Bloody Right. Georgia Evans
There was no reply to her knock. No sign of a light, but that could just mean an effective blackout. Except the torn curtains weren’t drawn and a cautious flash of her torch showed a small sitting room with a bedraggled fern in the window.
“You looking for Mr. Thomas?” a voice behind her asked.
Mr. Thomas. That was interesting, she’d been distinctly told landlady. “Mrs. Thomas, actually. I’m a doctor,” she added. That always helped allay suspicion.
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard then,” the man replied. “She died last week. And then yesterday, her son, young Steve.”
“Dead too?”
“That’s right. The next-door neighbor found him after she noticed he hadn’t taken the milk and papers in. Put his head in the gas oven, he had.” The man shook his head. “He was real close to his mother. Must have unhinged him.”
Maybe or maybe not. Had he put his head in the oven or had it put in? Was she imagining trouble?
No! Didn’t Gran say to trust her Pixie instincts? And every one of them was screaming trouble.
“How terrible! What about his nephew, or cousin I think it was, who lived with them?”
“You mean young Paul? He left yesterday. Taking a new job he said. Dunno where.”
“No forwarding address?”
“Maybe he told Steve. Won’t do anyone much use now, will it?”
No, it wouldn’t. And rather handy if the mysteriously disappearing Paul Smith had wanted to cover his tracks.
Alice bade the man good evening and left. She was, for a few seconds, tempted to use her medical position to ask the police if there were any bite marks on the body, but on reflection, decided against it. No point in getting a reputation as an eccentric lady doctor.
But her mind whirled over the myriad implications and possibilities, all the way home.
Chapter Seven
“Without a doubt, something’s going on,” Gran said, as Alice retold the events of the afternoon over dinner. “And if another of those Vampires is involved, it can’t be good.”
“If the Vampires are involved, you stay out of it,” Peter said, not having any hope either of the women would listen. A man worried knowing his wife could, and had, dispatched a Vampire, and Helen Burrows was no better. Always in the thick of things.
“Young man,” his grandmother-in-law said, “do you really think we’d sit by and let those nasty Vampires do the Jerries’ work for them?”
No point in answering that. “Do you blame me for worrying about Alice?”
“Certainly not, Peter. We all worry, but better not waste too much time worrying if we have work to do.”
He didn’t even try to hold back the sigh. She was right. Not that it made him any happier. “You really think we have another one to deal with?” he asked Alice.
She nodded. “I’d take an oath that the man I glimpsed in the ambulance depot, was one and the same that I found injured up in Fletcher’s Woods.”
“You think he recognized you?” Heaven forbid! What if the creature came looking for Alice? Damn, he’d take him on with bare hands. Or bare hands and oak staves rubbed with mistletoe. He knew that worked. Not that Alice wouldn’t want to take the thing on herself. He’d already seen her dispose of one, and was no doubt preparing for a repeat performance.
Alice shrugged. “I recognized him. I’d rather work on the assumption he recognized me than pretend he didn’t and have a nasty encounter somewhere along the line.”
Seemed a nasty encounter was inevitable, but Peter kept that to himself. “What should we do, Gran?” he asked Helen Burrows.
It wasn’t just tact that had him deferring to his grandmother-in-law. Since he’d arrived in Brytewood three months ago, he’d learned a lot about Pixies.
“I think,” she replied after a few moments, “that we should talk this over with Howell and Gloria. At least we can be prepared this time.”
Good point. The last two had rather taken them unawares. “Think we should include Andrew?”
Alice, his love, his wife, let out a chuckle. “He’d be as easy to keep out as you’d be.”
“I’m glad you understand how things are.”
She grinned at him. Made him want to take her by the hand and run her upstairs with him. But Mrs. Burrows had other plans.
“Alice, you give Gloria and Howell a call and ask them to come up here as soon as they can. I’ll see what I can get ready. Peter, be a love and nip out and bring me in some apples from the shed. I think I’ll have time to make some tarts. And I’ll check the pantry.”
Peter went out, shaking his head. How could they both be so unflustered over this? Alice just ambled off to the phone and Mrs. Burrows was more worried about whether she had tarts or cake to offer when the guests arrived, than facing another Vampire.
And if there was one more, why not half a dozen? That prospect made him shudder. Once upon a time, he’d thought Brytewood was a sleepy little backwater. Most people still did. They had no idea of the existence of Pixies or Dragons or Shapeshifters. But he did, and often wondered what else was living in their midst. And if it was for, or against, them.
“Not thinking of going anywhere, are you?” Gryffyth asked, as Mary tried to ease out from under his arm.
“The stove needs making up. I ought to go out and get some coke.”
“I’ll keep you warm,” he replied. “Wouldn’t you rather sit here with me, than go out into the damp and dark?”
The note on the table when she got home, told her Gloria was spending the evening with Andrew Barron, her intended, so what was there to do? Nothing but sit here with Gryffyth and act in a thoroughly forward manner.
She was truly enjoying herself and he didn’t seem to mind in the least that she was acting like a fast woman. “Stay,” he whispered into her hair. “Forget the boiler.”
He stroked her chin, tilting her face up to his, and brushed the pad of his finger over her lips. Her breath caught. Her heart gave a little skip of anticipation. How many times had he kissed her since he’d walked her home? She’d lost count but knew she wanted more. He bent his head to oblige.
His lips were warm—no, hot! Burning with the same heat that roared inside her, no doubt destroying brain cells, but as his lips pressed on hers, Mary had no need for brain or reason. She parted her lips and brushed the tip of his tongue with hers. A wild need and longing raced through her, as she caressed his tongue and he pressed closer, cupping the back of her head with his hand as he kissed back. Deep.
She sensed his passion like a wild flood of pent-up desire. But was it his? Or hers? Nothing had ever felt like this. Caught in the circle of his arms, she opened herself to him, soaking in the sensations of his touch and the sheer wonder of his kisses. She grabbed him, holding him to her as she curled closer, pressing her body against his and wantonly wrapping her leg over his. He kissed even deeper, pressing his tongue against hers until she felt a building need curling in her belly as she kissed him again.
Finally she pulled away, gasping for air but none too sure she even needed to breathe. Kissing Gryffyth seemed far, far more vital than breathing. She grinned at him as he caught his breath.
“Whee.”
She’d have agreed but was still gasping. She settled for leaning against his chest and luxuriating in the strength of the arm that enveloped her. “Mary, my sweet love, it was my lucky day when you crossed that hall and asked me to dance.”
Hers too. “I was of two