Vengeful Vampire at Wonky Inn: Wonky Inn Book 8 Page 4

  That made me suspicious of them both of course.

  Or that’s what I told myself.

  “You think they will get in?” I looked back at the turret in alarm.

  “Hush a second, child.” Gwyn gently lifted her wand and pointed it directly at the area of thatch the bats were worrying. A thread of cool yellow-tinged, white light threaded its way slowly through the space between Gwyn and the roof. When the tip of the light made contact with the thatch, it slid like a snake, in and over itself, threading round and round and over and over, the way you might darn a hole in a sock.

  The light glowed a brighter yellow, then orange, and finally a burning red, like the centre of a hot fire. I almost began to worry that Gwyn would set the roof alight, but at last she dropped her wand and the colour cooled until it only glowed gently in the darkness.

  The bats seemed confused and darted at the roof with angry intent before fluttering away, circling and gathering momentum, and then trying again.

  “They had obviously located our weak spot,” Gwyn said. “I’ll have Finbarr check out the eaves at first light.”

  “Good idea,” I said, suddenly yawning. I couldn’t help myself.

  “You should get some sleep, Alfhild—”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw something heading towards me, too fast for me to react. I half turned, but it was upon me. A missile from above. It smacked the side of my forehead with such force it knocked me backwards a few feet. I groaned in surprise and tried to stand upright, but whatever it was launched itself at me again, snagging itself in my hair, digging its claws into my scalp and beating at me.

  I shrieked in a very un-witchy way and tried to grab whatever it was, my fingers sliding against leathery, thin wings. It scratched at me, drawing blood, but every time I thought I had purchase it evaded my panicky hands by slipping free of my grasp.

  Gwyn had her wand levelled, but something held her back. Perhaps she feared hitting me instead of the creature, or it may have been the fact that bats were dive-bombing her too. Of course they couldn’t touch her, and only soared straight through her. One or two tumbled to the ground and the rest merely flew in a huge arc and came back for another go.

  I finally got a hold of the thing tangled in my hair just as another one hurled itself at my eye. Fearing for my eyesight, I let go of the one on my head and grabbed a firm hold of the eye-thief. I heard the beating of wings growing thunderous and found myself knocked to the ground once more, as the bat burrowing at my face was dislodged. A thin eerie shriek had the back of my neck quivering, then my hair was wrenched painfully one last time. I closed my eyes, and rolled onto my front, covering my head to protect it. Objects fell out of the sky, hitting the ground close by, as light as conkers dropping from a chestnut tree. Something slimy landed on the back of my legs and I kicked it away in disgust.

  The call of a hunting owl chilled my blood. What new horror was this? But pushing myself to my knees and looking around, I quickly realised the owl was Mr Hoo. Gwyn had lit the tip of her wand and I could see the devastation around me. Dead bats everywhere. Beheaded, dismembered, de-winged. Mr Hoo had enjoyed himself at least.

  He flew several metres above the ground, circling around, staring at me through gold eyes that glinted with anger.

  “Good job.” I waved up at him, my voice slightly shaky, my knees trembling. The moon had disappeared behind some clouds, lending a strange silvery glow to the cumulus above.

  “Alfhild, do you never carry your wand with you?” My great-grandmother scolded me and with good reason. Silvan would have said exactly the same thing.

  “I—” I started to make an excuse about how I’d been enjoying a fun time with friends and had been intending to head for bed when a groan from behind us made me jump.

  I spun about. Movement in the shadows to the side of the inn, near the tall hedgerow that separated my land from farmland, drew my attention. Warily I crept forwards, holding my breath, my hands out in front of me to deliver a defence spell if needed. Gwyn floated next to me; her wand held out in front with similar intent. Mr Hoo continued to circle overhead, watching proceedings.

  The moon came out again and illuminated the ground. Something pale slid away from us, groaning in pain. I stared with morbid fascination as we drew closer. Whatever it was—half man, half-bat—it was grievously injured. One human arm, one wing, one human leg, one strange twisted bat foot.

  I grimaced, unsure whether to reach for it and try to help it or leave it. But Gwyn made the decision for me. She lifted her wand and directed a bright ball of cold energy its way. “Altera vita frui!”

  The thing had just enough time to fix me with one fevered eye and then he was jolted from this life. As I looked on in horror, his body began to dry and shrivel, tighter and tighter, imploding in on itself, until it was nothing more than ash. With a soft crump, the corpse exploded, dust flying everywhere.

  I backed away from the grim sight, my lip curled, my stomach rolling, a disturbing memory rearing its ugly head.

  Twelve months ago… while I’d been hosting the wretched vampire wedding at Whittle Inn… a vampire had been cruelly finished off in the bar. At the time, we’d been blamed even though we’d had nothing to do with the murder.

  Without doubt, I knew the incident was connected to this sudden attack. This had to be the reason why the inn was currently under threat.

  Yes, it had been a while, but revenge is a dish that is best served cold. Isn’t that what they say?

  Somebody somewhere was dying to find out…

  Just who had killed Thaddeus?

  I couldn’t have been in bed for longer than an hour when some horrendous clanking noise woke me.

  I sat bolt up in bed, my heart beating hard in my chest listening to the deep growling sound originating from out the front of the inn. It rumbled and clunked, not a monster as I’d first thought, but oddly mechanical. This time I remembered to reach for my wand as I swung my legs out of bed.

  I glanced at the pitch-black sky through the open window. The clock by the side of my bed informed me the time was 3.37 a.m. Mr Hoo was nowhere to be seen.

  “Gwyn?” I called softly and she appeared immediately at the end of my bed.

  “Did you need me, Alfhild?”

  “Can you hear that?”

  “I should imagine the whole of Whittlecombe can hear it, Alfhild. Why don’t you go and see what they want at this time of night?”

  I blinked at my great-grandmother in confusion. We’d been fighting off vampires a few hours ago and now she wanted me to head downstairs in my nightshirt and confront whatever new terror threatened the inn? I crept towards the window, a little reluctantly I must admit. My body hurt in various places, most especially my head where my hair had been yanked, and my face where the bat had tried to burrow into my eye. I gently brushed hair from my forehead and peeped out into the grounds.

  A Volkswagen camper van had been parked in front of the inn’s main entrance, its engine still idling noisily. Its headlight picked out the light drizzle but blinded me enough that I couldn’t see the occupants inside. Even as I watched, the passenger door swung open, and a fair-haired man jumped out. He crossed in front of the campervan, ducking against the rain as though that would keep him dry, and knocked hard on the front door.

  The sound of his calling reverberated deeply throughout the inn, and I sensed the sudden disturbance as dozens of ghosts stirred or glanced warily about.

  While it is highly unusual in this day and age for people to simply turn up at the inn on the off chance of a room without some sort of reservation, it isn’t totally unheard of. That’s what inns are for after all. They offer succour in the deep of the night. That’s especially true of my paranormal hostelry. It comes with the territory.

  Groaning, and knowing full well I was the only mortal at home and therefore the only being who could physically unlock the front door—locked and bolted after the run-in with the bats a few hours earlier—I slipped on my dressing gown and
slowly made my way down the stairs.

  The thunderous knocking came again. The front door of the inn, made from solid aged oak wood, has a heavy brass knocker and was designed, literally, to wake the dead. When you grab it and hit the wood hard, it certainly makes a great deal of noise. Especially at half three in the morning when there are no bodies around to soak up the sound.

  We had increased security of all the doors and windows after the final skirmish we’d had with The Mori back in May, so now I used a combination of human methods and a touch of witchy enchantment to lock up at night. I drew back the bolts, one after the other, top, bottom and middle, and fiddled with the double lock.

  From outside, the knock came again, ensuring my already aching head throbbed painfully. “Okay, okay, I’m here. Give me a minute,” I called.

  I eventually managed to align the locks in the right order. The final part of the puzzle was a spell. I touched each lock in turn, a single spark flying from my fingers whenever they made contact with the iron, and then muttered, “Ingressum.” Something deep inside the wood of the door clicked—the signal that it could now be opened.

  With a simple turn of the handle, I pulled the door towards myself but stopped it with a well-positioned foot and my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” I began as soon as I’d opened it a crack, not really taking in the figure sheltering from the wet weather. “I’m afraid Whittle Inn is closed for a few days—”

  “Alf? It’s me. Let us in.”

  I blinked at the tall man in front of me. His face was as pale as it had ever been, but his short, previously badly self-cut hair had grown down to his shoulders. His light blue eyes sparkled with happy life. “Marc?”

  Marc Williams, the vampire who’d won the heart of Melchior Laurent’s intended, Ekaterina Lukova when Whittle Inn had hosted the infamous vampire wedding twelve months previously, stood peering in at me through pale, guileless eyes. In light of Melchior’s subsequent fury, and threats against Ekaterina’s family, Wizard Shadowmender had granted Marc and Kat safe passage and they had remained in hiding, well away from Melchior and his friends, for nearly twelve months.

  So what were they doing here?

  “Yes! It’s me, Marc. And Kat’s here too.” He gestured over his shoulder at the rusty battered Volkswagen which still grumbled away to itself on the drive. I peered out. Kat spotted me looking her way and waved, a huge grin on her face.

  “No.” I said and reeled back in horror.

  “No?” Marc asked in confusion.

  “You can’t be here. You can’t!”

  Marc frowned. “I thought you’d be happy to see us.”

  “I’m not. I mean I am. But no. You shouldn’t be here. Why have you come?”

  Marc laughed. He’d always been such a good-natured positive soul. A friendly vegan, he made for a really appalling vampire. “You are a big silly, Alf. You invited us. Remember?”

  “I didn’t.”

  We sat at the bar nursing a small brandy each. I studied my hands, battered and bleeding from my recent batty encounter. I needed a bath.

  The Volkswagen had been hastily parked beside Jed’s van and I’d quickly escorted Kat and Marc inside the safety of the inn and locked the whole place down once more. I’d sent Zephaniah to get word to Finbarr. The security of the inn and its new guests was of even greater importance now.

  “We had a letter,” Marc insisted, and Kat dug around in her bag until she could find a crumpled sheet of A4. The letter, printed using modern means, had been signed in my name, but electronically and not by hand. Certainly not by my hand. An electronic signature was not something I would ever do.

  I stared at the headed notepaper. It had a Whittle Inn motif that Charity had designed when she’d first arrived as manager, but the paper we used was thicker and embossed. This image had been scanned.

  I lay the paper down on top of the bar and stared at it for some time, my eyes gritty with lack of sleep. There were no obvious clues as to whom had sent this, but it had to be a set up.

  Marc and Kat had been lured to an inn, now almost devoid of the people who might have been able to protect them.

  “Is everything alright, Alf?” Kat’s thick accent cut through my troubled thoughts. Originating in Chernoistochinsk in Russia, she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever met. Lustrous long dark hair and a perfectly composed face, but she hardly knew the power of her own beauty. She’d almost married Melchior when he had blackmailed her into doing so by threatening her family, but when the opportunity had presented itself she had dropped him like a hot brick.

  And love, I’d witnessed first-hand, has a way of winning out. Marc, who had adored Kat from afar, had won her heart.

  I gazed at them thoughtfully, wondering how marriage between a mortal and a vampire was working out for them both. Unless Kat had been turned….

  I winced. But it was none of my business.

  “Only… you look like… what’s the saying, Marc? You have been hauled out of the bushes from behind.” She smiled, pleased with herself.

  “Dragged through a hedge backwards,” Marc corrected her, smiling. “Yes. You do.” He directed this latter comment at me, so I pouted at him.

  “That’s probably because I was attacked by a bunch of psycho bats tonight.” I gently patted my left eyelid which was hot to the touch. I’d bathed it of course, but figured I’d have to wait until morning to see what the damage was. Maybe I’d give Millicent a shout and she could blend some potion that would aid a swift recovery. She was good at stuff like that.

  “Bats?” Marc repeated, his face falling. I could see he understood the issue straightaway.

  I nodded. “You’re not the only one to have had a letter. I heard from Sabien a few days ago. He wrote to me warning me that I was in danger. In fact, not just me, but everyone staying at the inn. So, after talking to Wizard Shadowmender I agreed to send everyone away. It’s just me and Finbarr here, plus the ghosts. Everyone else has gone.”

  “All the guests?” Kat glanced around in wide-eyed wonder. Not that many of my guests would have been up at this time anyway, but of course the bar was completely deserted.

  “And Charity too.” I pointed out of the window into the darkness. “Then tonight Grandmama became even more concerned about the bats. She suggested there were more of them than ever and that they were more active. I thought it was just one of those things. Turns out there were dozens of them trying to find their way into the inn.”

  “But they didn’t manage that?” Kat looked distinctly queasy now.

  “No. Thanks to Grandmama.”

  “And they attacked you?” Marc asked, doubtfully.

  I pointed at my face. “I didn’t do this to myself now, did I?”

  “No, no of course you didn’t.” Marc tried to backtrack. “It’s just unusual—from my experience—for the Laurents to be quite so… overtly aggressive.”

  “You think?” I asked, beginning to run out of patience. “I never mistook Melchior and his friends for nice friendly unassuming cuddly people, I have to say.”

  Marc nodded his head, slightly rueful. “They had their moments.”

  I bristled quietly, in no mood to lament about any vampire. Marc, sensitive as ever to those around him reached out a hand to take mine. “All I’m saying, is that I find it slightly surprising.” He thought for a moment then added, “But fortunately you managed to take care of them?”

  I grimaced. “Well… yes… Gwyn did. With the help of Mr Hoo. Do you remember him? My owl.”

  Kat nodded. “So cute.”

  “Not tonight he wasn’t. He was a beast. I’ve never seen him like that. All claws and talons.” I puffed out my cheeks and angled my fingers into claws. “But I was glad of his assistance.”

  “Maybe it was just a particularly vicious strain of bats that wanted to nest in the roof?” Kat suggested.

  I thought back over the whole event. “Believe me, I wish that was the case.” I shook my head reluctantly. “There was a
thing—”

  My companions stared at me, waiting for me to go on. “Definitely half bat, half… human form.”

  Marc nodded and his lip curled up. “It was dispatched?”

  I let a noisy breath out. “Yes. It crumbled to dust as I watched.”

  Marc slumped in his chair. “I guess that’s all the evidence we need.”

  Kat’s face turned pale and she clutched at Marc’s arm. “But we thought we would be safe here. That’s why we came. What have we done?”

  “You’ve walked into a trap,” I said. “And now I’ll have to find a way to get you out.”

  We spent the next day holed up in the inn. While Marc and Kat hid out in the darkest room in the attic, I tried to contact Wizard Shadowmender through the orb but he could not be reached. In the end I resorted to using the ancient Bakelite telephone we housed at the inn to call Mr Kephisto. He offered to come over and keep us company, but I didn’t feel there was much point. I did ask him if he would have a go at reaching Wizard Shadowmender on our behalf though.

  Gwyn and I hung out in the kitchen where it was warm. Florence was in and out, busily thinking up ideas for her book I assumed. I drank more tea than was good for me, and in spite of looking hopeful every time my housekeeper appeared, Florence failed to take the hint. Her frequent forays into the pantry yielded only individual ingredients she might utilise in one of her ingenious creations, but no actual cake for me to eat. I huffed moodily and gave Millicent a call.

  Fortunately Millicent could be reached more easily than the elderly wizards, and upon hearing the headlines about the fracas from the previous evening she rushed up the lane to see me, leaving her dogs—Jasper was none too fond of vampires and we weren’t sure about Sunny—at home.

  “Oh my,” she exclaimed when she saw my face. “You look like you’ve been trampled by a herd of cows.”

  “Bats,” Gwyn told her, a word my great-grandmother was employing with startling regularity, but which was rapidly becoming my least favourite in the dictionary.