Vengeful Vampire at Wonky Inn: Wonky Inn Book 8

by Jeannie Wycherley

  From my position I could clearly make out the threads of tiny veins that lay just below her skin. She might have been aged anywhere from 18 to 108, it was difficult to tell. When the light from the flames shifted and the shadows changed she appeared strangely and uncannily ancient, but when the light was soft and cast her in shadow, she looked breathtakingly beautiful.

  Her hair was the colour of burnished gold and quite took my breath away. My hand hovered in the air above her and I had to fight a compulsion to stroke that fine silk-like mane.

  “I wouldn’t, Madam.” Archibald’s soft voice reminded me where I was. “Tis usually best not to disturb them. They are so bad-tempered if they don’t get enough sleep.”

  “I know the feeling,” I whispered.

  “No need to whisper, Madam. They can’t hear us, or indeed anything, till twilight.”

  “But if I touch them, they’ll feel it?”

  “I wouldn’t want to take the chance, Madam,” Archibald replied.

  I nodded and backtracked from the room, frightened of waking the sleeping terror, and closed the door softly behind myself.

  “Is there a vampire behind every locked door?” I asked Archibald in my hushed tone.

  “Yes. Several in some cases. They’re very…,” he pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, “…sociable.”

  “How many are we talking about?”

  “Occupants?” The colonel gave this some thought. “I would say under normal circumstances approximately three dozen.”

  “So many?” I shuddered.

  “Under normal circumstances. At the moment I might suggest you could triple that number?”

  I almost shrieked at the thought. “Triple? Over a hundred here? Right now?”

  “At least.” The colonel remained calm in the face of my absolute horror. “It wouldn’t be unheard of for there to be double that.”

  Could he really be suggesting that there were between one hundred and two hundred vampires currently inhabiting the castle? That seemed a phenomenal amount. I’d heard of nests containing a dozen or more, but what we had here amounted to the largest gathering known in recent times. There had to be something afoot.

  And I was here alone with the exception of Ambassador Rubenscarfe. Could the situation get any worse?

  “Where are they all?” I looked around as though I’d be able to see them in their hiding places, through the walls, the floors and the ceilings.

  “There’s a very big basement in this castle. It’s damp. It’s cold, it’s full of the kind of earth they love to sleep in. They revel in it down there.”

  That sounded grim. “You said under normal circumstances?” I repeated. “What’s so different now?”

  Archibald smiled at me as though I were a simple creature. “What’s so different? I would think that’s obvious, Madam. You’re here and they’ve been waiting for you.”

  I explored as much of the castle as I dared. I didn’t venture into the kitchen as that seemed to be where the mortals were hanging out, and I didn’t climb down to the basement as the only entry point for that appeared to be through the kitchen.

  I hid under a table on the first balcony, and from a distance examined the massive double front doors. A shadow guard had been positioned here. It wouldn’t take much to either distract him or use a spell that would knock him out, but for now it wasn’t worth the risk. I couldn’t be sure how many others would come running. As for the doors themselves. I couldn’t tell from my hiding place for sure, but the locks looked fairly straightforward.

  I found this of interest. There was evidence of magick in the castle, but not in some of the areas I might have expected it, such as security. I made a mental note of that. It might be useful intelligence I could use later.

  The colonel cleared his throat and I looked his way. He pointed at the nearest window and I understood immediately what he was getting at. The light was failing. Twilight was upon us.

  Soon the vampires would be awake.

  Nodding at Archibald, I backed away from the balcony and quietly climbed the next flight of stairs, retracing my path along the second-floor corridor to the spiral stone staircase back to the correct floor.

  As I reached my room and gently pushed open the door, the torches that lined the corridor and the stairwells suddenly began to blaze.

  I quietly closed my door, waved my wand over the locks, listening for the tell-tale rumble of the tumblers. Then I ran across the room and threw myself on my bed.

  Which is exactly where I was a few minutes later when Nadia came calling.

  I changed in the bathroom away from the watchful eyes of Nadia Cozma and Archibald—although for his part the ghost had chosen to disappear when the vampire arrived at my door. Nadia was dressed soberly, in a dark suit and a pristine white blouse, and she had looked me up and down with a measure of disdain.

  “Did you bring an evening gown with you?” she asked, and I stared at her dumbfounded.

  “I’m here on a diplomatic mission,” I said. “I didn’t come all this way to go to a ball.”

  “It’s no matter,” she said in her clipped accent. She threw open the wardrobe door and took out a long satin dress in the most gorgeous midnight blue.

  “I’m not wearing that.” I folded my arms in defiance.

  “You can’t meet the Prince in what you are wearing,” Nadia argued. “He won’t grant you a viewing.”

  ‘A viewing’ made it sound as though I was about to line up at the Louvre Museum to take a look at the Mona Lisa.

  “You must hurry,” Nadia insisted. “The Ambassador is waiting for you.”

  I glared at her as she handed me the dress. “It probably won’t fit,” I grumbled and made for the bathroom.

  “Just put it on here,” Nadia said.

  “Are you kidding?” I nodded my head brusquely at the shadow guard standing in the doorway. “I’ll be two minutes.”

  Before she could argue I’d dashed into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. There was no lock, but I brandished my wand. “Clauditis.” That took care of that.

  As is the way of these things the dress actually fit me like a glove. I’d never worn a proper ballgown before, so I almost felt like a princess from a fairy tale. The bodice, snug around my chest and stomach, tightened over the hips, then flared out with yards of skirt. I twisted this way and that making the skirts swish.

  The only thing letting me down was my hair. Without a shower I hadn’t been able to tame it this morning, and it looked slightly—understatement of the year—flyaway.

  “Pulchra imperdiet,” I tried and lo! My hair twisted over and up into a beautiful plaited crown. I only needed a tiara and I would have passed for nobility.

  “Wow.” I marvelled at my appearance, until I heard Nadia at the door.

  “Is everything alright? We must attend the Prince. We cannot keep him waiting.”

  I tried to thrust my wand into my pocket, its habitual hiding place, quickly realising I had a problem. The dress didn’t have any; they would have ruined the line. Where could I store it?

  With Nadia banging on the door I had to think quickly. I plunged the wand into my cleavage and pushed it down out of sight. I’d have to be careful not to bend over too far or it would snap.

  Nadia nodded appreciatively when I let myself out of the bathroom. “Splendid,” she muttered, “and now we must hurry.”

  I followed her as she rushed down the spiral staircase, amazed that she could move so quickly on those impossible heels she was wearing. Click, click, click went her shoes as I struggled to keep up in my much flatter leather lace-up boots.

  We raced along the corridor on the second floor and then down the slightly-less-grand staircase. Once we were on the first floor we slowed down. Nadia rolled her shoulders, lifted her chin and stretched her back, walking with a succinctly sexy swagger. Obviously she intended to impress Prince Grigor. Perhaps she wanted a new role as one of his wives, or maybe she had simply perfected the art of walking with grace
and elegance.

  Gruesome.

  I clumped along a little distance behind her. Once I’d navigated the final staircase beneath the billowing chandelier, I was somewhat pleased to see Ambassador Rubenscarfe waiting for us, a hooded Vampiri shadow guard in tow.

  “Ah, Alfhild. Thank goodness.” The Ambassador sounded a little shaky of voice. “I trust you have been treated well?”

  “Very well.” I tried to reassure him. “Fed and watered and…” I glanced at Nadia, “… I’ve had plenty of sleep.”

  “That’s good. It’s an unusual… ah… precedent they’ve set… locking us in our rooms.”

  I shrugged, pretending I hadn’t really noticed. “Like I said, I’ve been asleep most of the day.”

  The Ambassador nodded; his face troubled. He turned to address Nadia once more. “I brought gifts. Sent by Mother Neamh. They came in the limousine with us.”

  “Do not worry, Ambassador.” Nadia nodded at one of the hooded shadow guards who himself turned and clicked his fingers, thereby summoning several people who scampered towards us carrying an assortment of chests and treasures. “I have your gifts.”

  Nadia looked at me. “Shall we go in? Prince Grigor is keen to make your acquaintance.”

  It soon became clear why I’d been compelled to throw on a posh frock. We were shown through a side door into a magnificent medieval banqueting hall with the largest fireplace I had ever seen. In fact, I had fireplace envy. You could have drawn a horse and carriage underneath the mantlepiece of the beast in this room and still had space for The Devonshire Fellows to sit on top and play a set of madrigals. Huge chunks of tree trunk burned in the grate and acted as an additional source of illumination for the room.

  The room was colossal. No wonder you almost burst a lung climbing the mountainous grand staircase in the entrance hall outside. A pair of crystal chandeliers hung high above my head and the ceiling had been vaulted, like something you might see in a church or cathedral. Painted panels depicted colourful characters having a great time in ways most normal people might not necessarily have approved of. I stared in fascination for a second at a scene depicting Death throwing its skeletal arms around a bunch of naked humans, and then hastily looked away in search of something a little more wholesome.

  As in my bedroom, huge tapestries hung from the walls. Once these would have been bright with colour, but time had dulled the threads and the culminated effects of soot from the fire and tallow from the candles had contrived to mask their beauty. It seemed a shame not to have them cleaned and cared for, but I had a feeling that if I studied the drapes too closely I might not approve of their subject matter either.

  At the top end of the room stood a raised dais, where a table had been set. There were several other long tables arranged in front of this stage area, and here people were milling about in all their glorious finery. I spied an interesting array of silk, satin, feathers, and leather and lace on display, with varying sizes of ruffs competing with plunging necklines, absurd wigs and oversize fans made from ostrich feathers. These people clearly felt most comfortable in clothes from their own eras.

  My heart fluttered nervously in my chest. So this was what a nest of vampires looked like close up. Some of these monsters were hundreds of years old, and yet all of them, with their pale waxy skin and dead eyes, had a beauty rarely seen on the flushed faces of our own youthful supermodels. I could only imagine that if you were immortal and you desired a new playmate or partner, you picked your companions from the most stunning the human race had to offer at any one time.

  Besides, most vampires seemed to have accumulated an obscene amount of wealth. They happily moved in the higher echelons of society, in social circles I could only dream about as they sucked the life from many a human.

  I wondered if this was how Queen Victoria had come to know of their existence and if that was why Archibald Peters had been sent here to Castle Iadului on his mission.

  Nadia cleared her throat next to me. “If you would be so kind to step this way, Miss Daemonne? Ambassador Rubenscarfe?”

  She led us closer to the dais, and we followed in her wake. I could sense that the Ambassador’s reluctance was almost as great as my own, because he dawdled a little. A hooded shadow guard prodded him in the back to get him moving again.

  I hadn’t previously noticed but, sitting on a chair—slumped really—was a small old man. A wizened almost skeletal man with skin as tanned as ancient leather. Below wispy white eyebrows, his sunken black eyes glared out at me with a loathing he didn’t bother to disguise.

  “Prince Grigor,” Nadia bowed deeply. “If it pleases you, here is the diplomatic party from the British Ministry of Witches.”

  She turned her head sideways and nodded at me expectantly. I returned her look blankly. Was I supposed to say something? Do something? What precisely? This Prince Grigor didn’t exactly look like he would be receptive to my greetings.

  Fortunately the Ambassador had been trained for this situation. He took the lead. Stepping forwards he took my elbow and led me even closer to the dais. He bowed deeply, and I followed his lead.

  “Good evening to you, Prince Grigor. I am Ambassador Rubenscarfe. This is my young protégé, Alfhild Daemonne.”

  The old man’s eyes glittered when he heard my name and he pushed himself weakly upright to get a better look at me.

  “Well, well, well,” he rasped and there was something in his voice that made my toes curl with revulsion. It sounded like something reptilian slithering over ancient parchment, or the dry rustle of the mummified skin of a long dead ancient Pharaoh.

  I fixed a pleasant look to my face, although it hurt me to do so.

  “The owner of Whittle Inn?” The prince directed this question at Nadia and she nodded.

  “Yes, my Prince.”

  He smiled, evidently as difficult for him as it was for me, although in his case it looked as though rigor mortis had set in. He appraised me with those demonic eyes of his and my insides recoiled in disgust while all the time I stood still and tried to maintain a pleasant and calm expression.

  Would now be a good time to raise the issue of Thaddeus? Maybe lament his loss and explain it had nothing to do with me?

  Apparently not.

  The Ambassador jumped in before I could do or say anything.

  “Your Grace, if I may.” He glanced behind at the servants who had followed us into the hall bearing the goods we had brought with us. “Mother Neamh, the Mother of all Witches sent you a wonderful array of gifts she thought you might appreciate.”

  He took the first one, an intricately carved leather box with magick symbols embossed on the front, and placed it on the dais in front of Prince Grigor. “Here we have a portable medicinal potionery.” He struggled to open it, so I stepped forward and helped him. It opened out to reveal four sections, each with three shelves laden with tiny potion bottles. I glanced at the potions with interest. Millicent would have a greater understanding of them all than I, but I did recognise Fevergrippe and Pain-ease, as two standard potions any witch worth her salt kept in her bathroom. As for the others, there was nothing there you wouldn’t give a child to play with. These would be safe with vampires and not add to their powers.

  Prince Grigor looked under-impressed, as well he might. The portable medicinal potionery was an expensive first aid kit and nothing more. Behind us, the hall remained still, an icy chill in the air.

  Evidently we needed to do more to impress this man.

  The second gift comprised a small chest chock-full of crystals. Some of these were ten-a-penny in many high street shops, but I recognised a few others that were much rarer. Many witches derived power from their crystal work, and a few choice crystals used properly can greatly enhance the potency of a spell or a ritual. This seemed a generous gift.

  The colours, picked up by the candles, dazzled as the box was turned around to show the Prince. He appeared a little more appreciative of this.

  The third gift seemed to be an oddity
at first glance. A child’s toy theatre, standing around three feet in height, complete with a proscenium arch front. Ambassador Rubenscarfe demonstrated how to raise the safety curtain and behind it were several puppets, dressed in Elizabethan garb, perhaps performing some Shakespearian comedy.

  Ambassador Rubenscarfe located a little switch to the side of the wooden structure and suddenly the puppets came alive, moving around the stage, each in its own spotlight, gesturing grandly at each other and the audience.

  “Quite entrancing.” Prince Grigor obviously approved of this. He looked about at his nest of vampires and they laughed and exclaimed on cue. The atmosphere in the hall visibly lightened and I drew in a shaky breath. I hadn’t realised how tense I’d been feeling, but now I allowed myself some hope that I’d get out of this little Transylvanian escapade unscathed.

  Prince Grigor nodded at Nadia who turned and clapped her hands. Musicians in a gallery above our heads began to play. The chamber orchestra produced a dirge-like baroque composition. Not a patch of the Devonshire Fellows and their joyous squashed-goose music, I decided, feeling suddenly and desperately homesick and much more appreciative of Luppitt’s compositions.

  “Prince Grigor would like you to join him at the table for tonight’s banquet,” Nadia told me, gesturing for me to climb onto the dais and take my seat next to him. The Ambassador was shown to a seat on the other side.

  I perched on the hard wood chair and attempted another smile when the prince turned my way. I couldn’t get past his appearance. His thick lips glinted in the light because he dribbled constantly like a geriatric not quite in charge of all his bodily functions. A subtle tang of slightly tainted meat filled the air around him. It had been a long time since breakfast, but even so I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to eat.

  To the right of me, a young vampire, introduced to me as Count Ivan Yorovski, tried to engage me in conversation. His hair was a shock of blonde, his eyes as blue as the summer sky over Whittlecombe. He was probably handsome, but I was too distracted by the length of his canines when he smiled to notice. I shrank into myself, trying not to share too much about my life in England.