Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Soon we’re off the motorway and driving through fields of wheat and alongside meadows bustling with wildflowers and buzzing with bees, butterflies, and other insects.
We follow the curve of a river, weeping willows lining its banks, ducks idling in its waters, and reeds wallowing in its edges.
The hedgerows grow taller, the roads bumpier, and eventually Horatio is forced to pull over and consult his sat nav.
“We should be here,” he says, tapping the screen, “but there’s nothing in sight. Are you sure you have the right place?”
“Uh huh,” I say with a wide grin. He looks at me in utter confusion. “It’s a paranormal hotel in the middle of the Cotswolds. You didn’t think we’d be able to find it just like that, did you?”
He scratches his head. “I guess not. So how do we find it? Do we need to walk through a magical wardrobe, fall down a rabbit hole, or hitch a lift with a tornado?”
“You’re so dramatic,” I say, “we just have to look out for a red telephone box. There must be one further along this road.”
Horatio stares at me for one long second and once again I get the distinct impression he’s questioning his own sanity.
Then he starts up the car and we crawl slowly along the lane, peering into hedgerows for signs of a red telephone box.
Eventually we spot one perched on a grass verge as the lane bisects another.
“Wait here,” I tell him, hopping out of the car and strolling to the box.
It’s seen better days: the red paint is faded and peeling in places and there are a few panes of glass missing or cracked.
The door creaks as I open it and step inside, finding myself in the entrance to a very smart hotel, a man dressed in a waistcoat waiting behind a broad desk to receive me.
“Checking in?” he asks me.
“Yes, please.”
A big red book flips open on the desk in front of him. “Name please.”
“I’m with the Eccleston family party. It’s Molly Eccleston and …” I swallow, “partner.”
If he notices the way my voice wavers as I say that unfamiliar word, he ignores it. I am going to have to improve my acting skills dramatically in the next few minutes.
“Perfect.” He makes a note in the book. “And you have a vehicle with you?” I nod.
The man stands on his toes and peers over my head.
I bet they don’t see that many civilian modes of travel at this hotel.
“If you’d like to drive through the hedge and follow the driveway up, you’ll find spaces to park right outside the main entrance. ”
“Thank you,” I say. “Is anyone else here yet?”
“Let me see …” he runs his finger down the page in his big red book, “everyone but a Miss Tiggie Eccleston.”
I restrain the urge to fist pump the air. I am not the last one here for once.
I return the way I’ve come and climb back into the car.
“I’ve checked us in,” I tell Horatio.
“In there?” he says, pointing to the decrepit phone box which from the outside only looks big enough to fit one person inside, two at a squeeze.
“Yep, we have to drive through the hedge.” I shift around in my seat, searching for a gap in the surrounding hedgerows, but then the bush in front of us starts to move, sliding to one side and revealing a rather grand-looking driveway beyond.
“I take it that’s the way,” Horatio says, switching the engine back on and driving us through the newly created gap, the bush closing again behind us.
The lawns either side of the driveway are much more elegant and pruned than the wild and disorderly countryside on the other side of the hedge; there are even statues situated between finely pruned lime trees.
From the corner of my eye, I see Horatio examining them, because they are not the usual busts of Roman beauties or Greek heroes – there’s a werewolf mid-transformation, a vampire shielding themselves from the sun, a witch hovering on a broomstick, and a troll dragging along a club.
“Interesting decor,” he notes.
“I imagine the actual hotel is going to be much worse,” I warn him.
“Do these … creatures actually exist?” he says, pointing to another statue of a juvenile dragon.
“Some,” I say with mischief, loving the way his eyes widen with amazement.
“Dragons? Really?”
I tap my finger against my nose. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Fuck,” he says, shaking his head, then repeats the word as we round a bend and suddenly the hotel is there, right in front of us. A gothic monstrosity of twisting towers, precarious turrets, and piercing spires.
I point out the car-parking spaces in front of the grand hotel entrance – a heavy oak door encased in a stone archway – and Horatio swings us into the space, snatches off the engine, and turns in his seat to face me.
“Am I an idiot, Molly?” he asks me. “Is this fake dating thing all a ruse to get me here and use me as a human sacrifice in your devil-worshipping practices?”
“Don’t be silly,” I say, punching his arm and making him smile. “We only worship the devil on a Wednesday.”
I jump out of the car, McGruff following me, leaving Horatio speechless in his seat.
When he joins me at the boot of the car, still looking a little pale, I tell him,
“You do know I’m joking, right?”
“Shit, Molly, it’s hard to know what to believe.” He chuckles betraying just a little hint of nerves.
“We witches have never been into devil-worshipping and baby-roasting and all the other awful things people have said about us over the years.” I frown. “It’s just the usual prejudice and bigotry people like to spread about people who are different.”
“But you are friends with a demon,” he points out.
“A reformed demon,” I counter, “or reforming. It’s hard for demons to resist creating a little bit of mischief, but Damien’s perfectly harmless.”
Apart from his shoplifting antics.
“So no necromancy or hexing?”
“None at all. Probably some boring board games, perhaps a round of tennis, and if we’re really lucky a brisk country walk.”
“Good, I love a board game.” He strides up the steps towards the entrance, a suitcase in each hand, leaving me and McGruff to scuttle after him.
The heavy oak door swings back as we approach revealing the interior of the lobby – much more ordinary-looking than the outside of the hotel – in fact it looks like every other hotel lobby.
Horatio’s shoulders relax a fraction, although they tense right up again, both suitcases tumbling to the floor, when the air pops and my mother appears in a swirl of face powder and perfume.
“Molly, dar–” my mother starts, then freezes when she registers the man in front of her. She stares at him as if he was the one who just appeared out of thin air. Horatio stares right back.
I step forwards, taking my mum’s arm in my hand and shaking it a little.
“Mum, this is Horatio, my,” I swallow, willing my cheeks not to pinken or my eye to twitch, “boyfriend. Horatio, this is my mum.”
“I wasn’t expecting him to be quite so …” She keeps right on staring at him.
“Quite so?” Horatio says, holding out his hand for her to shake.
“Tall,” she says, recovering herself and squeezing his hand. “The men Molly usually dates are much shorter and, well … so lovely to meet you and we’re so pleased you could join us.”
“Thank you for having me,” he says, flashing her one of his smiles.
My mum blushes in response, something I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her do, but then McGruff goes and spoils the moment by jumping up at her, demanding his fair share of attention.
“Oh no, you didn’t bring this little ball of nuisance, did you?” she says with disapproval, as I drag him away by the collar and she brushes down her trousers, removing invisible dirt from her legs. “Couldn’t you have left him at home?”
“No,” I say, “he does need feeding and walking.”
My mum points a loaded finger at my dog and gives him her trademark stern expression. “You are to behave today. Now go out to the gardens and don’t cause any mischief. I’ll call you in when it’s your dinner time.” McGruff whines in response and scampers off.
“Was that necessary?” I mumble. I’m not a fan of bewitching animals. It’s what I never do.
“It’ll keep him out of trouble.” My mum returns her attention back to Horatio. “Perhaps the two of you would like to get settled upstairs. Your room is number 15, second floor. We’re meeting for drinks in the drawing room at seven.”
“Where the murderer will be revealed,” I say in my best theatrical voice.
My mother huffs. “Please wear something smart, darling,” she says, examining my outfit with disapproval before leaning in to kiss the air by my cheek and then promptly vanishing.
“She seems–”
“A lot!” I sigh.
“I was going to say nice.”
He lifts the fallen suitcases and we climb the wide staircase up to the second floor, following the corridor until we find the fifteenth room.
“We never got a key,” he says, stopping in front of the door.
“Oh, it’s okay. The room will know it’s us.” As I say the words, the door clicks open and we step inside.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been given the lousiest room on any kind of family trip or holiday.
The reason has always been that I’m either single or have chosen (probably wisely) not to bring my bad-boy boyfriend with me.
The good rooms go to everyone else and I’ve slept in attics, basements, and even once what I suspect was a converted closet.
So when I step into this room, I positively gasp, because, not only is it huge and beautiful and probably the bridal suite, standing right in the very centre of the room is only one bed – only one four-poster bed.
This doesn’t seem to perturb Mr Hottie. I suspect he’s slept in many beautiful hotel suites and many four-poster beds all across the globe.
He strolls straight into the room, deposits the suitcases on the waiting stand and wanders around the room, peering through the window and glancing into the accompanying ensuite bathroom.
Then he stops, and turns to me, realising for the first time that I’m still hovering in the doorway.
“Is there a problem?” he asks me.