22. Winnie

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WINNIE

Claire: Patrick and I have to leave the city for a few days, but I was hoping that when I got back, we could maybe catch up? There’s something I want to ask you. It’s important, and it would mean the world to me if we could meet. You’re not going to hate me forever, are you?

T his time, when I arrive for the weekly Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven meeting, I push open the door to Nevermore Bookshop and head straight through to the events room, a thermos of Reginald’s hot chocolate tucked under one arm.

I need distraction. I need Isis to wave her hands and chant something nonsensical to trick me into believing that I have my shit together. I need Beth to make an elixir that turns back time so I don’t kiss Alaric again. I need Komal’s easy authority and Arabella’s snooty sarcasm and Dora’s quiet kindness. I am a mess, and I just kissed my boss and rocked against his fucking enormous cock and begged him, and he rejected me.

I need friends .

Alaric has been curt with me ever since the kiss. Instead of our usual banter while we sort his things, he gives me one-word answers while he works fastidiously on a painting of Mirabelle. He refuses to eat with me by the fire, remaining in his studio after I go to bed. Yesterday, when I started moving the bags of clay out of the drawing room, I noticed several more had been opened, the clay half gone.

I don’t know what to do.

After he pulled me from the water, there’s been a change in him, in us . I catch him watching me, his pupils blown out with unrestrained desire, and instead of being terrified or pushing back against the idea of initiating something with a client, I’m falling headfirst into him. For a long time, I’ve held on too tight to the life I thought I wanted that I squeezed everyone out of it, but here at Black Crag, beneath his hungry, possessive gaze, I want to surrender all control.

We’ve both been pretending the kiss at the pub didn’t happen, but how can I ignore his hardness digging into me or the way I rocked against it, totally desperate for his touch?

When I told him about the condoms in my handbag, his grip had tightened on me and his eyes narrowed – a predator closing in on his prey.

When he shoved me against the potter’s wheel, I thought…I thought…

But I read him wrong, and now every time I see him, my skin burns hot with shame.

How can I ignore the fact that he doesn’t want me?

“Croak,” the raven greets me from his perch above the door.

“Hi there.” I hold up a small packet of freeze-dried strawberries. “I brought you a treat, and I promise that I won’t quote any Poe at you. Although, how do you feel about Byron? Mary Oliver? Is this bard-vendetta you have Poe-specific, or do you detest all poets?”

“Croak.”

“Excellent. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.”

“Winnie, you came back!” Beth enters the shop behind me and practically bowls me over with her hug. “I thought for sure we’d scared you away. I made goji and kelp slice. Want to try some?”

Beth holds out a platter filled with what can only be described as mouldy anthills.

“Er…maybe later.” I follow Beth into the events room.

“Everyone has been berating me over our group chat about all the vampire talk,” Isis admits sheepishly as she leans in for her sandalwood-scented hug. “Which we shouldn’t have given you access to until after your initiation, but Dora convinced me to make an exception.”

“My initiation?”

“Oh, it’s just a little ritual to welcome you officially to the book coven. But we have to wait for a full moon early next month?—”

“I can’t make the initiation,” Celeste says as she hands around a stack of books. “I have to visit my mother. And no, I can’t get out of it.”

“That’s cool. We don’t all need to be there for the initiation.” Isis grins at me. “Well, Winnie needs to be there.”

“But I’m not going to be in Argleton next month,” I point out. “I told you last week, remember? I’ll be able to attend next week’s meeting but after that, I’ll be back in London.”

As I say this aloud, a wave of sadness washes over me. Going back to London means I can no longer exist in this liminal space. I have to face the fact that I have no place to live and Faye is taking advantage of me and I’m alone and my mother needs me again . I want to stay in Argleton and go to book club meetings and initiations and fight with Alaric about ceramics?—

—and get shagged senseless over a potter’s wheel.

If I’m being honest.

Isis points to her head. “I’m psychic, remember? I saw a vision of you here with us as a fully-fledged member of the Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven. And I saw you sticking it to your ex and your so-called friend.”

What?

“Isis!” Komal shoots her a violent look before I can question her, a dent appearing between her pretty green eyes. “Ignore her, Win. Isis never knows when to shut her pie hole.”

I glare at Isis. “You…know?”

Isis taps her head. “I told you. Psychic.”

Dora sinks down in her beanbag, pulling her cardigan tight around her. “What Isis means to say is that she overheard you talking to Lilac in the pub, and she’s sorry for being a nosy so-and-so.”

I remember a group of ladies at a table in the corner. I bet that was the book club.

“Are you okay, Winnie?” Beth asks, offering her plate to Komal, who takes an anthill and tosses it to the raven when Beth’s not looking. “Do you need us to hex a bitch for you?”

“Let us not blame the woman for the man cheating.” Celeste arranges a plate of perfect red velvet cupcakes. “That’s not very feminist of us. Maybe if we cast a shrinking penis spell on him, like we did for Beth’s shitty ex-boyfriend?”

“As head of the Historical Society, I have the key to the witch hunt display case at the Argleton museum,” Komal says in a perfectly serious voice. “I bet putting his balls through a mangle will make him reassess his life choices.”

I’m crying from laughter. “No hexes or medieval torture necessary. Yes, my fiancé and best friend cheated on me, but I’m trying my best to put it behind me and move on.”

“I hope moving on means sucking face with a certain reclusive vampire?” Mina raises an eyebrow as she settles Oscar at her feet.

My cheeks flare with heat. “Alaric—er, Lord Valerian is my boss. That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

No, it would not.

Despite the whole Alaric rejecting, I feel a stab of something like contentment hit me as I sink down into the same beanbag I’d sat on last week. It’s as if the girls saved that spot for me – my usual spot in their circle. I find myself wishing again that I could stay. But that would be crazy. Even if I split off from Faye (the idea of which makes me feel ill), where would I find enough high-end clients in Argleton?

I shove my hand in my pocket, but my phone’s not there. That’s right. I threw it into the fountain at Black Crag so that I didn’t have to read any more texts from Claire. I like the idea of her driving herself mad texting me and never receiving a reply, and if I kept the phone, eventually, I’ll be tempted.

She sounds so sincere, so concerned about me.

She doesn’t have a right to be concerned when she’s half the reason the concern is needed.

But that’s exactly who Claire is. She needs everyone to like her. A dark, vindictive part of me enjoys leaving her hanging.

I’m grateful when Mina calls the meeting to order. We all pull out our copies of this week’s book, Lords of Pain by Angel Lawson and Samantha Rue. It’s another dark romance, which is not normally my thing, but these writers are so compelling and the plots so bonkers that I ate it up.

“I hate all the lords,” Celeste declares. “I hope Story cuts their dicks off and eats them in front of them.”

Arabella shrugs her elegant shoulders. “It’s a dark romance, so that’s possible.”

“I’m already in love with Rath.” Komal clasps her hands to her chest. “Such a tortured soul. I just want to hold him and tell him everything will be okay.”

“Can we not do a dark romance next week?” Maisie asks. “I can only deal with so much morally-grey in my life.”

“As long as it’s on audiobook,” Mina says. “With a sexy narrator. Maybe a hot paranormal with some growly werewolves?—”

“No werewolves,” Celeste shudders. “All that body hair. No, thank you.”

“Okay, a hot vampire, then.”

“Speaking of vampires,” Isis opens her huge tote bag and starts tossing out little velvet bags. “I made these anti-vampire charms for protection.”

Komal opens hers and makes a face. “It smells like an Italian pizza left on a radiator for three days.”

“It is mostly garlic,” Isis admits as she drops a velvet pouch in my lap.

“Alaric can’t be a vampire, then.” I toss the charm into my handbag. “His butler, Reginald, cooks with garlic all the time.”

“Maybe it’s so that he builds up a tolerance. Take another, just in case.” Isis tosses a second stinky pouch at me, then turns to the group. “Any new information on Danny’s murder to share?”

Beth raises her head from the rom-com she’s reading. “Linda Derry came in for her cupping treatment today. She told me that she was walking her puppy along the path up by the Old Mill when she heard some strange noises and she says?—”

“The Old Mill?” Celeste’s head whips around. “Why is she walking her dogs near there? No one ever goes up there.”

“Linda Derry is on the Historical Society with me,” Komal says. “She always forgets to turn on her hearing aids. I’m not sure her ‘strange noises’ are much of a lead.”

“So nothing, then.” Isis turns to Maisie. “What about you, Ms. Investigative Reporter?”

Maisie smirks. “You’re just going to have to read about it in the Argleton Gazette like everyone else.”

Isis tosses an anthill at her. “What good is having a friend on the inside if she won’t give us the scoop? Spill – this murder club hasn’t had a real murder to solve in months, and this is our first truly supernatural one?—”

“I need to ask.” I swallow a mouthful of amazing cupcake. “I thought you were called the Nevermore Murder Club because you liked books with a little death and righteous revenge. Are you saying that you’re amateur detectives?”

“Oh yes, we’ve been instrumental in solving several mysteries around the village.” Komal licks lemon icing from her long fingers. “It’s all Mina’s fault.”

“When I first came back to the village after some time in America, I ended up embroiled in a couple of murders.” Mina smiles sheepishly. “They were the inspiration for my books.”

“She says that so innocently,” Maisie grins. “Mina has quite the reputation around the village for solving crimes that stump the police, including that incident with Dracula?—”

“Sssssh.” Mina holds her finger to her lips. “Winnie hasn’t finished my series yet.”

“It has been a hectic week at the castle,” I admit. The urge to spill my guts to the club is so overwhelming that I bite my lip to hold it back.

“I promised my husbands that I’d give up my sleuthing after I started writing books,” Mina says. “But then we started the book club and, well, these ladies are quite persuasive.”

“We caught a murderer terrorizing the old folks home,” Isis said. “They were strangling old ladies with their knitting.”

“And remember when we figured out who was poisoning those brides-to-be and positioning their bodies to look just like their engagement portraits?” Maisie shakes her head. “That one was a doozy.”

“Oh, and there was the poor bloke who got run over by the combine harvester?—”

“Does this village attract murderers or something?” I ask, only half-joking. “Do you get a two-for-one Sunday roast at the pub if you’ve offed someone? This is an awful lot of violent death for a small English village. I think I’ll go back to London, the crime capital of the UK, where it’s safer.”

“I have theories about a magical locus in the middle of the village green. Aleister Crowley used to lead rituals on the exact spot. But whatever the reason, we should tell Lilac about the two-for-one Sunday roast idea.” Isis strokes her chin. “That’s genius.”

“Since Isis wants us to get involved in Danny’s murder, even though no woman in this village feels an ounce of sadness at his untimely demise,” Maisie shakes her head, “I’ll give you my update. Inspector Hayes tells me that he’s following up on several leads, which is Hayes-speak for, ‘We’re completely stumped.’ Danny had a lot of enemies in the village. Winnie’s hot vampire is top of the list since he was one of the last people seen talking to Danny in the pub, and it didn’t look friendly. But he’s far from the only suspect. And since Isis’ vision exonerates him and Winnie has the hots for him, we owe it to her to at least attempt to clear his name.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. My cheeks flare with heat, but I don’t correct Maisie. I do have the hots for Alaric. If only he felt the same…

“I spoke to Lilac and she told me the same story about the fellow asking after Danny. So I drove out to the Sanctus Estate and asked at their office if Danny was working for them. The lady in the office said no, absolutely not, but when she stepped outside to take a phone call, I managed to get on her computer and found Danny’s payslips. It looks as if he was employed as a handyman for Sanctus, mainly to do small repair jobs and hang pictures in the houses that are completed. And that’s not all I found.”

Maisie’s eyes blaze with triumph. We all lean forward in our seats.

“ What? ” Beth huffs.

“Danny received a disciplinary warning for behaving inappropriately towards a female resident of Sanctus. She complained to the management and he was let go from the company payroll the day he was murdered .”

Celeste gasps.

“That seems suspicious,” Mina says.

Maisie nods. “I couldn’t get the names of the victim of Danny’s harassment, or any of the other Sanctus residents. Those are locked down tight in a password-protected database, and I only had a moment before the woman came back inside. But it’s a lead we need to follow up.”

Arabella furrows her perfectly tweezed eyebrows. “What do you think happened here? A billion-dollar development firm makes Danny pay for harassing one of their clients by brutally murdering him in a back alley? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Not yet, but we can keep digging,” Maisie says.

Arabella sighs. “I suppose if I make some discreet inquiries with my clients, I will be able to unearth this woman’s name. But only if the opportunity arises. Will that help?”

“We would be eternally in your debt, Arabella. I’ve found out something, too,” Mina adds. “Actually, two somethings.”

“Enlighten us,” Arabella says in a bored voice.

Mina leans forward. “Maisie, this cannot go in the paper, okay? If the villagers hear about it, people will panic and do stupid things.”

“I promise.” Maisie zips her lips. “Strictly off-the-record, like my snooping in Sanctus computers.”

“Exactly. Well, you all know that I’m friends with Jo, the medical examiner. She came over for dinner last night. Morrie plied her with alcohol and she accidentally let slip this little tidbit. We know that the body was exsanguinated. Jo told me that none of the blood was present at the scene. This is not usual, and it means the killer took the blood with him. Pints of the stuff. Also,” Mina swallows. “The only marks found on the victim’s body are two small holes in the neck.”

“See?” Isis smashes her fist into her beanbag. “What did I tell you? A vampire did it. A vampire sucked Danny dry. And the only vampire we know in the village is Winnie’s boyfriend, Lord Valerian. So we need to find out who else around here is packing a set of fangs.”

I shudder at the memory of that dark coffin in the chapel where Alaric’s bedroom should be, but then it’s replaced by the cool, hungry press of Alaric’s lips on mine. A blush creeps over my cheeks. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Why not?” Arabella raises one perfect eyebrow. “Bloodsucker or no, that man should be 23wecleaning out your cobwebs with his womb broom.”

“Agreed.” Beth licks her lips. “I’d entangle lower beards with Alaric?—”

“ Anyway, the police aren’t going to follow a supernatural lead.” Isis rubs her hands together. “It’s up to us to make sure the village isn’t being terrorized by a hungry vamp?—”

“—again—” says Mina.

“That’s right, again. So we need to dig out our vampire-slaying kits and start eating a lot of garlic bread and find the monster hiding among us?—”

Excuse me, again ? Why do they keep implying that they’ve dealt with a supernatural menace before ? —

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement in the window. Isis is going on about laying a vampire trap. I get to my feet, cross the room, and squint into the darkness.

Something moves on the street, just out of reach of the lights. I jump back in surprise.

“Who’s that?” Komal’s head appears beside me. “That’s someone out there!”

“Were they spying on our meeting?” Isis slaps her fist against the windowsill. “I’ll hex their arse so far into next week that they won’t be able to find it with a freaking Google Alert!”

All the women of the Nevermore Murder Club crowd the window, peering at the dark figure as it crosses the top of Butcher Street, heading in the general direction of the pub.

A chill runs down my spine.

Isis heaves the window open. “If we catch you spying again,” she yells, “I’ll turn you into a toad, and you know that I can do it!”

The meeting breaks up after that. I stay behind to help tidy up the events room and pick up a selection of books from Mina. Isis gathers the plates and wraps up the last of the cupcakes to take to her Intro to Magic class the next night. Mina’s raven delicately picks out the bits of goji and kelp slice that the ladies hid behind the cushions and drops them into the rubbish.

Isis and I end up leaving at the same time. She helps me to shove my book booty into my handbag.

“This might be my true magical power – being able to shove a huge number of books into a small space,” she says.

“What about you being a psychic? And the ability to turn people into toads?”

“Between you and me, I don’t have a magical bone in my body.” Isis waves a hand dismissively, in a way that makes me think that maybe she’s trying to convince herself. “I know everything there is to know about magic, but I’ve never actually been able to do any. My sister, on the other hand…”

“What about Dora?”

“Ignore me, I’m just being silly.” Isis looks away. “Where are you heading now? Back to your vampire’s lair?”

“Reginald will be waiting for me at the Rose & Wimple.” I smile. “He enjoys the weekly excuse to come into the village. Alaric doesn’t like to leave the castle.”

But maybe I can change that.

Even if I can’t make Alaric want me, at least I might be able to give him the gift of vulnerability.

“We certainly don’t get many sightings of him in the village, and never during the daylight hours.” Isis taps her fingers on the vampire charm she’s hung around her neck. “I know I can be a little much, but it’s only because I’m worried about you. Mina already defeated a vampire once before, and it nearly cost her everything. I don’t want anyone I love to get hurt. But I don’t have to be a real psychic to see that you’re hurting right now. If you ever need to talk about anything, supernatural or not, you know where to find me.”

The urge to blurt out my humiliating kiss and all the strange things I’ve seen at Black Crag over the last two weeks dance on my tongue. But it’s mortifying enough to think that the Nevermore Murder Club know about Patrick leaving me for Claire. I’d like to maintain the illusion that I’ve got my life together a little longer.

Besides, everything vampiric about my boss – his aversion to sunlight, his lightning-fast reflexes, his centuries’ worth of hobbies, the coffin in his private wing – has a rational explanation.

Sort of.

“Anyway, think about it. Good night, Winnie. I’ll see you next week.” Isis presses a card into my hand and darts off towards the other side of the green, where she and Dora live above their magical shop. I wave at her and start towards the pub.

“Winnie.”

Alaric steps out from behind a streetlight. My heart leaps in my throat.

“You’re…” I can’t find the words. “You’re outside the castle.”

“It seems so.”

Beneath the pale streetlamps, his alabaster skin glimmers, as though veins of gold run beneath the surface. His sharp cheekbones and strong jaw stand in stark relief, and the way he steps towards me, oozing power and possession and danger, makes me understand why dark romance heroines are so ready to be tied up in a basement and punished by the villains.

“You’re in the village. People might see you?”

“Don’t sound so panicked. I brought a disguise.” He removes an object from his pocket and holds it under his nose. It’s a small cardboard moustache. “No one will recognise me now.”

Why is he even more alluring when he’s being silly? It’s unfair that one man should possess so much raw dominance.

“You’re ridiculous. What are you doing here?” I ask. “How did you get into the village?”

“I am…trying to be vulnerable. I thought you might like some supper.” He holds out his arm. “Would you allow me to take you for a meal?”

The corner of his mouth quirks a little as if something he said is funny in a dark way.

He’s trying to be vulnerable.

For me.

The butterflies in my stomach invite some friends over for a rager.

“Okay. Sure. I’d love to have you for supper. I mean, have supper with you! That’s what I meant.”

I find myself slipping my hand through his arm in an old-fashioned way that feels perfectly natural for him. Alaric leads me across the green in the direction of the pub. A chill bites in the air. How long has Alaric been standing out in the mild summer evening? His skin is as cool as ever. He shouldn’t let himself get so cold. If the sunlight makes him bedridden for three days, then I can only imagine what he’ll be like with the man flu.

Albert settles us into one of the outdoor tables. He gives me one of his enthusiastic lectures on the pub’s history – how the building had been an inn along a popular pilgrimage route, how it had been the centre of village life for centuries and is almost definitely haunted. He doesn’t answer my question about how he got into the village, but he does pull out my stool for me and glares at a couple who were headed to the table beside us until they turn away. Once our territory is secure, he ducks inside, returning a few minutes later with a gin and tonic and a glass of red wine for himself, and two menus tucked under his arm.

“I think I feel like bangers and mash, but the pulled pork sliders also look good.” I glance over at him. He leans one arm on the table and sips his wine. His outward appearance is one of total control, but there’s a fierceness in his eyes that betrays how on edge he is. Is he putting himself through this because of what I said to him? “What’s good here?”

“I do not know. I’ve never tried the food, although Reginald raves about the beef and Guinness pie.”

“If it’s Reginald-approved, then I’ll try the pie. And a basket of Lilac’s amazing loaded wedges. I may be a disaster of a human, but a plate of fried potatoes make it better.”

“You’re not a disaster of a human.” Alaric’s dark eyes bore into mine.

I stare down at the menu. “Thanks, but I don’t believe you. I told you that my intention is that I deserve to be happy. I try to believe that. And yet, I’m not good enough for Patrick to marry, or for Claire to tell me the truth. I’m letting my business partner walk all over me, and my mum is manipulating me back into her life. I’m such a mess that I’m throwing myself at a client just to try and convince myself that I’m desirable. I’m not doing a very good job of being happy.”

Alaric sets down his glass. His eyes reflect a sprinkle of stars. “I was the one who trapped you against the wheel?—”

I hold up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. I think you’re right and we should just pretend it never happened.”

“I never said that we should pretend it never happened.”

“Running out of the room in disgust said it for you.” I grip my glass in shaking hands and take a long sip. My cheeks burn and I can’t bring myself to look at him, so I study the dessert section of the menu. “We only have to work together for another week and then I’ll be out of your life forever?—”

“You’re happy when you organise,” Alaric says. “You get this adorable furrow between your eyes. At first, it looks like you’re irked by the objects around you, but the longer I work with you, I see that it’s not frustration, but serenity. You find peace in creating order from chaos.”

I think of the joy I felt after I cleaned up Professor Lewicki’s office, how the organisation system I designed changed the way she taught, and of the towering piles and council complaints that my mother ignores. “That might be true, but it doesn’t do any good, does it?”

“What you’ve done for me is a miracle.” Alaric’s hand reaches across the menu, his cool fingers brushing mine in a way that makes the butterflies start a mosh pit. “I spend my days creating chaos from order, but I did not know what brought me joy until I met you. I do not have the words for the gift you’ve given me.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.” I slide my hands into my lap. I can’t look at him. I can’t bear to see pity in his eyes, or something worse. Something that might give me hope. “I wish every client was like you. I love that the Clutter Queens is doing so well. I’m proud of what Faye and I built. But I got into organising because I want to help people who can’t help themselves. People who hoard aren’t slobs. They’re struggling with overwhelming emotional issues. Their piles of stuff are piles of sadness, or piles of broken dreams, or piles of hope. They feel embarrassed, and alone, and things get worse and worse and…” and their children have to live for years with rats crawling over their beds at night. “I wanted to show them that someone cares, and that there is another way. But Faye got really into Instagram decor trends and influencer culture and I got swept along with her, and now the business is so high-end that most of our clients don’t even need us – they just like to show off that they have the money to hire an organiser. Being here with you is the first time I’ve felt truly needed in a long time. Faye’s living her best life but I’m stuck doing all the work, and I hate it. I’m not happy. But I don’t know what to do about it.”

The butterflies jackhammer against my heart. I’ve never admitted that out loud before. I’ve never even admitted that to myself .

“A wise woman once told me that you should live according to your intentions,” Alaric says. “You deserve to be happy. If you’re unhappy, you should leave.”

My head jerks up. “I can’t leave Faye. The whole business is built off my Winnie Wins System, but that’s tied up in our company trademark. If I walk away, I won’t be able to use it.”

“She will give it up if I ask her,” Alaric says firmly. “With my sword.”

“That’s probably not a good idea?—”

No.

I choke on my drink.

It can’t be.

My feet dig into the metal bar on the stool, refusing to move from the path of the tsunami strolling towards me.

How are Patrick and Claire walking across the green towards us?