by Nancy Warren
Especially Bartholomew.
I’d have called him directly, but I wasn’t sure how well he’d take the news that Philip and Giles had so easily found his replacement. I thought it would be better delivered in the company of other vampires who could control him if he had another temper tantrum.
I was so sleepy when I got back to the cottage that I didn’t notice the obvious clues that should have alerted me there was trouble in the house.
Cerridwen was nowhere to be seen. That wasn’t like her. Since I’d been out all night, I’d expected her to greet me at the door. I hoped I’d find her sleeping upstairs on the bed, but as I got to the bottom of the staircase, I could hear voices. And the television was playing.
I was tired, cranky, and I had a lot of leftover adrenaline to deal with from a stressful night in which I’d worried that a man I’d set up as bait in a trap might have ended up dead. So I was in no mood for Biddy O’Donnell and her tricks. I stomped up the stairs and burst into my bedroom. I was accustomed to finding Biddy making herself at home on my bed, her nasty familiar curled up by her side, but even so, the sight that met my eyes shocked me.
She wasn’t alone on the bed. Pyewacket stared at me balefully, her body curled up between Biddy and the seventeenth-century reprobate Thomas Blood. They made a very peculiar pair, Biddy with her cap and dingy gown, smelling like a woman who’d been underground for several hundred years, and Thomas Blood in his bright red jacket with the brass buttons, his long, flowing curls, frilled shirt and breeches. I was annoyed to see he hadn’t even bothered to take off his leather boots before settling himself on my bed. They didn’t even notice me, they were so busy watching the Antiques Roadshow.
“Would you look at that,” Thomas Blood said. “Zounds, I swear those are oak panels from a church that somebody’s cut out and stuck in the back of a settle.”
“I do believe you’re right,” Biddy said.
I looked at the screen and saw a very old-looking bench with panels that were set into it that did indeed look like something out of a church.
“I’m sure there were screens carved like that in my parish of—”
“Shhh,” Biddy said, putting her hand over his mouth. “Let’s see if he gets it right this time.”
Gleefully they listened as the furniture expert told a very posh-looking woman that the bench she had inherited was not from the Renaissance period, but that several original panels from a church or cathedral had been repurposed into the back of the bench and they were from the Renaissance.
“Still, it’s a very nice piece. At auction it would probably fetch about seven to eight hundred pounds.”
“Seven hundred pounds,” Thomas Blood burst out, pushing Biddy’s hand off his mouth. “Seven hundred pounds for a hodgepodge of an old bench?”
“That’s what I’m telling you, Thomas. There’s good money to be made in flogging off a load of people’s old junk.”
I couldn’t stand here any longer and listen to them. “What do you two think you’re doing?” I asked in my firmest voice.
They both turned to stare at me. “What are you doing home? You’re supposed to be at the shop.” Biddy glared at me as though I were the one in the wrong.
“I didn’t get any sleep all night, and I came home to have a nap. Which is difficult to do with you two, and your cat, in my bed.”
“Well, where else are we to go? You’ve warned me off my own ancestral home,” Biddy said, as though she had any right to be in Karen’s place.
“And we’re going into business together,” Thomas Blood said with a flourish, as though that made it all right for me to give up my bed.
“You’re going into business together? Doing what?”
The thought of those two in some kind of shop, with their peculiar garb and ancient speech patterns, was almost too much. Luckily, I knew that the other vampires would put a stop to it. Still, those two doing anything together was slightly alarming, as Pyewacket probably had better standards of right and wrong than those two.
“It’s the eBay,” Biddy said.
“Aye, the eBay,” Thomas Blood said as though he had any idea what it even was.
“What are you two planning to do with the eBay?” I asked them, crossing my arms over my chest and looking down at them.
“I’ve set up my own shop. Biddy’s Antiques.” She looked over graciously at Thomas Blood and said, “Though we could change it to Biddy and Blood.”
“That’s got a really nice ring to it,” I said.
“No, no,” Thomas said. “I’m happy to be more of a silent partner.”
Considering the man had tried to steal the Crown Jewels, I thought he was very smart to stay out of the limelight, even hundreds of years later. Somebody might recognize him from a history book.
“You’re going to sell antiques on eBay?”
“Aye. You’d be surprised how many people do it, and all over the world too.”
“Biddy, you need an internet address.”
She looked very shifty here. “I know.”
“Biddy. What have you done?”
I could see she was looking over at my laptop, which I’d left on my dressing table this morning.
I shook my head. “Don’t you even think about using my internet.”
“Well, then, you’ll have to help me get my own. And you’re going to have to get faster broadband.”
I couldn’t believe I was being chastised for not having good enough internet by an ancient witch.
“There’s excellent internet at the castle,” Thomas Blood said. “I may not like the place—it’s more of a dungeon and a prison than a home—but Lochlan Balfour does not stint on the internet, I’ll give you that.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” I said, smiling for the first time since I’d arrived in my own cottage. “I think you should go over right now and talk to Lochlan about setting you up in business. He’s an internet billionaire. Nobody could be a better business mentor for you than he.”
Biddy looked at me like this might be a trick. But the only trick I had in mind was getting that old witch out of my bed and her smelly cat and her boot-wearing beau along with her.
“But if I don’t like it, I’ll be back.”
“Oh, you’ll like it,” I promised.
I waited until the three of them had left and then called Lochlan. Rapidly, I explained what I’d done, and I was happy to see he was more amused than annoyed.
“The two of them are going to run an online antiques business?”
“Actually, I think it’s a really good idea. It’ll keep them both out of trouble and stop Thomas Blood from creating mayhem. He does it because he’s so bored.”
“There is something in what you’re saying.”
“I was hoping you would agree. But you have to do me a big favor.”
“Taking that ancient, old crone and her familiar off your hands isn’t a big enough favor?”
I rolled my eyes. “Another favor.” I didn’t quite know how to put this. “I need you to tell Biddy that you won’t set her up with her internet business until she removes the spell from the O’Donnell House. From now on, all the televisions have to play all the stations and all the television programs that are available and not exclusively Antiques Roadshow.”
“I’ll do it, Quinn.” There was a pause, and he said, “You don’t think you should send her back where she came from, do you?”
“Only every day. But something always stops me. I think she may be an old reprobate, but she’s my million-times-great-grandmother. And maybe if I’m lenient with her, some other witch will one day be lenient with me.”
“I’ll do as you ask. But, be warned, I will be keeping my eye on both of them.”
“I heartily hope you do.”
After a long sleep, I felt much more refreshed. Even better, that afternoon, Karen Tate called me, excitement brimming over in her voice.
“You won’t believe it, Quinn. That glitch in my electric system seems to have sor
ted itself out. The television is playing all kinds of different programs.”
“That’s great, but how come I can hear the intro to Antiques Roadshow playing in the background?”
She laughed. “That’s Giles and Philip in the front room. They’ve become hooked on it.”
I laughed too. “At least it’s keeping them happy and out of trouble.”
“I’ve never seen two men so happy. And they’ve both written me glowing reviews for the bed and breakfast. And so has Tristan. And I’m fully booked for the next two weeks.”
Even though she couldn’t see me, I punched the air with my fist. “That’s great, Karen.”
“And you know those scales that went missing?”
“Yes.” I hoped she wasn’t about to tell me that she’d found them on BiddyandBlood.com.
“I found them. I must have accidentally put them inside a cupboard when I thought I’d put them in the display cabinet. I’m so relieved. In fact, all the little bits and bobs I thought were missing have turned up.”
“I’m so glad.” I’d forgotten to tell Biddy she had to put everything she’d stolen back. Lochlan must have thought of that on his own.
With the O’Donnell House back to normal and Biddy and Thomas Blood hopefully too busy to cause any more trouble, I only had one more thing to worry about.
Somebody was going to have to tell Bartholomew Branson that his publisher had found a new Bartholomew within only a couple of months of his death. No one liked to be replaceable, especially not someone with an ego like his.
It was nice to spend the afternoon in my shop, putting everything back the way I liked it.
Karen and I met for a celebration dinner in the pub, where we toasted her new success and started throwing out ideas for a literary festival the following year.
I went back to the shop to set up for the book club. Lochlan arrived early, looking casually elegant in jeans and a black sweater. With a flourish, he handed me a ten euro note. “Your winnings, and may I say I’ve rarely been happier to lose a wager.”
I accepted the money saying, “I know. Tristan’s a really nice guy. I’m so glad he didn’t end up charged with a crime he didn’t commit.”
“Even better, it seems he’s profiting from Bartholomew and Candace Branson’s deaths without having to cause them.”
“Good thing you have such great connections or Irving might have got away with murder.”
“Yes. And you have good instincts. It was easy enough to find out who the biggest celebrity literary agents were and discover which one Candace had signed with.”
“Behind Irving’s back. And, speaking of sneaking around people’s backs, you must have some extremely good sources to find out so quickly that Irving was nearly bankrupt.”
He looked down at me, his blue eyes glittering. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you develop extremely good networks.”
By ten o’clock, everyone was assembled, and we even had a guest. Thomas had dragged Biddy along with him, saying there was a lot of value in old books. And besides, he was teaching her to read.
She wasn’t a vampire, however. Lochlan looked at me, and I shrugged. It was his club, not mine. He said, “Very well, but you’re on probation, Mistress O’Donnell.”
She snorted. “And so are you, young gentleman. I don’t normally mix with your kind. It’s only that I’m a poor, old witch, made homeless by my own kin, that I’ve had to seek a home in a castle of the undead.”
Before I could launch into the hot speech that was bursting to come out of my mouth, Lochlan put up a finger. “We all know that if it weren’t for your many times great-granddaughter Quinn here, you’d be living in an underground prison. I offer you my castle as a refuge and a place to run your business, but I’m watching you. If there’s any trouble at the castle, or at O’Donnell House, or at Quinn’s cottage or place of business, I will take whatever action I believe appropriate.”
Her cunning eyes darted everywhere, but it was pretty clear everyone was in agreement with Lochlan. She tried to look pitiful and failed and then said, “Fine. I’ve a business to run and no time to be traipsing about anyway.”
“Good. And while you’re out searching for antiques, I have a commission for you. I’d be interested if you find any old tapestries in good condition. Particularly Flemish ones. I think they’d spruce up the castle to no end.”
Her eyes lit up. “Naturally, we’d expect a finder’s fee.”
Lochlan looked down his aristocratic Viking’s nose at her. “Naturally.”
“And no fakes,” I put in. “They’d better be original, and they’d better not be stolen. I’ll be getting a tapestry expert to evaluate them.” We all knew such people existed because we’d been watching Antiques Roadshow.
“Fine,” she snapped.
“And, now you mention it, if you happen to come across any interesting old books, especially first editions, bring them to me so I have first refusal.” Maybe this antique gig wasn’t going to be such a bad idea after all.
“Since the mistress cannot read,” Thomas Blood said, “I will engage myself to search out such books and manuscripts that might be of interest to you, Mistress Callahan.”
“Thank you, Thomas.”
“That’s great. Everybody’s getting what they want except for me,” Bartholomew Branson said. He looked particularly sorry for himself, slouched in a chair off to the side.
I glanced at Lochlan, and he nodded slightly, silently telling me to go on. “About that. I found the manuscript that your ex-wife was trying to pass off as yours.”
He perked up at that and sat up straighter in his chair. “Really? Who was the writer? Some unsuccessful competitor, no doubt.”
“No. It’s a brand-new author. If you’re interested, I happen to have a copy of the manuscript right here.”
“You bet I’m interested.” He stood up and came forward with his hand out. I handed him the manuscript and mentally crossed my fingers that he wouldn’t turn into a raving madman when he read it.
We all watched as he began to read. Slowly, his expression changed from one of distaste to concentration. He read two pages and then flipped forward a few pages and skimmed. He glanced up at me. “This isn’t too shabby. He’s not up to my standard yet, of course, but it sounds like me. He’s been respectful, what I would call ‘in the style of’ rather than a direct copy.”
“I’m so relieved you think so. Since the author in question falsely believes that I am an expert on your books, he’s agreed to let me read them before they get published.”
“But Quinn, that’s a brilliant plan. And you, of course, will pass the manuscripts on to me so I can make suggestions and help this poor, young writer to perfect his craft.”
I was so pleased he saw it that way. “Exactly. It’ll keep your brand pure.”
“Won’t bring you in any lovely money, though,” Oscar Wilde reminded us all.
Bartholomew shook his head. “No. And I do need money. But, fortunately, I’m writing a new series of my own. I shall begin again,” he said with a dramatic flourish. “Reinvent myself. I’ll send the books to agents under a nom de plume. I’m sure I’ll be snapped up.”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” I said. I hoped very much that he would become as much of a success in his second career as he had been in his first, but at least the undead author looked much happier than he had in the past few weeks. He had a purpose now.
I explained to him that they were going to put Tristan Holt’s name on the books along with his, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Good. Don’t want that young fellow passing off his beginner prose as mine.” Then he looked quite concerned. “But his name will be in much smaller letters than mine, won’t it?”
“Oh, yes. It’s your name that will sell the books.”
“Good. And then I’ll have my second writing name to earn me all the money I need.”
There was a sound like a moan that came from Oscar Wilde’s direction. “Dear Bartholom
ew, I offer you half my prodigious fortune if you promise never to write another word.”
Before a brawl could break out, I said, “And now, who’s read this week’s book? The Body in the Library by Agatha Christie?”
A Note from Nancy
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading the Vampire Book Club series. I am delighted to write about an older, more experienced witch and very happy to find so many readers are enjoying older characters.
I hope you’ll consider leaving a review and please tell your friends who like paranormal women’s fiction and cozy mysteries.
Review on Amazon, Goodreads or BookBub.
Join my newsletter for a free prequel, Tangles and Treasons, the exciting tale of how the gorgeous Rafe Crosyer, from The Vampire Knitting Club series, was turned into a vampire.
I hope to see you in my private Facebook Group. It's a lot of fun. www.facebook.com/groups/NancyWarrenKnitwits
Until next time,
Happy Reading,
Nancy
A Spelling Mistake, Vampire Book Club Book 3, Copyright © 2020 by Nancy Warren
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
ISBN: ebook 978-1-928145-86-8
ISBN: print 978-1-928145-85-1
Cover Design by Lou Harper, Cover Affairs
Ambleside Publishing
Also by Nancy Warren
The best way to keep up with new releases, plus enjoy bonus content and prizes is to join Nancy’s newsletter at nancywarren.net or her Facebook group www.facebook.com/groups/NancyWarrenKnitwits