44. Winnie

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

WINNIE

Faye: You’re mad, Winnie. Why are you staying in a dusty old castle when we have a literal TV show in the works?

Sometimes I just don’t understand you.

And you still haven’t done those storage containers. I guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own.

AS USUAL.

I ’m nearly asleep on my feet by the time the police secure the scene and get around to interviewing me about discovering Patrick’s body. Alaric remains by my side the whole time, filling in details about our evening that I can’t remember. The image I hold in my mind is Patrick’s pale face frozen in terror and those two bloodied fang marks in his neck.

Patrick, I’m so, so sorry.

We have to catch this killer before they get anyone else.

“—and where were you around the time Ms. Preston found the deceased’s body?” DS Wilson’s pen whirls across her pad.

“I was watching the bonfire when Winnie went to meet Patrick. I stood with Gideon Blake. He will confirm this. Patrick came to our booth earlier and asked to speak to Winnie privately.” Alaric’s jaw works, his hand firmly and possessively in the small of my back.

“And did that upset you, that Winifred was speaking to her ex-boyfriend?”

Alaric’s smile is all teeth. “My fiancée may speak with whomever she chooses.”

“Fiancée?” DS Wilson’s gaze darts from Alaric to me, and back again. “You two are engaged? Didn’t you only meet a month ago?”

“Our love came unannounced in the night, knocking down walls and lighting candles in the gloom,” Alaric says simply, as if he’s discussing the laundry, as though every exquisite word is fact.

I nod as if I’m not moved by his words. DS Wilson scribbles something else down, then turns to me.

“Ms. Preston, you said that Patrick had recently dumped you, is that correct?”

“We broke up a few months ago, yes,” I say frostily.

“What caused the breakup?”

“He cheated on me with Claire.”

“I understand from his fiancée, Ms. Dempsey, that you were taking this breakup rather poorly.”

Really, Claire? Because I haven’t answered your texts?

I glare over DS Wilson’s shoulder at Claire. “Ms. Dempsey has been my best friend since I was six years old, and she and my fiancé were seeing each other behind my back for months. I wasn’t thrilled, no, but I think I’m handling it quite well, considering. I haven’t been sending him vicious texts or slashing his tires or hiding in his closet covered in whipped cream. Look, I know that I’m a suspect because I found the body and I was the one going to meet Patrick in a darkened alley, and I know you have Alaric as a suspect for the first murder, but he has an alibi in this case, so I’m begging you, please, please find who did this. Patrick didn’t deserve this.”

Tears well in my eyes. Patrick may have treated me bad, but he was a bright, young guy with a thriving business and a geeky wine hobby and a whole future ahead of him. I loved him once and even on my darkest nights after the breakup, I never wished for this .

“We’ll be conducting a full investigation, don’t you worry.” Wilson snaps her notebook shut and regards me and Alaric with a knowing stare. “Ms. Preston, both victims spoke to you within minutes of their deaths. If you can think of anything you haven’t told us, you know where to find me. While our investigation is ongoing, neither of you are to leave the village.”

Great. My ex-fiancé is killed by a vampire and they suspect me.

Alaric pulls me close as Wilson stalks away. I sink into his arms, comforted by the strength of his body around me and the cool blade I feel in his pocket.

“I’m sorry for this, Winnie.”

“You’re not sorry,” I sniff. “You wanted to hang Patrick from the battlements by his testicles.”

“I’m sorry that you’re upset. Shall I have Reginald take us home?”

I nod. Alaric wraps me tighter in his cool embrace. I burrow into his shirt, breathing his spicy winter scent and allowing the grief to flood over me. I hear Alaric murmuring softly, and realise that he’s speaking to Reginald on his phone, telling him to pack up the stall and bring the car around.

I look up at him silhouetted in the pale moonlight, his jaw tight, his eyes flecks of cool obsidian as he remains on alert for a possible murderer skulking in the shadows. For an ancient vampire warlord, he could be so sweet . My chest tightens.

Even though there’s a vampire killer on the loose, I’ve never felt safer than here in his arms.

A raven perches on the guttering above us, silently watching the scene unfold. It tilts its head toward me in greeting before flying off into the night. Reginald pulls up ten minutes later, and he and Alaric bundle me into the car.

On the backseat, Alaric pulls me against him again, stroking my hair while the tears finally spill over. I barely notice the harrowing drive back to Black Crag until Reginald pulls up in the inner courtyard.

“Get her inside,” Reginald says. “I’ll see to everything else.”

Alaric lifts me out of the car, carrying me into the castle the way he did that first night we spent together. Unlike that night, he isn’t kissing the air from my lungs or looking at me like he plans to devour me. His brow furrows in concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks me as he settles me into my chair in the sitting room. “You’re paler than the poor vegan whom Gideon once gave the Kiss.”

I shudder. “Poor guy. What happened to him?”

“He was most aggrieved at having to drink human blood.” Alaric kneels in front of the fire and starts stacking the logs. Something about seeing Lord Valerian performing this small manual task he usually leaves to Reginald makes me cry harder. “He said it went against his ethical code, and then spent a not inconsiderable fortune synthesizing a blood substance that can sustain a vampire without being made from human or animal products. It tastes so terrible no vampire can stomach it. Gideon, of course, thought the whole thing hilarious. Ah, there we are.”

Alaric leans back, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction as the fire roars to life.

“Alaric, did you hurt Patrick?”

I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. His face collapses. I wish I could take the words back.

“I know that you must ask this question,” he says, not looking at me. “I am, after all, the monster.”

“No, I didn’t mean…it’s just that Patrick and Danny hurt me, and now they’re both dead. I can’t help but think that I’m at the centre of this and…”

“…and I am your monster.”

I am your monster.

His words are caustic and soft and sad. But they make me feel anything but. They make my throat close over. They make me feel loved, adored.

Safe.

“If I were to kill Patrick, it would be face to face, in a fair fight,” Alaric says. “Well, mostly fair. I know you don’t understand all our laws and customs, so you cannot see a difference between the heinous things I have done and the heinous thing done to Patrick, but there is a vast difference. I have a difficult time believing any vampire capable of such a crime. Husking is an unspeakable act, one of our most forbidden atrocities. The Upyr responsible deserves whatever tortures my mother dreams up?—”

Alaric breaks off mid-sentence. He leaps to his feet like a cat, his dark eyes scanning the room.

“Alaric, what’s wrong?”

“There is someone in my castle.”

“That’s silly.”

“I can smell them.” He sniffs the air. “They smell like…patchouli.”

Wait a second…

Alaric crosses the room with silent steps and thrusts an arm behind one of his enormous tapestries, pulling out a handful of strawberry-blonde hair to which is attached an Isis.

“Unhand me, vampire!” Isis grabs for one of her necklaces. “I have a charm to make me impervious to you! No, wait, that one’s for werewolves…gimme a sec here…”

She starts furiously sorting through her necklaces. Alaric looks confused.

“Give it up, sis. None of those charms work.” Dora emerges from behind the same tapestry, picking a cobweb from her hair. “Valerian, you should really dust behind these things.”

“You—” Alaric starts.

“I suppose we should join the party.” Maisie drags Mina out from the tapestry behind my chair.

Celeste crawls out from inside the towering liquor cabinet, and Beth and Komal sheepishly wave from behind a third tapestry. Alaric looks like his head’s about to explode.

“The whole Murder Club is here?” I ask as Komal flops down beside Dora, her volunteer firefighter jacket covered in bonfire soot.

“Everyone except Arabella. She says she doesn’t do surprise drop-ins on vampires, but really it’s because she’s just painted her nails and she doesn’t want to move before they dry,” Komal says.

“They dragged me along, too.”

I yelp in surprise as Gideon pokes his head out from inside a large decorative urn.

“Hello, lovely Winifred. Sorry, Allie,” Gideon shrugs. “They forced me to drive them over here, said they had to speak with you urgently. And I have your spare key, so…”

“You could have refused them,” Alaric snaps.

“We’re not good with no,” Komal supplies. “Is this the hospitality we get for literally sticking our necks out for you?”

“What are you all doing in my castle ?” Alaric’s hands ball into fists. “Winnie’s had a harrowing night. She should rest?—”

“Rest is for the dead. Present company excepted.” Isis finally gets her necklaces untangled. “The vampire murderer killed again tonight. We have to stop them before they hurt anyone else, so we’re here to strategise.”

Reginald appears in the doorway, a tray containing a hot chocolate and a glass of blood in his hands. His face pales in shock as he sees all the people. “My lord, I didn’t know we had guests. And so many guests. And someone lit the fire. That’s my job.”

Gideon vaults out of the urn and grabs the blood from the tray. “Thanks, Jeeves. If we could get a round of hot chocolate for the ladies of the Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven. And while you’re at it, bring us a couple of bottles of Allie’s finest vintage Dutch Prince.”

“And maybe something hot to eat?” Isis pipes up.

“Winnie tells us you make amazing mince pies.” Celeste rubs her stomach.

“I’m a raw vegan, but I’d make an exception for a mince pie,” Beth adds. “That’s how much Winnie raves about them.”

Reginald disappears, looking a little shellshocked. Alaric passes me the hot chocolate while Gideon settles himself into his chair. Mirabelle appears in the doorway and leaps onto the back of the sofa, hissing at Oscar as if warning him not to leave his dog smell on her favourite rug.

“This plan of yours for the ball,” Alaric says. “I presume it’s foolhardy and dangerous.”

“How did you know that?” Mina looks aghast.

“It’s almost as if our reputation precedes us,” says Komal with a smile.

“We’ve been speaking to Gideon, who knows anyone who’s anyone in the local vamp community?—”

“He has even better contacts than Arabella, and he’s infinitely less bitchy,” adds Isis.

“—and we’ve come up with a list of two top suspects,” explains Maisie. “One of them, you already knew about, Winnie. Arabella’s client – Alyra Maythorn of the Blood Kincaid. Danny made advances at her while he worked as a handyman at Sanctus, and she was at the pub on the night of the murder. She was also at the Midsummer Festival, and I saw her having a heated conversation with Patrick shortly before the bonfire. But Gideon has another suspect for us.”

“Baylor Godsven of the Blood Ptolemy.” Gideon settles back into the chair, stretching his long legs across the rug. Beside me, Alaric’s fingers curl into my arm. “I’ve already mentioned him to Allie. He doesn’t live on the estate, but in a large property near the village of Grimdale. He’s been in trouble with the Mora before for sneaking into the bedrooms of young human men at night and doing things that are best not repeated in the company of ladies.”

“I resent that,” Komal makes a face. “I’m hardly a lady.”

“My sources inform me that there are dark rumours about what Baylor gets up to on his estate with humans…who may not always consent. He’s been outspoken in court politics about going back to the ‘good old days’ where vampires held dominion in Europe, and ridding ourselves of the laws we have to keep us secret and ‘subservient’ – his words, not mine. It’s believable that Baylor’s grown bold enough to try husking, although why he would risk the Mora by doing it out in the open is still beyond me, but perhaps that’s half the thrill for him—Allie, how do you drink this swill?” Gideon makes a face and tosses the rest of the blood into the fire, where it sizzles and sparks. “I don’t suppose any of you fine ladies feel like letting me have a little suck? I promise I’ll make it fun for you too.”

I self-consciously tug on my silk scarf. Alaric walks over to Gideon and shoves him roughly back in the chair. He snatches the empty goblet from Gideon’s hands and sets it down on the table.

“I apologise for the rudeness of my friend. I hope it will not reflect poorly on my hosting or my fiancée, Winifred. She enjoys your company and does not wish to be ostracised on account of my aloofness.“

“We’re cool, Vlad the Impaler,” Isis props her tie-dye Dr. Martens on Alaric’s antique coffee table. His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t say a thing.

“Was this Baylor at the pub the night of Danny’s death? Did you see him this evening at the festival?” Alaric growls at Gideon.

Gideon shakes his head. “No sightings at either location, although if he were there, he’d be skulking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to snatch a human…”

I shudder, thinking of poor Patrick, grabbed in the dark and drained dry.

“Both Alyra and Baylor have RSVPed for the ball,” Gideon says softly.

“All you have are two vampires with possible motives and no evidence,” Alaric says. “There could be others with some motive we cannot guess. My mother will not invoke the Mora on flimsy evidence.”

“We know that. That’s why we’re going to gather evidence at the ball. I’ll make a powerful truth potion,” says Isis. “We will mix this into the blood cocktails that we’ll distribute to the guests.”

“You’ll distribute?”

“Human servants delivering blood cocktails to my guests?” Callista appears in the doorway, her dress sweeping behind her as she enters the room and stands in front of the fire.

Isis gasps, and Maisie does a funny little curtsey. I understand – Callista’s cold, deadly beauty is disconcerting, especially when you know of all her dark and callous deeds.

“Y-y-yes, ma’am.”

“I prefer ‘my lady,’ if you please.” Callista licks her lips. “I think my guests will be tickled by the prospect, and your scents will draw out the husker. You are all unThralled, without the mark of another vampire in your blood. In a room already brimming with hedonism, they will find it impossible to resist. But there are risks.”

She sounds delighted by the prospect of risks, but I pat my tote bag, where my knife sits safely inside. “We’ll be ready to fight this husker off, if required. We’ll make sure everyone is armed.”

“We will focus our attention on the two suspects with the aim of eliciting a confession or incriminating evidence, which we will record,” Maisie says. “We all have hidden cameras and recorders we can hide on our bodies.”

“Where did you all get spy cameras from?” I ask.

“From the internet,” Mina shrugs. “By way of my husband, Moriarty.”

“Moriarty as in the fictional villain of Arthur Conan Doyle?—”

“The one and same.” Mina smiles. “Morrie’s a big fan of the internet. Lots of opportunities for skullduggery and shenanigans.”

“Enough about Mina’s fictional husbands. Back to the plan!” Isis regards Callista with an attempt at a confident smile, but ends up looking like she’s lost in a carnival horror maze and desperately needs the bathroom. “When we catch the killer, Alaric and Gideon will drag them in front of you in a big show, lots of grunting and bulging muscles and such, and you will do your vampy justice act and voilà, no more murderer.”

“Indeed.” Callista’s smile could break glass.

“What about the police?”

Every pair of eyes in the room swivels to look at Reginald, who stands in the doorway holding a silver tray groaning beneath the weight of hot chocolates, goblets filled with blood, and an enormous stack of steaming mince pies.

I didn’t realise how hungry I am until those meat pies hit my nostrils. I grab one as Reginald sets the tray down, tossing it between my hands so the pastry doesn’t burn my fingers.

“What about the police?” Alaric roars.

“Even if you bring the murderer to justice, my lord, the police won’t know that, and we cannot allow them to continue to suspect you or Ms. Preston.”

Reginald raises a valid point. I remember DS Wilson’s determined face as she scribbled on her pad. She definitely thinks I have something to do with the two murders.

“We have a plan for that, too,” Beth pipes up.

Alaric looks tired. “Which is?”

“It’s best you don’t know the details. Plausible deniability and whatnot. But we’ll make sure that the police don’t look at Alaric or Winnie again.”

“I want it known that I think this plan is terrible,” Alaric declares.

“Your protest is noted, Count Duckula. Now, be quiet. We’re almost out of your hair.” Isis raps her fingers on the back of the sofa. Mirabelle sniffs her chipped purple polish. “The only unknown is this princess. Is she going to be a problem?”

“Perdita will be helping me with the Mora as a representative of the Midnight Court. She will not be in attendance as Alaric’s fiancée.” Callista’s face screws up. “That dubious honour will be going to Winifred.”

Alaric turns to me, and the firelight catches in his eyes. He kneels beside my chair, taking my hand in his. “It will be my honour to have you at my side, wife,” he whispers, the deep timbre of his voice rattling against my ribcage.

Why, why do I find myself wishing those words were real? Why does the way he says ‘wife’ make my knees tremble?

Why did I agree to this pretend engagement when I knew my heart was all mixed up?

Why can I not tear myself from those anthracite eyes?

I guess I’m going to a vampire ball.

A horrible thought crosses my mind.

“What am I going to wear?”