43. Winnie

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

WINNIE

Mum: When are you coming back to live with me, darling? I’ve cleared the boxes out of your room. It’s all clean and devoid of personality, just the way you like it. Oh, except of the sundresses. I’ve left a bunch on your bed. You’ll thank me when you’re married and pregnant.

A laric goes all surly after Claire and Patrick stop by. I can’t say I blame him. He would have overheard Patrick begging me to meet him later. What does Patrick want to tell me in private? He isn’t acting like himself. I watch him as Claire drags him over to Beth’s Zen and Tonic stall. His eyes dart all around and he keeps his arm protectively around Claire’s waist.

He was never touchy-feely like that with me.

But more than that, he looks spooked, as if he thinks a monster is about to leap out from behind the tea cosy stall and eviscerate him.

It’s a good thing I convinced Alaric to leave his sword at home.

I turn back to Alaric, who scowls at Patrick’s back. But then a little girl asks him to help her pick a mug, and he selects one of the slightly lopsided ones with a beautiful teal glaze that matches the ribbon in her hair.

“It’s a fairy pot,” she cries, handing the pot to Reginald so he can fill it with ice and chocolate. “For mixing spells.”

“Of course,” Alaric says. “But remember that fairies are tricksy, so you have to drink all your chocolate, or they will turn it into something gross, like boogers.”

“Attention, everyone!” Komal calls into her megaphone. “Please gather in the centre of the green. Stallholders, please close up shop for the next half hour. We will be lighting the bonfire in ten minutes. Ten minutes until the bonfire!”

“Would you like to watch the bonfire?” Alaric asks, his eyes black voids.

“I’d love that. But are you okay? It doesn’t remind you of, you know…” I lower my voice to a whisper. “Being burned alive?”

“Fire can heal as well as destroy, Winnie. I want to be wherever you are.” He holds out his hand. “Shall we?”

I can feel the cool of his skin on my fingers. Reginald places a hot chocolate in my other hand and we wander through the villagers to find a place on the edge of the green. I can’t help but notice he’s positioned us just opposite the entrance to Butcher Street, only a few steps from Nevermore Bookshop.

I glance around the crowd. I see Claire over by Beth and Isis, who are holding out torches for Gideon to light. She sees me and waves. Patrick isn’t with her.

Is he already waiting for me at the bookstore? I glance over my shoulder, but the street is in shadow. I can’t see a thing.

I turn back to the green. The villagers have piled wood and old pallets into a conical-shaped bonfire in the centre. Schoolchildren had placed little cloth dolls they made amongst the wood – offerings they burn for good luck for the year ahead. Atop the fire, someone has fixed a wooden silhouette of a man. I glance at Alaric, but he stares stoically ahead, unfazed by the symbology.

Komal reads out a speech about the traditions of Midsummer Festival, and both Isis and the local parish priest offer blessings. Isis is in her element, capturing everyone’s attention in a gold velvet dress that dances in the firelight, her head wreathed in a circlet of orange wildflowers. Maisie moves around the action, snapping pictures for the Gazette.

Beth joins Isis at the front of the crowd, their faces glowing as Dora lights their torches. Komal stands to the side, wearing her volunteer fire uniform, in case the blaze gets out of control.

Isis and Beth touch their flames to the petrol-soaked wood, and the fire roars to life. The heat smacks me in the face, and I stagger back. Everyone cheers, and the pub band strikes up a jig that has Isis pulling people from the crowd to dance.

I pat Alaric’s arm. “I’m just going to pop off for a sec. Don’t let Isis coerce you into dancing. I want the first dance when I get back.”

“Of course, my wife. Is everything okay?”

I know we’re supposed to be pretending, but I wish he’d stop calling me that. It makes the butterflies dance every time. “Yes. I just need some air. I’ll be back in a second.”

His gaze lingers on my face. He nods. “Say hello to Patrick for me.”

“I knew you heard him. You’re not going to try and go with me?” I must’ve mistaken that jealous spark in his eyes.

Alaric doesn’t take his eyes off the fire. “You may be my betrothed, but I do not command you, nor would I ever try. I can only warn you to be careful. Know that I am here, and I will fly to your rescue if you call my name.”

“Thank you,” I breathe.

Why does every word from this man’s mouth sound like poetry?

As I hurry off towards Nevermore Bookshop, I can’t stop thinking about the other night. I tug down the collar of my turtleneck and touch my fingers to my neck, feeling the tiny bumps where Alaric’s fangs bit me. A wave of pleasure sweeps my body simply from the memory.

That whole night was just …wow.

When I walked into that room with Alaric, I intended only to put on the best act of my life so that Perdita would get disgusted and not want to marry him. But at some point between that first breathtaking kiss and him biting my fucking clit I stopped acting.

I have been kidding myself.

I thought I was staying at Black Crag out of professional pride. I thought I needed to keep my distance from Alaric so I don’t get hurt. But I know now that it’s too late.

I have fallen for that surly vampire so damn hard .

So hard that I’m thinking about staying after the ball. Because whenever I think of going back to London, I get a horrible queasy feeling in my gut, and it has nothing to do with my deteriorating relationship with Faye or my mother’s sundress obsession.

I don’t want to leave him.

And I’m terrified . Especially after Patrick…

Patrick? Where is he?

I’m standing in front of the bookshop, staring up at that strange interior. All the lights are off because Mina dragged her three husbands out for the evening. I’m itching to get back to the festival and Patrick is nowhere .

“Patrick?” I walk around the side of the shop, down the narrow alley that separates it from Celeste’s bakery next door. “It’s cooler over here away from the fire. I don’t particularly care for freezing my tits off while I wait for you to—oh, no. ”

My foot nudges a crumpled object on the ground. I pull my phone from my pocket and shine the light down, my heart sinking into my shoes.

Patrick lies across the alley at an awkward angle, his glassy eyes peering up at me. A smear of blood mars his perfect cheekbone, and he has a pair of fresh puncture wounds in his neck.