Weird Wedding at Wonky Inn: Wonky Inn Book 3

by Wycherley, Jeannie

  The wait seemed interminable. The fire commander at the edge of the hole, bent forwards, issuing gentle instructions. Finally we spotted a tug on the harness and the rescuers gently pulled on the rope. Marc inched out backwards, nice and slowly, clutching the older boy underneath his armpits. The boy’s hand dangled slightly awkwardly, and I winced in empathy.

  The child was taken from Marc and wrapped in a blanket by the waiting paramedic. Grace ran forwards, crying to hug her son, and the paramedic led them both towards the ambulance. Bob Gretchen took her place, his jaw tight, observing as Marc prepared to head back into the hole.

  The going in this time was just as difficult as before. Marc took it slowly, painfully so, moving in meticulous and gentle increments, but this time at least the coming out was easier. A little boy of about eight, the one I’d previously seen with Grace, was taken from Marc’s arms, crying for his Grandad and Bob reached out to him and held him tight.

  We onlookers sighed in mutual relief, and Marc stood to remove the harness, just as the rest of the building collapsed. There were cries of horror as Marc slipped, Kat shrieked and held her hands to her face, and I grabbed her arm in fright. It looked as though he would be swallowed up by the building as it moved, shifting beneath his feet, more wet sludge pouring down from the hilltop to cover the rubble and crush the flimsy structure to smithereens.

  But Marc was in safe hands. The fire officers at the other end of his harness, tightened their grip and yanked him back. He fell onto the ground, a relieved look on his face.

  As one we began to applaud. Everyone crowded around both him and the rescue services, shaking hands and patting backs, gripping shoulders and hugging tightly. More villagers joined those who had been working at the Folly, rushed to thank the rescuers and congratulate them on a job well done. A fresh bout of cheering followed quickly, when it was announced that both boys would be absolutely fine. Nicholas, the older of the two, had a suspected fracture of his wrist, but the younger boy was simply shaken. They would both be taken to the hospital to be checked out.

  We all milled around in the darkness, laughing at our filthy appearances, and generally allowing the adrenaline to bubble up and subside. I couldn’t help but notice how Kat looked at Marc, admiration in her eyes. Maybe tonight we all looked at him like that. It was a heroic deed. A good job, well done.

  I smiled up at George as he stood beside me. “I’m so glad that turned out for the best,” I said. “What a relief.”

  “Thanks to you and your friend,” he said indicating Marc.

  “Yes. Who’d have thought it? One of the very people some of the villagers have been railing against these past few days, and he came up trumps and saved Grace’s son.”

  George frowned. “How do you mean?

  “Oh ignore me,” I said. “It’s a long and complicated story, and it’s wearing me out.” I rubbed my forehead, my skin itched where the mud was drying. “I must look a right state.” Everyone else did.

  “You look beautiful to me,” George said, and right there, in the mud, in the darkness, surrounded by four dozen people he leaned down and kissed me full on the lips. A soft kiss. A lingering kiss. The promise of so much more.

  I gasped in surprise and George drew away, his eyes shining. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” I giggled in delight, wishing he would do it again.

  The rescue services were beginning to pack their equipment away. They would return at first light to investigate and secure the site, but for now they had done all they could. The villagers were starting to make a move too, and George pointed the time out to me. After nine.

  “You have a wedding to host, don’t you?” We both turned to Kat.

  “We should go,” I said to her. “Melchior will be waiting for us.”

  I saw an emotion pass across her face. Disgust? I couldn’t be sure. But just as soon as I spotted it, it had gone again, and she had shut those feelings down. Without looking at Marc, she nodded at me. Time to go.

  George indicated his car. “I’ll drive us back up to the inn.”

  I nodded, but before I took my seat, I turned and called to those remaining at the Folly. “Hey, guys.” People stopped chatting and turned to where I stood with George, Marc and Kat. Some of these same people had attended the meeting in the morning. A few of them had spat their hatred at me and the inn. One of them might well have called for witches to be burned at the stake once more. I didn’t know who that had been, but I had to put it behind me for now. It was as Millicent had said, a small minority after all.

  “Don’t forget, it’s the official opening of Whittle Inn tonight. There’s food and champagne and music—and this lovely lady is getting married at midnight.” I indicated Kat, standing alongside me. She may have blushed, but it was impossible to tell given the amount of dirt she was layered in. There were nudges and cat calls among the villagers. “It’s going to be a blast, so please come along if you want to.” I didn’t wait for a reaction, unwilling to hear anyone say they wouldn’t be seen dead in my inn, or were unwilling to fraternise with witches.

  George twisted his face at the amount of muck we carried into his car, but there was nothing else for it. Showers and fresh clothes could be found at the inn.

  * * *

  George parked at the side of the inn, behind Jed’s van. I looked away from it, not wanting to ruin the evening, and the lingering memory of George’s kiss.

  Instead, I linked arms with Kat and pulled her along to the front of the inn and the main door, where we paused to take in the spectacle of the party. Coloured fairy lights were lit up on the lawn and around the arbour, the braziers were burning, and people were milling about with glasses of champagne, including—I was happy to see—guests from the village. I could hear the Devonshire Fellows playing their Elizabethan dances and I was ecstatic to note they were all in tune and in mighty fine voice. Mellow light streamed from the windows of the inn, lighting up squares of lawn, and people were coming and going through the front door.

  Whittle Inn was alive and well and open for business, properly buzzing. It truly was a magical sight, and for once the tears in my eyes were tears of happiness.

  * * *

  Any feelings of contentment were dashed to smithereens as soon as we entered the inn however. Kat had been turning about, remarking about the pretty lights illuminating the stage, and the gorgeous flowers around the arbour, but as we stepped into the inn itself, we were pulled up short. Melchior waited for us in the centre of the lounge bar, his body taut with fury, flanked by Gorkha and another of his young friends

  Before I could do or say anything, Melchior marched towards us and then reached out and grabbed Kat viciously by the upper arm, dragging her towards the fire.

  “Where have you been?” he cried. “Look at the state of you!”

  George following us in, rushed forwards. “Hey, hey! What do you think you’re doing?” He tried to step in between Kat and Melchior. “Take it easy mate.”

  Melchior’s head shot forwards, his lips curled and his fangs on show. George reeled backwards in shock, but still reached for Kat. Melchior rushed at George, pushing him out of the way as though he was swatting at a bothersome fly. Like all vampires, Melchior had immense strength. George flew backwards, collided with one of the large wing-backed armchairs and tumbled to the floor, winded.

  I ran to help George. Around us, vampires hollered and laughed. Kat shrieked and tried to pull away, but Melchior shook her like a rag doll. “Have you no pride? You arrive here just hours before we’re due to marry looking like some low-life tramp. You bring shame on me and on my family. If you can embarrass me so much on the biggest day of my life, how will you behave further down the line? I should have left you where I found you, in the gutter in Chernoistochinsk with your whore mother.”

  I heard an angry deep-throated roar and felt a rush of wind as a shadow blasted past me at great speed. I barely had time to turn my head, and there was Marc, his hands around Melchior’s throat, his nails
dangerously embedded in the skin, his own fangs unsheathed and his eyes red and wild.

  “Enough,” he hissed.

  At once, there were vampires with hackles raised all around the room. Melchior’s dark-haired vixens had their claws out, backs rounded like scalded cats, snarling and spitting like an angry fire. Gorkha paced, his breathing heavy, his arms tense by his sides and his hands rolled into fists. I was reminded of the confrontation between Thaddeus and Gorkha, and shivered at the memory of how that had turned out.

  Melchior struggled for a second, then relaxed, gazing up at Marc with amusement. “How the worm turns.” His eyes flashed black with malevolence.

  “Why can’t you behave with a modicum of common decency, Melchior? How difficult can it be?” Marc asked. “Your notion of how vampires behave is hopelessly outdated. This is the twenty-first century. You behave like a playboy and have no social conscience or moral compass.”

  Melchior rolled his eyes. “Save me from your sanctimonious drivel, Marc. You’ve never really fitted in as a vampire, have you? I don’t know what my mother was thinking when she turned you. My father should have finished you off.”

  “Perhaps he should have done. The past few decades watching you torment innocent people and behave like a spoilt brat has completely soured me for a life of eternity, I can assure you.” Marc shook Melchior one last time and opened his mouth as though he would tear the man’s throat out.

  “Marc,” Kat said, reaching for him with tears in her eyes. She lay her hand on his arm. “Please don’t.”

  “Why?” Marc asked, staring at Kat with complete bemusement. “Just give me one good reason.”

  Kat reached out to stroke Marc’s face. “Why stoop as low as him?” she whispered, so quietly, only Melchior, George and I would have heard.

  “If you despise him so, why are you marrying him?” Marc asked, his tone plaintive, his eyes beseeching, as though he would throw his arms around her and whisk her to safety. “Run! Run far away in the opposite direction. You can do so much better.”

  Melchior wriggled in Marc’s more relaxed grip, almost free. “I’ve wanted Kat since I first clapped eyes on her. You know that. We made an agreement. If she marries me, I’ll see to it that her family will be better off and live long, happy and blessed lives.”

  Marc tightened his grip once more, scowling into Melchior’s amused face. “You’ve coerced her to marry you on the grounds that if she doesn’t, you’ll hurt her loved ones, haven’t you? You’ve threatened them. That’s no blessing. Not for Kat or her family. Melchior you never fail to stoop lower and lower. You’re repulsive.”

  Kat reached for Marc’s hands wrapped so tightly around Melchior’s throat, and smoothed his taut knuckles with her soft fingers. “Let him go now. Please,” she urged him.

  Marc groaned like a wounded animal and didn’t immediately release his quarry.

  “Please,” Kat repeated. “You just have to trust me.” The look she gave the tall vampire would have melted glaciers. Marc sighed and slackened his grip. Melchior wiggled free, and instantly reared up into Marc’s face. I gasped, certain it would all kick off properly now and Marc would come out of it worst off. I caught hold of George’s arm, frightened of what I would see and unsure how to stop it.

  “Enough!” Sabien’s stern rebuke as he descended the stairs, brought order to the room. Vampires stood down, smoothing their ruffled feathers.

  Like caged fighters Melchior and Marc stood back from each other, unable to break their gaze. Sabien stepped between them. “Time is rolling on. We have a wedding to attend to. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

  * * *

  “You have the strangest life,” George marvelled, as he pulled on his freshly laundered and dried shirt. Florence had been busy sponging his suit clean, and washing, drying and ironing his shirt. My housekeeper was a marvel. We had both showered and were now getting ready in my own suite of rooms. It felt a little odd to have George here in my private quarters, but all the bedrooms were taken. I tried to keep my eyes firmly averted. “And you have the oddest friends.”

  I made a valiant effort not to look at George while he buttoned his shirt, but my cheeks may have been a little pink. I concentrated instead on trying to tame my tangle of freshly washed hair. If only there was a spell for eliminating frizz, I could set myself up and make my fortune by selling to similarly-afflicted women around the world.

  “These vampires are not really my friends,” I corrected him, while adding copious amounts of product, and combing it through with my fingers, trying to define the shape of the loose spirals. “Well, maybe with the exception of Marc. He seems a good sort. Sabien I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw him.”

  “And Melchior?”

  I thought about it for a second, but I didn’t need long. “He’s a spoilt brat, as Marc said. A waste of space. But incredibly dangerous because of that. You need eyes in the back of your head where he’s concerned. You really don’t want to cross him.”

  “Hasn’t it worried you? Having vampires to stay at the inn? What if they’d been off feeding among the local population?”

  I swivelled on my stool to look at him. “Millicent and I took care of that.” I wondered if there was any of Millicent’s Magick Blackberry Potion left in the kitchen. I ought to dose George up while I was thinking of it.

  George pulled his suit jacket on and inspected it for stains or stray specks of mud. “Florence did a great job.”

  “Of course she did.” Giving up on my hair, I watched him. He spoke about Florence so matter-of-factly, and yet eight weeks ago, he hadn’t even believed in the existence of ghosts. Today it hadn’t even crossed his mind to question whether the vampires were real.

  “How did you feel when Melchior went for you?” I asked, curious as to his emotional state given this latest bunch of challenging creatures.

  “Terrified.” He grimaced. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes… You know, I’m beginning to think witches are pussycats in comparison.”

  I laughed. “Some are, some aren’t.”

  He offered me a hand, and when I took it he pulled me from my stool, and held me close, his eyes smiling down into mine, his lips curled in amusement. “Which are you? Pussycat or lioness?”

  “You’ll have to find out.”

  A knock on the door interrupted us, and I tutted, closing my eyes in resignation. The joy of being constantly on call when you work in hospitality.

  “Alf?” Charity’s voice from the other side. “I need a hand. We have more guests arriving.

  “Coming now,” I called back and pulled away, but George held me by the elbow for a second longer.

  “I am going to find out,” he promised, his voice low, sending shivers from my scalp to my toes.

  I grinned and skipped out of the door to join Charity downstairs. “You’re going to love this,” she said, her eyes wide as I joined her.

  ‘This’ turned out to be a large convoy of guests arriving from the village, led by Millicent. Charity and I joined them out on the circle of drive in front of the inn. I recognised several faces from the meeting earlier in the day. Those that had been angry with me and had demanded the inn be closed.

  “Hi,” I said, slightly alarmed at finding this gathering outside the inn now, and hoping they weren’t going to cause trouble.

  One of the original ringleaders from the meeting stepped up. “Ms Daemonne, on behalf of the residents of Whittlecombe, we wanted to apologise for our behaviour recently. Your family has a longstanding reputation in the village, and Whittle Inn has always been highly thought of. We listened to certain personalities who were rumour-mongering and that was very wrong of us.” He paused, cleared his throat and continued. “We want to show our appreciation to you for bringing some of your guests down to Whittle Folly this evening and for your part in the rescue of the children in the scout hut. We can’t thank you enough and hope you won’t hold our behaviour against us.”

  “Hear, hear,” echoed others
in the group.

  Millicent nodded along with the chorus, looking as pleased as punch.

  The spokesperson continued, “You have many friends in the village, Ms Daemonne, please don’t imagine that’s not the case.”

  I flushed with pleasure and beamed around at everyone. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say such things,” I said. “I hope I’m always able to do my best for the village and play a part in the community’s wellbeing. Now!” I gestured around at the tables, groaning under the weight of Monsieur Emietter’s bounteous buffet. “Please make yourself at home. Eat, drink and make merry. We’ve a wedding at midnight!”

  At five minutes to midnight, with the full Hunter’s moon high in the sky above Speckled Wood, and the fairy lights glittering all around us, guests from Whittlecombe village, vampires, ghosts, witches and all, took their places together in order to await Whittle Inn’s first wedding.

  Melchior dressed in top hat and tails, and flanked by Gorkha and Sabien, waited at the arbour with the celebrant Sabien had organised to officiate the vows. As a last-minute change of plan, Kat had asked George to step in and walk her down the aisle, because Marc, who had previously agreed to do so, now flatly refused to do so.

  I stood in my place at the front, watching for Kat to arrive at the inn’s door, so that I could give the Devonshire Fellows the nod. At last I spotted her, so I nodded at the musicians. Robert Wait leapt straight in and the other fellows followed suit with a romantic wedding song, sweet and lilting. As one, the congregation turned to observe Kat and a communal gasp was released into the night air.