51. Winnie
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
WINNIE
Dora: We’ve taken Isis to her flat. We’ll see you all there once vampire justice has been done.
W e crowd into Komal’s giant Argleton Scenic Tours minibus and she careens back in the direction of the village, dodging around the vampires crowding the road as they start to head back to their homes before the sun comes up.
I thought taking the country roads in Reginald’s ridiculous car was an adventure, but Komal treats road rules more like road ‘suggestions’ that can be discarded if the soundtrack is angry enough.
It suits me just fine, because everyone is too busy holding on for their lives to notice the tears cascading down my face?—
“Are you okay?” Beth squeezes my thigh. “You’re crying.”
“I’m in fear for my life.”
“Don’t worry. Komal flies helicopters, and that’s way scarier. At least in a car, we’re already attached to the earth.”
Maisie squeezes my knee. “Oh, Winnie, honey. Whatever is wrong, you two will fix it.”
We can’t fix this.
Alaric can’t be what I need, and I’ll never be what he needs. We thought we were breaking our walls down together, but all we were doing was burying each other alive.
I swipe at my tears. “I’m just worried about Isis.”
“We all are. And when this is over, you can tell us the real reason you’re crying,” Mina says.
I wish my tears were for Isis, but crowding out my concern for my friend and the ordeal she’s just suffered are the bugs crawling over my skin.
I close my eyes, but I see the piles of Alaric’s stuff sliding across the floor. I remember squeezing through that narrow tunnel into the dark gloom.
The memories duel against my old trauma – things that I thought I’d forgiven my mother for but still appear in my nightmares.
The first time I returned after moving out and discovered the whole house accessible only by dark, narrow corridors lined with precarious piles of stuff.
The hours and hours I’ve spent sorting and tossing and scrubbing and fighting with her over bags of rubbish, and six weeks later the house is the same again.
The downstairs bathroom and kitchen that we stopped using because something was leaking but we couldn’t find it in the mess, and Mum wouldn’t hire a contractor because she didn’t want anyone to see how we lived, so when we stood on the floors they were like sponges.
Lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep as I heard mice shuffle through the papers that had taken up residence in my once immaculate room.
That’s what I was going back to if I stayed with Alaric. And if I became a vampire, too, I would face an eternity of it. And that wouldn’t be fair on him, either. He needs his art the way I need my storage containers.
I never even made him an art studio in the castle. I cleaned and organised and hid away his mess, but I didn’t make a space to celebrate the joy of his creative spirit. No wonder he hid everything away.
We’re not meant to be.
I open my eyes as the car pulls over. We’re in front of Spell The Tea, the witchy shop that Isis and Dora own together. Komal unlocks the side door with a key – Nevermore Murder Club members are the kind of friends who have spare keys to each others’ homes – and we push our way through the crowded storage room of the shop to reach the staircase that accesses the flat above.
It takes everything in me to force myself up that staircase. The back of the shop is almost as bad as one of Alaric’s rooms, and my trauma is too close to the surface tonight. But as we emerge into Isis’ apartment, I breathe a sigh of relief to find that it’s not as chaotic and cluttered as I pictured. The walls are painted in calming greys and pale blues, the floorboards have been whitewashed and covered with a pretty teal rug, and apart from a few too many crystals and candles crowding the bookshelf and nightstand, the place is relatively tidy.
Isis and Dora are cuddled on the couch beneath a fluffy teal blanket, while Arabella fusses in the kitchen, swearing under her breath as she searches Isis’ cupboards. “If you want the bloody biscuits, you need to tell me where you keep them.”
“They’re in the biscuit tin, Arabella. That’s where normal people keep their biscuits.”
“This monstrosity?” Arabella shakes a ceramic laughing vampire at Isis, who manages a small giggle.
Arabella tugs off the lid and nearly drops the hideous jar when the vampire starts singing, “I vant to suck your blood.”
Isis’ weak laugh becomes a full-on cackle.
“How are you, Isis?” Komal, Mina, and Maisie run to her side. Oscar sits obediently beside the couch as Mina squeezes under the blanket for a hug. Out the window, the sun peeks above the rooftops.
Alaric will be tucked up in his coffin now. I hope he’s ? —
No. Stop thinking about Alaric.
If I think about him, I’ll bring the dead butterflies back to life. I’ll remember how safe I felt in his arms. I’ll talk myself out of leaving.
And I can’t do that. I’ve spent my whole life being a spectator in my own life, sticking to the rules, keeping everything neat and tidy so no one notices that I’m a mess inside. I can’t do that anymore.
Letting him go feels like cutting off my own foot. But sometimes you have to be willing to bleed for your freedom.
“Isis seems to have recovered from her ordeal just fine .” Arabella slams down a plate of biscuits and a cup of tea with such force that the table wobbles.
“I feel a little woozy, and my neck stings, but otherwise, I’ll live.” Isis sits up and picks up the teacup. “Thank you for saving me, Winnie.”
“I’m just happy we found you in time.” Fresh tears well in my eyes at the thought that I’d put my new friends in danger. I drop Alaric’s heavy, fur-trimmed cloak on the floor. “I’m so sorry that I suggested this plan. I didn’t mean to?—”
“Nonsense, Winnie. Don’t you blame yourself for that man’s evil. Besides, that is far from the most dangerous plan we’ve ever pulled off,” Maisie says. “Remember when we decided to help that palaeontologist excavate those fairy remains and accidentally cursed Dora?”
“I’ll never forget it,” Dora shudders.
“Or when you lot decided to blackmail the head of the vampire mafia and I had to use all of my connections to bail you out of his secret dungeon,” Arabella rolls her eyes.
“She’ll never let us live that one down,” moans Komal.
“I’m fine, ” Isis says. “And we caught the bad guy, so no one else is going to be hurt. Tonight was a triumph. You all must be tired. We haven’t slept all night. But I think I’d like one of your healing teas, Dora. The one that makes people feel safe. I…I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep without it.”
Isis’ eyelashes flutter against her cheeks. I hate seeing her like this, so listless and frightened – the opposite of the boisterous, overconfident witch I’ve come to adore.
“Of course, sis. I’ll need some fresh yarrow. I have some in my garden.” Dora slides her arm from beneath her sister and lays her head on one of her teal pillows. She stands. “I’ll fetch it.”
“I’ll help you.” I need to do something . It’s either this or organise Isis’ tarot card collection or break down into sobs.
Dora looks as if she’s going to argue, but she snaps her jaw shut. I pick up the rumpled cloak and follow her.
We make our way down the narrow staircase and out the side door. Dora leads me through the winding streets to the edge of the village. Right up alongside the woodland on the edge of the Sanctus Estate is a picturesque cottage – the kind you might see on a shortbread tin, with a thatched roof and a front garden absolutely bursting with bright flowers.
“You live here? It’s beautiful.”
“I enjoy gardening,” Dora says simply. She unlatches the gate and we step inside. I’m hit with a wall of scent – bright florals, pungent herbs, and fresh greenery. I’m bending down to sniff a gorgeous blush pink rose when someone moves past the window in the house.
Dora yanks me behind a tree.
“Ow. What?—”
“I’m sorry.” Dora shoves my head down and peeks around the trunk. “Did I hurt your arm?”
“Nothing a little healing tea won’t fix.” I rub my elbow. “Has someone broken into your house?”
“That’s my husband.”
I forgot that Dora was married. She’s never mentioned her husband at all.
“He’s not supposed to be awake,” she mutters. “I must have misjudged the potency of his tea. He won’t like it if he sees you.”
“What should we do?” My heart hammers against my ribs. Why is Dora hiding in the shrubbery from her husband? He walks past the window again, and I catch a glimpse of a sandy-haired man with the most perfect baby blue eyes and full lips set in a mean line.
Dora pulls out her phone. “He’s a mechanic. I suppose I could have one of the girls call and say they saw an intruder at his shop…”
She taps away on her phone, but frowns when she doesn’t get a reply. “I suppose they’re busy taking care of Isis. We’ll just have to wait until he’s out of view of the garden. Has Alaric asked you to marry him?”
“Alaric?” My heart stutters at the sudden shift in conversation. “Not exactly. He asked me to stay at Black Crag, and I said yes, but that was before…”
…before I found out that he’s been lying to me this whole time.
“Think very carefully before you commit,” Dora says, a strange, far-off tone in her voice. “Make sure it’s for the right reasons. I thought marriage would free me from something unwanted in my life. Instead, it’s a different kind of trap.”
I nod, thinking of that room behind the tapestry, all of Alaric’s stuff cascading down on me, and the smug vampire telling me that he planned to turn me into one of them. A trap .
“Winnie, I’m sorry that you have to hide in the bushes with me.” Dora’s chest heaves. “I have to tell you something else. Your mother needs you.”
I grit my teeth. “She really doesn’t.”
“Have you had a call from her?”
I pull out my phone. There aren’t any of her usual nonsensical texts about the council, which is odd. What’s more odd is several missed calls from Ken, Mum’s neighbour. My stomach twists. “You might be right. Hopefully, we can get back to Isis with the yarrow soon. I need to call my mother.”
“Anthony seems to have gone through to the living room.” Dora points to a bed beside the tree. “That plant there. Take only the young flowers, as many as you can. I want to get some borage, as well, for courage. I’ll meet you in the lane beside the cottage in a couple of minutes.”
Dora rushes to the other side of her garden. I glance at the window, making sure there’s no movement inside the house, before I dart across the path to the bush Dora pointed out. I fill my pockets with tiny flowers and duck low as I race back across the garden and push my way through the side gate.
A narrow lane runs along behind Dora’s cottage, connecting all the houses in the block. Bins are lined up along the side. One down the far end has tipped over, leaving lumps of rubbish strewn across the access. I resist the urge to run down and set it right. It’s not my job to fix every mess.
Dora appears a moment later, her chest heaving as she clutches a fistful of leaves. “Got the yarrow flowers?”
I show her my pockets. She nods. “Let’s go.”
Her eyes dart back to the house as she drags me towards the top of the lane. For the first time since I met her, stoic, grumpy Dora actually looks…frightened.
“Dora, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m worried about Isis. She pretends to be so tough, but really?—”
We reach the top of the lane and turn back towards the town centre. “I’m worried about her, too. I feel so awful putting you all in this situation. But I’m talking about—Celeste?”
Celeste blinks as she stumbles from the woodland path. She looks like she’s been mugged. Her clothes are rumpled, her Dockers untied. There are sticks and leaves in her hair.
“Winnie? Dora?” Celeste rubs her eyes. “I…um…hello. How was the ball?”
“Fine. We caught the guy, but he bit Isis. She’s fine ,” Dora says quickly as Celeste’s face crumples with concern. “But she wanted some of my healing tea. What are you doing here? I thought you were with your mum.”
I…er…got back early. I was on my morning jog,” she says breathlessly, smoothing her hands over her overalls. Not exactly a jogging outfit.
“You look like you were mugged by an Ent,” I say.
“Oh, yeah. I…er…I tripped and fell.” Celeste lets out a high-pitched laugh. “I’m always so clumsy. That’s how I got these scratches, too.”
She lifts the torn sleeve of her t-shirt, showing us three long, nasty gashes across her skin.
“Celeste, these look bad.” Dora bites her lip. “I’d take you inside and get you fixed up, but…”
She shrugs, and Celeste nods. “But Anthony’s home, right? It’s okay, I need to get back to my place. I have to prep a wedding cake for—what’s that?”
Celeste points over my shoulder. I turn around. She’s pointing at the pile of rubbish at the end of the lane.
“It’s just someone’s old clothing—oh,” Dora says. “Oh no.”
From the angle, the pile resolves itself into a shape that makes my heart sink into my knees. I race over to the lump of clothing at the end of the lane. As I get closer, I realise in horror that it’s not a pile of old clothes at all, but a man lying face-up in a dark puddle.
He’s not moving. His arms are covered in scratches and deep cuts, and one side of his neck has been practically torn out.
And that dark puddle…is blood.