,” said Charlie. “His nose is better than a bear’s, so how the hell did his nose miss it?”

Solomon scowled. “Someone knew that Clover strenuously overused his Crimoire to the point that he fell sick and numbed his senses, so they used that brief moment of vulnerability to strike.”

“...Now that’s plain dirty.”

“Wh-Who gave your wife that medicine?” Cherry worriedly asked.

He slowly inhaled and squeezed his fists, his face contorted with boiling frustration. “I’m... not sure,” he muttered with discontent. “When I investigated the pharmacy, I found the manager dead and all his documents missing. I—we had one suspect in mind, but before we could confirm anything, that man... went missing. I do not know whether he is even still alive.”

“Who?”

He turned to the amnesiac with a sad stare. His gaze was emotional enough to strike Cherry with a sudden sense of guilt.

“Uh, never mind,” she said, shaking her head. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think we’ll recall anything even if you tell us his name anyway.”

He nodded, slowly inhaling back his composure. “In any case, let’s not dwell too much on topics you all will eventually remember. Every second of our discussion time counts.”

“How much time do we have?” asked Eloi.

“Worst case scenario, we may only have an hour or two before Horace arrives.”

“But that’s only if Dorothy fails to stop Clover,” said Charlie, crossing his arms. “But a hunch tells me that she’ll be fine.”

“I have no doubts either, but I want us to prepare as much as we can, nonetheless. After all, we cannot be certain of the future. First things first…” He stopped before a pair of double doors. “It’s about time I complete both of your operations, Eloi, Cherry.”

Eloi nodded. “About time!” they said, opening the door and releasing a waft of copper.

The afternoon sun rays bounced off the gallery of clockwork inventions, glowing up the whole workshop. The three guests couldn’t help but raise their brows and survey the maze of sophisticated metalworks.

In addition to the bookshelves, round tables, and chairs, random appliances—merged with cogs and clockwork—filled the room jam-packed, each work hogging every desk and table’s surfaces. Geometric sketches and blueprints decorated the walls, and beneath the largest blueprint was a wide desk with scattered hand tools, drawing utensils, and scraps of paper.

“Wooaahh!” said Cherry in awe, her eyes glowing with wonder. “This is Penelope’s workshop?”

“Yep,” said Eloi, hands on their hips. “Incredible, isn’t it? This is where she invented all her gadgets.”

A rush of excitement swept through Cherry, and she couldn’t help but twinkle from it all. “Amazing! This feels like walking through an art exhibition!”

“Wow, even with your amnesia, you’re still fangirling,” said Charlie, folding his arms and smirking.

“How can you not?! They all look incredible!” She beamed and wandered around, eyeing each gadget hungrily. One had a levitating bronze cube, spun around by mini cogwheels. Next to it was a box of winged insects, crafted by bronze wires, silver wings, and cogs decorating the abdomen. There was even a station for a tiny train running around!

Cherry curiously leaned closer to the box of mechanical insects with a few bug catcher nets resting beside it. “Are we allowed to touch them?”

“Of course! Penny certainly let you guys play with these inventions before.”

Cherry’s heart pricked for a moment when she couldn’t recall such a memory. She brushed it aside and picked up a bronze butterfly, simply admiring the design before gently placing it back down.

Solomon rested Theodore and Eloi on the couches and scanned around the room. “I… did not expect her workshop to be so cramped,” he said. “I thought she worked on Horace’s commissions?”

Charlie approached the main desk and flipped through a pile of letters, briefly scanning them. “Huh,” he said, “It says here that Horace asked her to stop working on his commissions.”

“Wait, really?” asked Eloi. “Why?”

“It doesn’t say.”

“Damn.”

“You didn’t check the letters?” asked Cherry.

“Uh… I… can’t read that well. Or write.”

“...Oh.”

Eloi forced a cough. “A-Anyway! Uh, here! We can make some space for the operations!”

“Oh, I can help,” said Cherry, carefully moving around inventions with them.

“Alright, I’ll gather some water. Charlie, will you collect some towels for me?”

“Sure,” said Charlie.

✦☆✦

While the young man walked alone in the hallways, he deeply pondered to himself, frowning.

Eight months ago, a certain spy informed him and Solomon about the mansion’s whereabouts and Horace’s plans. To protect that spy's identity, they never knew his name nor face—only his voice.

Charlie clutched his head and squeezed on the lead, scowling.

There was no way. There was no way a Chevolaire had been pulling the strings this whole time.

But... if Ren was the spy they knew this whole time, then it would make so much sense. Only he, who worked closely with Horace as an executive, would know the mansion's location. Only he, who had been watching the Vamiers’ daily lives, would know that the house had secrets.

So then... why? Why would he secretly help them? Not to mention, based on Solomon’s reaction earlier, Ren was on bad terms with him, wasn't he? Just who the hell was he?

Charlie’s head continued to swarm with such questions, and it drove him on edge. Damn those Chevolaires and their mind games!

He heavily groaned and scratched his head, staring at the windows as he walked.

He froze.

His heart skipped a beat, and a rush of adrenaline blazed through his veins.

There, casually kneeling before Dorothy’s flower bed, was the self-proclaimed old gentleman with his top hat and golden-crowned cane.

Charlie dropped the towels, slid the windows open, and leaped outside, landing with a swift thud.

“Oh?” Ren glanced over his shoulders, a bouquet in his hands. “Hi there. Don’t mind me—Horace wants me to collect some of Dorothy's flowers to refill his vase.”

Charlie stomped toward him, standing as tall as he could… even though Ren was clearly far taller than he expected.

“You,” he said. “You have some answering to do.”

Ren sighed and stood up, straightening his back. He paced around, flowers clasped behind his back.

That was when Charlie saw it—bountiful strands of black hair flowing behind him.

“I bet you’re wondering who I am and why I’ve been helping you guys behind the scenes, yeah? It’s obvious, really,” he said, grinning. “It’s because I know what truly happened during The Star-Crushing Tragedy. In fact, I was there, watching you and your sister this whole time.”

Charlie slanted his head and raised a brow. “You’ve been stalking us?”

“Hey, hey, I’d like to call it ‘supervising,’ thank you.”

“Supervising?” Charlie scoffed. “Don’t twist your words, creep.”

Ren dramatically struck a pose. “Ouch! You’re so mean! Can’t you guess who I really am?”

He blinked. “What?”

…Hold on a second.

Now that Charlie could see his face more closely, did he always look this young? He could’ve sworn there were more wrinkles the last time he saw him.

Ren glimpsed down at his watch, impatiently tapping his foot. “Hmph, as much as I'd love to explain everything, I don’t have all day. I’ve been juggling between two identities here, and pretending to be your spy for the past eight months was just excruciatingly exhausting! It’s about time that I quit these extra chores!”

Charlie’s gut twisted with dread. “Why did you disguise yourself to be our spy?”

Ren shrugged. “You should blame Solomon for that. If I had approached you two in a familiar form eight months ago, he would’ve downright refused to even listen to me. That’s why I had to pretend to be someone else.”

The youth stepped forward, his head scorching with questions. “Then... why? Why are you helping us? Why are you confessing everything all of a sudden? Aren’t you on Horace’s side? Why does Solomon hate you? What is your true goal here?”

Ren rubbed his chin and stared out the window, momentarily pondering on his next words. “You know, it’s true that Horace is responsible for the tragedy, but you have to realize that only Cherry and I saw what truly happened to him back then. The way I’ve seen it, we’ve all been quite utterly played.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Ren narrowed his eyes and stroked his mustache. “I’m saying that you’ve all been hating the wrong man. You should ask Cherry about it instead of me.”

Charlie slanted his head. “My sister knows about you?”

Ren stretched a smile, his crimson eyes glinting.

Yet, it wasn’t the same shit-eating grin as before. That kind of smile was something strangely warm.

“More like the other way around,” he said. “In fact, I’ve been quite looking forward to seeing you kids again.”

He chuckled, raising his pinky fingers. “Did you know? Twenty years ago, when you two were barely a month old, you both grabbed these fingers, and the three of us made a promise to see each other again after you two survived to adulthood. I’ve been waiting for that day since then.”

The young man slowly lowered his jaw and gaped his trembling eyes as a groundbreaking realization dawned on him.

Ren broke his gaze and paced around. As he walked, more black hair strands painted over his silvery hair, his wrinkles clearing away. He peeled off his curly mustache and shoved it inside his pocket.

“You know, I tried my best to drag Cherry out of The Spectacular Theory too,” said a youthful voice. “To think that even after physically separating our family and moving you two around Theatreux, your mother’s prophecy still came true. Fate sure is cruel, isn’t it? Then again, this time, we all miraculously made it out alive. I owe Solomon big-time for training you and bringing Cherry back. Your human friend, too, should be compensated for all the trouble we vampires cause. That’s why I’ve tweaked Penelope’s mask and given Eloi prosthetics.”

Charlie took another step, his brain barely processing his words. “Hey, wait,” he sputtered. “Hold on a minute..."

The middle-aged man with long, pure raven-black hair walked away, observing the cloudy sky. “Hmm, what else… Oh, yeah, about that warning, I wasn’t lying either. Your mother predicted something bad might happen in the capital, and since Cherry was already super close to recovery, I figured you guys could sort things out here in the outskirts before trouble arrives. Too bad Clover thought otherwise. That’ll be on me. Also, don’t be too harsh on Solomon when you see him again, alright? That poor fellow has been keeping lots of secrets for plenty of reasons... just like me.”

He smirked and rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I’ll let Cherry handle the rest of the story.”

He glimpsed down at his watch and slammed his cane. A gust of wind enshrouded him, his legs slowly transitioning into black feathers. “It’s a shame, but duty calls,” he said, chuckling. “Don't worry, something tells me that I'll be back much sooner than you think. See you again soon, Prince Potato!"

With a playful wink and a tip of his hat, his father became one with the wind and disappeared, leaving Charlie entirely stupefied.