by H. Y. Hanna
“But if you wouldn’t mind, doctor, could you take a look at a horse while you’re waiting? It’s one of our geldings—he seems to have suddenly gone lame overnight.”
The vet raised his eyebrows. “Was he loose?”
The stablehand shook his head. “No, he was shut up in his stall. That’s what’s so strange.”
Liddell met Caitlyn’s eyes for a moment, then he nodded at the boy and said, “Sure, let’s have a look...”
As the vet strode off with the boy, Caitlyn set the cat carrier down by one of the empty stables and wandered curiously across the yard, admiring the horses she could see being groomed, fed, and exercised. She passed the main arched gateway which led out of the stable yard into the grounds of the estate, and beyond to the hill and forest in the distance. She paused for a moment, her eyes on the distant hilltop. The stone circle was barely visible as a pale circular smudge, and she couldn’t see any sign of a horse and rider either. She wondered if James was riding in the forest, as he often seemed to.
Turning away, she crossed to the other side of the stable yard where she found a smaller gate which led out into an area behind the main manor house. Huntingdon Manor was a large estate and she had never been in this part of it before—probably because it wasn’t particularly scenic. Unlike the sections at the front which were laid out with landscaped gardens, this area seemed to be mainly filled with various outbuildings, some dating possibly from medieval times. They must have once been used for storage and other service functions, such as a smokehouse, root cellar, dairy, and dovecote, but now they seemed to be mostly empty or disused. They were clustered together in a long row, with the large coach house near the stable yard at one end and the last buildings petering out into the woods at the other end.
Caitlyn walked slowly amongst the buildings, wondering if James was planning to renovate and develop these, like he was with the coach house. If properly modernised and fitted out, they would make fantastic little units for shops, entertainment, or even accommodation options. Before she realised it, she had reached the end of the row and was entering the woods. The ground was still wet and muddy from the recent storms and leaves drooped under the weight of water. She walked deeper into the woods, enjoying the tranquil atmosphere: fallen leaves crunched underfoot and the air was filled with the smells of autumn—that strangely comforting mix of rain, damp earth, and decay.
Then the peace was abruptly broken as she rounded a small copse of trees and heard sharp voices ahead. One was Minerva Chattox—she was sure of it. It was hard to miss the woman’s melodramatic tones. The other was a voice that was so harsh with anger, it was difficult to tell if it was a man or a woman. Caitlyn felt a chill as she heard the naked fury in the hissed words:
“...I will do whatever is necessary, whatever it takes, to destroy you. I will make sure that you are gone, witch!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MINERVA GAVE A SNEERING laugh. “Who do you think you are? An exorcist? I’m not scared of you. There haven’t been any executions for witchcraft in England for over three hundred years now, and in any case, I know my rights. Freedom of religious belief and worship—that’s what the law says.”
“You... you heartless shrew! How can you stand there and talk about the law when you’ve been taking advantage of vulnerable people, preying on their hopes and fears... you’re nothing more than a criminal yourself!”
“I haven’t preyed on anyone. People seek me out by themselves. I can’t help it if my talents are in great demand.”
“Don’t look so smug—I've dealt with your kind before. I've made it my mission in life to seek out scum like you, and you have no idea what I’m capable of. You’d better start begging for my mercy or—”
“Or you’ll what?” said Minerva in a taunting voice. “I’d like to see you try to do anything to me. Now, get out of my way—I’m not standing here listening to this crap for another minute!”
Caitlyn heard the sudden crunch of footsteps approaching. They were coming faster than she expected and she looked frantically around, then dived into a nearby bush. Wet leaves blurred her vision and she felt the stems scratch at her skin as she huddled down beneath the spreading branches. The next moment, she caught a glimpse of Minerva storming past. The woman was wearing one of her ridiculous costumes, with billowing sleeves, long, sweeping skirts, and a train that dragged behind her. Caitlyn waited, expecting to see Minerva’s companion follow her, but nothing happened. After waiting for several more minutes, she decided that they had probably returned to the Manor via another route.
Slowly, Caitlyn crawled out of the bush and stood up, brushing herself off. As she looked around, she realised belatedly how lucky she had been—right next to where she had been hiding was a large bramble bush, full of long canes covered in vicious sharp thorns. If she had aimed slightly to the right when she’d dived into the undergrowth, it would have been a very painful experience! In fact, even climbing back onto the path now was going to be a challenge, as she realised that the bramble’s prickly branches were snaking all around her legs.
She turned and looked behind her. The ground there looked clearer. She decided she would climb out of the bushes in that direction, then double around back to the path. She still had to take great care, lifting her feet high and almost hopping across several large sections of tangled undergrowth. She was just climbing over the last mound and congratulating herself on her lucky escape when her groping hand fell on a bramble branch and a big thorn pierced her palm.
“Ow!” Caitlyn yelped and jerked her hand back, then cried out again as the sudden motion made her lose her balance. She gasped as she teetered on one foot, terrified that she was going to fall backwards, straight into the prickly bramble bush—then she gathered herself and made a lunge forwards, jumping clear of the thorny mound.
She landed unsteadily, her feet skidding on the wet leaves and muddy earth, and before she could regain her balance, she’d toppled over.
“Ooomph!”
Caitlyn lay stunned for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief that she had landed on a patch of clear ground and not into another prickly bush. Slowly, she sat up, brushing leaves and twigs from her hair, then she realised that she was sitting in a muddy puddle. With a gasp, she sprang back to her feet, then looked worriedly over her shoulder. Her eyes widened in dismay as she saw the enormous wet patch spreading across the seat of her jeans and felt the clammy fabric against her skin.
Great. What a perfect way to meet James.
She rubbed her hands against her jeans, trying to brush off the unsightly stain, but it didn’t do much good. Sighing, she straightened again and surveyed her surroundings. She could see what looked like a track through the undergrowth on her left and she headed that way, hoping that the trail would swing around and join up with the larger path she had been on earlier. Instead, to her surprise, it led her to a brick wall.
Caitlyn stared at the crumbling structure, just visible through a tangle of leaves and stems. As she reached up and pulled back some of the branches in front of her, she realised that the wall was in fact part of a small domed building, half sunken into the ground and almost completely concealed by an overgrown thicket of bushes. The track she was on actually led around the structure and, when she followed it, she came to what looked like an entrance at the end of a short tunnel jutting out from the dome. She stepped back and surveyed the structure: the whole thing looked a bit like a huge stone igloo, half buried in the ground and covered in moss and plant debris. From the worn look of the stone and the lichen growing on top, she was sure it was very old—possibly even built a couple of centuries ago.
What is it?
She put a hand against the wooden door across the entrance and was surprised when it gave easily. She soon saw why: the lock was old and rusty, and the door was sagging from its hinges. It swung open with a faint creak and Caitlyn peered inside, wrinkling her nose at the damp, musty smell that wafted out. For a moment, she could see nothing, then slowly, a
s her eyes acclimatised to the dim interior, she made out what looked like a short passage leading into a yawning darkness.
She hesitated for a second, then stepped through the entrance. Walking slowly forwards, she shivered and rubbed her arms as the temperature dropped several degrees. A moment later, she reached the end of passageway. It opened into a large chamber, with a high domed ceiling that had a small hole in the centre, letting in a weak shaft of light. Beneath the dome, the floor was sunken—in fact, it looked like the base of the chamber was an enormous pit, dug several metres into the ground, and when she leaned over the edge, she caught the glimmer of water at the bottom.
Is it a well? She frowned and peered around the chamber again. She had never seen a well like this. It seemed too wide, and why did it have the domed roof? Besides, where was the apparatus to draw up water? She scanned the floor of the passage around her, which was littered with broken bricks and mortar that had obviously fallen from the crumbling walls, but she could see nothing like a bucket or a winch or even a rope. The only thing she saw was an old rusty metal tool poking out from amongst the rubble; it was long and thin, with a curved tip that ended in a sharp point, but she had no idea what it could have been used for.
Maybe this was some kind of primitive indoor swimming pool? But who would want to swim here in the cold, dank water? Besides, it wasn’t really big enough to actually swim properly, if one wanted to use it for exercise.
Well, whatever it was, she didn’t like the tomb-like atmosphere and she turned hurriedly to leave. But as she started back up the passage, a shadow fell across the open doorway. After becoming used to the darkness, she had to squint against the brightness coming through the entrance. Caitlyn caught her breath. She could make out the figure of a man filling the doorway.
“Hello? Who’s there?” she asked.
There was no answer, but the figure moved slowly towards her. Caitlyn felt her pulse begin to race and her muscles tensed as she put a hand out, searching unconsciously for some kind of weapon. She remembered the rusty metal tool she’d seen but when she glanced down, she couldn’t remember where she’d seen it. There was no time to search for it—she didn’t dare take her eyes off the figure. Instead, she began to back away, returning down the passage until she was back in the domed chamber and standing at the edge of the pit.
She licked her lips and looked nervously over her shoulder. Another step backwards and she would fall into the black water. The figure was coming closer. Caitlyn’s desperate groping fingers snagged against something on the wall beside her: it was hard, with crumbling edges. It must be part of a cracked brick. She prised it off and felt the chunk fall into her palm. It wasn’t much of a weapon but the solid weight of it made her feel slightly better. She raised it high and said, trying not to let a tremor enter her voice:
“Who are you and what do you want?”
She was just about to hurl the piece of brick at the approaching figure when she froze. Something about that shuffling gait was very familiar... The next moment, she heard a grumpy voice say:
“Caitlyn? What on earth are you doing here?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
CAITLYN FELT A WAVE of relief flood through her. “Viktor!” she gasped and clutched her chest. “You've got to stop scaring me like that!”
“Eh? I wasn’t trying to scare you—I just saw the door open and came to investigate.” He blinked myopically in the gloom.
In spite of her exasperation, Caitlyn felt a rush of affection as she regarded the old man in the ancient black suit in front of her. If it had been a surprise finding that she came from a family of witches, it had been nothing compared to discovering that she had an “uncle” in the shape of a six-hundred-year-old vampire. And that was just the start. Caitlyn had had to throw out all her old assumptions about vampires: they weren’t all handsome sexy young men, they didn’t fear the sun, and they most certainly didn’t all drink blood. No, in fact, she’d learned that a vampire’s diet was determined by the type of bat he shifted into, and those like Viktor, who belonged to the Megachiroptera Order, turned into fuzzy brown fruit bats.
Which meant—as Viktor proudly informed everyone he met—that the old vampire was a devout fruitarian. He loved nothing more than sinking his fangs into a juicy plum or tart gooseberry—that is, when he could find those fangs in the first place. It seemed to Caitlyn that Viktor spent the majority of his waking hours looking for his missing teeth. That was when he wasn’t trying to be her personal bodyguard, of course. Viktor took his role as her “guardian uncle” very seriously.
But he had been noticeably absent lately. If he wasn’t helping himself to fruits and berries in the Widow Mags’s cottage garden, Viktor was usually skulking around Huntingdon Manor, looking for a convenient place to hang for his afternoon nap and terrifying all the maids in the process. But Caitlyn hadn’t seen any sign of him in the past few weeks.
“Where have you been, Viktor?” she asked as they walked back out into the light together. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Eh?” He scratched his balding head. “Didn’t I tell you where I was going?”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “No, Viktor. The last time I saw you was at the dairy farm Open Day. You were wandering around the crowd, looking for your missing fangs. And I never saw you again after that. It’s been weeks... I was starting to get worried, you know—I thought something might have happened to you.”
“What do you mean—what could have happened to me?”
“Well, you could have been captured—”
“Captured?” Viktor bristled with indignation. “I’ll have you know, young lady, that I was battling hellhounds and manticores before you were even born!”
“Yes, but the world is different now and you’re—” Caitlyn broke off before she said “older”. Like the Widow Mags, the old vampire could be touchy about his age and suggestions that he was getting frailer. “Um... well, anyway... so where were you?”
“I have been on holiday.”
Caitlyn blinked. She had never thought of vampires going on holiday but she supposed that they needed vacations like everyone else. “Oh, er... how nice—where did you go?”
“Where all self-respecting vampires go, of course—to the Nosferatu Club in Transylvania,” said Viktor. “There is no other paranormal establishment to match it. Magnificent surroundings—designed and built by Alfred Gargoyle, the finest Gothic architect in history, you know—and offering everything a gentleman vampire could desire: private sitting rooms, library, games parlour, study, a dedicated chef with experience in insectivorous, fruitarian, and blood diets, and of course, discreet hanging perches for a comfortable night upside down.” Viktor beamed. “I like to go back there once every few decades to meet old friends and exchange news, see my physician and check my teeth... Last time I was there was about twenty years ago and they have made lots of changes since then—new chandeliers and whatnot—Ah! And a new dentist in residence! A small Hungarian gentleman—much better than the buffoon who was there before—and he gave me a new set of fangs.” He turned to show her. “Look—marvellous, aren’t they?”
Caitlyn leaned back to get a proper look at Viktor. Now that they were out in the light, she could finally see him better and she noticed for the first time that he had two strange yellowy-white things protruding from the corners of his mouth.
“Um... Viktor, are you sure your new fangs are the right size? I mean, they never used to stick out like that.”
“Oh no, they’re meant to protrude from the lips,” said Viktor loftily. “It is the latest fashion in fangs, the dentist told me. All the young vampires have them like that.” He beamed at her. “Gives me quite a sinister edge, don’t you think?”
“Er...” Caitlyn looked at him askance. Perhaps if the fangs had been sharp and gleaming, they might have looked quite cool, but Viktor's pair were blunt and yellowed, and looked more like two bits of spaghetti poking out of his sunken mouth. But the old vampire seemed so proud o
f himself that she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
“They’re great... um... listen, Viktor, I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve been desperate to speak to you! You know, I can’t believe I never thought of asking you about it before but... it’s about my mother. You were her guardian uncle too, weren’t you? And—Viktor?”
Caitlyn broke off as she realised that the old vampire wasn’t listening. Instead, he had his head thrust out on his scrawny neck and was sniffing the air loudly.
“Bilberries!” he exclaimed. “I can smell them here... somewhere... but I’m sure I didn’t see any—” His rheumy eyes sharpened suddenly and he grabbed her wrist, bringing her arm up to eye level. “Aha!”
Caitlyn saw that he was staring at a dark purple-red stain on her sleeve. “Oh yes—that was from yesterday. I was out with Bertha and the Widow Mags foraging for hazelnuts and we passed a large clump of bilberry bushes. I crushed one by mistake as I was picking a few. Anyway,” she looked at him impatiently, “as I was saying about my mother—”
“Where were the bushes?” Viktor demanded. “I must go and hunt for them!”
“They were just by the side of the path as you enter the woods, right behind the Widow Mags’s cottage. But Viktor—wait—!”
Caitlyn watched helplessly as the old man hunched his shoulders, his body shrinking and contorting, until suddenly there was a fuzzy, brown fruit bat on the ground in front of her. It gave her a grumpy squeak, then climbed laboriously into a tree and out onto a branch, before launching itself into the air. Flapping clumsily, it rose slowly into the sky and disappeared.
Grrr! Why couldn’t she ever seem to pin him down? Caitlyn sighed. Never mind. Now that she knew Viktor was back, she could always speak to him later. Turning, she headed back towards the stable courtyard. She realised suddenly that she’d been away for quite a while and wondered guiltily if everyone was waiting for her. She jogged all the way back and, when she arrived, was relieved to see James Fitzroy just coming in through the main gates, astride a beautiful Percheron stallion. Bran lumbered a few paces behind them. The English mastiff gave a happy woof as he spotted the cat carrier beside the stable stall and bounded over to see Nibs, shoving his wrinkled face up against the cage door.