Chapter One: Aralyn
Saying that it was dark and stormy wouldn't have done justice to the night Aralyn found herself in as she headed across town to her rendezvous point.
The rain came down in heavy sheets, which caught the pale, ghostly glow of the streetlights, which feebly pushed back the thick night. The sound of thunder rolling around the hills was barely audible over the crashing of the huge raindrops pounding on the slate of roofs, pouring down and washing the cobblestones in deep rivulets.
Aralyn pulled her hood farther over her face and the collar of her thick cloak tighter around her shoulders as she pushed forward, through the narrow back alleys and side streets of Wishing Moon Bay, feeling right at home on one of the rare nights when the town was not graced with the glowing face of its namesake.
Cloaked in shadow, almost invisible, she slinked through the darkness that hung heavy between the buildings until she saw what she was looking for, a sign hanging from a curious wooden building squished in between the brick and mortar of the other houses and shops.
The Lonely Tavern.
Her usual prey was creatures of the night, but that was not why she was out here in the storm. No, tonight the only thing she was hunting was the one thing her training could not provide.
Information.
Luckily, she had one of the most reliable sources in town.
She put out her hand to push open the door, but it swung open before she touched it, and the warm air, laden with the smell of alcohol, bread, and candle smoke flooded out into the street, enveloping her in a comforting cloud that beckoned her in.
"Aralyn!" Uncle Burt's eyes lit up, and he slid off his chair at the bar and strode through the crowded tavern toward her with a broad smile on his face.
"Uncle Burt." Aralyn shook the rain from her cloak as she pushed the hood down off her head. "Ugh!" She leaped back as her foot landed on something soft and squishy.
"It's only Brushworth and Co.," Uncle Burt assured her.
‘Only Brushworth' appeared to be a sweeping brush with a mind of its own, and ‘Co.' was a collection of friends. A bucket scuttled across the worn wooden floor, followed by a mop—that she had accidentally stepped on—that swished at the spattering of rain droplets that fell from her cloak to the floor.
"Witchcraft," Aralyn muttered under her breath.
"I suppose," Uncle Burt mused and rubbed his chin. "But we still have not figured out whether Brushworth is a magical object under the influence of Morwenna, or an employee. Or perhaps he's just part of the tavern itself, an extension of its will, maybe."
Aralyn narrowed her eyes at her uncle, who she suspected might be under the influence of something else entirely. Drink.
"Yes, yes." He waved his hand at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "I know, the tavern is a building, bricks and mortar..."
"So, it can't be responsible for that..." She pointed at the brush, which was ushering the mop and bucket back toward the bar, their services now needed to clear up spilled beer.
"Well..." Uncle Burt began, then he slipped his arm around her shoulder and guided her toward the bar, probably deciding it wasn't worth arguing his point. "Why don't I buy my favorite niece a drink?"
"I'm your only..." But her voice was cut off by Uncle Burt's best friends, Stan and Harry.
"Aralyn. It's so good to see you." Stan came toward her, his face lit up like it was Christmas morning. "Burt's been keeping us up to date with your escapades. He's so detailed about them, we think he's trying to live vicariously through you."
"Escapades?" Aralyn arched an eyebrow at Burt. "Is that what you call it?"
Burt shrugged. "It makes me worry less."
"I'm more than capable of looking after myself," Aralyn replied a little too sharply. "I've been in training since before I could walk." At least, that's how it seemed to Aralyn.
"I know." Burt hung his head. "But that doesn't stop me from worrying about you."
"He's oh so proud of you," Harry chimed in.
"I am," Burt confessed with misty eyes.
Stan's eyes glazed a little as if he were looking at distant lands. "Keeping those little villages safe, tracking down evil…bringing garlic to Stesian cuisine."
Aralyn chuckled. "You heard about that, then?"
"So, what brings you to Wishing Moon Bay?" Stan asked eagerly.
"Yes, Burt said he didn't know why you needed to see him," Harry continued. "Ever since we received your letter, we've done nothing but speculate."
"I'm guessing this is not just a social call." Uncle Burt's words hit hard, even though Aralyn knew he didn't mean anything by it. He had always been supportive and understanding, and never made snide comments about her rather infrequent visits.
She hadn't realized until now just how long it had been.
"I wanted to catch up," Aralyn replied and then sighed heavily. She might be able to openly lie to a vampire, but not to her uncle and his friends. "And by catch up, I mean ask for information."
"Information?" Uncle Burt seemed to grow a foot before her eyes. "What information?"
"You said in one of your last letters that you had recently had some dealings with vampires. In particular, one Valaky." Aralyn's attention was drawn away from her uncle as a shrill voice pierced the atmosphere in the bar.
" Flint! "
"Yes, Morwenna," the large bartender replied rather meekly—for a dragon shifter. If she were not mistaken.
"It's raining outside." Morwenna appeared in the door that led off to another room behind the bar.
"How observant of you." Flint placed a pint of a foul-smelling substance on the bar.
"And not just raining, it's chucking cats, dogs, and I think the occasional hippo."
"Right." Flint poured a pint of thick liquid from a tap, filling the air with the unpleasant, sour odor of fermented…something.
Something that made Aralyn's mouth water, to her surprise and her disgust.
"Thanks," the customer handed over a couple of coins, took a sip of the contents, and grimaced.
And Aralyn grimaced along with him. "People pay for that stuff?"
"Oh, bread beer. It's a Lonely Tavern house special," Stan replied. "Do you want to try some?" He picked up his tankard from the bar and sloshed it in her direction.
"No, I'm good, thanks," Aralyn replied politely.
"Is anyone listening to me?" Morwenna threw up her hands. "Even the ducks are going to be using umbrellas tonight!"
"Perhaps we should start selling duck-sized umbrellas in that case," Flint rumbled.
"Less of your cheek," Morwenna scolded the dragon shifter.
"I was just brainstorming," Flint replied evenly. The guy was obviously used to handling the gray-haired woman, who wore a black dress covered in small silver charms.
Aralyn leaned closer, focusing on the charms. Wards of some kind. Her eyes flickered up to the frizzy-haired woman's face. So this was the witch who was responsible for Brushworth and his friends, and all the stories she had heard about the disappearing, mysterious tavern. Because no matter what Uncle Burt and his friends said, a tavern could not work magic.
"The storm's bad enough. We don't have to add brains to it," Stan chuckled, earning himself a swift stare from Morwenna.
"Did you have something to add to the conversation?" Morwenna asked, her eyes boring into him.
"I said that this beer is a perfect way to quench the thirst." Stan raised his tankard and took a swig.
"A man of good taste," Morwenna said deadpan, leaving Aralyn unsure if she was joking or not.
"I'm surprised he can taste anything at all if he drinks that stuff too often," Aralyn murmured.
"And you are?" Morwenna turned her intense eyes on Aralyn. If she intended to intimidate Aralyn, she did. Just a little. For a vampire hunter who had faced down some big bad bloodsuckers, that was impressive.
"This is my niece, Aralyn." Burt pushed himself forward as if ready to defend her. Which was kind of sweet. Uncle Burt had never had the skills to hunt vampires. At least not professionally, but that same sense of duty, the need to protect those he loved or who could not protect themselves was there, nonetheless.
"Your. Niece." Morwenna stared at Aralyn.
And Aralyn stared right back.
"Yes." Burt shuffled uncomfortably. "You know, the vampire hunter. I'm sure I've mentioned her around here."
"That would be an understatement," Harry smirked.
"Ah!" Morwenna's expression cleared, and she looked downright friendly, as if she had met a kindred spirit. "Now, I remember." But instantly, her eyes narrowed once more. "The tavern does not like any kind of violence on the premises. No killing. Or re-killing. And definitely no making stakes out of chair legs."
"Got ya," Aralyn said with a nod.
"Anyway, where was I…?" Morwenna turned her attention back to Flint. "Oh, yes. It's raining outside." She held up her hand as Flint opened his mouth to speak. "Heavily."
"Yup," Flint agreed, sounding like he was trying not to let out a chuckle.
"Which means everyone is lingering in the tavern," Morwenna sidled up to Flint and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Which means they are ordering more drinks."
"They are," Flint whispered loudly.
"So, we should double the price." Morwenna drew back from Flint and arched an eyebrow as she nodded slowly. "Captive clientele."
"Captive clientele," Flint repeated, holding Morwenna's gaze.
"Exactly," Morwenna replied.
"You know the bar up the road is doing two-for-one deals in this wet weather," Flint replied.
"Two for one!" Morwenna looked horrified.
"In that case, I'll have two gins," Uncle Burt said. "One for me and one for my niece. The vampire hunter."
"And we'll have two, too," Stan snapped his fingers at Flint.
"I was not offering..." Morwenna looked as if she were about to puff smoke out of her ears, but a sudden rush of people to the bar at the sound of the deal soon put a smile on her face. "Two for one, it is!"
"Cheers," they chorused as Flint swiftly made their drinks, with more than a little magical help, if Aralyn's senses served her right. But she did not sense that magic coming from Morwenna. Instead, it seemed as if the self-pouring bottles and tankards with minds of their own were imbued with their own magic—a part of the tavern.
"So, Valaky." Burt sipped his gin, and a smile slipped across his face as if he were recalling a fond memory.
Were the drinks imbued with magic, too?
"Yes, Valaky," Aralyn replied.
"What do you want with him?" Stan asked.
"It's not so much him, but his family," Aralyn replied.
"His family?" Burt's eyes drifted to the stairs to one side of the bar, leading from the ground floor up to the second floor.
"Yes, I need to infiltrate them," Aralyn said and took a sip of gin. "Oh, this is good." It was as if she were transported back in time to a specific day. One where the world was open to her in all its enticing glory when anything was possible. A day before she fully realized that she was a vampire hunter, and her life would never be her own.
"Infiltrate them?" Burt nearly choked on his gin.
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Because they have something I need." The joyful feeling from the gin began to fade as she remembered her task.
"Do you have a plan?" Burt asked cautiously.
"They're hosting a ball soon. It's something they do every so many decades. It's very high profile, so there'll be all manner of guests."
Stan gulped. "And you're planning on just turning up?"
Aralyn shook her head. "No. It's invitation only, even for vampires. And if any mortals want to join, they need to go as plus-ones, or on special invitations directly from the family. That's why I was hoping you might be able to help me with Valaky."
Harry sighed. "Sorry to say, but he's lost for all eternity."
"Really?" Aralyn frowned. "What happened to him?" Had someone staked him? Staking did not happen very often in Wishing Moon Bay. The people who lived here tended to get on well with the vampires who had resided here for centuries.
Stan leaned in. "He went upstairs. "
"Upstairs?" Aralyn sensed that the word had some significant meaning that was lost on her.
"But, not to worry, I have an idea." Burt held up a finger as all eyes turned to him. "Just like any sort of function like this, you just need one thing…"
Aralyn nodded. "I knew I could count on you, Uncle Burt."
"A date!"
"Yes, a date," Burt repeated, looking smug.
Aralyn's eyes widened as it dawned on her what kind of a date he was suggesting. "You can't be serious—" She froze as the hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle and she snapped round to look at the door.
Shaking off an umbrella was a pale, well-dressed man.
Vampire .
"Oh look, a suitable suitor," Stan chuckled. "It must be fate."