by Paul Magrs
Brenda was ashamed, but she had peeked at some of his private correspondence and she had discovered that she was certainly not the only one fretting about Henry’s devotion to killing . . .
Now she was looking at his stakes and axes, propped up by the console table and the dressing table she’d installed only recently. He’d banged something against the dressing table and taken a nick out of the woodwork, clumsy man. And there was flaky brown blood on all the blades and the stakes. He’d got some on the carpet and on the armchair she’d only recently had re-upholstered. Vamp blood was blotched everywhere, now that she looked carefully. It was dark under his fingernails and splattered on the front of his velvet jacket, which he’d fallen asleep in.
Oh, she couldn’t put up with this much longer. Lying awake at night, along with half her guests, waiting for the slamming of the side door. Imagining him out there half the night, hunting and slaying.
His eyes were open, watching her.
‘Don’t go down to the shop.’
‘What?’ She blinked at his non sequitur.
‘Use the supermarket. Go to the big shop. Don’t go downstairs.’
‘To Leena and Raf’s? Why? I’ve used their shop for ages . . .’
‘She’s been bitten. Probably that night at the bookshop.’
‘Oh no . . .’
‘We should have checked the cult members more thoroughly at the time.’ He sat up against the satin headboard. ‘Why are you all dressed up? Where are you off to?’
She frowned at his tone. Who did he think he was, quizzing her about her comings and goings?
‘Poor Leena.’
‘I found her with her head in their fridge. Eating raw liver. Poor dear doesn’t know what she’s doing any more. Her husband’s been covering up for her. Offering her his blood to keep her in at night. I don’t want you to go anywhere near them, Brenda.’
‘It’s times like these, Henry, when people need their friends. And they can’t hurt me. You know that.’
‘I don’t want you getting into danger.’
She tutted. ‘Don’t you stake her. I’m warning you. If I come back tonight and find that you’ve been down there . . .’
He clicked on the bedside lamp. The light was harsh and sudden, making them both realise that outside, dusk had come down quickly. His eyes were red and sore-looking. There was even more dried blood on him than she’d realised. ‘I don’t think you, erm, quite get it, Brenda. The bigger picture. You’re too busy fretting about that friend of yours. She’s gone. You have to accept it. And Effie was just one, erm, old woman. This is a whole townful of people. You’ve got an infestation. You’ve got a big problem here. Why is it only me who’s taking that fact seriously and doing something about it?’
‘We’re all trying to do something about it, Henry.’
‘Oh? And where is it you’re off to tonight? Are you coming out with me, hunting and slaying?’
‘No, I won’t. You know I don’t believe in slaying anyone. There has to be another way.’
‘There is no other way.’ He clambered off the bed, stiff with exhaustion. ‘You won’t help me, then?’
‘I’ve got things to do,’ she said hurriedly, and left him alone. She scuttled up the stairs to her attic to fetch her coat and bag. What if he followed her tonight? she wondered. What if he tried to stop what she was up to? What would she do then? If she and Henry were at complete loggerheads?
Oh, but poor Leena downstairs. There had to be a way to sort this business out. There had to be a way to reverse all of this horror. A peaceful way. Surely?
Robert could tell she was hiding her feelings as they tramped through the side streets towards the Western Cliffs. They passed through the chintzy holiday lets with their maritime liveries, dodging the huge seagulls that roosted here on the low roofs. As they walked in the early evening gloom they were mostly quiet, and Robert knew that Brenda was thinking about all the many times she’d come this way to the Christmas Hotel accompanied by Effie, the two of them on the brink of yet another implausible adventure. Effie had never felt further away than she did tonight.
Robert was wondering what Effie was doing right at this moment. Or whether that was even the right way of thinking about what might have become of her. Did that other world run in parallel with this one? Or was it as if Effie had ceased to exist on this plane of existence, and was translated somewhere else, in some slightly altered form?
‘When we went to hell, a little while ago, in order to rescue you,’ he began, looking thoughtfully at Brenda, ‘although it was a tricky business all round, it was quite feasible . . . the business of moving between worlds.’
Brenda looked at him sharply. ‘Hmmm.’ She fiddled needlessly with the knot in her headscarf.
‘What I mean is . . . people seem to move back and forth . . . between these places. Once you’re there, it’s not as if there’s no going back . . .’
The words were sticking in his throat. They felt like dried-out Christmas cake left too long in the tin. It was as if nothing he could say would do any good. He couldn’t allay anybody’s fears. At his side, Gila was mostly quiet. Gila was dressed up ready for a night out. Clothes were one thing he particularly enjoyed about being on earth. There wasn’t much variety when it came to the loincloths of Qab.
As they came within sight of the glowing edifice that was the Christmas Hotel, Robert sidled closer to Brenda and said, ‘I wish you’d tell me more about what was revealed when Henry hypnotised you . . .’
‘All in good time,’ she muttered. He could see she was intent and pressed for time. He knew that set to her jaw, that look in her eye. ‘I’ll tell you it all before long, I promise.’
All she’d let slip were a few alarming facts. Headlines, Robert called them. She had told him: ‘I knew Beatrice Mapp personally. We went to Qab. Years ago. I have been to Qab.’
He asked her again now: ‘And you remember it all? You remember what it was like?’
Her face clouded over. ‘Some of it.’
He expected to be ushered into Mrs Claus’s private quarters, so that she could conduct this meeting with them away from the glare of public scrutiny. But it turned out it was pie-and-peas supper night at the Christmas Hotel, and Mrs Claus hadn’t missed a single one of these in twenty-five years of owning the place.
She was sitting at what Robert recognised as high table, from which she could survey the whole host of mumbling pensioner hordes, their party-hatted heads ruminating over their steak and kidney pies. There was the occasional muted bang of a cracker above the Christmas muzak.
Mrs Claus cried out in delight as they approached. She took particular care to fuss over Gila. His pale skin glowed with chameleon colours at her attention. ‘Oh, darling. This is your boyfriend from the land before time, isn’t it? Oh, isn’t he handsome? But oh, so skinny. You’re very welcome here, dearie. Making an honest man of our poor old Robert. Making him settle down a little bit, eh? That’s very good, because we’d like to see Robert a bit more settled . . . emotionally, I think. You need to feed this lizard boy up, Robert! So skinny!’ She was patting Gila’s hand. He had no choice but to sit right by her. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering dinner for you all.’ She eyed Brenda, and the two women seemed wary of each other, extending cool greetings. Mrs Claus went on, ‘I’ve heard all the details of your terrifying night at The Spooky Finger, with all those nasty vampire boys. It all came to naught, didn’t it, eh? Effie still managed to slip away through the interstitial gap into that other world, the silly girl. But I did hear how brave you all were and how you tried to save her from herself. Especially you, Gila, dearie. Waving your sacrificial sword about and fending off those awful boys. I’m very grateful to all of you for your efforts.’
Robert saw that Brenda was scowling. She was thinking that the whole job would have been a whole lot easier, and perhaps more successful, without the interference of Mrs Claus.
Brenda harrumphed as the elvish waiting staff brought out champagne. ‘
I don’t see why you’re suddenly so concerned about Effie and me and everyone. After all those times you tried to defeat us and have us killed!’
Mrs Claus almost choked on her first sip of bubbly. She did a very good job of looking scandalised. ‘I never did! I always had your best interests at heart! Truly, Brenda, if you think back – to all the things I ever did – I was always simply trying to save her. My wonderful daughter. I was trying to keep her away from danger. It was your meddlesome ways, Brenda, your stirring up the hornets’ nest of evil that surrounds this town . . . it was you who were putting her in danger each time. You were always drawing Effryggia deeper and deeper into horrible, mysterious entanglements. She was gaining a thirst for danger. A fascination with thrills. Eventually she became enamoured of the arcane and the undead . . .’
Brenda looked furious as the hostess trolley came towards them and out came the pies and peas and steaming-hot gravy. She was horrified at the skilful way Mrs Claus could always turn the tables.
Now she was making out that it was Brenda who had always been a danger to Effie. It was only in order to protect her daughter that Mrs Claus had interfered so much. Brenda sat upright in shocked realisation.
‘That’s why you called up Frank, isn’t it? It’s why you lured my poor ex to Whitby. That’s why you were determined to see us get back together again. You wanted me out of the way. Away from your Effie. Marrying me off was the best way you could find to break up our friendship.’
Mrs Claus cracked open the crust of her pie with her silver fork and savoured its aroma. ‘You’ve been a good friend to my daughter. I can see that. You tried so hard to give your friendship. But you’re bad for her. Can’t you appreciate that fact? You’re cursed, Brenda. Everyone and everything you touch turns to the bad in the end.’
Brenda gasped. Her two friends either side of her looked appalled by what their hostess was saying.
Mrs Claus shrugged, simpering and looking as if this pained her to impart it. ‘It’s because you have no mortal soul. You make human things wither and die, just through being close to them. You’re rotten inside, Brenda. Cankered and hopeless.’
Brenda felt tears prickling up. No. She wouldn’t give in. This evil old mare was baiting her, as usual. She wouldn’t let her lies upset her. Not now. Now there were things she had to get done. Personal attacks by this blowsy hag were the least of her worries.
‘You can say what you want about me,’ Brenda snapped.
‘Yeah,’ Robert put in. ‘Alucard was Effie’s big mistake, not Brenda. It’s that old vampire who shafted everything for Effie.’
Mrs Claus smiled. ‘Yes, Robert. Very elegantly put, dearie. But who drove Effie into his arms, eh? I believe if it wasn’t for Brenda, then my daughter would never have been so keen to run to the embrace of that dandified cadaver.’
‘That’s not true,’ snapped Robert. ‘Brenda was always dead against their relationship.’
‘She encouraged Effie to think that emotional and romantic relationships could work between the living and the dead; between natural human beings and monsters. Effie came to believe they could actually work out! Well, she was wrong. They can’t. Sorry, boys. But it’s hopeless. Now. We must all put our heads together and try to undo this awful situation that has been wrought by Brenda, Alucard and the irresponsible Marjorie Staynes. We must bring Effie back home.’
Brenda nodded. ‘Yes. That’s the important thing. Not all this flim-flam of yours. You can think what you like. Now, you said you had a way . . . a means . . . a special something you wanted to give me . . .’
Mrs Claus was fidgeting in her motorised bath chair. ‘Oh, yes. Of course. Now . . . where is that box . . . ?’ She snapped her fingers and one of her most trusted elves came dashing. He brought an elaborately wrapped present to the table. It was done up with bows. He went on one knee and offered it to his mistress.
Immediately Brenda, Robert and Gila were aware that this was no ordinary present. A strange sort of power was emanating from the box. They couldn’t say what it was exactly. Something weird. Something . . . unearthly.
Mrs Claus snatched up the box and tossed it carelessly across the table to Brenda.
‘Here you are, dearie. A belated Christmas gift. This is how you get between the worlds. Use the contents of this box wisely. I have had them a very long time. I’ve hardly ever dared use them. But now is the time. Yours is the risk to take, Brenda. To make amends for the bad things you have brought about. You must do your very best. And bring my Effie home. Bring her home to her town and her mummy . . .’
Then, abruptly, as Brenda clumsily hugged the box to her chest, Mrs Claus reversed her chair and left their table. Suppertime was over, with none of them having eaten a morsel.
‘Penny . . . ? Look, I can’t stay on long. We’re doing it tonight. We’re going right away. If we can manage it . . . if it actually works.’
‘What? Robert? What are you saying?’
‘Oh, my battery’s low. I’m sorry, pet. I don’t have time to explain it all now.’
Robert was lagging behind as Brenda and Gila led the way through the zig-zagging streets of Whitby. A yellowish mist was curling up from the harbour, like malign tendrils snagging at them as they bustled along. Penny’s voice squawked tinnily in his ear.
‘What do you mean, you’re doing it tonight? Doing what?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Going to Qab. If we can. Brenda thinks we can manage it, because of Mrs Claus.’
Penny was shrieking at the other end of the line. He hoped she wasn’t at the reception desk doing that. ‘You can’t! You can’t go there tonight and just leave me here! I’m on duty!’
‘I know, and I’m sorry, pet. Ordinarily you’d be first on the list to come with us. But I need you there, in charge of the hotel . . .’
‘I don’t want to be in charge of your crummy hotel! I want to be coming to Qab! You don’t understand, Robert. I’ve waited my whole life for this . . . an opportunity like this . . .’
Errk, he thought. Of course. She’s been a member of the cult of Marjorie Staynes. Friend she might be, but she’s still been got at by the otherworldly rhetoric. Now he’d made her furious. ‘Look, Penny. I’m really sorry. Thing is, we’ve got an important task to follow through. I don’t know how long we’ll be, and we’ve every reason to believe that time gets all buggered up in Qab anyway. I need you to stand in for me at work.’
Silence. Had she put the phone down on him? No. The buzz of background noise was still there.
‘I can’t believe this,’ she said at last.
Robert realised that he was quite some distance behind his friends now. They had hurried on to Silver Street and were leaving him behind as he wrangled with Penny.
‘This is just typical of my life,’ she was saying. ‘I always miss out. Every time. Why can’t you stay behind? You don’t care about going to Qab.’
He could have told her: no, I don’t. And I’d rather be doing anything else tonight than . . . whatever it was they were going to have to do with those weird implements Mrs Claus had put into Brenda’s custody.
‘I’m going now,’ he told her flatly. ‘Be good, Penny. Look after the hotel. And keep away from Marjorie Staynes and The Spooky Finger.’
He snapped his phone shut. Penny would hate him. Perhaps she’d never forgive him. But she’d look after the Miramar like he asked her. Until they got back from tonight’s destination.
If they ever got back.
There was a very nasty surprise awaiting them outside Brenda’s B&B.
Lights were on in the shop downstairs, which wasn’t unusual, as Leena and Raf prided themselves on being open almost twentyfour hours a day. As the small party approached, though, they could see something was very wrong. The boxes of vegetables had been overturned outside, their contents sent rolling down the hill. The glass panels of the door had been broken, as if someone had kicked them in, or slammed the door too hard on leaving. And inside, as Brenda warily eased herself through the do
or, it was silent. No Bollywood-style music. No constant chatter.
‘Got you!’
Strong arms went around her neck. She wriggled and cursed and called out to Robert and Gila to help her. She was pinioned in a strong grasp.
‘I’ve got you, you . . . you . . . !’ The struggle slowed as her assailant recognised her. ‘It’s you, Brenda. I thought it was . . . it was . . .’
She had been grabbed by Rafiq. His arms dropped away to his sides and he set her free. She turned to see him looking battered and very defeated. Instantly she went into a flap of concern, helping the shopkeeper to a wooden chair. He had a cut on his forehead and he was shaking, she realised.
‘What’s happened here?’ Robert asked urgently. ‘Where’s Leena?’
Raf looked at them all. ‘She’s gone. She’s fled the coop. My beautiful Leena.’ His eyes flashed. ‘This is her home! We’ve been here for years! He has no right . . . no one has any right . . . to drive her away . . . to scare her like that . . .’
Brenda had a dreadful feeling that she knew what was coming. ‘What’s happened here tonight?’
Raf fixed his teary eyes on her. ‘You don’t know anything about it, do you? Please . . . tell me, Brenda . . . if you’d known what he was going to do . . . you’d have stopped him. Or warned us . . .’
She gasped, realising. ‘Henry! Henry’s been here tonight!’
Raf nodded. ‘He came in all cheerily, pretending he was just after pipe tobacco and wine gums. Next thing I know he’s grabbed hold of her. Dragged her half over the counter, where she was marking up magazines for delivery. She was shrieking like a banshee, Brenda. I’ve never heard her like that. Terrified. Mortally afraid. I came running out . . . and he – your fella – he had this sharpened stake pressed right against her chest. He had hold of her by the throat . . .’ Raf sobbed as the images came back to him. ‘There was a horrible scene. I had my heavy stapling gun with me. I lobbed it at the bastard and that got him off her for a second or two. And then we were at each other’s throats . . .’