Bloody Right Page 5

  “Dr. Baynes noted it in his report. Wish I could help you more, but…”

  Yes, she knew. There was a war on, and no one had time to waste on idle speculation. Old Mother Longhurst now rested in Brytewood churchyard with generations of Longhursts, and the knowledge of the whereabouts of her magic knife was buried with her. Still, if she’d been right, and Alice had no reason to doubt it, it was no longer of use anyway.

  Alice thanked the man again and went out into the street. Dark was falling. At least the promised drizzle hadn’t materialized as she headed for her car parked in a side street, down by the ambulance post.

  Must be a change of shift. Several men and women stood smoking outside the post and a couple of others were going in and out. A young man stepped out and Alice did a double take. He rushed past, not even looking in her direction. But it was enough. Or was it?

  The wild, Pixie part of her knew where she’d seen that man before. (If indeed he was even human, which she strongly doubted.) She’d found him, badly injured and barely conscious, in Fletcher’s Woods, taken him back to her surgery, called an ambulance, and he’d disappeared before it arrived. The rational scientist inside her wanted to brush that off. But couldn’t. He’d disappeared fast this time. At Vampire speed? She wanted, needed to know. Not that she could actually ask point-blank.

  She opened the door to the small building.

  “Evening, Dr. Watson,” the supervisor said as he looked up from his mug of tea. “Off home are you? Or planning to hang around and see if we can use you tonight?”

  “I’ve got to get back, I’m afraid. I’ve a call to make on the way home. Thanks for keeping an eye on my car.”

  “Glad to do it. Terrible nowadays, it is. Stealing tires and petrol like I don’t know what. As if Jerry isn’t more than enough to worry about. Any time, Doctor, any time.”

  “Thank you so much. By the way, the young man who left as I came in. I think I know him. Possibly once been a patient?” Of a sort.

  “Might be, Doctor. I dunno. He’s not local. Came down to stay with cousins when he got bombed out in London, I think.”

  “You know his name?”

  “Paul Smith. Nice lad. Been here since September. We’ll miss him. We need every pair of hands we can get.”

  Interesting that. He’d given his name as Smith when she found him. Had to be the same man. Or same whatever-he-was. “He’s leaving?”

  “Yeah, got a job and is moving.”

  Drat, to find him and lose him again. And no one seemed to know where he was going. All she got was the name and address of his current landlady, a Mrs. Thomas. No phone number. Not too surprising. No phone laid on, most likely. What now?

  Either let it drop or go prying.

  She stopped at a pub nearby and got directions to a narrow street of terrace houses at the bottom of the town. Halfway down, on the left, was a gaping hole where a bomb had taken out a house, leaving the two neighbors in ruins. The house she was headed for was down at the bottom on the left.

  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 minds whether to go or not, but had promised to help.”

  “Dad practically had to drag me.”

  “I’m so glad he did.”

  “So’m I.” They paused for a while as she leaned into him, resting the flat of her hand against his chest to feel the steady rise and fall beneath her fingers. “Tell me one thing, Mary.”

  She turned her head to look up at him. “What?”

  “Why did you walk out on me?”

  Talk about ruining the moment. Mary pulled away and sat up. The conventional prevarications like What do you mean? or I don’t know what you’re talking about stayed unsaid. She gave a little sigh. They were so close in the big armchair that they were side-by-side and thigh-to-thigh. Somehow his nearness and his wonderfulness demanded the unvarnished, unadjusted truth.

  “I ran away.”

  “From me?” He looked perplexed, and worried.

  “Oh, no!”

  “Why then? I looked everywhere for you after that ridiculous speech by Sir Gregory and couldn’t find you. I thought old Tom had walked off with you but he was busy chatting up one of the farm girls. Where the hell did you go?”

  She had enough human in her to like the thought he’d searched for her, but…“It’ll sound so silly.” She repeated the woman’s comments.

  “You were embarrassed by her? Silly old cow!”

  Embarrassed! “Good Lord, no! I was so angry. Angry at her for even thinking, much less saying that. I wondered if everyone thought I was taking pity on a poor little cripple. Then I wondered if you believed that too. That was when I ran. I couldn’t bear the thought that you thought that too. I spent all say Sunday fuming. Poor Gloria went out with Andrew, partly, I think, to get away from the tension. She asked me what was wrong and if something was bothering me. I darn well wasn’t telling her the truth, in case she felt that way too. Then, when I saw you waiting by the playground gate I knew it wasn’t like that.”

  He went quiet a minute, pulling her close so she ended up curled over his lap. “I was afraid,” he said, at last, whispering, “that you’d thought better of it and decided you didn’t want to waltz with a cripple.”

  “No!” She sat up fast. “I never thought or said that and never would!”

  “Well, I am, you know. A cripple.” He tapped his leg below the knee. “Hear that? It’s not flesh and blood.”

  “So what?”

  “So, why did you come up to me then?”

  Was he fishing for compliments? Reassurance? A bit of both? She knew from her brothers how easily men’s egos got bruised. Blow it all! The truth had served so far. Might as well stay on that track. “I looked around the hall, and through a gap in the crowd, I saw you and thought…” Maybe this was going too far.

  “Thought what?” He gave her a kiss on the forehead.

  Might as well go for broke. “I thought you were the most interesting man I’d ever seen and I wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Interesting?” He gave her a little dig in the ribs.

  “Interesting and full of sex appeal.”

  His laugh only added to the sex appeal. “Did my voice come up to expectations?”

  “Oh! No.” She paused and sighed but had a hard time not smiling. “It far exceeded, curled my toes and made me feel warm inside.” Exactly where inside she was not sharing right now. Truth only carried one so far.

  “I thought I was dreaming,” he said after her words had faded in the quiet and the only sounds were the clock on the mantelpiece and the occasional shift of a coal in the fire. “I saw this smashing looking woman. You were gorgeous. When you came toward me, I was sure you were looking for someone else. When you stopped in front of me, I thought you were going to ask me if I’d seen Tom Longhurst.”

  She tried to ignore the twinge of guilt, or was it annoyance? “Why would I ask for Tom Longhurst?”

  He chuckled, tightening his arm around her shoulders. “You mean you haven’t met our village heartthrob? He gets all the girls. Always did. Even the sensible ones like Alice Doyle—Alice Watson as she is now. They all fall for him—hook, line, and sinker—and now, with so many men away, he reels them in.” He smiled. “But you came and spoke to me.”

  “Naturally. Tom Longhurst isn’t my sort.” Too damn full of himself for a start.

  “You know him?”

  “I went out with him. Once. Decided not to repeat the experience.”

  Gryffyth’s shoulders stiffened and his voice took on an edge. “He hurt you? He bothered you?”

  Dear heaven, he sounded ready to meet Longhurst at dawn. “No, he didn’t. I went to the flicks with him once and that was it. Just don’t fancy him. He’s not my sort.”

  Gryffyth let out a belly laugh that made his chest rumble against her ear. “You mean to say, I cut in on Tom Longhurst?”

  She pulled back, sat up and looked him in the eye. “Not really. He wasn’t ever in the running, although he might have thought he was.”

  “Glad you picked me.”

  “I’m glad you were there to pick.”

  “Right!” He didn’t waste any more words, just yanked her into him, and kissed her. Several times. Kissed her with the loveliest lips she’d ever tasted. Kissed her with a wild, burning ardor that left her wanting more. Much more. And judging by the pressure against her thigh, he felt the same.

  She needed more. Longed to be naked with him. To feel his warm skin against hers and his hands on her bare skin.

  She’d better get herself in hand or she’d be ripping his clothes off he
re and now, in Gloria’s kitchen.

  Still, one more kiss wouldn’t hurt. She leaned into him, tunneling her fingers through his hair and angling her body against his, and pressed her lips on his. Amazing that each kiss was wonderful and each one magically different: a wild sweetness, coupled with raw heat and need. His hand on her breast almost did her in. She wanted him, skin to skin. She’d be a wild, brainless fool to go that fast this soon. She barely knew him, but didn’t much care. She parted her legs, draping one around him, and kissed deeper. His hand pressed her breast—then, with a swift movement, was inside her cardigan, under her blouse and stroking her breast through her bra. Then, he was inside the bra, the tips of his fingers caressing her breast, stroking her nipple, and her body went wild. A fire roared inside, burning deep in her core, firing up a wild need and ache that ground into her. Body and mind. She was made for this. So was he. To have wild sex in front of Gloria’s kitchen fire.

  Whoa! Not here! Upstairs. Could he manage them? Damn, she’d help him up if needed.

  “Shit!” That was Gryffyth—she swore, but never that. “Damn!” He looked up as she became aware of the phone ringing in the hall. She’d been so far gone she hadn’t even heard it. “Ignore it,” he suggested.

  She was sorely tempted. “I’d better answer it. It might be something urgent for Gloria.” Not that she was here. If some villager had urgent need of the district nurse they were going to be unlucky.

  Mary wobbled to her feet. So, it was true about legs going like jelly. “I won’t be long.” She made it into the unheated hall, realized her blouse was hanging open and pulled her cardigan together as she picked up the receiver.

  “Hello, Nurse Prewitt’s house.”

  “Oh, Mary. Is Gloria there? It’s Sergeant Pendragon.”

  Her faced burned as she replied. “Hello, Sergeant. Gloria’s not here.” But I am, and half naked with your son.