Vengeful Vampire at Wonky Inn: Wonky Inn Book 8

by Jeannie Wycherley

  “What job?” I snapped, feeling infinitely annoyed.

  Silvan reached out to take my hand, but I quickly pulled it away. “It doesn’t matter ‘what job’,” he said. “I’m a witch-for-hire. I go where I’m needed. To the person who pays me the most.”

  He couldn’t go. I didn’t want him to.

  “I’ll pay you. What will it cost me?”

  Silvan’s eyes met mine and he smiled, a gentle knowing smile that hurt my heart. “I’ll never take money from you, Alfhild.”

  I glowered at him. “You did once.”

  “Well that was before I knew you. And now that I do know you, everything is different.”

  “Is it?” How is it different? I wanted to ask.

  “It is,” Silvan repeated firmly. “Look. I will go and attend to the business calling me to Tumble Town and then I’ll come back as soon as I can. I promise.”

  “How long will that be?” I asked, and I heard the note of fear in my voice, the tremor in my tone. How ridiculous. I was a grown woman; a powerful witch. I didn’t need a man, any man, let alone this abominable rogue.

  Silvan laughed. I swear blind that the dirty rat could read my mind at times. “It will take as long as it takes, you know that.”

  Of course it would. I had to admit defeat. Silvan was going back to Tumble Town and I might not see him for months. Gwyn would disappear. I could only hope that Wizard Shadowmender would get to the bottom of the threat against Whittle Inn very quickly,

  I spun on my heel and marched back into the inn.

  “Alf? Don’t be like that,” Silvan called after me. “Where are you going? Alf?”

  “I’m going to the kitchen,” I shouted over my shoulder. “I suppose you’ll be wanting a packed lunch too.”

  He left an hour later. We called a taxi specially to take him to an Exeter train station.

  “You could have just gone on the coach with everyone else,” I grumped at him as we hovered by the open passenger door. He didn’t have much in the way of luggage. He’d arrived here with his friend Marissa for a weekend and stayed on a little while longer.

  “I could have done,” Silvan said. “But then I’d have had to share a goodbye with everyone else.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to give you a send-off that’s any different to anyone else’s?” I asked. He leaned in towards me, his dark, dark eyes burning through mine; into my very soul. My stomach turned cartwheels at our proximity. He smelled of toothpaste and shampoo, mixed with something a little musky. Not unpleasant. For a fraction of a second, I wanted to fall into his embrace. Then I remembered who I was dealing with. A woman in every town. A port in every storm. I backed away. “You’re not going to kiss me, are you?”

  “Would that be so terrible?” His voice purred with desire.

  “Yes,” I said and moved to push him away. He caught my hands easily, folded them together and brought them to his mouth. He chuckled at the sight of my face, kissed each of my thumbs in turn and winked before dropping my hands and straightening up.

  “Very well,” he said. “As you wish.” He placed one hand on the roof of the car and almost climbed in but stopped and turned back to me once more. “Alf?” He hesitated. “Perhaps you should ask George to come and stay here. Until I can get back.”

  I screwed my face up, wondering what particular variety of mushrooms Silvan had eaten for his breakfast. “George?” Inviting my detective ex to stay at the inn was not a good idea. “I can’t do that. What about Stacey?”

  Stacey. Ugh. I could barely say her name without wanting to cause serious damage to someone or something. George and I had enjoyed a good thing until she poked her pretty little snub nose into our affairs.

  “Well invite her over too. Maybe some old sugar-daddy of a vampire will find her… appetising?” Silvan winked and climbed into his seat.

  As he pulled the door closed and wound the window down I came closer to stand alongside him. I bent down and smiled. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  He reached through the window and stroked my cheek with a warm hand. I didn’t complain. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay safe until then, Alfie.”

  I wanted his hand to stay there forever, keeping me safe. “You too,” I replied and stepped back towards the inn as the car ambled away, spitting chips of granite as it went.

  I watched him disappear from my view, and suddenly my heart felt hollow.

  What a frightfully annoying being he was.

  “Only me!” Millicent’s voice echoed around the empty bar. “Anyone home?”

  I trotted in from the kitchen where I’d been searching for a cheese grater and looked at my friend in surprise. In her sixties, and a proud member of the Whittlecombe WI, Millicent was the unlikeliest of witches. Today she was wearing a pair of red tartan trousers with a yellow blouse and a completely clashing fuchsia pink scarf. She looked like some kind of demented Rupert the Bear tribute act. I’d lost count of the amount of times I’d started our conversations with, “Just what are you wearing?”

  Fortunately she never took umbrage and I loved her like a second mother.

  “What are you doing here?” I rushed over to give her a hug.

  “Charity popped her head in on her way home to her mother’s and told me you’d banished her.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I began to protest.

  “Well I knew you couldn’t have possibly wanted to be here all alone. I mean, that would be ridiculous. So we decided to come and wait with you?”

  “We?” I assumed she meant the dogs, Jasper the lurcher and Sunny the Yorkie. I could hear barking out on the lawn. Zephaniah would not be pleased if they were busy fertilising his hard work.

  “Yoo hoo!” Charity burst in behind Millicent while the dogs yapped, wagging and dancing and generally doing what excited dogs do, as they chased into the bar.

  “Charity!” I scolded her.

  “Ah-ah!” She wagged her finger at me. “Don’t give me any lip. See, I’m in civvies.” She had changed into calf-length jeans, a casual t-shirt and trainers, and had bound her hair up in a handkerchief, with just her shocking blonde quiff poking out. She looked like a 1950s rockabilly chick.

  “You shouldn’t—”

  “Work Alf instructed Work Charity to leave the inn for her own safety. But Friend Charity and Friend Millicent think Lonely Friend Alf needs company. So here we are. You can’t turn your well-meaning friends away.”

  I was outnumbered. “Alright, alright. I know when I’m beaten.” I tutted in exasperation and gestured towards the kitchen. “I was just making cheese on toast. Does anyone want some?”

  Millicent looked at me in distaste. “Cheese on toast? For dinner? Where’s Monsieur Emietter?”

  “I gave him some time off.” I’d thought it a waste of his talent simply to cater for me and Finbarr.

  “And where’s Florence?” Charity asked.

  I pointed at the ceiling. Florence would be in the attic. “Writing her book.”

  “Her book?” Millicent asked. Charity evidently hadn’t filled Millicent in on all the details.

  “Our Florence may be in line for a publishing deal with one of the big London publishers,” I explained. “So I’m afraid I’m cooking dinner, and erm… cheese on toast is my speciality.”

  Millicent shook her head. “Looks like I’m taking over in the kitchen then. Good job I brought supplies with me!”

  Millicent’s supplies were an absolute goddess-send. She’d had the foresight to bring a basket full of late-ripening tomatoes from her greenhouse along with some onions. Now she quickly set a tomato, onion and basil soup to simmer on the stove while I crushed some garlic to mix with cheese and butter to make cheesy-garlic bread. Who knew I had such culinary skills?

  “No word from Wizard Shadowmender yet?” Charity was sitting at the kitchen table watching Millicent and I work.

  “Nope. Not yet.” I wrapped my garlic bread in foil and stood it on a baking tray, before checking to see whether th
e oven was actually on. My prowess in the kitchen often didn’t get much further than being thwarted by the on/off switch.

  “No news is good news, right?” Charity asked.

  “I suppose so.” I glanced from her to Millicent. “Why is it taking so long to get back to me, though?”

  Millicent stirred the soup. “You’re thinking they’re struggling to find anything out?”

  I nodded. “I know Penelope and her technical wizards. They can discover anything about anybody and they’re usually pretty fast. If they can’t see what the vampires in Sabien’s nest are up to, or where they are, then that can’t really be a good thing, can it?”

  “You’re assuming that the danger stems from Sabien, then?” Millicent blew on her wooden spoon and brought the mixture to her lips to taste it.

  “Of course. You remember him. He was a total—”

  “His son was worse.” Charity shuddered.

  “Melchior? Yes he was.”

  “It seems a huge assumption to me, Alf. Why would Sabien warn you?” Millicent asked. “If he intended to do you harm, surely he’d have just got on with it.”

  I shrugged. I had no idea, but she had a point.

  Charity screwed up her face, thinking hard, while Millicent and I lapsed into silence as we worked on dinner. Suddenly she slammed her hand down on the table, scaring Sunny who had been sleeping underneath it. “Hey! Perhaps it’s Melchior who’s actually behind it, but Sabien caught wind of what he was up to and decided to warn you?”

  I supposed that was feasible. “Maybe. They were as thick as thieves. That’s all I know.” I threw the baking tray into the oven and slammed the door with more force than it warranted. Simply the thought of Melchior and Sabien ruffled my feathers.

  “Here.” Millicent poked around in the big jute bag she had brought with her. “This will cheer you up.” She hooked out a pair of clear wine bottles, full of pink liquid.

  “Oooh Mills!” Charity cooed. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “My own home-brewed rhubarb wine. Yes indeed.” Millicent looked very pleased with herself.

  I eyed the wine with suspicion. “Bad-heads-are-us in the morning then.”

  “Oh don’t be such a misery, Alf.” Charity elbowed me in the ribs. “It may have escaped your notice, but we don’t have to get up tomorrow. We haven’t any guests to see to.”

  This thought cheered me immensely. “In that case, let’s go through to the bar and set a table. Party time!”

  When you get to a certain age, hangovers become more difficult to shake off. I’d worked in hospitality my entire adult life, so I had grown used to a drink or two. Recently though, I’d begun to feel that I’d rather stay sober than fight through the challenges a day at the inn tended to throw up. The memory of my most recent overindulgence whilst enjoying the company of Silvan and Stacey and George all at the same time—and let’s face it, wouldn’t you have overindulged as well?—had left a sour taste in my mouth in more ways than one. As a result, I eased my foot off the gas pedal and just had two small glasses of Millicent’s medicinal wine and left Millicent and Charity to drink the lion’s share.

  We supped our fill of soup, nibbling at my garlic bread, and sat in the bar until nearly midnight. Many of the inn’s ghosts came to join us, and in the soporific aftermath of our delicious supper, I found myself oddly moved to watch them as they interacted with the bar just as they would have done while alive. The Devonshire Fellows played some quiet music while Gwyn held court at the bar. Zephaniah and Ned leaned against it chatting quietly with others who had also come before and were now gone from this plane.

  Charity, Millicent and I picked up on the quiet, thoughtful mood and found ourselves reminiscing with great fondness about previous guests and people we knew in the village. Between the pair of them, they lifted my spirits no end.

  I waved them away with some regret. They could have stayed over but Millicent wanted to get back because of the dogs. I’d offered to call them a taxi, but really the village wasn’t far, and the air would help restore some sobriety in theory. I sent Ned with them and of course Jasper and Sunny were perfectly able companions—mainly because they hadn’t been on the sauce, unlike the rest of us.

  Going up to bed in a mostly empty inn felt peculiar. Normally I would be able to sense the buzz of several dozen other beings, as they went about their lives. Many of my guests would stay up all night, playing cards, working magick, drinking in the bar or enjoying programmes on Witchflix. Others, like me, preferred the daytime. They’d be in their pyjamas and snoring by the time I was ready to hit the sack.

  But this evening there was nothing. No sound and no movement. Just a quiet inn. Even my ghosts had drifted away. I climbed the stairs, the only noise the creak of the floorboards beneath my own feet.

  I paused at my bedroom door, cocking my head to listen; basking in the silence. With a smile I pushed gently against the door, walked into my room…

  … and frowned.

  Mr Hoo perched on the edge my iron bedstead, busily chittering to Gwyn.

  “I think you might be right,” she was saying to him. “But you know what my great-granddaughter is like.”

  “Erm, hello?” I made myself known to the conniving pair by pushing the door open wide and allowing it to clatter against the wall.

  “Oh hello, dear. Your friends have decided to head home, have they?”

  “Yes.” I frowned at Gwyn’s attempt to distract me from the conversation. “What are you two discussing?”

  “You can still hear them walking down the lane.” Gwyn blithely ignored my question.

  I mooched over to where she floated by the open window. You could hear singing coming from somewhere, but I couldn’t have sworn the voices were those of Millicent and Charity.

  Or even that they were female.

  “That might be the Devonshire Fellows,” I said.

  “Have you banished them to Speckled Wood again?” Gwyn asked.

  “Hooo-ooo. Hooo-ooo.”

  “Stop ganging up on me you two.” I went to draw the curtains, which I rarely did because it hindered Mr Hoo’s free passage in and out of the inn, but Gwyn stopped me.

  “There they are again.” Something in her quiet voice alerted me to a perceived danger. I leaned closer to the glass to try and follow where she was looking. At first I couldn’t see anything in the dark sky, but eventually, when my eyesight adjusted to the moonlight, I saw exactly what she was seeing. Tiny black shapes flitting awkwardly around the grounds.

  “Bats.” I wanted to shrug it off as I had before, but now that my senses were on high alert I found I couldn’t do it so easily.

  The thing is, bats aren’t unusual, especially in the country and in large old houses with dodgy thatched roofs. We might even have had a few before. Perhaps I’d never noticed.

  But then again, didn’t it stand to reason that if I’d never noticed them, maybe we hadn’t actually had any in residence in the eighteen months I’d been the owner of the inn?

  “What should we do?” I asked my great-grandmother.

  Without a second’s hesitation she apparated away, disappearing entirely from the room. “Grandmama?” I called, hoping she hadn’t disappeared for the foreseeable future as I’d already predicted, leaving me alone with my potential vampire problem.

  “Hooo-oooo. Hoo hoo-oooooh.”

  “What do you mean she’s helping?” I asked my little owl buddy in frustration. “How is scooting off and leaving us here helping me?”

  “Hooo. Hooooo.” Mr Hoo fluttered his enormous wings and leapt gracefully to settle beside me at the window. He leaned over the edge and I reached out automatically, as though to prevent him plunging down. Soft, wispy light at ground level caught my eye.

  Gwyn.

  She strolled along the edge of the drive almost casually, peering up into the sky, her wand pulled out but held loosely in her hand.

  “What is she doing?” I asked, more to myself than Mr Hoo.

  “
Hooo-oooo,” he replied. Minding ‘our’ business, he said. I pulled a face, but he was right. I couldn’t just leave our business to my long-deceased great-grandmother.

  I followed Gwyn out into the garden, but I had to go the long way, down the stairs, along the back passage, through the inn and out of the front door. By the time I’d arrived on the front drive, Gwyn had disappeared around the side of the inn to where I kept Jed’s van parked up.

  I found her standing about twenty yards back from the inn, staring up at one of the turrets.

  “The little blighters are trying to get in up there. Do you see?”

  Tiny black shapes flitted backwards and forwards, battering their wings against an area of the roof I couldn’t quite see in the darkness.

  “How do we know they’re not getting inside?” I asked. “They may have a nest in there already.”

  “Alfhild, credit me with some sixth sense. I’d know and so would Finbarr. He may seem obsessed with the perimeters of Speckled Wood, but he’s much more security minded than you realise.”

  This was true. Ever since the episode where The Mori had found their way into the inn through a deep well in the beer cellar, we’d been more than fastidious about security at the inn. Finbarr was a huge part of keeping us safe, helped in large part by Mr Kephisto, a wizard who ran a bookshop in the neighbouring town of Abbotts Cromleigh. Mr Kephisto had created the original forcefield around the boundaries of the inn and my land and had gone on to become a useful ally and a wise and knowledgeable consultant.

  “Then they’re not getting in.” I folded my arms and glared at the turret as though my own indignation would keep the inn and its inhabitants safe.

  “Really, Alfhild? Your naivety scares me at times.” Gwyn sniffed. “Hasn’t Silvan drilled it out of you yet?”

  I looked askance at my great-grandmother, but she merely raised her officious eyebrows without making further comment. It constantly surprised me how much she seemed to approve of Silvan as a person. As a dark witch, with numerous shady practises and pastimes, and dubious ways of making a living, I would have thought she’d despise him. But they rubbed along together very well.