Bloody Right. Georgia Evans
as she realized Gryffyth stood nearby.
“My dad?” he mouthed.
Mary nodded. Covering the mouthpiece with her hand, she mouthed back, “Wants Gloria.”
“Never mind,” Pendragon went on. “If you see her, would you give her a message? Tell her I called and Mrs. Burrows needs to talk to her.”
“Not ill, is she?” Silly question—if she were sick, she had Alice right there in the house.
“Oh, no. Nothing of that sort. Just needed her help. Please tell her.”
“I’ll be sure to. Good evening.” As she hung up, Gryffyth cocked his head to one side. “Checking up on me, was he?”
“No, looking for Gloria.”
“That’s a mercy. I was afraid he’d had reports you’d lured me here and were keeping me prisoner.”
She had to smile. “Yes, I’m such a rapacious female. These schoolteachers have to be watched.”
“I intend to watch you, Mary LaPrioux. Watch you very closely. Will you come out to the flicks with me tomorrow night?”
“Alright. What’s on?”
“Who cares. I want to be with you.”
She felt the same. It was insane, against all good judgment and reason, but just saying goodnight to him hurt. She did not want him to leave.
He didn’t either, but they both knew if he didn’t go now, he’d be there until morning, and that would set village tongues wagging.
She came to the gate with him and kissed him goodnight, after lending him a spare torch.
The night was pitch dark, no moon and few stars. Just as well. She didn’t want anyone but her noticing the erection he walked home with.
Chapter Eight
Hans Weiss got off the bus a mile or so outside Brytewood and ran the rest of the way across disgustingly muddy fields. But a surreptitious entry was called for. He was not about to announce his arrival until the occasion arose. A prosperous village under his thrall held definite appeal. Unfortunately, with the invasion postponed until spring, that had to wait. There was, however, the bothersome and annoying fact that somewhere in the village, lurked an entity that was lethal to Vampires.
Whoever, or whatever, it had to be eliminated first.
Weiss paused as he reached the churchyard. Using what he’d learned from Eiche and Bloch’s reports and the mostly accurate maps he’d studied back in the German headquarters in Adlerroost, he took his bearings. Vampire sight being a distinct advantage in the blackout the puny mortals affected.
To the west, beyond the curve in the lane and the flint walls, lay the commercial heart of the village, and Bloch’s ill-fated bakery establishment. Across the lane, twenty meters or so from the ruins of a bombed-out building, sat the one-time residence of Miss Jane Waite, nee Claudia Heitz, from the city of Aachen and loyal spy of the Third Reich. She’d died unexpectedly, shortly after her arrest. Whatever their masters might insist, there was no way in creation that Weiss would have risked her revealing his presence to her interrogators.
A pity about that. She would have been a handy contact in the village and a useful source of sustenance. But humans were in good supply.
He set off toward the village at an almost mortal pace. Listening, watching, alert to the sounds behind blacked-out windows. He paused a few meters from the pub. Stupid names these Inselaffen gave their hostelries: The Pig and Whistle indeed. There was even a painted replica of a pig standing on hind legs and playing a tin whistle on the board swinging from the eaves. For the benefit of illiterate peasants perhaps.
Keeping to the shadows, Weiss made his way into the village center—a green with a duckpond—and a little further on, several cottages and shops clustered around a crossroads, a post office, a grocer and butcher, and the newsagent that appeared to sell vegetables and knitting wool as well. Intriguing combination, not that he was really interested.
Across the road and a few meters further on, was Bloch’s shuttered and abandoned bakery. Finding out what had happened to his fellow spy and brother Vampire was a matter of supreme interest. He could, of course, venture into the pub and ask around, but he’d always found women easier to tap for information. How best to approach? As a worried cousin or relative of the sadly departed Bloch? A casual friend who’d heard he was living in Brytewood? The more tenuous the connection the safer.
Who knew what malignant force lurked between the hedgerows?
A noise caught his attention. A lone mortal stepped into the road from a side lane and walked on ahead of Weiss. Some peasant trundling on home to his hovel no doubt. How opportune. Might be worth a little entertainment and it had been a good two days since he’d enjoyed warm blood.
Weiss followed the mortal until he turned off the main street and headed up a lane bordered by hedges on both sides. Nicely private from any wandering villagers. The creature limped, favoring his right leg. Some sort of cripple, no doubt, but his blood was as good as anyone’s.
Weiss closed the distance between them. When he was two or three meters away, the human turned and had the effrontery to glare and mutter, “What the hell?”
Hell, indeed. Weiss stepped forward, his hands gripping the mortal’s shoulders.
The man dared to struggle. For that he’d break his neck. Later. Living blood tasted richer. Living blood from a terrified human was the finest. Weiss flared his eyes and drew back his lips to reveal descended fangs, a sight destined to make strong men quail and wet themselves.
The mortal wrenched himself from Weiss’s grip. An impossibility. Weiss grabbed him again; there was a clatter as the mortal’s stick fell to the ground. Now, he had him! With a roar that stunned Weiss momentarily, the creature reared back, breaking Weiss’s hold a second time. With a sound like rending cloth, claws raked across Weiss’s face.
Claws! What creature was this?
Fast as only a Vampire could move, Weiss attacked, fangs at the ready, leaping forward into a burst of flame.
His scream echoed in his ears as pain tore through him.
This had to be the destroyer! Whatever infernal creature it was, he’d discover later—for now, with a screech of agony, Weiss fled, knowing he had to find shelter, and fast.
He buried himself in the first patch of turned ground he found. As the healing earth and dark soothed his pain, he swore vengeance.
Once he had enough strength to restore himself and identify his attacker.
Once the adrenaline rush from the part change faded, Gryffyth Pendragon found himself sitting in a heap in the lane. Fumbling around, he touched broken glass. So much for a torch to help him get home. And where the hell was his stick? To say nothing of what in hades had attacked him? What now? Could he stand without his stick? He couldn’t walk without it. Unless he had Mary to support him. Thinking of her brought a smile to his lips, but didn’t help his current predicament. And on top of it, the sleeves of his shirt and new jacket were in tatters.
Shit! Should he hope someone would come by on their way back from the Pig? It was hours until closing time.
The narrow beam of a shaded bicycle lamp appeared in the distance.
Help, thank the heavens, but how to explain his condition? Convince them he was drunk this early?
“Hello,” he called.
“Son?”
Crikey, if wasn’t his father! “Dad?”
The bicycle stopped just a couple of feet away as his father leaped off, letting it fall, and crouched over him. “What the flaming hell happened to you, son? You tripped? You shouldn’t be walking home in the dark.”
“Dad! There’s