by H. Y. Hanna
Caitlyn looked at him uncertainly, wondering if cryptozoologists were sympathetic to witches too. After all, if you believed in the existence of sea serpents and unicorns, surely witchcraft was only a step away? But after her experience in the village green earlier that day, she wasn’t sure she wanted to risk another scene of fear and revulsion.
“Er… yes, she’s my grandmother,” she said. “I’m staying with her at the moment. The front of the cottage serves as a chocolate shop.”
“I must come by some time. Those chocolates we had after dinner were delicious!” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “And if they are enchanted, well, I hope some of that magic rubs off on me and helps me on my next expedition.”
Caitlyn chuckled. She found herself liking the eccentric old academic. Especially after the hostility she had faced today, it was a relief to meet someone who didn’t freak out at the mention of the supernatural. Once again, she was tempted to confide in him—then she stopped herself. He could’ve just been joking—people made jokes about magic all the time. After all, it was easy to laugh about things that you didn’t believe were real.
“It’s late—we should get back to bed,” said Professor Thrope. He put a solicitous hand under her elbow. “Shall I escort you back to your cottage?”
“Oh no, it’s straight down the hill here… I’ll be fine. Honestly, it’s silly for you to come down all the way—you’d have to climb back up again. You can watch me, if you’re really worried, but I’ve often come out by myself at night.”
“Very well, my dear. I will just stand here and—” He paused, his eyes going to her throat.
“Is something the matter?”
“Forgive me but… that stone around your neck—where did you get it?”
“Um… it was given to me as a baby,” said Caitlyn, reaching up self-consciously to touch the runestone.
“Ah… and do you know if those engraved marks mean anything?”
“No… I mean, I don’t know… Why?”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Oh, it is probably nothing. Just an old man’s overactive imagination—”
“No, please, tell me!” said Caitlyn, putting a hand on his arm.
He looked surprised at her urgent tone. “Well, Lord Fitzroy kindly let me view his father’s occult collection in the Fitzroy Portrait Gallery this morning. There are the usual gory artefacts, of course—the Hand of Glory and dried cats and such—but there are also some fabulous old texts in the bookshelves. Really, I was beside myself with excitement when I saw them! It will take me days to go through them all—I think I shall have to make a special trip back—but there could be first-hand accounts of cryptid sightings, dating all the way back to mediaeval times!” He waved his hands, his spectacles beginning to fog up in his excitement. “Just imagine, descriptions of mermaids and kelpies and maybe even a sea serpent—”
“Yes, but what does all this have to do with my runestone?” asked Caitlyn impatiently.
“Eh? Oh… oh, yes, your runestone… well, when I pulled out one of the volumes, I noticed something jammed at the back of the shelf, behind all the books. It was a roll of parchment. I’m no expert and you’d have to get it tested, of course, but it did look very old … although in remarkably good condition. And there was writing on the parchment. Actually, I’m not sure if it was writing, as I couldn’t read it—and it didn’t look like any language I know—but the way those symbols were arranged, I was sure they carried a certain meaning…” He indicated Caitlyn’s runestone again. “When I saw those marks in your stone, they reminded me of the symbols on that parchment. They’re very similar.”
“Is the parchment still there?” asked Caitlyn breathlessly.
“Oh yes. I wasn’t sure quite what to do with it—Lord Fitzroy wasn’t around to ask, and I felt uncomfortable leaving it lying around—so I thought the safest thing was to put it back. It had obviously been tucked back there, unfound, for years—maybe even decades. The shelf is the topmost one in the bookcase by that painting of the Four Horsemen; you need to use the stepladder to reach it, so I suppose most people wouldn’t have bothered to go up there. Only the more obscure books were placed up there—I would have never found it myself if I hadn’t climbed up to reach the volume on sea serpents. The Legend and Lore of Sea Serpents, it was called. Marvellous book! If you have time, you must read it. Chapter twelve, in particular, is most enlightening. Well, the hypothesis that sea serpents could have several stomachs, like a ruminant, is probably a bit far-fetched, but I think the ideas put forth about cryptid digestion are very thought-provoking and bear further discussion—” He broke off and gave a rueful laugh. “Forgive me, my dear. I’m sure you don’t want to stand here in the middle of the night, listening to me prattle on.”
“Oh, no—it’s very interesting. But yes, maybe we could continue another time,” Caitlyn agreed with a smile.
Bidding him goodnight, she started making her way back down the hill towards the Widow Mags’s cottage. And in spite of her earlier words, she had to admit that there was something reassuring about being watched over as she walked home.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Caitlyn woke up early the next morning, and her first thought was of the events of the night before. Now in the bright light of day, she couldn’t quite believe that she had been standing on the hill, playing Fetch with a phantom dog… Seriously, the Black Shuck? The demon hound who was an omen of death? Maybe she’d tripped and fallen when she arrived at the top of the hill and smacked her head against one of the boulders… and dreamt the entire episode.
But she hadn’t dreamt about meeting Professor Thrope—she could still clearly remember everything he had said. She thought of the parchment he had mentioned. Could there really be a connection to her runestone? There was only one way to find out. She had to get to the Manor library and compare the marks on her runestone with the symbols on the parchment.
Springing out of bed, Caitlyn washed and dressed hastily, then—with a hurried “good morning” to the Widow Mags, who was busy making chocolate truffles at the kitchen table—she rushed out the back of the cottage and headed up the hill again. This time, she barely paused when she reached the top, and spared the stone circle only a passing glance, before she plunged down the other side, towards the elegant Georgian manor house in the distance. Ten minutes later, she was greeting Mosley as he let her into the front foyer.
“Lord Fitzroy is currently engaged,” said Mosley. “He is in a meeting with Inspector Walsh and Sir Henry’s widow.”
“Oh, is she still here?” said Caitlyn in surprise.
“Lady Pritchard was very distressed by the news of her husband’s death—she felt too unwell to leave her bed yesterday and Lord Fitzroy has made her welcome to stay as long as she wishes. She seems better this morning, however, and Inspector Walsh was keen to speak to her, as he has not had a chance yet to interview her properly.” Mosley flicked his wrist, shooting back the cuff of an immaculate sleeve and glancing at his watch, then said apologetically: “I’m afraid they have only just gone into the Library and may still be some time.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’m not actually here to see James—I mean, Lord Fitzroy,” said Caitlyn.
Mosley gave a discreet cough. “I believe your cousin Miss Sinclair is still in bed.”
Caitlyn grinned. “I could have guessed that. Don’t worry, I wasn’t looking for her either. No, actually, I was hoping to have a look in the Portrait Gallery, if that’s okay—?”
“Certainly. Lord Fitzroy has made it clear that you are welcome in all areas of the Manor, any time you like.”
His tone hadn’t changed and his expression remained inscrutable, but Caitlyn couldn’t help her cheeks reddening slightly.
“Would you like me to show you to the Gallery, Miss Le Fey?”
“Oh no, that’s fine…I know the way.”
Caitlyn made her way through the formal rooms of the ground floor, heading for the back stairs. The staff were going about, dus
ting and polishing, checking flower arrangements and re-positioning furniture, in preparation for the official public opening at 10 a.m. Like many country houses and stately homes in the UK, Huntingdon Manor was too large and grand to be used strictly as a private residence in modern times, and so several sections had been opened to the public for guided tours and visits. In fact, in the short time since it had opened, it had become a hugely popular tourist attraction in this part of the Cotswolds, and there were even plans now to convert the old coach house into a restaurant.
These were some of the many projects and ideas that James had instigated since he inherited the title, and Caitlyn knew that while several of the older staff and village residents had resented the changes, most had come to appreciate the new opportunities and injection of life into the estate. In fact, James seemed to have won over everyone in the village and surrounding lands. From his lack of airs and graces, and willingness to “muck in” and help his tenant farmers, to his generosity and thoughtfulness as a landlord, everyone loved him. And the women are probably all in love with him too, Caitlyn thought with a wry smile. Then her smile faded as she thought of the scene in the village green yesterday, and she wondered if James would continue to hold the villagers’ respect and affection if he kept defending her and the Widow Mags.
The sound of voices broke into her thoughts. She was approaching the back stairs and she noticed two men standing beside the alcove which held one of the downstairs public toilets. Her eyes widened as she recognised Nathan Lewis… and the scrawny old man beside him. It was Viktor! The journalist had a hand clamped around the old vampire’s arm and was eyeing him suspiciously.
“…not until you tell me what you’re doing here, old chap, skulking around the Manor like this. Who are you?”
Viktor drew himself proudly to his full height. “I am Count Viktor Konstantin Alexandru Benedikto Dracul, of the Megachiroptera Order, Ancient Guardian of the Other Realms and one of the last natural-born vampires.”
Nathan blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Viktor made a tetchy sound. “Are you hard of hearing, young man? I said I am Count Viktor Konstantin Alex—”
“I heard you the first time,” said Nathan hastily. “I just didn’t… Ah!” Something dawned on his face. “Have you strayed away from your group?” He loosened his grip on Viktor’s arm and looked at the old vampire more kindly. “If you tell me which nursing home you’re at, I can ask Mosley to find your group for you. I thought James said the public weren’t allowed in until ten o’clock… but I suppose they make an exception for geriatric visitors—”
“Geriatric? Nursing home?” spluttered Viktor. “How dare you! I may be in my seventh century but I am certainly not in my dotage yet! Vampires have been known to live for millennia—especially those, like me, who follow a fruitarian diet. Of course, if you are one of those sanguinivores from the Vampyrus order…” He made a face and shook his head, clucking his tongue. “They hardly live more than a few hundred years. Too much blood in the diet, you know—all that sodium.”
“Er… right.” Nathan looked slightly befuddled. “Well… I’ll walk you back to the front of the house, shall I?” He started trying to steer Viktor up the corridor.
“Oh no, I cannot go yet—I have to find my teeth.”
“Your teeth?”
“Well, technically they are fangs—the upper canines, to be precise. I think I might have dropped them somewhere here…” Viktor bent over and scanned the floor, teetering slightly.
Nathan caught him before he fell over. “Whoah! Okay, look… I really think we need to get you back to your group. Have you got a walker?”
Viktor bristled. “A walker? Why would I need a walker? I find your manners most insulting, young man.”
“I just didn’t want you to fall and break a hip.”
“I have the most superior sense of balance,” said Viktor loftily. “It is an extension of my bat form. And in any case, even if I were to break a hip, it would not matter—my vampiric regenerative abilities would heal it within a few days.”
“Yes, but you’re not really a vampire,” said Nathan impatiently. “They’re fictitious creatures and their abilities are just imaginary traits made up by storytellers.”
“They are certainly not imaginary traits!” cried Viktor, affronted. “I grant you, many of the claims made in human books and films are a load of garlic—nonsense like having no reflection in the mirror and turning to ash in the sunlight—but there is no question that we vampires have supernatural abilities. For example, we are gifted with heightened sensory perception…” Viktor leaned towards the journalist. “Aha! I can hear the blood rushing in your veins.”
“Er… actually, that’s the toilet flushing,” Nathan said as they all heard a whooshing sound.
“Hmph! I have had quite enough of your rudeness, young man!” huffed Viktor, spinning away and disappearing in a puff of mist just as a maid stepped out of the toilets carrying a bucket of cleaning equipment.
She looked at Nathan apologetically and said: “Oh, were you wanting to use the lavatory, sir? I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”
“No, no, although my old friend here might—” Nathan turned to where Viktor had been standing and looked in astonishment at the empty space. He looked quizzically around, pausing as he saw Caitlyn farther up the corridor.
“Did you see where he went?” he called out to her.
“Er… where did who go?” said Caitlyn, walking over to join him.
“This decrepit old chap—nutty as a fruitcake, thought he was a vampire, can you believe it?” Nathan chuckled. “But I have to admit, I kind of took to the old boy. He was a great character. He seemed very frail too—I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”
“I think I saw him heading back towards the front of the house,” Caitlyn lied. “Don’t worry—I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Really? He must move faster than I thought. Well, I hope he gets back to his group okay.” Nathan waited until the maid had disappeared around the corner, then leaned close to Caitlyn and said, “I’m glad to have bumped into you, actually—I was coming to find you today.”
“Me? Why?”
“I wanted to hear what you didn’t tell the inspector yesterday.”
“What do you mean?”
“When he asked if you heard anything or noticed anything unusual, when you were on Dead Man’s Walk, you started to say you saw something—then you brushed it off and said it was just your imagination.” He looked at her shrewdly. “But it wasn’t, was it? You did see something. What did you see?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Caitlyn hesitated. “I… I thought I saw a pair of red eyes.”
Nathan raised his eyebrows. “The Black Shuck?”
“I… yes, I think so.”
Caitlyn waited for the contemptuous look and the disbelieving laugh, but to her surprise, it didn’t come. Instead, Nathan said seriously:
“And you think the Black Shuck could have been responsible for Sir Henry’s death?”
Caitlyn stared at him. “Don’t tell me you believe in the legend?”
Nathan shrugged. “Anything is possible.”
“But… but I thought you didn’t believe in the paranormal. Just now when you were talking about Vi—I mean, when you were laughing at that old man thinking that he was a vampire—”
“Yes, well, that was clearly a case of senile delusion,” said Nathan, chuckling. “I mean, it’s obvious that old fellow isn’t a vampire.”
Little do you know, thought Caitlyn with an inward smile.
“But this is completely different,” Nathan continued. “Mind you, I’m not saying that some supernatural hound from folklore is roaming the countryside; that would be ridiculous. But I do think it’s possible that a wild beast was responsible for Sir Henry’s death. Not a ‘demon dog’ but a wolf or panther or some other large predator that’s escaped from a private zoo collection. It would explain the other death too—the tram
p.”
“But… if that’s the case, wouldn’t they have mauled their victims more? From what I’ve heard, both Sir Henry and the tramp hardly showed any signs of injury, other than a few scratches and bruises—surely if you’d been attacked by a wolf or a panther, you would have been ripped to shreds?”
Nathan shrugged. “Maybe the animal got interrupted and scared off before it could do serious damage. Anyway, the point is, these men didn’t just drop dead from a heart attack or other natural causes, no matter what Inspector Walsh says. There are too many strange coincidences. I have a journalist’s instinct for these things and I’m telling you, something isn’t normal here.” He leaned towards her. “I did some digging around yesterday afternoon—spoke to several people in the village, asked lots of questions… there were several things, you know, that Walsh didn’t mention.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for one thing, there were paw prints found in the mud around the bodies of both men. Huge paw prints.”
“Couldn’t they have been from a local dog? A mastiff or Great Dane, perhaps, or some other giant breed?” asked Caitlyn. “Have you seen James’s English mastiff, Bran? He’s enormous!”
“Yes, I’ve met Bran, and as big as his paws are, they’re no match for these prints. The villagers described them as literally as big as dinner plates.”
“Maybe they were exaggerating.”
“Maybe. But they weren’t exaggerating the fact that the paw prints were there. Too many people saw them. And there was another thing: both men showed signs of having been dragged.”
“Dragged?”
Nathan nodded. “Yes, as if something had grabbed them with its teeth and dragged them through the undergrowth. That would fit in with those strange bruises that James mentioned—the ones on Sir Henry’s arm.” He gave a mock shiver and said, grinning, “Conjures up a pretty gruesome image, doesn’t it? Either it’s a savage wolf or panther on the loose, or a huge demon hound attacking its victims and trying to drag them away.”