Weird Wedding at Wonky Inn: Wonky Inn Book 3

by Wycherley, Jeannie

  “That will be the headdress,” Kat said. “It can wait for now. My head won’t have changed shape or size.”

  “Let’s get you out of this and make you more comfortable,” Charity said just as someone tapped hesitantly at the door.

  We all froze. “Who is it?” I called.

  “Marc.”

  The vampires were starting to rise. I needed to make a move.

  I glanced back at Kat and she nodded, so I opened the door a crack.

  Marc smiled apologetically. “Alf, I’m so sorry to bother you…” Behind us Kat was trying to manoeuvre the heavy frock around the bed and had snagged in some parcel tape.

  Charity shouted, “Whoa,” and Marc’s eyes flicked to Kat behind me, and widened in surprise.

  “Wow.”

  I was surprised at the flatness of his tone. “That’s what we said.” I made an attempt to sound enthusiastic. “You are alone, aren’t you?”

  Marc nodded, his expression grim. “Melchior is still in the cellar. That’s an incredible dress.” He didn’t mean it as a compliment.

  “She looks amazing doesn’t she?” Charity called, not picking up on his mood. “Now away with you please.”

  I stepped out of the room, closing the door firmly behind me. “I’ll come down with you now. I have some things to do. I’m sure Charity can manage by herself.”

  Marc stood and gazed at the door, his expression difficult to read. “Marc?” I prompted when he didn’t immediately follow me.

  “Sorry,” he said and turned to me. I led the way down the corridor to the stairs and started down them. Marc paused again, looking back.

  “Are you alright?” I asked. “You wanted me for something.”

  Marc stared at me in confusion, as though he had forgotten what he had been searching for. “I did, yes. It’s not important though.”

  Now it was my turn to look puzzled. What was up with the man? He was normally so easy-going and smiley. Something appeared to have upset him. “Don’t you like the dress?” I asked.

  “It’s hideous,” he responded coldly, and stalked away from me.

  An undercurrent of tension buzzed in the air of the bar that evening. Part of the problem, of course, was that it’s entirely possible to become bored with people you are cooped up with for hours at a time, especially when you’re having to do the same things over and over. I couldn’t know how the vampires spent their leisure time under normal circumstances and in their own dwellings, but here at the inn, facilities were limited. In their places, I might have become a little bored too. Their only interests lay in drinking, carousing and playing loud music.

  However tonight, the vampires had finally had enough of their hedonistic partying. Numerous squabbles broke out among them while I was managing the bar. Even before Kat made it back downstairs, Melchior’s dark-haired twin vixens, were at each other’s throats, slapping, biting and scratching. I looked up just in time to witness one of them sending a bottle flying. It smashed into one of my freshly decorated white walls, the red liquid staining the wall like watery blood, while Melchior stood back, roaring with laughter, and Thaddeus egged the women on.

  Quick as a flash I was round the other side of the bar, “Viscosi!” I cried and all the glasses and bottles in the room, that weren’t already being held in someone’s hands, stuck to a surface. I was having no more spilled drinks and broken glass thank you very much.

  But that was the easy part.

  I ran over to attempt to separate the women, and eventually with Marc and Charity’s help, did manage to split them up. I sent one of them into The Nook with Marc to cool down, and the other licked her wounds in Sabien’s company.

  “What was all that about?” I asked Charity, but she didn’t know either.

  “Jealousy, I reckon,” she said, nodding up at Kat who was just making an entrance.

  “You could be right.” My eyes remained fixed on the remaining vixen who now extricated herself from Sabien’s party and wandered over to give Melchior a shoulder massage. He peered up at her, standing behind him and patted her hand. They both watched Kat as she swept across the bar, seemingly oblivious to Melchior and his companion, to chat with Charity and myself.

  “Thank you so much for helping me earlier.”

  “It was our pleasure,” Charity gushed. I could see she was a complete sucker for weddings. This was good news if Whittle Inn was ever to host any more in the future.

  If I ever got over this one.

  “We’re at your service should you need us the day after tomorrow,” I offered.

  “I will certainly need help.” Kat nodded, eyes wide. “The dress is so complex.”

  “The dress has arrived, has it, my sweet?” Melchior appeared from nowhere and gripped Kat’s upper arm so tightly, I could see where he was leaving dents in her skin.

  “It has, my love.” Kat half-turned to regard her betrothed. How she was resisting yanking her arm away from him, I couldn’t comprehend. “It is as beautiful as you promised it would be. Charity and Alf have offered to help me dress on our special day. Isn’t that kind of them?”

  “Oh it is. Indeed it is.” Melchior turned to fix me with his cold dead eyes. Back off, he was saying, I could hear the words loud and clear. I smiled at him through gritted teeth. “Very kind. But there’s no need. I have a woman who can help you, my love. An expert in make-up too. You don’t need to worry about a thing. Alfhild and Chastity will be able to carry on with their own duties. They will have more than enough to do.”

  “Charity,” Charity retorted, bristling in indignation. I put a hand out and rubbed her back.

  “We’re here for you, whatever you need,” I replied to Melchior and smiled at Kat. “Whenever you need it.”

  * * *

  The next ruckus involved Thaddeus and a vampire I hadn’t had much to do with so far, although he always seemed to be in the thick of what was happening. He was a handsome young man by the name of Gorkha, who was notable for his laugh. He sounded like a deranged hyena.

  Afterwards, I could never be sure exactly what kicked it off, or who started what. Marc had returned from The Nook in search of another shot of whisky and had perched on a stool at the bar. The general noise levels in the lounge bar had risen to those I was rapidly becoming used to: louder than I was particularly comfortable with, but not so loud that my nearest neighbours would be calling the police to complain about the noise nuisance. But the tone of the merriment had changed. What was normally good-humoured banter, raucous singing, some jeering and a bit of argy-bargy, had become something that was simultaneously fiery and hostile.

  I looked up from serving Marc to see Thaddeus and Gorkha circling the room, eyes fixed on each other. Melchior was gesticulating dramatically to Thaddeus, who held a hand up to him, to close him off. This one gesture seemed to particularly rankle Melchior. He tipped his head slightly to one side, his eyes burning like charcoal and said something in a low voice that I couldn’t hear.

  This time Thaddeus looked his way abruptly, and Melchior spoke to him again. Thaddeus deflated like a punctured balloon and all the fight left him. He slumped and held his hands up in appeasement to Melchior who grinned good-naturedly and held his own hands out to his friend.

  But Gorkha wouldn’t let it drop. He cat-called Melchior, called him a coward, and loudly declared to the by now hushed bar that Thaddeus was merely Melchior’s pet, with no free will of his own.

  Thaddeus tipped his head back and exposed his throat, laughing loudly, and in return calling Gorkha a foolish child. This lit the torch paper, and suddenly vampires were flying around the room. Faster than a speeding bullet, Thaddeus had Gorkha pinned to the floor with one hand around his neck, his eyes filled with blood and his fangs more pronounced than I’d seen before.

  Beside me Charity shrieked and clutched her hands to her face.

  “I could rip your throat out, boy!” Thaddeus screamed into the younger vampire’s face.

  I rushed around to the other side of the ba
r, but Marc grabbed my arm and held me back. “No,” he hissed, his voice quiet enough so that only I could hear. “I won’t be able to help you if you get involved. Stay back. Please.”

  I tried to pull free, but Marc was strong.

  The vampires closed the circle around Thaddeus and Gorkha, and for the first time I could really see them for the predators they were, stalking their prey with calm, cold alacrity. Fixated, aggressive, merciless.

  “Don’t let them,” I said to Marc, trying to rip my arm free, but he only shook his head.

  Just when I thought all was lost for Gorkha, Sabien called the vampires off and then stalked through the circle to stand next to Thaddeus. He tapped the young man on the shoulder, who in turn relaxed his grip of Gorkha’s throat and slowly moved away.

  As suddenly as it had started, it was all over.

  Gorkha hopped to his feet and with a wry smile straightened his clothes. Then he walked out of the front door of the inn with one of the smirking vixens.

  Marc released me with an apology. “I couldn’t let you get hurt,” he said miserably, and headed over to join Melchior.

  With my knees wobbling a little, I cleaned up some glasses and plates and joined Charity behind the bar. “I don’t know how much more of these people I can put up with,” I whispered to her. “They’re turning my hair grey.”

  Charity checked the clock on the wall behind us. “Forty-one hours and 52 minutes. And counting.”

  I had the makings of a cracking headache, and for one awful second considered whether I was the latest victim of whatever virus had hit Whittlecombe, until I figured stress and lack of sleep were most likely to blame.

  I turned my attention to a guest waiting at the bar, but observed Kat over his shoulder, sitting alone next to the fire, watching Melchior with the same inscrutable expression I’d seen her wearing so many times before.

  But this time, I swear I saw her lip curl.

  * * *

  Marc spent most of the evening trying to soothe things over with Thaddeus and Gorkha, and by the early hours it did appear as though we were getting somewhere. The vampires had calmed down, they were less raucous, and seemed capable of chatting pleasantly. From time to time, one or more would exit the inn and I could only assume they were visiting the portable blood bank they had brought with them.

  What this blood bank actually was, I can’t say, and I didn’t like to think about it too much. It had arrived on the same evening as the vampire cavalcade and I’d had it positioned at the side of the inn, close by the entrance to the cellar. From then on I had tried to ignore its presence, and I hadn’t ventured inside. Some things are not for me to see.

  From outside it looked like a Portaloo, although coloured silver and made of stainless steel rather than heavy duty plastic. It measured approximately six feet square, large enough to allow one vampire to enter and be serviced—in whatever form that took. A vampire would step in, remain inside for some time, and then when they ventured back outside, they tended to look a little less peaky—not quite so corpse-like—and they were generally more even-tempered.

  The final few hours of the night before the dawn, were quiet. For the first time, I saw a glimmer of civilisation among my guests. I overheard them chatting about the portraits on the wall, and then about artists some of them had known—Sabien claimed to have met Leonardo da Vinci—and paintings they had owned—Thaddeus, back to his usual braying self, bragged he had a Van Gogh in his Paris home.

  “Do you believe him?” Charity asked, eyebrows raised, as we wiped down the bar and prepared to shut up shop for the night. Clearing the glasses and buffet could wait until we’d managed a few hours of shut-eye.

  I regarded Thaddeus with glazed vision. “Who knows with this bunch? Vampires can live ridiculously long lives. Many claim to be immortal.”

  “Eww. Would you like to live forever?” Charity asked.

  I shook my head. “Just long enough to see the back of this bunch.”

  Charity guffawed, and we watched the vampires drift away. We headed to our own bedrooms just before six.

  * * *

  Perhaps, at last, I was becoming somewhat accustomed to the ridiculous hours I was keeping, but when I awoke later that morning, after four and half hours sleep, I felt a little more optimistic about the day ahead. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that when I awoke in 48 hours’ time, this whole nightmare would be over, and I could make inroads into attracting a better kind of clientele.

  Football hooligans, University freshers, and out-of-control hen parties would be a cinch after this.

  With a grunt, I rolled out of bed, grabbed my robe and headed to the window. I leaned out and breathed in the fresh balmy air, checking for signs of Mr Hoo. Nothing. Despite the brilliant sunshine of the morning, I could tell by the feel of the breeze that we were in for some rain. I made a mental note to check the weather forecast. A slight shower or two this afternoon wouldn’t be a problem, and certainly after such a long dry summer and autumn, the grounds could do with a sprinkling, but heavy rain would really put a dampener on proceedings the following day.

  We had a marquee on stand-by, but I was pretty sure Melchior would not be best pleased if we had to resort to that.

  There are many things I can control, but the weather is not one of them.

  I made my way downstairs to find that I was first up. Yawning, I set the kettle to boil and wandered down the back passage of the inn, checking on the condition of The Snug and The Nook—not too bad—then opened the frosted glass door and entered the bar. The room was in complete darkness which was unusual. Someone had pulled the shutters tight and drawn the curtains. Neither Charity nor I had done so when we called it a night a few hours previously.

  Rather than stumble around in the darkness, I tried to switch the lights from the central panel by the door. Nothing happened.

  “Looks like we’ve lost our electricity in here,” I mused aloud and called for Zephaniah. I’m happy to turn my hand to most things. But plumbing and electricity? They’re best left to the experts. Not that Zephaniah was an expert himself by any means. Electricity had been in its infancy while he was alive.

  I heard someone coming down the front stairs. “Is that you Alf?” Charity called. “It’s dark in here, isn’t it? Shall I put the lights on?”

  “Try that side.” I fumbled around near the till. I knew I had a torch somewhere. I could hear Charity flipping switches.

  “Oh that’s odd,” I heard her mumbling.

  “I think we must have some sort of electrical short.” I called for Zephaniah again.

  “Bear with me then.” Her voice drifted closer. “I’ll open the shutters.” A few seconds later she collided with a table and cursed.

  “Mind how you go,” I said and smiled. My hand closed around the torch at last and I flicked it on. It didn’t give off much light. The battery was failing. “Shall I light your way?” I asked and swung the torch around to catch Charity as she pulled the curtains open and reached for the blinds.

  But the limited amount of light also caught something else. A person on the large wing back armchair which had been moved from its habitual place by the fire to the very centre of the floor.

  “Who’s that?” I asked and stepped towards them, just as Charity flung open the shutters to let the sun in.

  And in that split second of time, I knew. I shrieked and launched myself forwards, trying to block the light, or prevent the inevitable, but I was too late.

  Even as I hurled myself into the air in front of him, and Charity spun to find out why I had shrieked, Thaddeus, gagged by masking tape, and tied securely to the armchair was hit full in the face by the sun’s rays. He kicked his legs. His arms—taped to the thick arm rests—juddered in panic as his skin shrivelled and crisped like a burned jacket potato. His eyes, at first wide and petrified, turned white as he was rapidly blinded. He gazed around himself in blank horror for the tiniest fraction of a second, and then in the next instant, he imploded and became dust whe
re he sat. Motes of who he’d been, swirled about in the sunlight around me as I tumbled to the floor, Charity’s scream, a siren in my head.

  What could I have done?

  What could Charity have done?

  Someone had tied Thaddeus to that chair, and shorted the electricity in the bar area, knowing full well that the first thing we would do when we came downstairs would be to open the shutters.

  It occurred to me now, as I walked into the village—not so much because I needed anything but just because I was desperate to get out of the inn, away from the guests who slept like the dead—that whomever had waylaid Thaddeus and tied him to the chair, had been cutting it all a bit fine. Charity and I had only gone to our rooms when every last one of the guests had called it a night. A faint slither of light could be seen on the horizon when I pulled my curtains. Dawn would have been swift.

  The murderer—if that’s what he or she was, because how do you murder someone who essentially ceased to exist a very long time ago—was a risk taker, that much was clear. I remembered the fight between Gorkha and Thaddeus earlier in the evening. Gorkha had to be the prime suspect, but Melchior was the one I mistrusted the most. I had to leave it for now, because I could hardly march down into the cellar and demand answers. That would have to wait until this evening.

  So lost in my thoughts was I, I almost knocked over the elderly Mr Bramble as I walked past his cottage. He was pruning his hedge.

  “I do beg your pardon, Mr Bramble,” I said. “I was miles away.”

  He waved me away, holding a handkerchief to his mouth and coughing. “Don’t come near me, Alf,” he said. “I think I’ve got a hefty dose of whatever the rest of the village has.” I had to admit he looked pale.

  “What are you doing outside?” I asked. “Get in and go to bed with a …” I was about to mention to my hot lemon and whisky remedy again when Claudia’s face came to mind. “Hot water bottle,” I finished instead.